Thick and Thin (an atypical romance)

FIVE

I left my seat slowly as I fished the cell phone from my purse. Had to share with Dane my adventure. Dude! Almost got run over by police, saved by cello-playing hot guy.

Dane’s reply came before I hit the stairs down to the floor level. On a scale of 1-10, how hot are we talking?

Well, if one figured in how good Finn smelled… Easily a 12. Smells like the forest. Dark hair, sky blue eyes. Looks good in a suit. And he asked me out. So dinner, here I come! I replied back.

The reply hit me before I reached the large doors leading to the lobby. LOL get some… put a bounce back in your step! HAVE HIM DOUBLE BAG HIS JUNK AND CONTAIN HIS BABY GRAVY.

A blush attacked my cheeks with heat and I stifled a giggle as I entered the lobby to awaited Finn whilst people mingled about me, talking among themselves about the performance. Snippets of conversation drifted around me, like leaves in an autumn wind, until it all came to a standstill when a particular tidbit burrowed into my ear.

“Good evening to you, Talia Quinn.”

With a smirk pasted to my face while my heart beat in delight, I turned to face the voice and bobbed a curtsy. “Finn ‘the musician’ Xaviar, must say I enjoyed the view immensely. Thank you again for the seat upgrade.” From his seat on the stage, could he have seen my excitement at the performance?

A nonchalant wave dismissed my gratitude. “The box seats were mine, I just didn’t have a reason to claim them. So thank you for giving me a reason.” He carried his cello case with one hand, while he proffered me a crooked elbow. I laced my arm through his and we left the symphony hall. Night had settled over San Francisco, warded off by modern city lights. A cluster of taxis awaited patrons along Grove, and Finn led me to one parked close to us.

The cab smelled surprisingly of Nag Champa incense, and the driver asked, “Where to?”

“Just down the street. Jardínere, please.”

The cello, cellist and I sat in the back and mere moments later arrived outside a multi-storied red brick building flooded by golden light. A black awning stood sentry at the door. Finn paid the driver with a twenty, and we made our way inside.

The hostess in black led us past a large round bar with a backdrop of liqueur bottles, past the staircase lit with clear champagne buckets holding candles. “Would you prefer your usual room, Doctor Xaviar?” That she knew him was obvious, considering he had a ‘usual room.’

He turned to me, the subdued lighting glinting off his dark hair. “Would you prefer to dine in private? Or out here?”

I appreciated that he asked, and chose the public option. “Out here is fine.” It wasn’t just because he was a stranger, and if anything had been drilled into my head, it was that strange men had potential to put a girl in a predicament she’d rather not be a part of; but that I felt a lust swirling inside me that threatened to burst forth and put him in a predicament should we be left alone.

With menus in hand, the redheaded hostess led us up the curving stairs to a balcony overlooking the restaurant’s lower floor. A small table and two chairs were afforded some privacy by sheer drapes forming an enclosure. The hostess held the gauzy fabric aside for us to enter the nook. Finn pulled out a chair for me, and after I sat myself, he placed the cello case underneath the table, against the balcony’s railing. It stuck out a tiny bit, but didn’t impede foot traffic. “Come here often?” I couldn’t help but to ask.

He nodded. “Every time I’m in San Francisco.”

“And you have a usual room here?” I prodded, curious to know if he disliked dining in public or if some other reason lurked beyond my comprehension.

Finn nodded and gave a smile smile. “I generally don’t like keeping my cello in a public space like this; a private dining room means it’s easier to keep an eye on the instrument and prevent mischief or accidents. Because shit happens.”

I nodded and understood. He’s a cellist, and that instrument is probably his livelihood. “I see. I hope you don’t mind me choosing a public space, though.” I swear, it’s for his own good.

His bright blue eyes twinkled. “Not in the least. You don’t know me, and were I in your shoes, I would choose the same. So tell me, Talia, what is it you do for a living?” A part of me heaved a sigh of relief that he didn’t realize that I felt wound up as an eight day clock, ready to spring all over him. To my way of thinking, he must have been interested in me to some degree, else why extend an offer to eat after the concert? He could have pulled me out of the way of the police chase and gone on his merry way, not giving me a second thought aside from being a story he can tell. You know, the time he saved the chubby chick from certain doom.

Ah, small talk. “I’m a department supervisor for an online retailer. What about you? Full time cellist?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I did this concert in exchange for a favor from the conductor. It’s how one gets ahead in Academia. My ‘real job’ is teaching Music Theory and Music History at Sacramento State University. I’m a department head, too.” And he winked at me.

