Become a Fan
By Peter Hills
Friday, March 26, 2010
Rated "PG13" by the Author.
Andrew loved the piano music especially when Lesley came over for her lesson, yet the appeal was more than just her playing.
Andrew sighed. Each Wednesday afternoon was the same. Jean evicted him from their living room as she gave the piano lessons that she had arranged for that day. Any other day and it wasn't a problem, because he would be at work. But Wednesday was his day off, that and Sunday’s.
He could hear Jean in the kitchen, china clinking as she readied the crockery for a tea break between students.
"Who do you have coming this afternoon?" he called to her while he tidied the living room.
"I've got Lesley coming at two thirty," her reply came back.
Andrew froze, his heart skipping a beat. "You mean Lesley Foster?"
"Yes. Now do hurry up, she'll be here soon and I don't want any interruptions. We've a lot to get through today. She's giving her first public performance on Saturday evening, so we'll be practicing very intensely, and the last thing I want,” her voice grew louder as she came from the kitchen into the room carrying a cup on a saucer, "is you getting in the way."
Andrew shuffled some magazines on the coffee table, his mind spinning with thoughts of Lesley, The last time he had seen Lesley at his home, she had been wearing a short skirt, with high heels, and when she sat at the piano, the hem rose high, giving him a generous view of her thighs. He wondered, hopefully, if she would be wearing a short skirt today. "This isn't her usual day for her lesson, is it?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
"No," she replied testily, "she normally comes over on a Sunday. But as I said, we've her first performance on Saturday, which is why we're having an extra lesson today. I do wish you would listen."
"I did listen, but I was just . . ."
"You were just being irritating, as usual."
Andrew sighed inwardly, and his thoughts returned to the voluptuous Lesley, sweet single Lesley. Sweet, single, twenty, six-year old Lesley. Lesley with waist length wavy brown hair that shone, like a fresh conker that had seen daylight for the first time from its homed, green husk. Lesley, with an hourglass figure and .the face of an angel, with full soft lips And hazel eyes. Lesley, with full, firm round . . .
"Andrew!" snapped his wife, "stop day-dreaming, and get a move on. I really don't know what's gotten into you lately. It's like you're in a world of your own."
He looked sheepishly at her stem features. "Sorry dear, but I was just thinking."
"Thinking what," she said as she lifted her cup to her lips, her thin mean lips. Lips giving her an expression that made her look as though they had sucked a lemon before breakfast each day.
Jean rolled her eyes. "Don't give that old baloney. What is it that you were thinking?" she asked, her eyes holding him as though trying to hypnotize him.
"Well," he began, "you know, all the time you've been giving lessons, I've never once sat in on one and listened. I was wondering . . ."
"Certainly not.” She said, as if reading his thoughts. “You would be only an unnecessary distraction," she barked.
His face fell. "You know what I do, when you're in here, giving your lessons?"
She rested her cup on its saucer and her countenance softened a notch. "No, what do you do?"
He swallowed hard. "I sit... I sit on the stairs and listen. I listen to the beautiful music that comes from behind the door. I can tell who's playing just by the notes. Mrs. Robson who always hesitates at a certain point whenever she plays the 'Moonlight Sonata.' And young Melanie Richards, who always seems to hit the keys so firmly." He half-laughed. "I hear you gently correct her, telling her she doesn't have to smash down on the keys in order to make a note."
Jean regarded her husband in a fresh light. "I never knew you had such a rapt interest."
He shuffled awkwardly. "I do. I always listen. I spend hours on that staircase, and then when I hear that the lesson is over, I quickly scamper up the stairs. You never hear me because I've always taken my shoes off.”
The corners of her mouth twitched, as though she was going to smile. A futile attempt, because he was sure her facial muscles had forgotten which way to move. So long had it been since she had smiled. But maybe that wasn't such a bad thing, because when she did used to smile, it was the best imitation of a horse that he had ever seen anyone do. Whereas Lesley, when she smiled, which was often, she lit up the whole room. A bright beaming smile; the kind that Kodak must have had in mind and used as emulsion for their color film.
