Piano Man

If you had told the Piano Man, “in a week life's gonna change for the better,” he would have finished his whiskey and chuckled at the very notion of better. He knew that his show was just about over, and that the third act wasn't going to get any better. He had long ago given up on the idea of better for himself. He knew it was real, the “better” that so many desperately craved, and he wished and hoped for “better” for his friends, but for now the Piano Man was comfortable and content. His life didn't look like much from the outside; his little apartment, his 55' Oldsmobile, and his favorite bourbon, but he admittedly did not need much to get by. The Piano Man was content to tickle the ivory and serenade the betties as he’d always done.

And there he sat at the piano on a Sunday in the smoky, quiet room playing over the din of relaxed conversation. The room was so abuzz that you'd almost mistake the sound for silence at times, but he knew if you focused the still room was abuzz with people talking, drinks shaking, and glasses clinking in a toast. The Piano Man knew that if he fiddled with these keys just right he could change the whole feeling of the room. By flicking his wrist, the Piano Man could make the crowd rowdy, or lull them to rest at the end of the evening. By tickling the keys, he could make everyone want to take their partners home or just piss them off. Tonight, however, the Piano Man just wanted everyone to dance. To do that, all he had to do was get the bartender to move her voluptuous hips, till she jumped up on the bar. Not nearly the challenge that she would have him think it was. It’ll go on like that all night, the Piano Man strumming his fingers to get the people dancing until the late hour demanded a slower and slower tune.

Soon it was just him, and the cute bartender. The Piano Man had a way with bar maidens. He never turned his charming smile on this particular maiden, and he wondered why some nights, but she was too young and sweet to be prowling around with an old cat like him. As the tune died out and he drained his last whiskey of the night, he shrugged on his coat and donned his hat, while giving the lovely girl a wink as he made his way out so she could lock up. It was a usual night, a good night, and like every night that was usual and good, he threw a cigarette between his lips and fumbled with his lighter. However, unlike every other night, a smartly dressed woman approached with a lighter. The Piano Man accepted the light, tilting his head toward her, catching a whiff of lavender perfume right before the smell of burning tobacco filled his lungs.

“Hello I’m Tiffany,” she said with a warm voice that knew the taste of bourbon tonight. “Funny thing, I asked the staff what your name was and they all just called you ‘the Piano Man’.”

“Well, maybe that's the way I like it,” he replied, flashing his heart-melting grin. “What’s a fine number like you doin’ asking about a washed-up Piano Man like me?” He pulled the sweet blue smoke in, and watched the light off the cherry dance of her emerald irises.

“Well, I like the way you play,” she pulled a card out of her purse, handing it to him between her middle and index finger. “I’m a talent agent.” He took the card and looked over the details as he took another pull with a slow exhale.

“Well, Mrs. Tiffany-”

“It’s Miss,” she interrupted, flashing a coy smile of her own. The Piano Man chuckled as he put the card in his back pocket, and pulled out his pack of strikes offering her the pack.

“Well Miss Tiffany,” he started again as she pulled a smoke from the pack and lit it. “What are you doing scouting out a crusty, old lounge singer on this side of town?”

“I was actually just out for a drink,” she said leaning against a wall. “Just happened to stumble into the right place at the right time, I suppose.”

“Well, lucky me, I suppose,” he replied while leaning his back against the same wall. Taking a long pull off his smoke, he took some time to remember all the times talent agents came nosing around looking to make his life “better”. He sighed, pulled a flask from his back pocket, and offered it to the talent agent.

“Do you like ham and cheese sandwiches?” The non sequitur caught Tiffany off guard.

“I’m sorry?” she replied, visibly confused.

“There's this diner around the corner,” Piano Man continued, taking a draw from the flask since she hadn't taken the opportunity. “Make these great ham and cheese sandwiches with this thick sweet white sauce and a fried egg. Are you hungry?” The fine woman smiled and nodded her head. The Piano Man took her by the arm and walked them to the diner, humming a tune as they walked.