“Ah, well, I head the customer service and support department. I take it you head the music department?”

Finn nodded. “Yep, although that’s a newish development. Still getting used to it.”

“Since you work in Sacramento, I take it you don’t live in San Francisco?” My curiosity, thoroughly engaged by this man before me, stoked the excitement factor nearly to the point of teenybopper in his mere presence. The likelihood of seeing him again after tonight seemed slim, but one could hope.

“You are correct. How about you? A city dweller?”

A giggle bubbled up from my lips. Me, an urbanite? Ha. I’d be lost in the jungle of concrete and glass. “Oh no. I live in a town with a population of nine thousand, about an hour and a half north of Sacramento.”

“In the city for just the concert then?” He asked softly, as a waitress brought glasses of water. Finn looked up and asked her, “Wine menu, please?”

While she went to fetch that requested item, I responded to the question he directed at me. “Pretty much. On vacation, and enjoying all that San Fran offers, entertainment-wise. Best my town offers is cow-tipping, now that the movie theater shut down.”

Those deep blue eyes of his twinkled like moonlit stars and I couldn’t but help admire the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Sounds quaint, if dull.” He lifted the water glass to his thin lips and drank. His fingers were long and lean, just like the rest of him.

“Without a movie theater, it is very dull.” I toyed with my necklace and sipped my own beverage. The stones in my hand seemed too hot to be warmed by my skin alone, unless I burned with a fever and didn’t realize it.

Finn cleared his throat and asked, “I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but I don’t see a ring on your finger… so no Mister Quinn?”

The closest I ever got to a Mister was the Ex Who Shall Not Be Named. “Oh no, not married or otherwise attached to another being.” The words burst through my lips, eager to put his mind at rest. “You?” I hoped he was single. If he wasn’t, I had no qualms about getting up and hailing a taxi back to my hotel. I don’t like the thought of being party to a man’s infidelity.

“Me? No. Was married, but that ended five years ago. Since then I’ve focused on my career.” His disclosure seemed to hang heavy on him. Must have been a terrible breakup. Finn continued, “Have any plans for later? I was wondering if you’d like-”

The waitress reappeared, a ruby red menu embossed with gold in her hand. “Here you are. Doctor Xaviar, would you like your usual cocktail?”

He replied, “Not tonight, thanks. If it’s not a problem for the Chef, I’d like the tasting menu tonight for my guest and I. There is a 1994 Henri Jaye Premier Cru ‘Cros - Parantoux’ in the wine cellar with my name on the bottom. I’d like it served during an appropriate coarse, please.”

I know what a tasting menu is: small portions designed to make you want more before moving onto something new to tingle the taste buds. Watching No Reservations with Anthony Bourdain has taught me that. When I left my hotel room earlier tonight, little did I expect to find myself swept off my feet and life saved, treated to a show, soon-to-be wined and dined by a very educated, attractive, single man. Total inner girly squee of delight commenced between my ears and skated down my spine, only to collect betwixt my thighs.

A smile and nod later, the waitress left to tender our order to the kitchen, and I found myself telling Finn Xaviar, “To answer your question, I have no plans for later. My original agenda was the hit symphony and order room service. Ever since I got my shoe knocked off, plans changed.” I felt the blood flush my cheeks. What was it he was hinting at? Or was he not hinting at keeping company longer and only curious? Inquisitive minds want to know.

He looked at me, and for a moment he brought to mind Sam the Eagle, the blue heavy-brewed Muppet. The hawkish way he studied me had my mind whirling at the potential of what his thoughts could be. “How did you enjoy the Bach piece?”

His tangent threw me through a loop of sorts. I fully expected him to continue on the topic of After Dinner. “It was…sad. Depressing. Maudlin. Melancholy. A downer. I take it’s supposed to be that way?”

Finn cocked his head and looked at me like he was a quizzical kitten. “Yeah, it’s supposed to be that way. Never heard it described as a litany of negatives, though. Can say that the piece would sound slightly different when played on a modern instrument, but the piece’s inflection would remain its essence of boo hoo, as evidenced in it’s first movement. Want to know something random?”

My curiosity, engaged, couldn’t resist his question. “Always.” Truth was, I wanted to know much more about Finn Xaviar. When I watched him talk, my eyes focused on his mouth and the sensuous movements it made. Conjured up the want to feel his lips pressed against my own. Had to quell the shiver that made the hair on my arms stand on end and harden my nipples.

