The Grand Piano 

Short and sweet

The piano stood in a small hall on the top floor of the hotel. It wasn’t just a beautiful piano, it was a magnificent one. Its mahogany surface gleamed in the morning light shining through the hall’s windows, reflecting the dancing light of the sun. Though it was placed near the windows, the piano’s profile seemed to fill the small hall, demanding everyone who stepped into the room to take notice of it. When Jack stepped into the room, the piano seemed intimidating, even frightening. It seemed to loom in front of the windows like a forgotten beast, eyeing warily anyone who came too close to it. And in a way, he was right. The piano had been forgotten there, a travesty of the highest proportions no doubt, but somehow very predictable. It had become a victim of a series of renovations and changes made in the hotel over the years, and finally it was deemed not suitable in the main hall where it had stood for decades entertaining guests at various balls, weddings, and banquets.  

The piano had been moved to this smaller hall on the top floor where the parties were rarely of the sort that needed the piano in any role other than as a decoration. These days portable radios could play the music you wanted; with a push of a button, you could summon Jerry Lee Lewis, Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, or a whole symphony orchestra to perform at your party. It wasn’t that music was dying or people’s interest in it, but it was easier to listen to music when it was carried to your ear by invisible waves through the air. It was easier to listen to a clay disc going around while being scratched by a needle than listen to someone play music in front of you. Sure, sometimes someone might play soft tunes on the piano during a party – and that happened mostly in the small hours of the night – but it was nothing like before. It was like drawing drapes in front of the window because the sun was in your eye, and then lighting a candle to read a book. So, the piano had fallen into a long silence, waiting for a flicker of light. And now, it seemed that such a ray of light was coming its way. 

Jack, though an avid music lover, had no idea about these contemplations. His thoughts were completely captured by the beauty of the piano. He had never played a piano like this before. The oldest piano he had played was a thirty-year-old grand piano, and that had been the most magnificent experience of his life. But this, he knew from the very first sight of the piano, was something else. He had been given a gift, a royal gift. And it made him even more nervous.  

“Why have they hidden you here?” Jack asked quietly, lowering his bag on the floor before taking a few careful steps toward the piano. The names Mason and Hamlin shined on the piano’s side, and Jack knew this was probably a once in a lifetime experience for him. Approaching the piano slowly, Jack ran his fingers lightly on its rim, marveling at the smoothness of the surface. He knew the piano was handcrafted – all Mason and Hamlin pianos were – but he could also sense it. The way his fingers traced the surface of the piano, the near perfection of its form. No machine could replicate a blueprint or a plan and create something this spectacular. Something so magical. He could feel the weight of history on the old instrument, and it made his chest tighten with anticipation. He couldn’t believe he would play the piano later that night. Then he remembered why he was playing, and his heart sank.  

“Let’s see how you sound,” Jack said, sitting on the bench before the piano. As a young – and sometimes starving – pianist, Jack was ready to play on any occasion that paid even the tiniest amount. Or if the payment was food, he usually accepted that as well. Sometimes he could even take some food home with him, if the catering people were nice. Jack wouldn’t have agreed to play today’s gig if he hadn’t been promised cold cash, double what he usually charged – and if he hadn’t been a month behind on his rent. He couldn’t afford to lose another apartment, and there couldn’t possibly be any smaller apartment in the city left. It already felt like he was living in a cupboard, or in someone’s closet.  

Still, sitting there before the piano, he would have accepted the job for free. The keys felt cold under his fingers at first, the smoothness sending shivers down his spine. He hesitated for a second, before pressing one of the keys. A clear, high-pitched sound cut through the room. The only word Jack could think of to describe the sound was perfect. He played a short little melody he had learned at school to test any piano. Every time the tune had been pretty much the same, depending how well the piano was tuned. But every single time before the sound had been just that, a sound made by a piano. A beautiful sound, a magnificent even, but nothing else. This time, however, the sound that hit him carried something else, something more. This time the music reverberated inside him, making him feel the music more than hear it. 

Mesmerized, he pressed down another key, and another. Each following note was crisp clear, strong, and they seemed to hang in the air as if waiting for the next to follow. Before Jack realized, his fingers were dancing on the keys, playing the merry melody of Runaway, Del Shannon’s hit he had heard again a few days ago. He hadn’t decided to play the song, it had just happened, as if his fingers or something deeper in him had made the choice for him. He liked the song, but it reminded him of Ella and that summer day three years ago. The room was filled with music, but every now and then Jack heard a wrong note. Frowning, he concentrated more, trying to make sure his fingers moved accordingly. And he was sure they did, but still the number of wrong notes increased and increased until suddenly he had to stop playing. Like a folding house of cards, the song had collapsed into a cacophony of noises. 

