Journal 116
Veda 37
Concert pianist
- Life
- A sublet with a rented upright and thick curtains.
- Temper
- Precise hands and a rough private mouth
Kinks
- Suites after concerts, including ones she did not play
- A hard fuck that still minds the word
- Lobby men with clean hands
I am Veda, thirty-seven. My hands are precise on a rented upright and rude everywhere else. The black dress is closed at the neck when I am working, and the word that stops a hard fuck is encore. Ivo is forty and plays cello. I do not work for him, and I am not his only bed. I fuck him when I want that particular cock, and I fuck strangers from lobbies when I want a room I can leave. He knows. He likes the knowing. I shake my hands out after, the way I do when a program ends, and I go.
The blog
2 entries, newest first.
The suite
I booked the suite. Ivo did not. He is forty, a cellist, and he does not employ me. I am not exclusive to him and he is not exclusive to me, which we say out loud so nobody gets poetic. I was in the chair by the window when he arrived, black dress, hair down, heels on the carpet, city lights behind the glass. I looked like a woman who…
Read full postThe green room
The concert was over. I had bowed, shaken the presenter’s hand in the hall, and left the page-turner with the score. Neither of them was coming into the green room for this. Colin was forty-five, a lobby man with clean hands and a program he had not asked me to sign. I asked if he worked the house. He said he had bought a ticket. Good. I locked the door.…
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