“The other movements of the piece are down-tempo French dances.”

“Really?” I found it difficult to imagine people gallivanting around a ballroom to the tune of a funeral dirge.

“Truly. Way down tempo. It the dub step of the Baroque period.”

“So Bach was a Baroque Skrillix? Any other musical wisdom you wish to impart upon the ignorant?” Couldn’t help but ask. I enjoyed his randomness of conversation and the expressions his face made when faced with my opinions.

“Yeah, kinda. And no, no more musical wisdom. Not at the moment, but if inspiration hits I will let you know.” Punctuated with a killer smile. “Tell me more about you, Talia. You’ve captured my curiosity.”

Being put on the spot made my mind go blank. “Uh, what do you want to know about me?”

“Right now? Everything.”

I laughed. “Ah, nobody has time for that.”

“Very well. Tell me why you chose the symphony in San Francisco rather than something closer to your home?”

Odds were that I’d never see this man again. I had nothing to lose by telling him the truth. “Ever want to forget the past? That’s what this trip is for me. I’m pampering myself because I feel the need.”

He nodded slowly. “I understand. So, back to my question from a while back. Would you be interested in maybe some bocce ball at The Hidden Vine? Or if you prefer, we can go play at the Academy of Sciences and have a go on the earthquake simulator.”

Audaciousness snaked through my body. Wanted to snark a reply of him shaking my world at the suggestion of playing on an earthquake simulator. Instead, Self Preservation decided to check in for once. “First I need to know if this is a common habit of yours, picking women up on the street and enticing them with fun and games and temptations of shaking their world.”

He looked startled. “Since you ask, no. It’s not a habit, common or otherwise. When I saw you on the street with your head in the clouds as police sirens got louder, I couldn’t help but respect your lack of situational awareness in regards to your life. Since then, I’ve wondered what it was that engrossed your attention so thoroughly to ignore clear warning signs from authorities.”

Oh, how he would mock me and I blushed. But still I answered his unspoken question with honesty. “I was thinking about music. Like, I heard the sirens but my train of thought went in the direction that instruments would sound so much better and I couldn’t wait for the show to start.”

“Well, I’m glad you got your wish of music.” He lifted his water glass high in salute. “Huzzah!”

I lifted mine, pleased that no mocking was to be had. “Hear, hear!”

A waiter brought the first course, a plate of charcuterie for Finn and I to share. Mousse and Salumi and other tasty bits of animal were shared. Then a white bean and smoked duck soup, light in body but with a depth of flavor. A salad of heirloom tomatoes, cucumbers, red onion and feta. Through delicate bites of caviar and tender smoked salmon, a terrine of foie gras served with brioche. Then the fare changed pace. Charred octopus with wide pasta, then Alaskan halibut and sweet corn. Each portion no more than two and a half bites. When the nibbles of lamb came, so did the bottle of wine.

Finn poured me a glass then one for himself. “Been saving this bottle for a long time. Thank you for giving me a reason to pop the cork.”

“What reason would that be?” Pulling a woman out of the way of a motorcycle is worthy of a bottle of wine in a classy place? Okay. Noted for future reference.

“For being interesting. Attractive. Funny. And a damsel in distress who didn’t even realize it. Please don’t take that the wrong way— some guys love the opportunity to wave the chivalry flag and play the Knight Errant. Fate intervened and I got to help. Don’t hold it against me. My mother beat that mentality into my brother and I.” And then he unleashed a smile that put all his others to shame. “I don’t date, haven’t for years. I have no expectations. If you got up and left right now, I’d probably eat what’s served, finish my bottle of wine and not begrudge you for anything. Felt more alive tonight that I have in years, and if that’s due to you, I’m okay with it. And if not, well, at least the wine still tastes good.”

I laughed. “Ah, in vino veritas?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, I have no intentions of leaving before dessert. And I haven’t ruled out the possibility of getting my bocce ball on, all though I’ve never played. So far I’ve enjoyed your company immensely. And, uh, thanks for saving my life.”

“Don’t thank me.”

Kiss me passed through my mind, but I squished that thought down. I’m okay with no expectations. And I don’t want to put either of us in a position that could get super awkward. But I couldn’t ignore my deep attraction to this man. “Fine then, I won’t thank you, Sir Finn the Knight Errant. Be that way.” I stuck my tongue out and he laughed.

“See, that’s what I like about you. Whimsy is a facet of humanity often overlooked, yet here you are, embracing it with vigor.” With that proclamation, he saluted me with his upheld wine glass.

