Page 4 of Heart Strings

“I do want to!” I said quickly. Play the piano with Alejandro Devera? As if I would pass up a chance of a lifetime like that. “I can get another chair-”

Alejandro gestured to the piano bench as he walked around to the right side of the piano. “No need. Sit down.”

It felt weird to be ordered to sit down at my own piano, but I wasn’t going to argue even if I really didn’t understand how we would play a duet with Alejandro standing beside the piano.

He answered my unspoken question by reaching inside the open cover of the piano, bending over to pluck the strings like one would play the harp.

Everyone knew the piano was a string instrument. How had I never thought of playing it like this?Maybe because that probably would have been heresy in classical times. I wonder what Great Grandma would have thought of it?

Whatever anyone else might think, I thought it was an ingenious idea - and so did many of the bargoers, who were watching with open interest. Alejandro plucked the same strings over and over, letting me get a feel for them and waiting expectantly for me to add something of my own.

His playing reminded me of something, actually - a folder of sheet music I kept at the bottom of one of my desk drawers at my parents’ home in Monroe. As an avid pianist, I had composed more than a few pieces myself. Most of those sheets I had left at home were short and unfinished, but there was one….

Experimentally, starting off slowly, I began adding the notes I had composed back in high school to the melodic twanging of Alejandro’s strings. I sped up the tempo as I grew more comfortable, matching where the rockstar had been - then tentatively playing a little faster to match the original song.

Alejandro followed my lead, adding some more notes of his own to our impromptu melody. As our confidence playing together grew, we started to relax and just have some fun.

Bent over the strings, his shoulders moved in tandem to our playing. Alejandro would nod to me with a brilliant smile and back off the strings a little, letting me play a short solo on the keys. Then, I would find a place where I felt comfortable and play an accompaniment, letting Alejandro’s strings have the spotlight. We made it a sort of battle, sending the music back and forth, daring each other to play something more unique, more beautiful, or more technical.

Finally, in perfect sync, we slowed down the music together, tapering away our last notes to end the song with a beautiful combination of high notes from the strings and low, soulful tones from the keys.

Tumultuous applause snapped me out of the little trio comprised of me, Alejandro, and the piano. At some point during our duet, every single customer in the entire bar had gathered around the stage and now every single one of those people was clapping, whistling or otherwise showing loud and enthusiastic appreciation for our song.

“Alejandro Devera!” one woman was telling anyone who would listen, crowding those in front of her to get closer to him. “The singer for Vaporized! That’s Alejandro Devera!”

Realizing he had been recognized, he stood and bowed deeply, basking in the applause and attention. All I could manage was a little nod and a few jerks of my wrist in waves that had to look as awkward as they felt.

Alejandro stepped to the edge of the stage and signed a few things - shirts, purses, bare skin, it didn’t seem to matter to the eager crowd that pressed forward, anxious to have something to remember the night that Alejandro Devera showed up in a bar in New Orleans.

A rockstar Alejandro might be, but this was a bar and plenty of the people in here clearly didn’t know who he was at all. They just wanted to jump on the train and get an autograph or selfie from a celebrity. Gradually, people began going back to their drinks and conversations, and I noticed a lot more hands holding phones than before - probably searching for his name on the internet or snapping a quick picture.

“Me divertí, gracias.” Alejandro came back to where I sat a little self-consciously on the piano stool, trying to ignore the looks of people who were clearly wondering who I was to play a duet with the rockstar.

“Uh-” My high-school Spanish reminded me that gracias was “thank you,” but beyond that…what? Even though I couldn’t understand exactly what he was saying, I found I didn’t mind the Spanish he sprinkled in every once in a while. In fact, I rather liked it….

“I had fun,” he translated.

My heart sank. Alejandro had come to the bar, had a drink or two, and gotten a kick out of playing the piano with the lucky girl who had happened to be performing at the time - me. But now, the crowd had dispersed and this incredible, insane, magical Fat Tuesday evening was over, and Alejandro would go back to touring and listening to girls all over the country scream his name. “I did too. I never thought of playing the piano that way,” I admitted, steeling myself for his next sentence, which would almost certainly be some form of goodbye.

“We write our own songs in Vaporized, so we have to be creative. And the pianist who taught me liked to play like that sometimes.”

The saxophonist pushed past me, shooting me a significant look that said “I’m the highlight of these evenings. Get back to work.” Her father owned this bar, and our job was to make her look good on the saxophone. I sighed, seating myself on the stool. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to get back to work. It was nice meeting you, though. I really love Vaporized’s new album.”

“Thanks” was all he said. No “nice to meet you too” or “goodbye” or anything…but he didn’t leave, either. He just went back to sitting at his table in front of the stage, returning to the mug of beer he had abandoned to play with me.

We played one song. I had to keep my eyes on the sheet music and keys, heart pounding with curiosity to know if he was still there and worry that he wasn’t, and the second we finished, I shot a glance at his table. He was still there. Our eyes met, and he passed me an encouraging smile.

My heart traded gymnastics for a circus tightrope. Every time I looked over and saw him still sitting there, occasionally signing autographs and taking selfies for fans but mostly just watching and listening to me play, my heart soared high. I was tenuously holding onto the hope that the clock would strike 2 AM, closing time, and Alejandro would still be there. Then, I would have to play again and my heart would sink, letting my mind convince it that this was the last song he would stay to hear before he left. Then, I’d see that bearded, handsome face when I looked up again.

But he was always there. Every time a song had ended, I glanced up to see him sitting in the same spot. And every time, he had sent me one of those smiles that sent my heart back into the stratosphere.

At 1:30, Julian announced over the speakers that the bar would be closing soon. People began paying their tabs and trickling out in twos and threes.

Alejandro did close his tab, but he didn’t move, and finally, he was the last customer in the bar. I saw Julian walk up to him and say something, but Alejandro’s lips moved as he spoke back, and the two men looked at me for a moment, then Julian walked away.

He’s waiting…for me.I had hardly dared to hope I was the reason Alejandro stayed, but now I knew it was true.

I lowered the cover gently atop the grand piano, pushed the seat underneath, and placed the fallboard over the keys to keep the dust off. When I had finished, I got up, deliberately retrieved my purse from behind the bar, and wove through the seating until I reached Alejandro’s table, my heart fluttering nervously. “You’re still here.”

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