The Duet

“Dude, I don’t want to bother you or anything, but this suit fucking itches.”

Vinyl groaned, tightening her bow tie. Sure, now there were clap-on bow ties that didn’t need such excessive tinkering, but she wanted to stick with the traditional black-piece-of-cloth bow ties. “Stop making things up, Octavia. The suit is fine.” She glanced up from the mirror to check the suit for herself, and her heart skipped a beat.

Octavia was… gorgeous. The threepiece suit was so out of place, so unnecessary with her big breasts, the two last buttons on the vest unbuttoned, Octavia’s piercing gone, her hair… Her hair smooth and charcoal-black, a watch in her vest pocket. She was ridiculous in this outfit, the only suit she actually owned, and yet she never looked more beautiful. “You look beautiful,” the violinist let out breathlessly.

“Oh, you can’t mean that.” Octavia tossed her hair in a gesture alien to her, a shade of pink (?) covering her cheeks… Was she blushing? Could this punk rocker, Vinyl mused, this rough, untamed woman actually blush? Of course. Of course she could. She was still Octavia, her friend, and beneath the mask of anarchy and loud music there was a gem, a beautiful, refined… Well, maybe not refined - woman, who also liked being complimented, like we all do, and… “It still itches, though,” she said amicably.

“We need to get going,” Vinyl said, adopting her commanding voice once again. “The bus comes once every twenty minutes.”

“Psh!” Octavia waved her hand in the air with a laugh. “I’ll drive us to the concert hall. In the car,” she quickly supplied, catching a glance of Vinyl’s horrified eyes. “Not the bike. You trust me with a car, right? Besides, I haven’t even taken a beer today. Or yesterday.” She tsked. “With all this rehearsing, I forget my alcohol-soaked roots, though.”

“The last time you drove us somewhere, we ran over the Mayor’s cat. She was quite upset.” Vinyl pondered. “The cat was pretty upset too, I guess.”

“Nah.” Octavia puffed her chest proudly. “I’ve improved! My skills are now majestic as fuck,” she boasted. At Vinyl’s evident disbelief, she squinted her eyes: “As. Fuck.”

“You know what?” Vinyl lit up a cigarette, watching closely for the ashes not to touch her tuxedo. “Okay.” She turned towards the black-haired woman, taking a long, deep drag. “I’ll let you drive me to the city centre.” Vinyl lifted her finger. “On one condition.”

“Hot lesbian sex after the show?” Octavia asked mock-hopefully, fluttering her eyelashes at the suddenly blushing violinist. “Hey, what’s wrong, dude?” She noticed the dismay in Vinyl’s eyes. “You look as if you were secretly hoping for sexy times with yours truly and then I suddenly joked about it and you became embarrassed.” The rocker chuckled and waved her hand in the air. “But that would be totally weird, right?”

“Yes…” Vinyl almost whispered, gathering her composure. “Totally weird. Anyway.” She cleared her throat audibly, the smoke dispersing in the wake of her cough. “My condition is that you drive carefully. Okay. Care-ful-ly.” She stared at the woman expectantly. “Can you do that for me?”

“Vinyl,” the rocker said very seriously, making the violinist’s heart race in panic as she saw those eyes, those beautiful, honest eyes… “For you, I can do anything.” She came up to Vinyl slowly, extending her hand elegantly, in a gesture that to Vinyl was alien.

Vinyl shivered uncontrollably as Octavia traced her chin with her index finger gently. “O-Octavia?” Of course, this was one more practical joke. This was one more gesture that she misinterpreted. Of course. Octavia would never do something as ‘hella gay’ as that. Seriously. Sure, she had done such things before, but it had all been in jest. Right? In jest.

“Maybe I’ve been missing something that has been right before my eyes…” Octavia whispered, leaning in, her lips near Vinyl’s face. Vinyl shut her eyes… “Like this chocolate on your forehead.” Swiftly, Vinyl felt a lick on the top of her forehead, then the back of Octavia’s hand wiping it off. The violinist opened her eyes, staring at the woman before her, who was smiling innocently.