“I guess I’m a bit stiff this morning,” Jack muttered. The piano stood solemnly as if it hadn’t expected anything else. “Maybe something more classical,” Jack said, and placed his fingers again on the keys. He started softly, playing Chopin’s Nocturne. The melancholic music filled the room. It was a bit of a gamble, Jack knew. He was always nervous when playing Chopin, but it seemed proper somehow. And to his surprise, his fingers hit only a few wrong notes. 

“Well, it seems we found something of a common ground,” Jack said smiling sadly after he had stopped playing. The piano seemed to stare back at him. “Maybe something a bit faster?” He raised his hands once again and let his fingers hit the keys according to Beethoven’s Moonlight sonata. As the tempo of the song rose, Jack felt his fingers flying on the keys, and when he hit the keys down hard, the notes seemed to reverberate through the building’s walls. Jack concentrates so completely on the song that he didn’t notice that he didn’t hit a single wrong note.  

“I see that you’ve found the piano,” a rather hard nasal voice cut through the music, making Jack stop on his tracks. He saw the manager, a tall and wiry man with a perpetually displeased look on his face walking up to him. The man had a thin moustache that seemed to quiver with every step, ready to curve in a disapproving arch in a moment’s notice. It wasn’t the man, however, who stole his attention, but the woman walking behind him. 

“Yes, thank you,” Jack said, and stood up. He felt sudden and unexplained anger toward the man, but he managed to suppress his emotions before saying anything out loud. “It’s in perfect tune. Whoever tuned it did a perfect job.” He had trouble focusing on the man and not look at the woman. 

“What? Yes, I suppose so,” the manager answered absentmindedly, looking around the hall. In truth, he had no idea what Jack was talking about. He hadn’t ordered anyone to tune the damn thing. “The party will start at six, and we will have everything ready by five,” the manager said to the woman. “So, everyone will be here by four.” The last bit was directed at Jack, who kept standing in front of the piano. 

“Everything looks great in here,” the woman said with a smile. She was wearing a simple white dress, and her dark hair was curled above her shoulders. She had an elegant pearl necklace and no other jewelry, except for the diamond ring on her finger. 

“As it should,” the manager replied. “I expect nothing but the best from my employees.” The look he gave to Jack made it clear that, although he had not technically hired Jack, the manager regarded him as part of the staff tonight and, thus, under his command. “Is Mr. Winston joining us?” Jack wanted to roll his eyes when he heard the name mentioned. It was almost disgusting how the manager looked like a small puppy, ready to jump to please his master. 

“Yes, I think so,” the woman answered. “He stayed behind to make some calls downstairs.” 

“Right, well, if you excuse me,” the manager said, and nodded toward the woman, “I will go and see if he needs anything.” Without looking at Jack, or waiting for the woman’s reply, the manager turned and strode out of the room. 

“He’s a pleasant man, isn’t he?” Jack asked after it was clear the manager couldn’t hear his words. Smiling ruefully, he sat down and tried to play a slow, melancholy tune. He found it almost impossible to keep his fingers from the keys; there was something completely different about this piano. He could play the keys just like with any other piano, but it felt empty somehow – as if there was something hidden behind the frame, but he had no access to it. He could only scratch the surface.  

“Maybe you just bring out the best in him?” the woman said, walking closer to the piano. He looked at her. She was frowning as if she was scolding him, but she had small smile on her lips and a familiar glimmer in her eyes. 

“I’ve heard I have that effect,” he said with a smile. He wanted to keep playing, to submerge himself completely in the music, to find what was hidden from him, but her perfume – a mix of spring flowers and sweet spices – distracted him. It brought forth too many memories, dissolving his will to play. Instead, he changed the song to a more easy-going melody. “But I’m not the only one in this room with that power. I swear I could see a tail wagging behind him when he talked to you.” 

“You’re insufferable,” the woman said, but laughed at his words.  

“Who, me? You must have mistaken me with someone else,” he smiled.  

“Yes, I must have mistaken you with some other young piano virtuoso I know.” Her voice had a distinct melody that always managed to lift his mood, no matter how bad he was feeling. Still, it was odd how today it felt almost as if her voice was the source of his pain. 

“Milady obviously walks in a questionable crowd,” Jack said and glanced at the woman before focusing on the piano again. 

“Why? Are all musicians bad company?” she asked and stopped at the other end of the piano. 

“Very bad,” Jack said with a smile, “and pianists are the worst. But you know that, don’t you?” 

“Well, yes, I do,” she laughed. “You are all so… rambunctious people.” 