As they walked in, the hostess recognized the Piano Man, and she guided them to the usual booth where he sat in the corner. She stopped to take Tiffany’s drink order, and sent a knowing wink in the Piano Man's direction. The hostess returned and set the coffees down, asking if Tiffany wanted cream. Tiffany replied with a shake of her head, and the hostess left them to talk.

“I’ll take it you come here often,” said the agent , obviously knowing the answer. “Still have that flask?” Pulling the flask from his back pocket, the Piano man smiled. She poured generously and handed it back to him, who did the same.

“Few times a week,” the piano man replied while sipping the warm brew in the porcelain cup. “It's close to the bar and close to home.”

“A man of routine?”

“More of a man who knows the good things when he sees them,” he replied, looking down at his hat and brushing off some dust.

“But, what if there was more?” she said, eyeing him with a sultry eye. He’d heard this pitch before and knew where it was going. His eyes drifted off at this point toward the kitchen window as she talked. She spoke of opportunities and the illustrious “better”, but he just watched the cooks slinging out bacon and eggs for the late-night customers on the restaurant floor.

“Am I boring you?” She asked after a while. He snapped his attention back to the lovely lady across from him.

“Look, I can tell you've heard the pitch before.” She played with her hair and penetrated him with her eyes.

“I apologize,” he replied, taking another drink of his coffee. “I’ve heard this pitch many times before darlin’. This same pitch has floated my way a few times with the same promises time and time again. You're gonna tell me about the fancy record deals and the buckets of money and the luxurious clothes... Coming from your lips, the words will sound like honey, but that all they will be, just words. I don’t blame you for it, and I'm sure you have done good for your clients, but you misunderstand the fundamentals of ‘better’ for myself.”

“And what would these fundamentals be that I don't understand?” she asked, eager to listen. Tiffany leaned forward as the food arrived at the table. Piano Man tucked into his sandwich, breaking the egg yolk with a fork while starting into the late night meal.

“You should eat before it gets cold,” he said when she hadn't touched her sandwich yet. She copied him, breaking the egg and mixing it around then took a bite, enjoying the creamy sweet and savory flavors of the dish. He watched her face melt and become overtaken by the bliss of the sandwich, moaning in pleasure.

“Good right?” he probed, to which she nodded her head in agreement. “I’ve been coming to this joint since I first started playing piano.” Nostalgia spread across his face as he remembered the first time tasting this ham and cheese sandwich.

“How long ago was that?” asked Tiffany, half paying attention and half engrossed in her sandwich.

“About twenty-five years ago, give or take.” He watched her eat as he reminisced about learning chords and finger exercises for the first time. “My first instructor used to bring me here when we would finish practice.”

“Your instructor, who was he?” She asked, picking at the last bits on her sandwich.

“Come on, I'll tell you over a nightcap,” he said, standing from the table and affixing his hat.

“What about the check?” She asked, confused as he laid down a ten spot.

“Management and I have an arrangement. Come on, my pad is close by,” he said, offering his left arm as they walked from the table. As they exited the diner, he tugged his hat a little while passing the hostess, who blushed a little.

“My place is close by,” he said, guiding her down the street. As the few cars passed on the sleepy little street, he started to hum and pulled the cigarettes from his pocket to offer her a smoke. They each took a white stick, placing it between their lips. The Piano Man fumbled with the lighter as they pulled their heads in near each other. Her lavender aroma stirred something deep inside him as he attempted to focus on getting their cigarettes lit.

“So how far is this your place?” she asked, and he couldn't help but notice a blush forming in her cheeks.

“Not far,” he mused as he opened a glass door to a dark set of stairs on the side of the diner. “After you madam,” he said, bowing a little. Tiffany gave the Piano Man a quick look up and down as she entered the hallway, taking a puff from her smoke, and began to climb the stairs. He couldn’t help but notice the pronounced switch in her step as she climbed the flight of stairs further. When she approached the top of the stairs she noticed that there was only one door at the top as the Piano Man snuggled close to her to unlock the door leading into a dark apartment. She stepped through with some skepticism but was taken aback when he flipped on the light, revealing a beautifully appointed apartment.