Vinyl lifted her finger and opened her mouth, but Octavia just shrugged. “We good to go?”

***

“Told you there’s no parking spots.” Vinyl groaned, itching in many places as she considered the fact that they may very seriously be late. The traffic on their way to the city centre had been dreadful. Then again, this was the only way to the old Conservatoire.

And the Conservatoire was something to look at indeed. It looked like a dream of a madman: tall columns, a lopsided roof that resembled a horrible Hungarian haircut; and the worst of all, five-metre-high wooden doors that could never close properly, thus rendering climate control inside impossible.

In front of the Conservatoire, the government had invested in numerous benches, mostly to keep away protesters that pressed for rebuilding the Conservatoire. But, by now, Vinyl thought, the Conservatoire had become a landmark of its own, so it was only fair it would be left in its initial condition.

The car raced past the building and slid into the narrow side-street, and, with a sharp turn to the right, re-emerged on the other side. “There are no parking spots.” Octavia corrected, all the while looking for a space to park.

“Oh no, you don’t get to correct me.” Vinyl lit up a cigarette, nervous, and opened the window. “Wait,” she exclaimed, seeing Octavia’s manoeuvre, “you aren’t going to park at the handicapped space, are you?”

“Of course not!” Octavia replied, giving the violinist a stern glance. “What are you taking me for.” We a smile, she guided her car to the empty spot right next to the Conservatoire. “We’re gonna park here.” She closed Vinyl’s window and cut the engine.

“Octavia,” Vinyl said very slowly, taking an even slower drag on her cigarette. “You did not just park at the Mayor’s spot.”

Octavia nodded resolutely, taking out the key from the ignition. “Oh, I did, Vinyl. I totally did.” With that, she left the car and, waiting for Vinyl to get out as well, clicked the button, locking the car. “There.”

“The Mayor’s gonna kill you,” Vinyl said simply, walking with her friend towards the Conservatoire. Passing a trash can, she threw out the remains of her cigarette - and, Vinyl noticed with some sternness, a half still remained. “The Mayor’s gonna kill you dead.”

“Psh.” Octavia waved her head in the air dismissively and held out the never-closing door for her friend. “We’ll see it in the papers if it happens.” A little part of Vinyl wanted to protest and establish some logic, but the woman just sighed and walked into the crowded lobby. Passing through the security tourniquets, the women noted that the majority of people were heading to the Main Hall.

Glancing at one of the posters adorning the walls, Vinyl immediately saw the reason. She winced at the unfairness. “Of course. Catcher’s orchestra performing tonight. Just my luck.” The woman immediately reached for the pack of cigarettes when she remembered that there was a smoking ban.

“Dude,” Octavia addressed her friend, catching a few surprised glances from people who, apparently, was not used to classy ladies addressing other classy ladies as ‘dude’. “If you want me to run on the stage and kick Catcher’s dick in, I’ll be happy to do that.” Idly, Octavia cracked her knuckles, making several people take a huge step away from the rocker.

“No.” Vinyl shook her head as the motioned for Octavia to follow her towards the chamber hall. “I don’t want to ruin today. Frederic Horoshevsky and his quartet are performing tonight.” The violinist smiled dreamily. “They’ve found a new cellist, from what I hear. Their music is very special-”

Vinyl went on and on, while Octavia just shut out the words as unnecessary noise. She didn’t want to hear about Frederic and some harpist and the cello - who in their right mind would play the cello? She just wanted to marvel at Vinyl’s springy step, the way her behind was enveloped in the tightness of the trousers, and maybe she wanted to look into Vinyl’s mesmerising eyes and, and-

Octavia shook her head furiously, just to shrug off those wild, weird, unnecessary thoughts. What the hell is wrong with me? She nodded to the wardrobe lady and followed Vinyl past the plush chairs in the corridor and into the chamber hall.

