Hidden Away (12 page)

I nearly shouted,
I don’t know how.

I leaned my head down and rested it against the frame of the piano. The evening wasn’t going the way it was supposed to. Rehearsal had been fine. I’d played well, but now that it was just he and I playing in this deserted cavernous hall, my fingers wouldn’t do what I wanted them to do. I grew more and more frustrated with every moment of failure.

Peter, for his part, remained calm and collected. He kept pushing me.

All night he went on about finding the music within. In theory, I understood what he was telling me, but I couldn’t do it. I had no idea where inside to find it.

I sat back up and loudly closed the lid over the keys, then turned to begin counting the seats in the front row.

“Kurt.”
“I think it’s enough for tonight.”

I pushed the bench out and attempted to stand. To my surprise, strong hands were on my shoulders, gently keeping me seated. “Please stay.” The nearness of his voice sent shivers down my spine, energizing every part of me.

Now that I was aware of him behind me, I could feel his heat. It soaked through my shirt, into my flesh, through my body, into my heart and lungs. My breath shook as I felt one of his hands trail over the length of my shoulder blades. When he sat down next to me, I couldn’t look at him, so I focused on the wood covering the keys. I tried to find shapes in the grain.

He raised the lid, then picked up my left hand, and using his exquisite fingers to uncurl mine, he placed them on the keyboard. “Play,” he whispered.

I shook my head. “I can’t play how you’d like me to.”
“I don’t care how you play. I simply want to show you the ecstasy that comes with allowing the music to move through you.” He brought the middle finger of his right hand down over the middle finger of my left hand. I felt a bit queasy at the small action. It was soft and kind, and no one had touched me like that since my mother tucked me into bed for the last time.
“There’s a difference between being the originator of the music, and being a conduit of it.”
I allowed my eyes to slip closed as I brought my right hand up to the keys.
“Have you ever been a conduit, Kurt Klein?” he asked. I loved the way he spoke my name.
I licked my lips but remained silent.
“Music is bigger than a person. If you let it, it will fill you, warm you, love you like you’ve never been before.”
With a gulp, I tried to control my breathing, but then I felt his warm hand on my knee. Breathing was not easy, and there was no controlling it. “Peter.”
I could hear him inhale and feel him exhale. Desperately wanting to see him, but not trusting myself to do so, I kept my eyes shut. His breath hit my cheeks. When I imagined his lips close to my skin, my whole body reacted with gooseflesh and surging blood.
“Sometimes,” he whispered into my ear, “I get a fluttering deep in my belly.” He slid his hand up an inch. “It turns into searing, steaming heat, and when it’s too hot, it seeps into every piece of me, creating the most delicious tension ever felt. As the pressure inside builds, so does the need to release it. It’s not meant to be held inside. If I try, it’ll turn painful. It’s meant to be shared. Sometimes I think I’ll break from it. That’s when the music explodes inside of me, forcing its way out.”
Without thinking, I depressed the key under my thumb. Then the index finger of my right hand moved. Then music played by hands and heart was heard.

“That’s it,” he said, voice slightly louder now. He took his hand away from my thigh, but I forced my eyes to remain closed. The heat of him faded. I struggled with the loss, but when I heard his violin playing with my piano, the waves crashing inside of me grew even fiercer. I let them out through my fingertips.

I didn’t even know what I played. I was
just playing
!

Slowly, the crashing within me ebbed, and I stilled my fingers, opened my eyes, and found Peter’s smiling face. We were silent, our eyes connected, communicating in a way that would be illegal for our voices to do. Most days, most moments, I was awkward and unsure, but not in
this
moment.

In this moment, I stood my ground, quietly facing off against this beautiful man. He wasn’t a rival, not an adversary, but he represented something I couldn’t quite define.

He moved to me, sitting down again, violin resting in his lap. “Perhaps you would care to see my apartment. It’s near.”

The strength I felt a second before broke. Insecurity crept in. He was inviting me to his home. If I went, I knew I would let myself cross a line that shouldn’t be crossed.

Looking away, I answered, “I should get home.”

 

“It’s not late.”

 

Glancing at my watch, I said, “It will be.” Especially if I went home with him.

