Gun Games (18 page)

Chapter Nineteen

O
f course, 10:30 Yasmine Time meant 11:00.

When Gabe answered the knock, he tried to hide his disappointment when he saw that she had brought a friend, whom she introduced as Ariella. He had pictured her like the Disney character with a mermaid’s body and long red hair. Instead, the girl was around five three and buxom with unruly black hair and flashing brown eyes. She looked around eighteen, while Yasmine looked around twelve.

He invited them in and the three of them stood awkwardly inside the Deckers’ tidy living room. Yasmine was wearing a full black skirt and a white top and looked as if she were going to play in a school orchestra, especially because she was gripping sheet music. Ariella was garbed in a tight red sweater dress that showed every curve. Yasmine had described her as a wild woman. Now Gabe knew why. He finally said, “Why don’t we go in the back where the piano is.”

Ariella said, “I’m not staying, I’m sure much to your relief.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, you didn’t see your face when you opened the door.” Her laugh was raucous. “I came to tell you that if you hurt my best friend, I’ll kill you.”

Yasmine giggled. “Stop it!”

Gabe held back a smile. “Your warning shot has been heard. I promise you I would rather die than to hurt a single hair on Yasmine’s head.”

“Okay. I just wanted to get that out.” Ariella was still looking stern when she returned her attention to her friend. “I’ll come pick you up at one-thirty.”

Gabe said, “That’s only two and a half hours!”

Yasmine said, “Don’t worry. She’s always late, too.” She kissed her friend. “Go already.”

“Ariella,” Gabe called out to her as she walked out the door. “Thank you.”

She winked at him and left.

Silence. Gabe closed the door and leaned against it. “You know, I think this is the first time in six weeks that we’ve known each other that we’re actually alone.” A blush came to Yasmine’s face. “Can I kiss you hello?”

“You have to ask?”

He took the sheet music from her and gently swept his lips against hers. It was instant electricity. He put his arms around her waist and drew her to his body while she threw her arms around his neck. They kissed passionately for a few minutes and then he abruptly drew away. His face was hot and his glasses had fogged up. He never minded specs, but it was annoying at certain times. He wiped his lenses on his T-shirt, trying to contain his obvious arousal, but it was there and that was that. At least she didn’t say anything.

“You know, I really do want to hear you sing.”

“Later.” She stepped forward and planted her lips against his.

Again they kissed. He said, “I think you’re trying to put this off.”

“You’re right.”

He broke it off and put his arm around her shoulders. “C’mon before I faint. I’ll show you my studio. My piano shares space with the lieutenant’s Porsche.”

Walking with difficulty, he led her outside and into the makeshift practice room. It was far safer to be with her there than in his bedroom. He handed her the sheet music and sat down at the piano bench. “Do you want to warm up?”

Yasmine smiled. “And here I thought
we
were warming up.”

“I am trying to be considerate and you’re making me
die
!”

“Okay . . . I’ll sing for you.” Yasmine sat down next to him and looked into those gorgeous green eyes. “You know, I’ve never heard you play other than at graduation.”

Gabe ran his hands over the keyboard. “You’re stalling again.”

“No, really. I want to hear you play.” She put her hand on his knee. “Please?”

He leaned over and kissed her. “If you keep touching me, I won’t be able to do anything.”

“Please play for me, Gabriel?”

“Okay.” He took in a breath and let it out. “What do you want to hear?”

“I dunno.” She thought. “How about . . . like . . . ‘Flight of the Bumblebee’?”

Gabe groaned. Without looking at the keyboard, he began to run through the piece. “God, I think I learned that when I was five or something.” He stuck out his tongue.

Yasmine stopped him. “So if you don’t want that, play something else. You like Chopin, play Chopin.”

“Do you want flash or class?”

“How about flash?”

He thought a moment, then from the bang of a C-minor chord, his left hand flew down the keyboard at lightning speed in twists and runs until it was joined by his right hand, the music playing out a story in forte dynamics. He talked while he played. “ ‘Revolutionary Étude’ in C minor. Written after Russia invaded Warsaw. Chopin was Polish, so this is his like paean to his homeland although he was more French than Polish. It’s a good piece but it is a little bombastic.”

He stopped abruptly. “You know what an étude is, right?”

“ ’Course. It’s a study piece.”

“Yeah. Chopin wrote a bunch of them. That’s one of the most famous. I like his ‘Opus 10 number 5.’ ” With his right hand, he launched into a series of triplets in varying dynamics. “It’s all on the black keys except for like one white note. Not at all easy to play but fun once you got the fingering down.”

He stopped the music and smiled at Yasmine. She was wide-eyed.

“What?”

She just shook her head, speechless.

He shrugged. “How about . . . Let’s try ‘Grand Waltz Brilliant’ in E-flat major? I like it because it’s so musically vivid. I mean, every time I play it, I can picture this big ballroom with guys in foppish clothing and girls in antebellum ball gowns twirling around the room. It really takes you back to a different era.”

He began the introduction, which was a series of marchlike chords before launching into ¾ time. Again, he spoke as he played. “You can see the dancing in the music. Like you can picture the Viennese Waltz. You know, twirl . . . twirl . . . twirl . . . twirl. All the colors . . . the satin and lace and pomp. It’s just such a blend of visual and auditory . . . I dunno . . . it just is like . . . a snapshot in time.”

His fingers ran over the keyboard in effortless fashion.

“I just love the lightness of it . . . the grace . . . dancers floating through the air.”

He stopped playing and looked at her.