“Don’t consider me a representative of whimsy. I’m a terrible, horrible person beneath this quirky facade.” I only half-meant it. There’s gotta be something wrong with me that Nic couldn’t even tell me why he dumped my ass. Or maybe something wrong with him, but still, I dated him. If I couldn’t recognize signs that must have been there of his discontent, then yeah, there’s something wrong with me. Dammit. Don’t want to think of him, not now, not ever. “Scratch that. I’m awesome, if odd.”

“Welcome to the club. Your teeshirt is in the mail.” I appreciated the snark rolling off his tongue. Couldn’t stop looking at him either. Lean. That’s the word I could choose if I had only one to pick. An angular face with thin lips. Patrician nose. His hair, dark with silvered temples, gave him a yummy older guy vibe. The formal wear merely added to the whole situation. Finn was delicious.

Decided to meet his snark with a broadside approach of my own. “But you don’t have my address.” Gave him an over-exaggerated frown face. “Alas.” Guess that teeshirt will have to be hand delivered. Could even be the premise of a porno flick.

Then he fired back. “Actually, I was wondering if I could get your number?” Eyes as blue as a sun-lit sea and fringed in thick black lashes shone at me from under heavy brows. Couldn’t look away if I tried.

A heady mixture of elation and being flabbergasted whipped through my body, leaving a wake of tingles that centered in my chest to pool downward. “Seriously?” Dude, he sank my battleship.

Finn bit his lower lip, worried it with his pearly whites, and then replied, “Very seriously. Look, I realize I’m a stranger and if you’d rather not, it’s completely understood. Or, if you’d like, you can have my number and text or call whenever you want. I just ask you don’t post it in a Casual Encounters on CraigsList or any other sort of forum for shits and giggles.”

“Were I to get your number, I would like you to know I don’t participate in creepy asshole behavior. And for the record, I’ll let you know later if I want your contact information. So far, I haven’t ruled it out.” Wasn’t playing hard to get, that’s what I told myself. But I didn’t know the probability of seeing him again after tonight, and it seemed presumptuous to assume I’d see him again, at least at this point.

“Duly noted.” And he smiled.

Dinner passed, the bottle of wine mostly drained, and dessert served. No check for our dining experience came. However a short, slender older man— in his sixties, at least— walked past our table, did a double take, took a step backwards and held out his hand to Finn.

“Doctor Xaviar, I didn’t expect to see you here. Figured you’d be in your hotel room, cradling a highball by now.” Clipped English accent poured from his mouth, and he continued, “I saw your performance. You used The Cello tonight. Are you sure you don’t want to sell? I know of a very interested buyer. Name the figure and it’s yours.” The way he emphasized The Cello piqued my curiosity.

Finn didn’t take the hand and shake it. He stared at the hand as if it were a cobra, and looked up into the jowly face of the interloper. “Sir Mycroft… didn’t realize you weren’t in London.” Finn’s voice lowered, “Pardon me if I don’t shake your hand, but you already know the answer… I will never sell it. But thank you for asking. Again. What, isn’t it eight times now? Do you get your jollies from being turned down?”

The Englishman smiled, yet his gray eyes seemed humorless. “Nine times. I suspected you still weren’t interested, but I didn’t want to assume as much and couldn’t pass by the opportunity to ask you in person, not since the last time you dealt with my representative. But if you ever change your mind, you know how to contact me. And if I get wind of your next performance, I shall be there.”

Finn gave a short, close-lipped smile. “Indeed. And good evening.”

Dismissed, the Englishman walked off and down the stairs. I looked to Finn and asked, “Do I want to know?” The cold interaction between the two men demonstrated there was much more to the story than mere wanting to buy a cello.

“Eh, he’s wanted to purchase my instrument for almost six years. He’s followed my performances for as long— which is one of the reasons I’ve stopped performing in general and focus on teaching.”

“Yeah, I can see how that’d be awkward.” I can easily imagine how self-conscious I’d be if there was a creeper following me from show to show. Would be unnerving. “What’s up with the cello? Why is he so interested in it?”

Finn frowned and sat silent a minute before answering. While I waited in silence, I sipped my water and wondered why he needed time to answer my query. He cleared his throat and stated, “Because it has an unusual provenance.”

“An unusual history? That’s it? Not stained with the blood of a hundred virgins, is it? Or is it a monkey’s paw of sorts?”