“Rambunctious?” Jack couldn’t help but laugh with her. “Well, I guess you know your friends.” 

“I do,” she said and smiled at him in a way that made his heart ache. 

“So,” Jack finally asked when the silence had stretched a bit too long. He started to play Mozart’s Kyrie Eleison without realizing it. “Why are you here, Ella? Aren’t you a bit early?” 

“We wanted to check the place before the party,” Ella said, and the smile vanished from her lips. 

Jack missed a note when she said we, but continued like nothing had happened. He didn’t know if she had noticed. “Oh? Does he like to criticize the decorations?” 

“No, he’s just…” Ella started. 

“Fastidious?” Jack asked. 

“Particular about what he wants,” she corrected and gave Jack a glare.  

“You mean overparticular?” 

“You’re impossible,” she sighed. Jack didn’t know what to say, so he concentrated on playing for a moment. He had been given a list of songs for tonight, but he was already making changes to the list in his mind. Actually, he was throwing the whole list into a bin. 

“Do you remember that night in Brooklyn,” Jack asked after a moment, “when I played in that god-awful hotel, and you, Jim, and the others wanted to make a night out of it? So, we ended roaming all over Brooklyn looking for a descend place to drink.” 

“I remember,” she said quietly, looking at Jack under her brow. He couldn’t read her expression, so he continued, picking up the tempo of the song.  

“Do you remember that one bar we went to that night? The one with the red piano?” 

“I remember a lot of bars with pianos, and I remember someone wanting to play every piano he could get his hands on,” she said, but with a small smile. 

“Yes, well… as I said, we pianists are the worse kind of troublemakers.” 

“I wouldn’t say troublemakers,” she smiled and walked closer to him, running her fingers on the piano’s smooth surface. She sat next to him on the bench; Jack inched away to give her space but feeling her hip pressing against him was distracting him more than he wanted to admit. “You just have a bad habit of stealing the show. Like this piano, you make it impossible for people to not see you.” 

“It’s always just the piano,” Jack replied, and played a short, high-pitched tune, “we are just along for the ride.” 

“You are never just along for the ride,” she said, lifting her fingers to the pearl-white keys and admiring the smoothness, but not daring to press any of them. “You need to be the greatest show in town.” 

Jack stopped playing, because he couldn’t focus on the music anymore. The lure of the piano was still there, in the back of his mind, but feeling her body so close tied his mind into a knot. “What can I say, I’m a natural.” It sounded like bragging to his own ears, but that was all he could think of at that moment. 

“Oh, I know.” She nodded, looking at the keys with a slight frown. “What was that song you taught me? The one that we both played?” 

“What song?” He looked at her with a perplexed look.  

“You know, the one that goes diing, diing, diing, diing, ding ding ding ding.” 

“Oh yeah, that’s really helpful.” 

“Oh, behave. You remember, the one we played at MSM that night when Joel passed out in the hallway.” 

He frowned a little. He had a vague memory of Joel passing out at the conservatory, but not in any hallway. Then the penny dropped. “It wasn’t Joel, it was Tom who passed out that night.” He started to play softly. “And it was Pachelbel’s Canon.” His left hand hit the lower notes while his right hand played the quicker notes of the dreamy opening. “You still got it?” 

“I think so,” she replied, sitting a little straighter, going through the notes in her head. 

“Ready? And now.” 

On his mark she pressed F sharp, counting to four before pressing E and repeating the counting. Jack had taught the song to Ella on a whim, and they had played it a few times on different occasions, usually in the small hours of the night. Jack had learned the song from his teacher when they were studying religious music in his first year, and Johann Pachelbel’s name had come up. The repetitive pattern of the song made it sound deceptively easy to learn but mesmerizing at the same time. The fact that you could play it alone or with another player made it ever more captivating.  

Her right hand moved slowly toward him on the keys, playing the full notes until they started to trace their way back. “Two hands, ready?” he asked. 

She only nodded, lifting her left hand on the keys and pressing down on both hands. Jack hadn’t realized before how much of a dance their playing was. Her hands would move closer to him and move back again only to come closer again. When they had played it before, they laughed when their hands would almost pump into each other, and they would poke each other lightly using their elbows to get some more space to play. But this time neither one of them laughed. Without realizing it, Ella was feeling the same captivation Jack had experienced with the piano, how the music took hold of her and revealed an emptiness inside her. Jack, on the other hand, had never before felt Ella’s presence so distracting. He had a difficult time concentrating on the song and its progression. 