“Tell me when you’ve had enough of my narrative. Sometimes I go on a little bit.”

“You really make the music come alive.”

“You make me come alive.” He stopped playing, reached atop the piano and gave her a wrapped package. “Here you go.”

Yasmine stared at the gift, her eyes turning wet. “For me?”

Gabe made a point of looking around the garage. “No one else here. Guess it’s for you by process of elimination. Open it.”

With shaking hands, she undid the ribbon and opened the box. It was a blue-faced sterling-silver watch. She whispered a thank-you as tears streamed down her cheeks. Although she was already wearing a gold Movado, she tried to put it on. But her hands were too unsteady.

“It’s like a conceptual gift.” Gabe grinned. “Maybe if you wear two of them, you’ll be on time.” She laughed through her tears. “Why don’t you put the new one back in the box and it can be your school watch. I think your parents might notice if your gold one was gone.”

“My mother would, that’s for sure.” She stared at her present. “I really love it. It’s totally my taste.”

“I’m glad.”

She was still staring downward. “That was the nicest thing ever.” She regarded his face. “I think you’re the most marvelous human being in the entire world.”

“You do?”

She nodded.

“Thank you.” A pause. “Can I feel you up?”

She slapped his shoulder and he laughed.

“Please?”

“You want to feel up my
small
chest?”

“I love your small chest. I love everything about you.” He picked her up and sat her on his lap so they were face-to-face. She immediately wrapped her legs around him and he sprung to life. He slipped his hand under her blouse, then under her bra. “Your chest may be small, but it is truly a marvel of nature. Kiss me.”

She obliged, the two of them delighting in tasting one another. Kissing for several minutes as she squirmed on his lap until he felt as if he was going to explode. Without warning, Yasmine burst into tears.

Gabe pulled away, shocked. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head and sobbed.

“What’d I do?” Gabe said.

“Nothing,” she wept.

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because . . . I’ll never . . . ever . . . like another boy as much as I like you.” Again, she erupted with a fresh set of tears. “I can see it like . . . fifteen years from now,” she sniffed out. “You’ll be like this rich and famous pianist. And I’ll be like this Persian housewife . . . dressed in Juicy sweats . . . driving my two kids to soccer practice . . . in my black . . . Mercedes!”

She broke out in newfound wails. He hugged her as she cried on his shoulder. “First of all, there’s nothing wrong with being a good mom—”

“You’re right! I love my mom! I’m such a terrible daughter!”

She started sobbing anew.

Gabe patted her back. “Um . . . is it like . . . you know . . . that time of the month?”

“Probably,” she cried out.

At least she’d gone through puberty, he thought. That was a relief.

“I don’t wanna sing for you!” she wailed.

“No, no, no.” He pulled her off his chest. “You’re not getting away with that.”

“You’re gonna think I sound like a turkey fart.”

He held back a smile. “You will not sound like a turkey fart. And even if you did sound like a turkey fart, I wouldn’t tell you.” He stood up, her legs still wrapped around his waist. He set her down so she was standing upright. He started looking through her music. “Okay. Here we are. Der Hölle Rache.” He clucked his tongue. “This is a very challenging aria. You must have been taking lessons for a while.”

She nodded.

“You ready to warm up?”

“No.”

“C’mon.”

“I don’t want to warm up.”

“You just want to sing this cold?”

“Yes.”

“You want to sing F6—that’s F above high C—without warming up?”

“Yes.”

“Now you really are being a cuckoo bird.” She just pouted. Gabe spread out the accompaniment on the piano stand. “Okay.” He gave her the D-minor chord and nodded for her to start.

Nothing happened.

He stared at her. “How about you start when you’re ready and I’ll catch up to you?”

“I don’t wanna sing.”

“Stop it.” He struck the chord in tremolo and waited. She got the first few notes out and then the tears came back.

“You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“No, I will not laugh at you.” He sighed and blew out air. “Can I let you in on a little secret?” When she didn’t answer he said, “When a boy likes a girl the way I like you, we’re like . . . brainless. All you have to do is like show up and we’re happy. So stop worrying. Anything you do is going to be okay. Just sing your little heart out.”

“In my small chest.”

“You’re never going to let me live that down.” He glared at her. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“It’s okay,” Yasmine told him. “It is small. But it won’t always be small.”

“I know. I’ve seen your sisters. I just hope I’m still around to see the transformation.”

She hit him again.

“I’m going to have bruises.”

“Serves you right.”

He gave her a D-minor chord again. “Just go, for Chrissakes!”

She finally started. Definitely shaky at first, but by the time she got to the coloratura, she had found her vocal chords. When she finished, he wasn’t just amazed, he was astonished.

“Holy moly.” He let out a small laugh. “You really have a
voice
.”

Instant smile on her face. “You’re just saying that to be nice.”

“I’m not really nice when it comes to music. I’m very critical. You were . . . good.”

She was all light and happiness. “Really?”

“Really.” He shook his head. “Man, you’re gonna be killer in a few years when your vocal chords lengthen and chest cavity gets bigger and no comment please about your small chest. I mean that in a very positive way.”

“I need to work on my breath control.”

“Yeah, honestly, you do. But that’s what a vocal coach is for.” Again, he shook his head. “You really hit your notes. Do you have perfect pitch?”

She nodded.

“If you and I ever bred, we’d produce a flock of little kids who’d walk around with their hands covering their ears because everything in life would sound off-key. Really good job, Yasmine. Just incredible.”

She was beaming. “Anything else?”