Middle C - Part Three
By Rod Jones Artist-Writer
Elise provided directions to her Pasadena home for Nicholas to follow, so he wouldn’t get lost. The rendezvous was going to take place on Sunday afternoon.
“I can’t believe this neighborhood, if you can call it that. I think you must really be somebody if you live on South Orange Grove Boulevard in Pasadena. I can’t believe this is where Elise lives. The address she gave me is here all right. Those gates, I haven’t seen gates like this since, well, Paris, Parc Monceau if I remember, right. Haven’t even gone through those gates, and I’m feeling way out of class. All this just because I accidentally bumped into her car, boy little did I know.”
Nicholas finally reached the front door of Elise’s home, joking to himself. “There should be a gas station on the way from that gate to her door.”
“Welcome to the Gilded Age Monstrosity Nick, oops I mean Nicholas.”
“What no staff greet me? No one to take my top hat, my cane, and my VALISE. This is quite the place. I know it’s probably extremely pedestrian of me to ask. Do you have a staff? How can you manage this place? Your foyer, I think it’s bigger than my whole apartment building.”
“Come on in, make yourself at home, I know that kind of sounds funny or maybe a bit pretentious, but I always want you to feel totally at ease here. I know it’s not easy. My brother and I grew up here and I’m still not comfortable. And yes, there is a staff to take care of this place. I usually don’t like them around when I’m practicing my piano compositions and today with you coming, I wanted us just to be together. If you want, we can go into the bar and make ourselves a cocktail, or we can go into the kitchen and whip up something a little like a sandwich. And yes, I know how to cook. My family had a very dear friend named Julia. She taught us all about French cooking. But the sandwich you and I are going to eat; well you have two choices, peanut butter and jelly or bologna on white bread with lots and lots of mayonnaise, a little lettuce, which I bashfully admit is my favorite.”
“I don’t want to drink any alcohol. But you’re talking my kind of talk when it comes to a bologna sandwich on white bread with lots of mayonnaise. Can we be daring enough to have some potato chips with it?”
“Let’s head to the kitchen, I believe between the pantry and the refrigerator you and I are going to be all set for our own culinary delight. And if we really wanna have some fun instead of sitting at the staff table in the kitchen, we can go into the formal dining room. You can sit on one end, and I can sit on the other end. I will light as many candles as I can down the center of the table, or as I often refer to; the river barge. I’m only gonna light the candelabra in front of you and the one in front of me. It takes too long to light all of them. The best part is, I can yell down to you and you can yell down to me as we’re dining on our delicious bologna sandwiches. Nicholas don’t wink at me because without my glasses I won’t see you doing it that far away.”
“I am hungry. Did your family appreciate your referring to this table as a river barge, and, if I’m not being too noisy, I would like to ask you a couple of questions.”
“Ask away, I’m pretty sure I know what you’re going to ask. You want to know how my family ended up with this expensive property and what did my father do for a living?”
“Yes; but you’re certainly not obligated to tell me anything Elise.”
“To answer your first question, no, they weren’t really happy about a lot of the comments I would make. Especially when they would host formal dinners, and when they would entertain prominent people. When I was younger, they would waltz me around like some sort of trophy, and then have my nanny hall me off to bed, which was perfectly fine by me. I suppose I should’ve been super impressed, but I wasn’t. All I really wanted was love from my parents, and they were all about status and judging people by who they knew. I know you won’t, but please don’t say that I was or am a poor little rich girl. I work part time at a coffee shop as a waitress. And don’t remind me about how rude I was to the waitress at Conrad’s. When I’m not waitressing, I occasionally give a piano concert, mostly with the Pasadena Symphony.”
“To answer your second question. I know you’re curious as to what line of work my father was in and how we ended up with this big old monstrosity. Well, my father was bequeathed this property, because it belonged to my grandfather, and I’m not sure how he ended up with it, but there’s been a lot of rumors floating around. As far as what my father did for a living, quite honestly I don’t know. He had a study here in the home. He always kept it locked. My brother and I and my mother for that matter were never allowed to go in there, plus it was always locked. There was one butler that was in charge of maintaining it for him, but my brother and I never truly understood what he did. I can say one thing: he was a tremendous networker. I also know he wasn’t involved in politics, but that’s about it. I know it’s curious isn’t it?”
“Thank you, Elise. I hope I wasn’t out of place by being too nosy.”
“No, you had every right to ask, and if the tables were turned, I certainly would.”