“Please?” I could hear the smile in his voice. “No. I must leave.”

“Kurt Klein.” I looked up and was caught in his gaze. “Please stop denying me.” Had he ever been denied something he wanted before? The thought hit me like rocks hitting water. Peter Waldenheim wanted me. “I—”

“Don’t say no.
Please
, don’t say no. I have a piano. We could… play music that’s forbidden, and no one would know.”

I wasn’t sure if he was conveying something else he’d like to do, but either way,
forbidden music
with Peter sounded thrilling. However, I didn’t dare. “My uncle says—”

“Forget your uncle.
Play music
with me, Kurt.”

I stood up. His dark blue eyes were still fixed on me, and I could not look away. He stood there imploring me, his body rigid. I didn’t want to say no.

“You live nearby?” I asked.
A grin broke his serious expression. “Yes.” “I can’t stay for long.”
Before I could talk myself out of it, I was

walking down the street next to Peter. We kept a safe distance between us, but even so, the air sung with the tension I felt. My stomach gurgled with nerves and my flesh tingled with excitement.

I followed him up the steps to a large building after five minutes of walking. Inside, a man sat at a desk and smiled at Peter, calling him by name.

“Ladies,” Peter said loudly, forcing my attention to two women sitting across from the desk, smoking cigarettes. Both had dark hair and wore thin dresses. Their skirts rode a bit high as they sat, revealing too much of their stockings.

I thought we’d just walk past them, but Peter stopped.

 

“It’s about time, Herr Waldenheim. We were growing worried.”

He held out his arm, and one of them moved to him quickly. The other took my arm, even though I didn’t offer it. She kissed my cheek. Confusion set in, and all the excitement I had felt drained.

I didn’t have the courage to leave, though I wanted to. Following Peter and the woman up the steps, I kept thinking how I must have misread the cues. I’d thought for certain Peter was interested in me, but now he had a woman on his arm. So did I.

No music would flow through me by her touch. I felt nothing as her hand draped over my forearm. It was dull compared to Peter’s hand on me.

We reached the top floor and entered into an apartment. As soon as the door was shut behind us, the girls dropped our arms in unison. Peter’s kissed him on the cheek, then took the other girl’s hand and pulled her toward a hallway to the left.

“What is this?” I asked.

 

Peter responded, “My apartment. Do you like it?”

I didn’t care about the decoration or the instruments, so I didn’t look around. “Those women….”

“Live next door,” he finished. He reached for me and touched my hand. I pulled away, but followed him as we walked down the same hall the women had. “Appearances make living easier.”

We entered a room; then he pressed on the wall. It popped open, revealing a door. “The ladies and I have an arrangement. Should anyone come knocking on our doors, we can easily change the appearance of the situation.”

“I don’t understand.”

He smiled at me, taking my hand in his. This time I didn’t pull away. “Forbidden music is forbidden. Approved music, even when the circumstances aren’t ideal, will never land anyone in a place they don’t want to be.”

Swallowing hard, I averted my eyes from his again. “You talk riddles.”

 

“Wouldn’t your uncle agree that these times are cause for riddles?”

I left the room, my fists balled up at my sides. He was having a laugh at me. There was no actual laughter, but I knew he was having fun at my expense. I should’ve never opened my mouth around him. I should’ve never come here.

“Hey,” he whispered as he caught up to me. Peter took my breath from me by lifting my chin with this index finger. “I didn’t want to make you sad.”

No longer sure of what he was truly after, my mind grew incredibly muddled. Thoughts of music, of friendship, of my uncle, of the wholesome German people swirled within. This was growing too complex; I needed to return to the simple life I’d had before meeting this man.

“What do you want from me?” I finally asked.

Once I brought my eyes to meet his, he allowed his lips to curve up ever so slightly as he said, “To see you live free. As attractive as you are, I can only imagine how magnificent you are when you’re not in a cage.”

I creased my brow at his words. “I’m not in a —”

“Life is more than a routine. Life is music, art, poetry, love, sex, dirt, grit,
passion
. It’s a kind of passion that cannot be contained.” He paused, tilting his head to the side before continuing. “You are
so
…
contained
.”