“Well, you certainly have a beautiful place.” She said, as he took her coat. She breathed in a deep drag off of her cigarette while examining the place.

“Thank you,” he replied as he hung the coat by the door. He then moved to the cabinet in his kitchenette where he retrieved two glasses and prepared a generous pour into each tumbler. “Been living here since I was eighteen.”

“Here?” she replied, slightly astonished. “Why have you been here so long?”

“Well, it's always been a good deal,” he said, handing her the glass. He killed his cigarette and ashed the butt in an ashtray on the coffee table with one hand while setting the bottle by it with the other. The Piano Man comfortably took a seat on the old but comfortable couch where Tiffany sat on the opposite end of the couch.“My instructor helped me get this place way back when.”

“You still haven’t told me who he is.” she said, propping an elbow on the back of the couch to look at him. He took a long swig and thoughtfully propped his elbow close to her’s..

“His name was Carlo,” he smiled, slowly letting it falter as he remembered the man. “He was a tough New York Italian man, who pushed me to be better. He died of cancer about five years back.” She took a long pull as she listened to him talk, hearing the growing passion in his voice. “He helped me all through my youth, from shaving for my first date to helping me pick out a suit for prom, always giving me little tips and pointers. He even entered me into my first piano competition, of course without me knowing until we pulled up to the concert hall.”

“He sounds great, but what about your parents?” The more she learned about this strange Piano Man, the more confused she became.

“I’ve never met them.” He took another pull as she rested her hand against his forearm. It was soft as satin. “I came up in a foster home, and my instructor was one of the few stable figures in my life until I turned eighteen. Safe to say he was the closest thing to a father I’ve ever had.”

“Have you ever tried to track down your birth parents?” Piano man couldn't help but roll his eyes and laugh at the same old question that seemed to plague every one who found out he grew up in the system.

“I have not tried to find my birth parents,” he said, looking into her emerald green eyes with a crooked smile. “I always figured they had a reason for giving me up, and I’m going to respect it until life sees otherwise.”

Tiffany looked at the man sitting across from him as she drained her glass. Piano Man refilled their glasses without hesitation. “What about your parents? What was family life like for you?”

“Things were normal I guess,” she looked off toward the one window in the apartment. “Dad worked as a mechanic and was busy all the time. Mom was a music teacher at the high school I went to.”

“So does your daddy love music?” he took a slug of bourbon, and brushed a lock of hair from her face. Her gaze fell back to him.

“He loves Jazz. My mother wanted to be a jazz musician, but she was never able to break in so she became a teacher.”

“Do you play?”

“Not as well as you.”

“Show me,” he said while standing and offering a hand. Taken aback she looked over to the piano in the corner of the room then back to him. A smile creeped onto her face as she took his hand.

"I haven't played in ages," she protested as the Piano man guided her to the bench. They set their drinks atop the piano, and the Piano Man tinkled with the keys. He nudged Tiffany, but she nervously placed her hands on the ivory and started to play a simple melody. As Tiffany grew more confident, the Piano Man began to riff and improvise around the melody, even occasionally correcting mistakes and giving pointers, all designed to get himself closer to her. Her smell of lavender, whiskey, and cigarettes' were changing from interesting to intoxication. Soon the music had stopped and the couple were staring into each other's eyes. his hands moved from the keys to her hands, and then to her face. Tiffany tilted her head into the soft palm of the Piano Man. they drew in close to each other, and as their lips touched the couple melted into each other.

They woke the next morning still tangled around one another. Tiffany kissed him as the effects of sleep began to wear off. Piano Man touched her face and ran his hand up and down her naked form. And they stayed like that for a long time just feeling each other.