“Well, I never ate at a table like this before, and if I did, it was usually a conference table, not a full-fledged dining table. Although I have to say, me and my colleagues would order either a bologna sandwich or a tuna sandwich. I’m having fun with you. All this, well, let me say, a wealthy environment is fun to witness but what I only really care about is you. I’d be most perfectly happy in a 10 x 10 cabin tucked away deep in a rain soaked forest and of course a warm cozy fireplace. What do you say Elise?”
“I’m ready. I’d go anywhere with you and that sounds like my idea of perfect. There is a very small room that I keep to myself. In fact, I keep the doors locked. No one‘s allowed to go in there, but that’s where I have my grand piano. Come with me. If you don’t mind, I’d like to play something for you. I thought about this piece of music almost from that day at Conrad‘s. I know it didn’t appear like it to you, but I knew then I wanted you in my life. Take my hand and follow me.”
“In all this magnificent space you have a hideout. I actually don’t blame you. It looks like this place can be pretty overwhelming. It certainly is for me. Your hand is very warm.”
“If you ever want to come in here, I have two keys, one I keep on a chain around my neck and the other one, I’m going to give to you. I’ve never let anyone else enter my as you call it hideout. You’re going to be the first and the only one forever. I know that sounds kind of stupid and mushy, but sometimes it just feels natural to express myself that way.”
“I’m honored. Doesn’t sound mushy, not the way you say things, they always come across as being heartfelt and genuine. That means a lot to me, Elise.”
“Your private hideout is everything I would expect. It’s cozy, warm and certainly feminine. I’m not sure when I would have the occasion to come in here with my own key. I don’t believe I would be in your, what did you call it? ‘Gilded Age Monstrosity.’ Definitely not by myself. If you’re not here, I’m not here. Besides, I have to go to work on a pretty regular basis.”
“There’s something I want you to always remember. It is from a poem that was written by one of my parents’ friends, and I always had hoped I could make this come true for me. It was written by Ann Monroe Lindbergh. And yes, Charles Lindberg’s wife. I prayed that I would get to say this to the right man someday, and you are truly the right man Nicholas. “Him that I love, I wish to be free even from me.” I truly believe that for both you and me. I never want to interfere with what you do in life that is important to you. Now if you will, go sit down in that big comfortable chair. That’s where I sit and read and daydream. Please be comfortable while I play for you.”
“That was beautiful. I’ve never had anyone play music for me and especially so tenderly. Not that I am a connoisseur of such things, but I suspect you are a brilliant and well accomplished musician. May I ask what that piece of music you played for me was?”
“Yes of course. I’ve never played this piece for anyone. I’ve never played it for an audience. I’ve only played it for myself. In its own way it has become very special to me. I hoped someday I could do a solo performance for someone I truly love, the work is called, Chopin’s Nocturne in E-flat major, op. 9, No.2. I will tell you more about it perhaps next time when we meet. I want you to be here with me again, I know this is gonna sound silly and mushy, but this is just not my hideout. It’s our hideout.”
“You made a comment when we were in the backseat of your car, which by the way, I can’t imagine anything being more meaningful and I guess I should say romantic. But I was wondering, you made a comment where you said, Middle C. Did that have anything to do with the music you just played for me? Is that a piano technique or piano term?”
“Yes, and no. And being in the backseat of my car with you was terribly romantic. And I did mention middle C. You were right, and I’m glad you remembered. When we meet together again, which I’m hoping will be next weekend, I will tell you what that term means. I’m sorry to be so secretive and I know you’re curious, especially when I started out by answering you by saying, yes and no. It’s not my intention to make it intriguing. But there’s going to be the perfect time for me to share with you exactly what that means Nicholas, my love.”
I hope you come back to Sunday’s Matinee at Thought Row Vignettes for Part 4 of Middle C.
The short stories and essays published in Thought Row Vignettes are written entirely by me, Rod Jones Artist and Writer, using only a human hand and imagination. AI does not write, revise, or generate the fiction, essays, dialogue, plots, or endings. Any imperfections in grammar or punctuation are authentically mine.
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Some accompanying visuals may be original photography, properly licensed stock images, or AI-generated illustrations created from my own visual direction. These images are visual companions to the writing, not substitutes for it.
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In a web where automated systems generate so much of the traffic and language, Thought Row Vignettes remains a small space for human-made fiction and reflection, one human sharing stories with another.