His teacher had taught him to play it as a duet, but he had made some alterations to it with Ella who had never played the piano before. He had shown her the complete song a few times, but since they were usually playing for fun, he had finally taught Ella a simpler version where she didn’t have to master the complicated two hand notes. Usually, he would take over from her, but this time he was too distracted by her body leaning against him and her perfume folding time and memory in his mind to remind her of the coming switch until it was too late. But she didn’t miss a note. To his surprise, her timing was impeccable when she switched to half notes or to quarter notes, and her fingers seemed to find their own way on the keys. 

Jack couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He wanted to say something to Ella, crack a joke about her practicing in secret, or outsmarting her brilliant teacher, but his body didn’t respond. He couldn’t stop playing. His mind was in a frenzy, but his fingers were dancing in perfect harmony with her fingers. The more he tried to fight it, the more his mind got sucked into a vortex of memories. The pictures swirled in his head with the quickening tempo of the song. He saw himself teaching Ella to play the song for the first time, sitting in an empty classroom with a bottle of wine, laughing together. Then they were playing it again at some party in his friend’s apartment. Then he was playing something totally different, and she was standing next to the piano, smiling at him. He remembered it being someone’s birthday, but he had played for her. At that moment, he realized that every night, every time he played it was for her. Every song, every tune, every little jingle he had played she had been in the back of his mind, encouraging him forward. The pull of the piano was stronger than ever, and he didn’t hesitate a second to follow that pull, but what he found had nothing to do with the piano.  

When the last note of the song was but a memory and a silence had descended into the room, they were both breathing heavily. Ella could feel her cheeks burning, and Jack didn’t dare to look at her. The image of her was still in his mind. It was too much. He had never really thought about her that way. Not really. Not since the first summer, anyway. He had learned to love her as a friend. 

“That was…” Ella realized she had no words to even begin to describe what had just happened. 

“Yeah…” Jack was just as loss for words as she was. They glanced at each other but looking at her eyes was somehow even more confusing. It was as if he saw her for the first time. He had always known she was beautiful, but now she seemed to possess an aura that made her unique in this world. Whatever had happened during their duet, he felt like everything between them had changed. He dared his fate and turned to look at her, and after a smallest pause, she turned to look at him as well. He was totally captivated by her beauty at that moment, how her eyes seemed to shine faintly, how a stubborn lock of hair had escaped again and was covering her left eye, how she was biting slightly on her lower lip. He wanted to remember this moment forever. 

“Ella, I…” He hesitated for another moment. 

“There you are.” A man’s voice cut him off. She stood up, and Jack glanced at a man walking toward them. He would have recognized Hugh Winston anywhere. The man’s boyish good looks had always irritated Jack, as did the constant smile on Hugh’s face. It didn’t help that Hugh’s family had enough money to put the Vanderbilts to shame.  

“Darling,” Ella said flustered. Was there maybe something more in her eyes? Jack wasn’t sure but was it embarrassment? “You’re here.” 

“Yes, I finally got rid of that dreary man,” Hugh answered, walked briskly to the woman and kissed her on the cheek. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yes, of course. We were just…” She waved absentmindedly toward Jack and the piano. “Hugh, this is Jack, my friend I was telling you about. Jack will play tonight at our party.” 

“Ah, yes, Ella’s told me all about you.” Hugh smiled at Jack and extended his right hand. 

“I seriously doubt that,” Jack said. He didn’t get up but did shake Hugh’s hand quickly. “We’ve actually met before.” 

“Oh, really?” Hugh asked, surprised. 

“Yes, last fall,” Jack said, and started to play again. It felt like the piano drew his hands to it, forcing him to play and feel those smooth keys. “On Ella’s birthday party.” But the touch was emptier now, hollow in a way he couldn’t understand. 

“I don’t seem to remember that,” Hugh said with an apologetic smile. 

“We just shook hands,” Jack said, angry that he had mentioned the whole thing. He had thought that he could make Hugh look bad by not remembering him, but somehow Jack felt worse now than a moment ago. “I didn’t stay long.” 

“Yes, you had that thing that night,” Ella said hurriedly, “in Upper West Side. What was it? A concert?” 

“Just an audition.” Jack didn’t have an audition that night, though he had convinced everyone that the recruiter he was meeting was an eccentric genius who worked odd hours. But the truth was, he couldn’t stay at the party where everyone met Hugh the first time; he just couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t understand it then, but now it seemed perfectly clear why he detested the man so much. 

“Ah, yes. I think I vaguely remember now,” Hugh said. He gave Jack another apologetic smile while wrapping his arm around Ella’s waist. “You play really well.” 

“Thank you,” Jack replied. 

“Jack studied at Manhattan School of Music,” Ella said proudly. 