Taking a step back so he was no longer touching me, I again looked at his feet. I wasn’t sure why his words were making me panic, but I was on the verge of it. He said I was in a cage, that I was
contained
. Peter was a free spirit, someone who had probably lived more life in a few short years than I would if I lived to be ninety-nine.

I should not have been in the same room with him. I couldn’t compare. He was fun, and vibrant, and happy. I was none of those things and didn’t belong next to him. It was foolish of me to think we could…

Could what? I was still unsure of what
I
thought might have happened between us.

“See?” he said. Glancing up, I saw his hand extended toward me again, and I took another small step back. “You never smile. I want to see you open up to the joys already before you.”

Though I didn’t want to speak, the words came tumbling out of me automatically. “There’s not much to smile about in times like these.”

He touched me, hands on either side of my face. I couldn’t back away from him anymore, but now that I felt his touch, I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay next to his heat forever.

“
In times like these
? Did your uncle tell you that?” The disdain was easy to hear. “Don’t listen to him or people like him, Kurt. There’s
always
cause to smile. Every day, you can see reason enough to smile. Days are still beautiful, no matter who is in power. Birds still sing—perhaps not now that it’s winter,” he said with a look that threatened to make my knees buckle.

“There are still beaches where waves crash and little colorful creatures burrow into the sand. Water still flows and creates the music of nature. Grass still grows. It still feels the same beneath your feet. People still touch. Still connect. Still kiss. The whole world is something to smile about. Just open yourself up to it.”

He moved his thumb over the bone beneath my eye. He was so close to me I could only focus on his lips as they moved. My heart raced and my breath struggled to keep up.

“All forbidden things will be accepted. Goodness and rightness will always win; we just need to be patient and smile at the beauty that is present.”

I shook my head in his hands. Peter—his entire being—compelled me to speak, to voice my thoughts as I’d never felt able before. “I’ve never experienced a day at the beach. I’ve never been given the chance to simply listen to the birds. Ever since I was young, the world has been harsh and bleak and nothing to smile about. Simple things may be beautiful, but not all of us can see them. Some of us must focus on the darkness.”

“But why?” He used the tips of his fingers to rub gentle circles behind my ears.
“Because there is no light or beauty. There is only darkness. There is only survival.”
Letting his hands slip away, he rested them on my shoulders. “I don’t believe that. You’ve experienced beauty and light. You wouldn’t be a musician if you haven’t. Birds, water, music, nature, grass, sand, kisses, sex, love—”
I hung my head and lowered my voice to where I hoped he couldn’t hear. “I’ve never experienced that.”
“What?” Again, he lifted my head and I was forced to look directly into his eyes.
“I’ve never… kissed or… or… or….”
Peter backed away completely. The loss of his heat hit me immediately. As if for protection, I folded my arms over my chest.
“Never kissed?” he asked, shock in his voice and on his expression.
“No,” I managed to confirm.
“I don’t believe it.”
“It’s true.”
He shook his head. “A man like you?” I didn’t understand what he meant, but couldn’t ask because he continued speaking. “You’re gorgeous, Kurt. Truly, gorgeous. Extremely talented. You have a great smile, when you allow it to grace your features. You have so much to give, and—”
“But I’m caged.”
“You don’t have to be. You can break free. I can help you.” He was close to me again. “Never kissed? That needs to be fixed
very
soon.”
I looked around the hallway as if the answers were written on the walls. I was trapped, but I wanted to be with him, though the thought of
kissing
him made the panic roll in again.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I didn’t mean right now.” He leaned in closer. I could feel his lips against my ear. “You’re safe with me. Nothing will happen that you don’t want to happen.”
When Peter pulled away, he dragged his lips across the skin of my cheek. My knees buckled for a moment, but I found strength enough to let him take my hand and lead me back to the sitting room. It was only now that I took in the place, the large open room, the upright piano, the worn, yet somehow still elegant sofa.
We stopped in front of the piano. He pulled out the bench and motioned to it for me. We both sat down and stared at each other. I didn’t know where to begin, so I waited for him to ask, “Want to play?”
“I don’t know any banned pieces. I’m sorry, I —”
“Shhh.” His soft expression was a comfort. “It doesn’t have to be prohibited music. We can play what you know.”