“I need coffee.” she eventually said, breaking the silence. The Piano Man laughed as he got out of bed and put on a shirt and shorts. In the kitchenette, the Piano Man filled and boiled the kettle while preparing the French press. The Kettle whistled and as Tiffany came out of the room wearing her underwear and one of the Piano Man's Tee shirts. Grabbing two porcelain mugs, he set them next to the French press at the kitchenette bar next to Tiffany. The Piano Man leaned against the stove and watched Tiffany pour coffee from the flask into the coffee cups. The two sat in comfortable silence as the Piano Man dropped a pan onto the four-burner stove. He wandered over to the fridge and retrieved a packet of bacon and four eggs. Once the pan began to smoke, he dropped four slices of bacon into the pan and lowered the heat. As the bacon browned he turned to Tiffany.

“How do you like your eggs?” he asked as he cracked two eggs into a bowl and began to beat them.

“Scrambled,” she replied, straddling up to a barstool. She watched him crack two more eggs into the bowl with cream and salt while beating the ingredients until they were frothy and stiff. He removed the bacon and placed them into a cocoon of paper towels, then added the egg to the pan directly into the bacon fat. Further lowering the heat of the pan, the Piano Man grabbed two plates from a cupboard and set them in front of Tiffany, placing two pieces of bacon on each plate. As the eggs finished, he portioned them onto the plates as evenly as possible and nodded to Tiffany to take the plate she wished to have while pouring the coffee into the mugs. He watched her start into her breakfast and coffee as she again moaned over the food in front of her.

“These are some of the best eggs I've ever eaten.” she exclaimed as she watched him pour a shot of lesser bourbon into his cup. Giving him the eye, he proceeded to add a shot to her cup.

“Carlo taught me how to cook eggs,” he said, taking a bite of the bacon. “‘Very French’ he used to say.” The Piano Man shook his head and chuckled to himself before taking a sip from his coffee.

“What do you mean ‘French’?” she asked while taking bites from her eats and bacon..

“Honestly, I have no clue,” he replied, taking a bite of his own plate. They both chuckled as they ate. “Carlo was a funny guy. He always had these little jokes and sayings that lightened the mood.”

“Yeah? Let me hear one,” she said, taking a drink and playing with her eggs.

“Okay,” he said, taking a drink and trying to remember a good one. “Oh, so there is a plane about to crash. It had four people on board, but only three parachutes. The first guy grabs a pack saying, ‘I'm the smartest man in the world, and I need to continue my research.’ He jumps out of the plane. The next guy just so happens to be the pope, so he grabs a pack and says, ‘I need to survive for my flock.’ He jumps out of the plane. Then it's just the pilot and a kid, so the pilot says to the kid, ‘you're just a kid, and you have your whole life ahead of you, so take the last pack.’ Then the kid says, ‘We still have two shots, because the world's smartest man took my backpack.’” Tiffany laughed and choked a bit on her coffee.

“That was a dumb joke,” she said through a smile.

“You still laughed,” he shrugged and finished his coffee.

“Well, thank you for a good time and the breakfast, but I have to go,” she said, standing and placing a peck on his lips. “I have to at least make an appearance at the office.”

“Going to tell them about your piano man,” he joked, following her to the bedroom where he leaned against the doorway, watching as she dressed.

“Nah, I think I'm going to keep you all to myself,” she smiled, buttoning her blouse. “Besides, now I have a new favorite bar, and I'd rather keep it less crowded.”

“So When do I get to see you again?” He asked while massaging his hands,half hopeful and half anticipating the best is behind them.

“When do you want to?” she asked breathlessly, sidling up to him and placing a hand on his chest.

“How about tonight?” He grabbed her hips, pulling her in closer to him. “Swing by the bar and get a front row seat to the show.” She smiled and kissed him just before moving around him, retrieving her purse and pulling a business card out to place on the counter. He watched her leave through the door, sending a wink in his direction. Piano Man moved over to the counter and picked up the card, tapping it against his finger and smiling while clipping it to the fridge. He did the dishes then sat at his piano and began to play a song, letting the music flow out of him and fill the room..

As he played he pondered the term “better” again. He couldn’t tell if this was indeed better, but it was new and interesting, and Tiffany certainly was fetching. Time would tell if it was better, but for now... in this moment, it was just him and piano tinkling away the day.