“Wow, that’s impressive,” Hugh said. Jack hated the appreciation and awe he saw in Hugh’s eyes, which he faked, Jack had no doubt about it. He didn’t want to say anything, because he had no words ready. That is why, like so many times before, he let his music do the talking for him. He felt his fingers jumping on the keys; left hand giving a rhythm while his right hand did its magic. The song was one of his improvisations he so often played when he wanted to impress someone, but it sounded oddly more classical than jazz. Must be all that Verdi and Beethoven, Jack though absentmindedly while continuing to play. 

“You really do play wonderfully,” Hugh said after a moment. 

“Jack is a natural genius,” Ella agreed, but looked a bit uncomfortable. 

“I think we should get going,” Hugh said after they had listened for a while longer. “There are still a ton of stuff to do before the party.” 

“Yes, you’re right,” Ella agreed. “We’ll see you at the party, Jack.”  

Jack just nodded and focused more on his playing. He tried to use the music to conjure up an expression of his feelings, trying to vocalize the ache he was feeling in his heart. He tried to give a shape to what felt like an insurmountable longing; too vast to comprehend and too deep to accept. He had tried to convey it before, with the red piano in Brooklyn – hell, with every piano he had played – but none of them had managed to come close to what he was feeling. Because he didn’t know what he was trying to say, but now in the turmoil that was his heart he knew what he wanted, what he needed. 

With this grand piano Jack felt his emotions and intentions flowing through his fingers, finding resonance with the piano, and finally exploding with the fury of a thousand choirs. Every deep sound reverberated through the air giving shape to his longing, every high-pitched sound pierced the veil of silence to declare his desire toward Ella. He felt it, he knew no-one could mistake his intention this time. The music reached its climax, the desire made into being. When the music finally faded away, he was breathing hard, he could feel sweat on his forehead. His fingers were trembling with excitement and fatigue. He turned to look at Ella, but the room was completely empty. He could feel his heart breaking. 

*********************** 

The engagement party of Hugh Winston was the social event of the summer. Hundreds of people were invited to the festivities on the top floor of the Ritz hotel. Naively Jack had thought that he would have been the main entertainer of the party, but he soon realized that he was just a side-show: there was a whole band playing on the other side of the floor where the party really took place. He ended up playing the piano in a mostly empty room with only a random guest peeking in before deciding to find better entertainment and servings. 

To Jack, the night was a disappointment on every level. He had planned to dazzle everyone with his music, with the sheer scale of music he could play. No matter what the request would be, he could play it. He could see in his mind the crowd gathering around his piano, everyone mesmerized by his talent. And because this was the engagement party of Hugh Winston, there would be at least one patron who would recognize his talent and want to secure his future in this city. That was before the duet. Before everything in the world had turned upside down. The clouds had covered the blue sky outside, and the rain had started just before the party.  

Jack had wanted to talk to Ella before the party, to pull her aside and tell her how he felt. The problem was he didn’t really know how he felt. Yes, everything had seemed perfectly clear in that daze after the duet, but what was he really thinking? Ella was engaged to Hugh, and she was his friend. He couldn’t very well go and ruin her engagement party, especially since it was pretty clear that she didn’t feel the same way toward him. Which left him the only fool in the room. 

As the evening went on, it became clear none of his dreams would come true. The only people interested in his music were a group of people who were so drunk they couldn’t tell the difference between Verdi and Mozart.  

“You should play something happier,” a member of the group, a pudgy man with thin moustache, said to him, earning a laughter from his friends. 

“Sure,” Jack replied, “is this more your kind of music?” he changed the tune to a perkier song, which seemed to earn praise from his ardent listeners.  

“Well now you’ got it, old chap,” another man jeered, waving his champagne glass in the air and almost spilling its content on the piano. After a few moments the cheerfulness died down a little when they recognized the tune of Old MacDonald Had a Farm, with some embellishment, of course. 

“Maybe something like this?” This time everyone recognized The Wheels on a Bus straightaway. 

“Hey, what’s the meaning of this?” the other man demanded, while others looked at Jack with unfriendly eyes. 

“You’re a funny man, Mr. Piano,” the other man said as the group wandered off, leaving Jack alone in the hall, playing silent tunes.  

He couldn’t help but think that this was Hugh’s revenge, agreeing to have him play at their party only to hide him from everyone. A perfect insult disguised as a favor. He would be rewarded handsomely for music no-one heard. 