"Andrew, I never knew . . .” She paused. "All right, just this once, but please be quiet the whole time. I don't want any distractions."
His face relaxed into a satisfied smile. "Thank you," he whispered. He put the magazines away, fluffed up the cushions on the sofa and then sat is his chair and waited. Secretly he hoped that Lesley would wear a short skirt, she had the best legs he had ever seen on a woman.
Glancing up at the clock on the wall, he saw that she was ten minutes late.
Jean paced around the room grinding her teeth and looking at her watch constantly.
Andrew became anxious. Perhaps she wasn't coming. No, she would have rung. What if she couldn't ring? His pulse quickened. She must come. He heard the click of the garden gate open; then a few moments later the doorbell rang.
Jean marched from the room. He heard the door being opened, then heard Lesley's voice, soft and full of apology.
"Sorry I'm late, my car wouldn't start. I had to leave it at home and walk. I thought I'd left in plenty of time, but clearly I hadn't. I do apologize," she said as she entered the living room.
"Hello Andrew," she said, seeing him sitting in the chair, "how are you?"
Andrew's heart gunned like a motorcycle in his chest when he took in her form as she paused in the doorway. "Hello Lesley. I'm fine. It's nice to see you again."
"Are you joining us today?" she asked as she-went towards the piano which was silhouetted against the large window that looked out onto Jean's prize rose beds.
"Yes, yes I am. Jean was kind enough to say that I could"
"How lovely. It'll get me ready for Saturday. You can be my audience."
She smiled, and as far as Andrew was concerned, a field of daffodils had just blossomed.
He sighed contentedly. As she sat on the piano stool and rested her hands in her lap, the hemline of her skirt high on her legs.
"You walked you say?" Jean asked.
"Yes, my car ... I've been having trouble with it."
Jean went over to the window and scanned the sky. "It looks like rain." Then turning to Andrew said, "You can give Lesley a lift home, can't you. I would do it myself, but I won't have time, not now. David Malone will be here almost as we finish, so I can't do it. That's all right, isn't it?"
He nodded. "Yes, fine.”
Jean looked enquiringly at Lesley, who said, "Great. Thanks very much. Oh maybe I could get you to look at my fridge door while you're there, it won't close properly."
Jean laughed through her unsmiling lips, her protruding teeth flashing. "Andrew isn't very good with practical things."
"Well I can still have a look, it might just be a loose hinge or something."
Jean shrugged then said, "Would you just excuse me for a moment please Lesley. I need to make a visit to the little room." She mouthed almost silently the last two words.
"Yes of course. I'll wait for you to come back."
Andrew cringed. He hated it when she did that. Why couldn't she just come right and say she was going to the toilet. Or if that was too taboo, why not say the bathroom.
He sat back in his chair, his eyes intent on Lesley's ample bosom, accentuated by the close fitting, white knitted top that she wore. His eyes traveled down-wards over her tight black skirt, past her thighs, down her calves and stopped at her ankles. They-were the best part of a woman's legs, the ankles he thought. And high heels always made them look more sensual. Nervously he ran his tongue around his mouth, wetting his lips.
Lesley looked directly down onto the keyboard, mindful of Andrew's eyes on her. Neither spoke. The toilet door closed and he heard the bolt being slid into place. Lesley catapulted from the stool and swiftly crossed the floor towards him. He stood as she approached. Flinging her arms around his neck, she kissed him wildly.
"God, I've missed you," she breathed.
Their mouths closed over each other's again, their tongues fighting a fierce duel.
"Does you fridge door really need fixing?" he asked as they pulled reluctantly away from each other.
She grinned broadly. "Don't be silly, I've just bought it, it’s brand new. I said that to buy us some time together. My car's fine too."
They parted as they heard the toilet flushing and returned to their seats.
Lesley, her cheeks glowing pink, smoothed her skirt and slipping him a sideways glance, grinning seductively.
"Now then Andrew, you sit there and be as quiet as a mouse and don't move," Jean said as she came back into the room.
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