Prom and Prejudice
Page 8
I finished as the car began to slowly twist and turn through the mountains. I couldn't help gazing in awe as we passed huge log cabins and grand winter lodges. We turned onto a private road and drove for a few more miles. The towering trees and white snow encapsulated the car, making me feel so small and insignificant -- a feeling that I had gotten used to the past few months.
The Bingleys' ski "cottage" was a large, three-story birch structure with panoramic picture windows overlooking the mountains. To the left we could see the ski trails -- the massive, deathly looking ski trails. There was no way I was even thinking of attempting to ski this weekend. I had embarrassed myself enough already.
After we grabbed our bags from the car, Charles gave us the grand tour of the house. There was only one room I was at all interested in: the living room that contained a beautiful Steinway grand piano. Seeing such beauty, any hesitation I had about the weekend quickly went away. Let everyone else ski -- I'd have music.
Charles guided us upstairs. His room and the two guest rooms (Darcy in one, Jane and me in the other) were on the second floor, with Caroline's on the third floor near the master bedroom. Jane went downstairs with Charles while I spent way more time than was necessary unpacking. I was examining the list of homework I wanted to get done when there was a knock at the door.
"Hi." Charles stuck his head in. "I'm so glad you're here with us this weekend." His smile was very welcoming. Jane seemed to have indeed found the one nice guy in all of Pemberley. "We're getting ready to eat dinner and I was hoping you would come down and join us."
"Oh ..." I hadn't realized how much I was dawdling. It was pretty late and I was starving.
As we headed downstairs, Charles looked up at me. "I heard that you're quite an accomplished pianist. I was hoping you could play for us tonight."
"Oh, I don't know...."
We arrived in the living room where Caroline, Darcy, and Jane were sitting on the couch. Caroline had nestled herself well into Darcy's side, while Jane seemed completely oblivious to their flirtation. I went over to the piano and started to run my fingers over the keys.
Some girls dreamed of jewelry from Tiffany or shoes from Jimmy Choo. I, on the other hand, had always dreamed of one day having a Steinway of my own. At home, we had a standard upright that was always in desperate need of tuning. When I played on that piano, it was like trying to use a ballpoint pen to paint the Mona Lisa. With a Steinway, it was like I had all the materials I needed. The rest was up to me. It was a challenge on an even playing field. It didn't matter if I had money or not, what mattered was talent.
"Who plays?" I asked, almost to myself.
"My mom used to take lessons," Charles said.
I let out a frustrated sigh. It killed me that such a beautiful instrument wasn't being used. It was more for decoration than for playing.
"Anyway," Charles continued, "Henry has made his famous barbecue chicken with wild rice. You must be starving."
I couldn't look away from the shining ivory keys. I just nodded.
"Who's Henry?" I asked.
"He oversees our house when we're away. And he's one of the finest cooks in the Northeast."
An older gentleman entered from the kitchen and started putting food down on the adjacent dining room table. I wasn't particularly surprised. The Bingleys' parents knew better than to leave their children unattended for the weekend, and I was somewhat grateful to have someone I could sort of relate to.
"Dinner should be just a few more minutes," Henry said before retiring back to the kitchen.
Charles tapped on the piano. "Lizzie, why don't you play something for us before we eat?" He pulled out the bench for me. "It would be nice to have some music in the house."
"Lizzie's amazing!" Jane encouraged me.
I hesitated. I was hungry to play, to do the one thing that I always felt comfortable doing. I felt alive, like I belonged, when I played. I sat down and kept running my fingers lightly over the keys. I tried out a few chords and they rang gloriously through the large room.
Before I could stop myself, I erupted into the first movement of Bartok's Piano Concerto no. 2. My fingers began flying with urgency as the music unspooled from within me. I instantly eased up from the tension of the trip, letting out all my frustration at the keys.
For nearly nine minutes, I was alone. It was just me, the Steinway, and my playing. I rocked back and forth on the bench as my fingers tried to keep up with the challenge that Bartok had laid down. In my head I could hear the accompanying strings and percussion section. At the end of the first movement, my fingers flew up the keys one last time before finishing with a flourish.
I was slightly out of breath at the end, my cheeks flushed from the adrenaline of performing, and my mind blessedly clear.
"Bravo!" Jane cheered.
"That was brilliant!" Charles's eyes were wide. He kept looking from me to the piano.
"That was loud," Caroline replied from the couch. She looked bored.
Charles came over and placed his hand on my shoulder. "Lizzie, I don't think our piano could stand to be played by anyone else after that."