“I guess we have more in common than I thought,” Jack said, and smiled to the piano. The piano didn’t answer, but Jack didn’t sense a barrier between him and the piano anymore. The music he played was flawless; his fingers didn’t hesitate or err. He had never played with such ease and confidence. He didn’t have to think about playing a song or go over the song before playing it; he just played whatever came into his mind. Jack had tried to play Verdi’s Requiem on the piano when he was still studying at MSM, but he couldn’t keep up with the infuriatingly fast tempo and complicated patterns. He always had to focus more on his right hand which meant his left hand would fumble, or vice versa. There had been a particularly annoying incident in his second year, when a fellow student named Jean Baillairgé had challenged him to play Requiem. Jack had played well enough though he couldn’t play Dies irae without pausing a few times. Jean, on the other hand, had played it with elegance Jack could only envy. 

But now, sitting in front of the grand piano in the empty room, Jack didn’t even hesitate to play the song. His fingers didn’t freeze or waver but flew from key to key. He felt invincible. From the lowest tune to the highest sounds, Jack knew instinctively how to play, how to create a sound that filled the whole room and would fill an entire cathedral. But now, chained to that empty room, his rage and sorrow was but an echo that died on the myriad of corridors, muted by the roars of laughter. There might have been a waiter or two who glimpsed into the room, but once they saw Jack manically playing the piano, they hastened their steps and gossiped to each other about the madman playing the old piano. The manager heard the murmurs at some point, but when he heard that Jack was playing in an empty room, he saw it best to leave the madman be, and to see to the needs of Hugh Winston’s family. 

“Let him play,” the man said to a particularly shaken waiter who had heard the frantic parts of Libera me but played with such intensity it seemed like the whole building was going to collapse. “Just close the double doors in the west corridor. That should keep the guests out of there.” And it did. After that there were no more visitors, wanted or unwanted, leaving Jack in complete solitude. 

The fury and sorrow of Requiem didn’t bring the hotel down, nor did it bring a change to Jack’s plight. When the last notes died in the air, he found himself all alone, but with an empty feeling inside him. He had given everything from himself, his love, his passion, his anger and rage, but to no avail. No-one had heard him, no-one had even noticed him. It left him desolated.  

His only comfort at that moment were the smooth keys of the piano. The music hammered his chest and made every hair of his body stand up; he felt more connected with the piano than any other instrument in his life. It was ecstasy, bliss, pure freedom from doubt or fear. Finally, it felt like he had found something that was close to his feelings, to his heart. And it left him more despairing than ever.  

“You do play beautiful music, my dear Doctor Frankenstein,” a woman’s voice called from the door. He didn’t see her, but he didn’t need to see her to know who she was; he would recognize her voice anywhere. 

“Frankenstein never played the piano,” he said, and started to play a slow jazz song. 

“But he did toil in the dark, trying to bring new life into this world,” Ella said. She walked slowly toward Jack. She was wearing a long, elegant, light-blue dress. It looked perfect on her. It made her look like a movie star, or a European royalty who had come to grace the life of mere mortals with her presence. 

“I remember the villagers trying to burn him at the end,” Jack smiled, and glanced at Ella from the corner of his eye. “Is that the mood out there as well?” 

“No,” Ella said with a smile. “No, I don’t think anyone is coming for you with pitchforks or knives. Which must be a surprise to you.” 

“Nobody understands my music,” he said with a faint smile. “Shouldn’t you be at your party?” 

“I’m taking a break from Hugh’s aunts, and their incessant questions about our wedding and children and the new apartment. Honestly, don’t they have anything else on their mind?” 

“You know old women, they love you,” Jack replied with merry little melody that sounded awfully pretentious in his own ears. 

“I wish they could find someone else to love so deeply,” she sighed and leaned against the piano. 

“You know that is not possible,” Jack said in a low voice. “There is no-one quite like you.” 

“Tell that to those old hags, who seem to think there are dozens of better girls lining up for Hugh.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t speak Old-hag,” Jack answered. 

“How is that possible?” Ella smiled. 

“That I don’t speak Old-hag? Well, my mother did want to send me to Hagvard so I could get a degree in Old-hag, but alas it was music for me in the end.” 

“No, not that,” Ella laughed. “You, how can you be so friendly at times and quite impossible at other times? Someone told me there was quite a derelict pianist playing Old MacDonald Had a Farm to the guests.” 

“They were morons,” Jack answered curtly. “They didn’t appreciate Verdi.” 

“And that’s another thing. Jack, honestly, why are you playing funeral songs at my engagement party?” 

Jack hadn’t really thought about it from Ella’s viewpoint, and he didn’t have a ready answer for her.  

“Well?” she insisted. 

“It is one of the greatest compositions in history,” he finally answered. “Your old life is behind you and your new life begins today. I think it’s rather fitting.” 

“Is that what you think? That my old life is behind me?” 

