Piano in the Dark (5 page)

“Counselor, you know the court’s rules about cell phones. I suggest you silence it while I’m in a good mood,” Judge Akers offered from the bench. Her eyes beneath her excessive plume of red hair were exaggerated by her large, thick-rimmed eyeglasses.

“Your Honor, it’s not mine,” Jim Warner, one of the firm’s distinguished senior partners, said as he looked inside the coat pocket of his suit. I was oblivious to the matter, trying to organize the documents I’d delivered for the large class-action case Jim was trying today. Until I realized they were both looking at me.

It was my phone. I’d forgotten to turn off upon entering the courtroom. Credit my returning to work a day earlier than what was prescribed by my doctor for the slip-up. My mind was still not fully back in gear, but I was needed.

“Sorry,” I mouthed silently as I hastily ended the ringing. As it powered down, I had a moment to glance at the number of the incoming call. Not familiar. Probably a wrong number getting me in all kinds of trouble.

“Do you need to take that?” Jim asked as I went back to my arrangement of his presentation items and exhibits.

“No,” I answered discreetly. “Probably a wrong number. I’ll check on it later.”

Later
came during a recess to allow a key witness for our case time to arrive from the airport. It was an unseasonably warm and humid day, but I welcomed the chance to defrost outside along with the casts of potential jurors grateful for an escape from the frigid confines of the Harris County Civil Courthouse. Confidently clear of Judge Akers’s edict, I retrieved my phone and turned it on as I leaned against the brick retaining wall.

“Hey, baby. Have a brief break, so figured I’d call,” I said

“How are you feeling?” Dawn asked. Our agreement was that she let me go in to work and I would call at my first available moment.

“Good. Real good. I’m pacing myself just like I promised. Despite enjoying your company, I was going stir-crazy.”

“Yeah. You were driving me a little crazy too with all your pacing. Couldn’t even enjoy
The View
without you wanting to change it to CNN,” she joked.

“Well, enjoy your TV, babe. It’s all yours once again. I’m about to go back inside the courthouse.”

“Okay. No working late, though.”

“I promise.”

As I prepared to shut my phone off once again, it buzzed with the delivery of a text message.

The message was a number I didn’t recognize. Probably same as my earlier missed call.

I rapidly replied as I looked at my watch.

I texted back, wondering who could be toying with me like this.

I sent upon further thought.

Whoever was messing with me was slow on the response. Almost thought one wasn’t coming. I went to turn off my phone again, tired of the games. Then it buzzed.

But tomorrow could wait because today was calling my ass back inside the courthouse.

I sat in our conference room, the impressive view of downtown Houston behind me, as I assisted Jacobi’s depo prep—deposition preparation—of one of our clients. I sat at one end of the large mahogany table, looking at the police report in my hands as Jacobi, opposite me, asked the questions. The well-kept Latina cougar named Iris wasn’t very believable in her version of facts yet. It was our job to change that. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes when Jacobi placed his hand atop hers to calm her down, feigning ignorance to the dazzling wedding ring she wore. Oh-so-empathetic; I’d seen this move before by him.

I received a text just as I was about to interject. Same number as yesterday that I didn’t recognize.

I replied to my anonymous jokester. Jacobi was right here, so it couldn’t be him. Now my mind began racing with this distraction, wondering if perhaps it was a wrong number.

I asked, knowing I was too busy, but allowing the amusing game to continue.

“Chase, do you have anything to add?” Jacobi asked, getting my attention. His hand still rested on our client’s and she didn’t seem to mind. The blank stare of my face probably had them both puzzled.

“No. I think you pretty much summed it up,” I lied, looking up from my phone. Another buzz alerted me, compelling me to gaze downward once more.

I was rewarded for my devotion with a photo of a smiling Ava. Wow. I’d hoped it was her. The text that accompanied it read:

I had many a question, like how did she get my cell phone number. But right now, I only had a desire to be there face-to-face.

I abruptly stood up, interrupting Jacobi as he stressed the importance of listening to his instructions during trial and not letting the defense get under Iris’s skin. Right now, he’d rather be under her skin himself. I caught his attention, motioning randomly toward my head as if I were still addled from the car wreck and needed some air. He nodded for me to get out of there. As I left down the hall, I wondered if they’d be there when I returned or perhaps in some nearby hotel room pursuing a serious
debriefing
of one another.

As I cast silent aspersions, I reminded myself that I was no better hustling to rendezvous with some random female…for lunch.

I texted, calculating how fast I could safely get there without risking another crash.