Caroline got up from the couch. "Is it time for dinner, or are we going to have to listen to more pounding? I already have a headache from the drive."
Darcy laughed. "I guess Bartok's not for everybody."
"You knew that was Bartok?" I was surprised.
The Bingleys' ski "cottage" was a large, three-story birch structure with panoramic picture windows overlooking the mountains. To the left we could see the ski trails -- the massive, deathly looking ski trails. There was no way I was even thinking of attempting to ski this weekend. I had embarrassed myself enough already.
After we grabbed our bags from the car, Charles gave us the grand tour of the house. There was only one room I was at all interested in: the living room that contained a beautiful Steinway grand piano. Seeing such beauty, any hesitation I had about the weekend quickly went away. Let everyone else ski -- I'd have music.
Charles guided us upstairs. His room and the two guest rooms (Darcy in one, Jane and me in the other) were on the second floor, with Caroline's on the third floor near the master bedroom. Jane went downstairs with Charles while I spent way more time than was necessary unpacking. I was examining the list of homework I wanted to get done when there was a knock at the door.
"Hi." Charles stuck his head in. "I'm so glad you're here with us this weekend." His smile was very welcoming. Jane seemed to have indeed found the one nice guy in all of Pemberley. "We're getting ready to eat dinner and I was hoping you would come down and join us."
"Oh ..." I hadn't realized how much I was dawdling. It was pretty late and I was starving.
As we headed downstairs, Charles looked up at me. "I heard that you're quite an accomplished pianist. I was hoping you could play for us tonight."
"Oh, I don't know...."
We arrived in the living room where Caroline, Darcy, and Jane were sitting on the couch. Caroline had nestled herself well into Darcy's side, while Jane seemed completely oblivious to their flirtation. I went over to the piano and started to run my fingers over the keys.
Some girls dreamed of jewelry from Tiffany or shoes from Jimmy Choo. I, on the other hand, had always dreamed of one day having a Steinway of my own. At home, we had a standard upright that was always in desperate need of tuning. When I played on that piano, it was like trying to use a ballpoint pen to paint the Mona Lisa. With a Steinway, it was like I had all the materials I needed. The rest was up to me. It was a challenge on an even playing field. It didn't matter if I had money or not, what mattered was talent.
"Who plays?" I asked, almost to myself.
"My mom used to take lessons," Charles said.
I let out a frustrated sigh. It killed me that such a beautiful instrument wasn't being used. It was more for decoration than for playing.
"Anyway," Charles continued, "Henry has made his famous barbecue chicken with wild rice. You must be starving."
I couldn't look away from the shining ivory keys. I just nodded.
"Who's Henry?" I asked.
"He oversees our house when we're away. And he's one of the finest cooks in the Northeast."
An older gentleman entered from the kitchen and started putting food down on the adjacent dining room table. I wasn't particularly surprised. The Bingleys' parents knew better than to leave their children unattended for the weekend, and I was somewhat grateful to have someone I could sort of relate to.
"Dinner should be just a few more minutes," Henry said before retiring back to the kitchen.
Charles tapped on the piano. "Lizzie, why don't you play something for us before we eat?" He pulled out the bench for me. "It would be nice to have some music in the house."
"Lizzie's amazing!" Jane encouraged me.
I hesitated. I was hungry to play, to do the one thing that I always felt comfortable doing. I felt alive, like I belonged, when I played. I sat down and kept running my fingers lightly over the keys. I tried out a few chords and they rang gloriously through the large room.
Before I could stop myself, I erupted into the first movement of Bartok's Piano Concerto no. 2. My fingers began flying with urgency as the music unspooled from within me. I instantly eased up from the tension of the trip, letting out all my frustration at the keys.
For nearly nine minutes, I was alone. It was just me, the Steinway, and my playing. I rocked back and forth on the bench as my fingers tried to keep up with the challenge that Bartok had laid down. In my head I could hear the accompanying strings and percussion section. At the end of the first movement, my fingers flew up the keys one last time before finishing with a flourish.
I was slightly out of breath at the end, my cheeks flushed from the adrenaline of performing, and my mind blessedly clear.
"Bravo!" Jane cheered.
"That was brilliant!" Charles's eyes were wide. He kept looking from me to the piano.
"That was loud," Caroline replied from the couch. She looked bored.
Charles came over and placed his hand on my shoulder. "Lizzie, I don't think our piano could stand to be played by anyone else after that."
Caroline got up from the couch. "Is it time for dinner, or are we going to have to listen to more pounding? I already have a headache from the drive."
Darcy laughed. "I guess Bartok's not for everybody."
"You knew that was Bartok?" I was surprised.