“Well, isn’t it? You didn’t have to hide from some old hags when we used to hang out. Now you’re socializing with the Winstons and Vanderbilts and who knows who else, planning your perfect life in the high society.” The gnawing emptiness inside him was turning into red hot rage. How could she not see what he was saying? 

“Those are grievances,” she replied, but there was an edge in her voice. Her patience was running out. “Nobody has a perfect life.” 

“You’re right, but is this the life you want? Fancy parties and summers at the beach house? I bet your parents are over the moon tonight.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. He had met Ella’s parents only once, and he had a distinct impression they didn’t really care for their daughter to spend too much time with him. 

“Leave my parents out of your jealousy,” Ella snapped at him. “They’ve got nothing to do with this.” 

“No? I bet you met Hugh at some event your parents took you to. What was it? Lunch on Fifth Avenue? Dinner on Upper East Side? You used to make jokes about those events.” 

“Are you’re saying I should be ashamed of my new life?” There was fire in her eyes when she stood beside the piano like the incarnation of fury. “Or maybe I should ask you how to live my life?” 

“No.” He was starting to feel desperate. Everything he said seemed to come out wrong somehow. He knew what he wanted to say, but when he said the words out loud, they had morphed into something completely different, into something hurtful. “I am saying, I don’t think you want that life. Remember all those nights at MSM when you told me about your dreams? Do you think Hugh will support you and your dreams?” 

“Don’t talk about Hugh,” she said fiercely. “You don’t know what kind of a man he is.” 

“I know exactly the man he is,” Jack snorted. 

“How could you know? You can’t stand to be in the same room with him for five minutes. And when you are in the same room you are just cracking jokes and making a fool out of yourself.” 

“Because I’ve met hundreds of Hugh Winstons. They are all smiles and polite gestures, but every good deed has a hidden edge, every compliment is backhanded. He’s a snake.” 

“A snake? How dare you?” For a moment, when looking at Ella, Jack feared he had gone too far. “What makes you such a good judge of character? You’ve walled yourself off from other people, always choosing the piano over a living human being. You’re just a coward hiding behind your music.” 

“A coward?” Her words had hit him hard, turning everything into a mockery. “Isn’t that a bit rich, considering your darling husband-to-be hid me here, in the furthest corner of your party?” 

“Hugh didn’t do this,” Ella replied. 

“What?” 

“Hugh didn’t… I chose this room for you.” 

“You did this?“ he asked, unable to believe what he had just heard. “You had me play in your engagement party, only to lock me into a corner?” Jack felt his heart beating faster and though part of him tried to calm him down, to make him think before spewing out words he might regret later, he couldn’t think straight. Yes, he had hated the idea of playing at Ella’s engagement party, but it did offer him a chance to further his career. Or, at least he had thought so. Now he was just a fool in everyone’s eyes.  

“I did it because I knew you wouldn’t want to be at the center of this party,” Ella said desperately. “I knew you didn’t want to sit in front of the Winstons or the Vanderbilts. And when I saw this piano,” Ella pointed at the piano, “I just knew you had to play it. I don’t know how, but when I stepped into this room I thought of you. I thought that here you could play the music you wanted, and you could meet people who were really interested in meeting you. But instead, you decided to turn into the Phantom and now everyone thinks you’ve gone absolutely insane.” She didn’t seem so much angry as frustrated. “I thought this was what you wanted.” 

“You thought I would want to hide here? Now I see, you’re not embarrassed by your new life, you’re embarrassed by me,” Jack snapped and stood up. He couldn’t stay still anymore. He had to pace around the room. He felt as if he was caged, the walls seemed to inch closer with every breath he drew. “Is that it? You’re ashamed of me?” 

“No!” Ella raised her voice to match his. “How could you ever think that?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, being locked away kind of makes you wonder.” 

“I didn’t want to lock you away, you buffoon,” Ella snapped, taking a few steps closer to Jack. “I wanted you to play this piano. I knew you had to do it.” 

“Oh, I just had to play this piano here,” Jack laughed sarcastically. “No other piano in the world would do, and hey look! it’s in the furthest corner of the entire hotel. Doesn’t everything just work out perfectly sometimes!” Jack knew he sounded childish; he felt childish, but he couldn’t help it. He felt himself hurt, and the thought that it was Ella who had betrayed him was the thing that stung him the most. 

“You’re being an idiot!” Ella shouted back at him. 

“Well, no wonder then that you don’t want to be seen with me!” 

“Oh, forget it,” Ella sighed and turned away as she started to walk toward the door. “You’re impossible. Have fun playing your piano here alone.” 

“Oh, I will! I’ll have more fun here than anyone else at this stupid party!” Jack stared at Ella’s back and he felt dissatisfied, the last words weren’t strong enough. He still had to say something else. “And I can’t believe that just half an hour ago I thought I was in love with you.” 