At least Jacobi was single.

I had no reason to heed the siren call in my head.

Yet I followed.

With no regard for the rocks ahead threatening to crash and submerge all I held dear.

Having a tiny rental car had its benefits. I swooped into a just-emptied parking spot on Travis and promptly hustled across the street to the Breakfast Klub, one of Houston’s landmarks for good eats.

I texted as I searched the line of customers at the door for a glimpse of a face matching the one on my phone. Women at a table outside were selling purses with two interested patrons asking the prices as I walked by. I paused to acknowledge them as they glanced my way. A professional-looking brother in a nice suit garnered attention from the fairer sex most days.

Ava replied with a text of her own.

I eased past the line, receiving a scowl or two from hungry folk thinking I was cutting. Upon entering, I was overwhelmed by the sensory overload of spices and seasoning, instantly making my mouth water. I stepped aside, politely nodding at one of the passing staff as I looked for Ava. I found her seated alone, center table, with hair pulled back and Coach reading glasses to appear somewhat bookish. A singular point of calmness amid the commotion of people swirling all around her, plates of food being served about to the newly arrived as the recently satisfied left. When she recognized me, she waved. Far from vain, I felt self-conscious about the minute traces of my car wreck still etched in my face. Still, I waved back and came over.

Before I had a chance to sit, she stood up and hugged me tight. I held my breath this time, fear of coconut seduction haunting my dreams once again. When she kissed my cheek, I exhaled, throwing my resolve out the window. Damn my weakness. Despite her casual appearance today, Ava cast a spell over me and there was no denying it.

“Thank you for twisting my arm,” I said as I gestured for her to return to her seat. She wore a jeweled print tank and form-fitting dark denim jeans, which I appreciated.

“Hope I didn’t get you in any trouble.”

“No. Just the normal tedious nature of things.”

“Which you don’t like,” she added, more as a statement than an assumption. Ballsy.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t have to. I know these things,” she said, tapping a single finger to her temple.

“So arguing is pointless?”

“
Oui, monsieur
. But I’ll stop. When people push too much, you resist,” she replied matter-of-factly as she put her cup of their signature Klub Karmel Machiatto to her lips. Made me think about Dawn’s countless admonishments concerning my career. “You’re healing up nicely,” Ava said as she reached out and gently touched my face. I felt the electricity arc off her fingertips. That familiar tingling like that night at the pub. I wondered if any of other the restaurant-goers could sense it too.

“Yeah. Just a few scratches and bumps. I’m lucky,” I said, wondering if I was referring to surviving the accident or simply meeting her.

“What did your wife say about my gift?”

“The painting? Oh. She didn’t see it,” I said not-so-truthfully. Damn concussion again. “I…accidentally left it at the hospital. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she replied, an odd smile drifting across her face. “That one was kind of hurried, anyway. My stuff’s usually less abstract.”

I began to say something, but happened to look over her shoulder, noticing some of the artwork adorning the Breakfast Klub walls. They always exhibited local artists’ work for their customers’ appreciation as well as purchase. Several of the current pieces resembled the tiny memento given me by Ava. One of them had a piano in it too—a pair of little hands resting on its keys beside an older pair.

Interesting.

Fascinating.

Familiar. Yet I didn’t know why.

“You were about to say something?”

“Uh…yes. How’d you get my number? I know I was dazed, but I’m sure I didn’t give it to you. Didn’t get the chance.”

“Wondered when you’d ask,” she said as she giggled. She positioned her order number on the table so it could be viewed easier by the waitstaff. “Chase, before I returned your phone to you at Memorial Hermann, I dialed my phone from yours. Just like you did when we first met. Some line about—”

“Fear of rejection,” I answered for her.

Stunned.

Utterly stunned.

“You remember!” Ava gushed, color flooding her face and fire dancing in her eyes.

“Yeah,” I answered with a nervous grin. I remembered that particular encounter at college. Except it never occurred with Ava. It was something I’d said to my wife Dawn when we first met. How did she know this? Now my not remembering Ava had become troubling on so many levels.

Before I could decide to address it, two plates of food were delivered to our table.

“I know you don’t have much time, so I took the liberty of ordering for you. Hope you don’t mind.”

She pointed for the wings and waffle order to be placed in front of her. The other plate, the one with a cheezy 3 omelet and two biscuits, was for me. My favorite. All that was missing was…

“I already poured the hot syrup for your biscuits,” she said, sliding the small maple-filled plastic container my way.