The hall itself was more modern that the orchestra wing of the Conservatoire, with only three rows to its name and a small stage with a grand piano on it. There was still some time before the concert began, but people had already begun filling the little hall, sitting on their respective places. Vinyl motioned towards the front row, two spots in the centre. “Here, six and seven. These are ours.” As soon as Octavia sat down next to rather plump black woman who wore an extraordinary amount of jewellery, Vinyl whispered into the rocker’s ear, “I’ll go visit the, um, you know, and you stay here and make small talk.” She furrowed her brows sternly for a moment. “Be polite and pleasant.” With that, the violinist took her leave.

Octavia glanced to her left: not a single soul occupied the five seats. To her left, a lean black man, who was bald and perfectly handsome, sat next to the fat woman, kissing her cheek. How could such a man choose such a woman eluded Octavia. But love was love. Some people loved other people. She loved Vi- Beer. Beer. Bitches and beer. That’s what I love. But of course she did love Vinyl. As a friend. Her best friend. That was love too, all right. No homo.

“Your companion’s hair…” the black woman whispered to Octavia, making the rocker shift with unease as soon as she realised the conversation was going to touch on Vinyl. “It’s blue! Outrageous.” The woman tsked and turned away with the expression of a whale who’d just eaten a huge beef steak. Octavia blinked. Wow. My metaphors really are something. The little Octavia in her head sighed. Similes. The word you want is ‘simile’.

“Oh, you know.” Octavia shrugged, trying to be as polite and pleasant as she could. “I usually paint pink streaks in my hair.” The woman turned over to her, an expression of disbelief on her face. “My ‘companion’ likes it,” the punk rocker continued with pleasure. “I also have piercings on my ears, but my ‘companion’, that is, my girlfriend, insisted that I leave them at home.”

“Your…” the woman began, but Octavia interrupted her immediately, her eyes brightening as she imagined the rest:

“Oh yes, my girlfriend. She so likes it when I have those piercings. In fact, I have one down there.” The rocker made a motion of trying to unzip her trousers. “If you wanna take a look-”

“No!” the woman all but shrieked, shutting her eyes. “No, thank you! We’re good. We’re good!” Without opening her eyes, she turned towards her apparent husband and indulged in conversation.

Vinyl walked into the hall again, smiling after dealing with the desires of her bladder. She walked past the couple, noticing that the woman was looking at her very strangely, and sat down to Octavia’s left. “So, how have you been?” She exhaled and focused on the stage, onto which the announcer had just walked.

“Oh, you know,” Octavia whispered back as the din in the audience began to dissipate. “Making small talk. Polite and pleasant.” The rocker leant back, a wide, joyful smile on her lips.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” The announcer, a lean, old woman with a typical short haircut, either blonde or grey (it was impossible to distinguish in such lighting), cleared her throat with a distinct sound that revealed years of practice. “We are very glad to see you here tonight. Bringing music to the masses is all we could ever wish for.”

That, and the payment, Octavia thought critically, eyeing the ‘masses’ that had gathered with enough decorum to fill a royal tea party. The announcer spoke on and on, but all of that floated right past Octavia’s ears as the woman enjoyed a certain view to her left, a view she had to admit to having noticed before, but a view still novel, as if she were looking at her friend for the first time. Vinyl was… radiant. That was the word Octavia settled on as the announcer got off the stage, and the audience began to clap.

Radiant. And mesmerising, the rocker surprised herself with such eloquent vocabulary. Onto the stage walked Frederic Horoshevsky, the famous pianist, who barely noticed the attention, sitting down at the grand piano. She is so calm, so collected. She is right in her element. Following the pianist, on walked a harpist carrying the heavy harp, with the help of a tuba player. Octavia raised her brow, finally diverting her attention to the stage. Now, she wasn’t a particularly well-versed connoisseur of classical music, but a piano, a harp, a tuba, and… “Oh hell no.”

Vinyl turned to her companion in surprise, then glanced at the stage and gasped. Onto the stage walked a doppelganger, an exact replica of Octavia, with the exception of being extremely clean, well-groomed (Vinyl glanced at Octavia’s hair and concluded that today Octavia was pretty well-groomed as well), and lacking those piercings. Her hair was a shade lighter than Octavia’s, but still very noticeable. The black woman next to Octavia kept blinking, stealing glances from both the cellist on the stage and the woman in the audience.