“Yeah, well you can… wait.” She stopped in the middle of her fierce comeback and turned back to look at Jack. “What did you say?” 

“I said, I can’t believe I thought I was…” The words dried up in his mouth as he realized what he had just said. He hadn’t thought about it, he hadn’t thought about anything. Even if he had thought about something, he wouldn’t have said those words out loud. He had been angry and wanted to say something, anything to win the conversation. To have the last word that would have haunted Ella the entire night. But it certainly wasn’t supposed to be this. “I mean…” he tried to say something but couldn’t formulate any words. He could only look at her. 

“You thought you were in love with me?” Ella asked him, taking a careful step closer. “Half an hour ago?” 

“I didn’t mean…” He began but couldn’t finish the sentence because he didn’t know what he had meant. Everything was a mess in his head. 

“You didn’t mean what?” she asked with a dangerously neutral voice, taking another step closer. “You didn’t mean to sprang this up on me tonight? You didn’t mean to confess your feelings to me on the night of my engagement party? After you’ve just told me in detail how an awful person I am?” She was walking up to him now, and Jack felt weak in the knees.  

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Jack said exasperatedly, trying to grab onto any coherent thought or feeling he could then articulate to Ella, but he could have as easily tried to catch piano music with his fingers. “I don’t think you’re a horrible person-” 

“Awful,” Ella intercepted. 

“Yes, no, you’re not an awful person either.” Jack took an involuntary step backward when Ella took another step closer.  

“But I’m just marrying a snake and hiding my head in the sand, selling my soul for an easy life? How can you be selfish and tell all of this to me today of all days?” Ella exclaimed, and hit Jack’s chest with her right hand. After a second she hit him with her left hand and then again with her right. “How can you do this to me tonight!” 

“Because I was afraid to tell you,” Jack finally snapped, and caught her hands. “I’ve always loved you! But it wasn’t until today when we played together that I realized it. Yes, I might be the most selfish person in the world, but I can’t keep this inside me anymore.” He looked at her and leaned a little closer. “I can’t lose you, Ella.” 

Ella just stared at him, but there wasn’t anger in her eyes. Well, there wasn’t just anger in her eyes. 

“Say something,” Jack pleaded when she hadn’t said anything for a minute. 

“What do you want me to say?” she asked. She didn’t pull her hands away, she just stood there only inches away from Jack.  

“Say anything. Say you hate me. Say you want me to go to hell. Just tell me how you feel.” 

“I hate you.” Her words punched the air from his lungs. “I hate you, Jack. For doing this tonight, and not on any of the hundreds of nights we spent together. You realized it half an hour ago? How dare you? After all those nights when you hid behind your music.” She finally pulled her hands free, and Jack didn’t try to stop her. 

“Ella…” he trailed off. 

“Don’t, it’s too late. You’re too late,” she said quietly before turning away from him.  

Jack watched her walk away, feeling his insides twisting into knots. He glanced at the piano and remembered the duet. Somehow, he knew he could never play that particular piano again, it was a primal feeling not unlike the one he had had when he played with Ella earlier that day. He had felt the connection with Ella as strongly as he felt the disconnection with the piano now. There was nothing for him here anymore, and everything out there. He ran after Ella. 

********************************** 

That was the last time Ella or Jack stepped into that hall on the upper floor of the Ritz hotel. Jack never got to play the grand piano again, and even though he played many pianos later, he never experienced such a magical connection with another piano. He did, however, find it elsewhere.  

The rumors started circulating on the corridors of the Ritz after that day. Someone said that the bride of Hugh Winston had stormed out of the hotel during her own engagement party. Waiters swore she had made a huge number in front of the Winstons before throwing her engagement ring out of the window. The chef’s assistant knew to tell that the bride had actually ran out from the back door, still wearing her wedding dress. The maid knew to tell that the bride had booked another room for herself, and left in the morning, alone. The concierge would tell that he saw her running out from the hotel into the rain, waving a taxi. The doorman said that he had seen a woman ran out into the rain, but he had no idea if she was the bride of Hugh Winston. He knew to tell, however, that the woman was followed by a man. The doorman was about to interfere and call the police when the two had shouted at each other in the rain, but once they had embraced each other, he had thought better of it. What they all agreed on was that the wedding of Hugh Winston was called off. 

The piano didn’t know any of this. It lay dormant in its slumber, waiting for the next connection it would feel. But it cherished the memory of the young woman who had stepped into the room that summer. It had felt the deep sorrow in her soul; a sorrow that was lifted only when she played the duet with the man. And the piano was rather pleased with itself for that.