Too much. She had me spooked now. It was as if someone had given her a script. “Really. Who are you?” I asked, semi-serious.

“Chase!” someone called out from behind me before Ava could respond. She motioned for me to acknowledge whoever it was. I looked over my shoulder to see Jacobi and our client Iris as they sought an open table. It would be a funny coincidence if I didn’t have to explain myself to my friend later. He grinned as he carried the number for his table’s order, his eyes travelling between me and the woman with whom I sat. From my previous description of Ava to him, he had to know this was her. My mystery woman.

They stopped, leading me to think they were going to ask to sit with us. The look on my face begged him to spare me and not to ask. Nevertheless, I reached up to shake his hand.

“Hey, man. Early lunch too, huh?” I asked calmly as if my skating out on them back at the office were no big deal.

“Mrs—Iris here,” Jacobi said, correcting himself at her insistence, “wanted some fresh air, so I suggested we grab a bite to eat. I see great minds think alike.”

“Yes,” I said, knowing the bite he wanted to eat was Iris. I was trying to avoid similar thoughts of my face stuffed between Ava’s legs at the moment, but wondered recklessly if she could deliver on the promises of my imagination.

“Hello. Jacobi Stewart,” he said, shaking Ava’s hand before I had a chance to willingly introduce them.

“I know you!” Iris blurted out from around Jacobi as she leaned in to get a better view of Ava. At least somebody remembered her. “It’s been a couple of years, hasn’t it?”

“Yes. You’re right,” Ava answered nervously, something unspoken between the two of them. “How’ve you been, Iris?”

“I’m doing good these days. Real good,” Iris replied. “These fine young men are helping me with my case.”

“Yes, so if you ever need a good law firm, call us. Or just call Chase here,” Jacobi said to Ava as he placed his hand on my shoulder. “I still didn’t get your name, miss.”

“Charla Nuttier,” Iris answered for her enthusiastically. “You’ve never heard of her? I have several of her paintings. Incredible artist,” she said to Jacobi.

“Thank you. You’re too kind,” the woman who told me her name was Ava replied. “Actually, some of my other works are on the wall here,” she said to both of them, confirming my earlier suspicions. I looked at the paintings again. She was an impressive artist and even more an enigma than before.

“I’ll have to check them out, ma’am,” Jacobi stated. “It was nice meeting you.”

As Jacobi and Iris darted for a freshly open table, I stared at Ava, who seemed uncomfortable with the attention. And why did Iris know her by a different name? We began eating our food with me enjoying this simple time with Ava. But she kept Iris in her sights, pausing from her chews whenever Iris spoke to Jacobi and looked her way. Suddenly, she dropped her fork mid-meal. “I have to go, Chase,” she said.

“But you didn’t finish your food,” I blurted out, relishing the meal she’d bought me.

“I know. I have to go, though.”

“Well, let me walk you out.”

“You don’t have to,” she said, suddenly trying to distance herself from me as if I no longer interested her. She fetched her purse from beneath the table, then excused herself. I left a tip, hastily taking a final bite of my syrup-drenched biscuit, then followed in pursuit.

“Charla Nuttier? Why does she know you by that name?” I asked, overtaking her in the parking lot. My stomach still yearned for my half-finished omelet and the other biscuit left abruptly at our table inside. The lawyerly part of me had many questions, but this was the most immediate one at the moment.

“It’s the name I do my work under. Allows me freedom.”

“And allows you to remain a mystery,” I said, my turn to play know-it-all. “Any more I’m supposed to know, Ava?”

“Yes. Lots. Just not here,” she sang, her interest back.

“Uh-huh. Do you need a ride wherever it is you’re in such a hurry to be?”

She shifted gears, breaking from the pace she’d begun. She reached up, gripping my arm as she pulled herself up to my lips. Contact. The kiss was soft, sensual, but teased of more ravenous wants. “No. I’ll be fine, Chase,” she said, patting my chest as if subconsciously talking herself out of something reckless…for now. “Thank you for coming when I called. I needed to see you.”

“Hey. Can’t promise I’ll drop everything in the future if you call,” I threw out there blindly with a shrug of my shoulders.

“You don’t have to promise, Chase. You have my number now. Maybe I’ll be the one to come running. In fact, I can almost guarantee it.”

Rather than going to my car or returning inside, I watched Ava as she walked away. Stood there, fixated, until I couldn’t see her anymore.

Then I stored the number in my phone under the name of Charla Nuttier, creator of fine works. For as beautiful as her paintings were, she was the true work of art.