Vinyl frowned. “What the-”

“Fiona,” Octavia said in a low, whispering growl. “My twin sister.” She looked at the pianist disapprovingly, as if criticising him for the choice of cellist. “Haven’t seen her in-”

But the people all around them shushed as the perfect silence enveloped the hall and the musicians began to pluck, press, toot and draw their instruments respectively. Vinyl cast one more confused glance at the cellist, then at her friend, and marvelled at how she had never heard of Octavia’s twin sister before.

But then the ensemble began to play, and all her thoughts evaporated as she, once again, like so many times before, became enveloped in the sound, in the perfect music as performed by the perfect Frederic Horoshevsky, a gentleman and a scholar, and generally a hot stud, and wow was it getting hot here? Vinyl checked her bow tie nervously.

As the ensemble played on and on, the pianist sat there with closed eyes, letting his fingers do the talking. He doesn’t even need sheet music, Vinyl marvelled, her cheeks rosing up as she wondered if he had other… talents. Suddenly, Frederic’s eyes shot wide open, and he looked at the audience. Sure, Vinyl could say he was just about to check out the audience, or maybe it helped him concentrate-

But, at that moment, she knew he was looking just at her.

***

“Hmm. Fish fingers. Not something I would expect from a posh classical establishment.” Octavia poked the food with her finger, eliciting a frown from her companion, who peered her eyes into the crowd, trying to find the pianist. This wasn’t an entracte, and the musicians would have to leave through the crowd anyway. Of course, she had searched for the sexy pianist during the entracte as well, but the urge to smoke had been greater.

Now, she just frowned at her flatmate and eyed the crowd. “Please don’t touch the food, Octavia.” Disgruntled people pressed the women from the back, leaving Vinyl uncomfortable and Octavia… Well, as unperturbed as she had been before.

The rocker disobeyed and poked the food again. “Are you sure they are fresh?”

Before Vinyl could reply - and, preferably, drag her friend away from the food stand, the tender to which was already giving glances - Octavia’s counterpart emerged from the crowd with a cello case.

“Oh, she always was a little uncouth,” the cellist said with a prim accent, smiling knowingly at Vinyl, with whom, it seemed, she had made a perfect contact. And struck a chord in some manner.

“Tell me about it.” Vinyl sighed and extended her head. “Vinyl. I’m this party animal’s flatmate.”

“My condolences.” The cellist shook the violinist’s hand. “I’m Fiona, Octavia’s little sister.”

“You’re not so little anymore,” Octavia remarked, leaving the fish fingers alone and following the two women in her life out of the crowd and towards the exit. “I mean, your boobs are enormous.”

“Thank you, Octy, I’ve noticed.” Fiona smiled radiantly, disregarding Octavia’s bitter attitude. “How have you been? Mom and Dad have been asking about you.”

“Well, good for them,” Octavia mumbled, letting Vinyl exit the Conservatoire, all the while looking around. “I didn’t run away for nothing, though.”

“Well,” Fiona said reasonably as the three walked out in the quiet night. “You do come to family reunions, and we’re thankful for that.”

Octavia mumbled something indistinct in reply. The trio stood there in complete silence, watching the darkness around them cover the city, grab it in its greedy paws. With a sigh, Vinyl lit up a cigarette. What she didn’t want right now was drama. What she didn’t want even more was stupid, unnecessary grudges between siblings. What she did want, however, was a glimpse of Frederic’s nice, attractive face. But, alas, there was no sight of it. But there was sight of a stupid, unnecessary grudge between siblings.

“Why haven’t you ever told me about your twin sister?” Vinyl wondered, getting a good drag on her cigarette, all the more pleasant after the long concert. “Where are you from, Fiona?” she asked, if only just to keep up small talk.

“Because I am not my family,” Octavia replied sternly, turning away from her sibling and crossing her arms defiantly. “And she’s from that back-end hole they call Ponyville.” Each word, Vinyl noticed, bore ill-concealed disgust. Then again, this was Octavia, so the disgust probably had never been concealed to begin with.