“It’s a historical item, made by a master luthier of some renown. Mycroft knows who the luthier is, but doesn’t know the full ownership history. Whoever gets this cello after me will be informed of the provenance, but the instrument cannot be sold. Especially to Giles Mycroft. The man is a leech.” Distaste sat heavy in his voice. “I’d rather donate the cello to the Smithsonian or a university than let that man lay a hand on it.”

“Why? What has he done? Sounds like to me that he’s done more than stalk your performances.” But I’ve got an active imagination. Maybe I’m reading too much into his facial expression of dislike. Either way, my butt was glued to the seat and he held my full attention.

Finn poured the last bit of wine into his nearly-empty glass and gave it a swirl before chugging it down. “You really want to know?” He was curious about my curiosity, or so it seemed to me.

I nodded. Had the feeling I was about to watch a car accident. “Only if you want to tell me. You aren’t under any obligation to do so. I’m just curious because your distaste for him is evident.” If he didn’t want to share, I could respect that. The proper thing to do would be drop the subject and possibly contemplate the night’s potential.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and let it out slowly. “I’m only telling you this because you asked me outright and it’s a fair question. Please note for the record it’s something I prefer not to dwell upon.” A brief pause filled with a deep sigh took center stage before Finn continued. “I intensely dislike that man because the first two times he tried soliciting a sale was before and after the funeral for my wife and daughter. As in accosting me graveside after everybody left. The fact he can’t take no for an answer simply pisses me off exponentially. I hate the man, but he’s a major player in terms of the classical music world. Can’t outright tell him to shove an old, splintered shovel handle where the sun doesn’t shine. So I teach, instead.” The entire time he held my gaze.

“Oh wow. I am so sorry. I…I didn’t realize it was something like that. Can’t blame you one bit for disliking him. I am so sorry for your loss.” I felt horrible for asking. Oh shit, that’s heavy. Felt bad for him. Until the revelation came from his lips, I never thought it would be something really traumatic, like death of family. He lost a child and his wife. God, that hit me right in the stomach. My own recent relationship loss paled in comparison. A morbid curiosity lurked, half-wanting to know vague details of how his family died, yet half-wanting to not know horrible circumstances, because quite frankly those details were none my business.

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat and continued. “Now that I’ve utterly killed the mood, what would you like to do? This is your Get Out of Jail Free card if you’re ready to bail.” He gave me a sad smile. “Can’t hold it against you if you decide to bounce out for the evening.”

I offered him a smile of hope. “Still down for bocce ball? If not, it’s cool.” Maybe I’m a horrible person that I still wanted to bask in his presence despite the pall cast over the evening. The mystery surrounding my knight errant only deepened every time he revealed something about himself. From the why of his ‘usual’ private room, to seeing firsthand the influence of another which bolstered Finn’s want for privacy, I could kinda-sorta wrap my mind about the undoubtedly complex world in which he existed.

He gave me half a grin, which I counted as an upgrade from his sad smile. “That is doable, but only if it’s not a pity thing. I don’t want pity.”

“Not a pity thing. More of an empathy thing. And I want fun tonight.”

“Empathy? How exactly does that differ from pity?” Why didn’t he comment on fun? That was his get out of a heavy-conversation free card, and he chucked it right out the window.

My hand sought out the gemstones slung around my neck, seeking the gems’ heat, seeking a way to not fuck up tonight. “Pity indicates I feel bad for you. And yeah, I do, but I also feel for you, and can sympathize. I imagine seeing Mycroft is like salt in an open wound, most especially if all he focuses on is buying your cello.”

Finn nodded slowly, a calculating look in his eyes. “Very much so.”

I offered him a wider smile. “Well, if you’re still up for adventure, we can hit The Hidden Vine. But I imagine you’re going to not want to bring the cello along— that is, if you’re still interested in running amok tonight.”

“You would be correct. The cello is a terrible bocce ball player. If you’re okay with it, I’d like to stop at my hotel and deposit the instrument.” His hands were clasped before him, wrists resting on the table’s edge. His fingers were long and his nails indicated he wasn’t shy around manicurists. Then he looked at me in such a way that I felt as though every nerve tingled in anticipation. Anticipation of what, I wasn’t sure. Only that I wanted to remain around Finn and see what the night would bring.

When he said that he wanted to stop at his hotel, I couldn’t help the onslaught of mental images barraging my mind. Perhaps the wine had something to do with it. Maybe the necklace I wore gave me a psychosomatic response to embracing my inner hussy and inciting lustful thoughts. And right now, in this very moment, lust happened to live happily in my brain, eagerly feeding on Finn’s presence.

Oh shit, I’m doomed.