“Ponyville,” Fiona argued, peering into the back of Octavia’s head, “is a wonderful, quaint town.” She turned to Vinyl apologetically. “Please don’t listen to her. It’s a great town with great people, if a touch conservative.”

“Oh,” Octavia spoke up, turning round to face her sister, “then why did you leave it to play in an ensemble here? Maybe because there’s no way to make a name in the damn town?”

The two women were about to clash, to go at each other’s throats, and Vinyl had already thrown away the cigarette (mentally excusing herself for littering) and was ready to stop them, when a familiar-looking man in a tailcoat approached the trio. “Fiona, there you are!” Frederic embraced the woman softly. “I’ve been searching high and low for you!” The pianist immediately turned towards Octavia. “And you must be the big sister Fiona has been talking about!” Then, towards Vinyl. “Ah, and you must be the great violinist, Vinyl Scratch! A weird choice of stage name, I’ll admit…” The man shrugged. “But, with your skill, you can choose your name just fine.”

“Oh…” Vinyl blushed as the man shook her hand in turn. “You can’t mean that… And,” she added sadly, “I am no longer part of Catcher’s orchestra.” Somberly, she looked away, expecting the man to take his cellist and leave.

Yet, he didn’t. “But I’ve heard you play several times.” Vinyl looked at him in surprise. “You are perfect, every time you put the bow to the strings.” The violinist’s cheeks reddened, and she thanked the night for concealing her weakness. “And I never liked Mr Catcher anyway.”

Okay, Vinyl thought gleefully, this is a match made in Heaven. However, she reconsidered this idea immediately as Frederic drew Fiona into an embrace and kissed her softly on the lips. “Whaa…” was all Vinyl managed.

“Frederic and I have been dating for a while,” Fiona explained, much to Vinyl’s lament and Octavia’s dispassion. “He decided to introduce me to what used to be the trio. We’re trying to become a real, yet original, ensemble.” She looked into Frederic’s eyes dreamily, and yet with a hint of ‘No, you say it’.

“We’ve been looking for a violinist,” Frederic said simply, smiling that easy smile of his, radiant even in the darkness of the night. “And we think that you are the most fitting candidate, especially now that you are…” The pianist paused, choosing the right word. “Freelance.”

“Oh, I…” Vinyl gulped, unsure of what to say. I would love that? She cast a glance at Octavia, who tried to look dispassionate, but… Vinyl knew when her best friend was worried. She knew when she was anxious, or shaking inwardly with unrest. This was the case. Of course the gruff rocker would never say it out loud, but she needed this whole duet thing. She needed to be appreciated. Even if she could barely play a waltz. Besides, she was her friend. Playing in a dream ensemble versus playing with her best friend? Had there ever been a choice?

“While the opportunity is amazing,” Vinyl said with a tiny smile, watching out of the corner of her eye as Octavia couldn’t help but listen in, “I am sorry to say I already have a side project that, so far, will get all my time. I am sure that, once we get the project on the rails, I will have time for freelance work.” The smile grew bigger as Octavia’s eyes grew wider. “I would really like to be part of your ensemble, but this project is very important for me and…” She glanced at Octavia, whose eyes were still unbelieving. “It’s very personal. So it takes priority.”

“Of course.” Frederic nodded, catching Vinyl’s glances at her friend. He smiled knowingly, dragging Fiona closer to him. “I hope this… project of yours meets success.” The man kissed the top of the cellist’s head. “Let’s go, Fiona.”

“Bye-bye!” The cellist waved at the two women, such a nice, simple gesture that so went against her prim demeanour, that Vinyl couldn’t help but smile.

The violinist lit up another cigarette and watched the pair fade off in the distance, walking side by side. She felt Octavia’s hand on her shoulder. “Vinyl.” The violinist turned towards her friend, still smiling, feeling good about her choice. “Did you just turn down your dream job to play in a duet with me?..”

Vinyl shrugged and nodded. “It seems so. Yes.”

Octavia gulped. “Then you’re not gonna be angry at me for this, right?”

Vinyl raised her brow. “Angry for what?”

Octavia closed her eyes, leant in, and kissed her.