Romance in A minor: A musical romance (2 page)

But then what dress would she wear?

She didn't really like that green one. Her mother said it looked nice, but she thought it was much too stiff. She dug through the clothes. For crying out loud, it was always the same. A cupboard full of clothes and nothing to wear.

Her hand met a silky fabric at the very back of her cupboard.

Hmm, what was that?

She pulled out a black dress, frowning. Did she even have a black dress?—Oh, yes. Back in her musician days, she'd worn a lot of comfortable everyday clothes. Baggy cargo pants and singlet shirts had been very popular. But performances were always in formal black. If she could afford it, which wasn't often, she would buy a new dress for an important performance, often at the op shop or even at Target. Later, she had seen that most of those dresses she had bought were cheap crap except for this one. She had bought it especially for her performance with violin virtuoso Hiroshi Hideka who had been visiting the conservatorium and who had given a masterclass, and had given one student the opportunity to play with him. She had no idea why he had chosen her, but God, she'd been so nervous that she hadn't been able to eat a thing all day.

And she had absolutely aced the piece. That night had been such a happy blur, going out afterwards with Hideka and a bunch of students and tutors. Such a lot of laughter, people saying
You were great
. That was what being a musician was all about.

She pulled the dress out of the wardrobe. It was made from sheer material, with little beads embroidered on the neckline that glittered in the light. When she slid her hand over the fabric, it was as if she could hear the music, and see the audience clapping, on their feet.

She wondered... She took off her shirt and skirt and slipped the dress off the hanger. The fabric had a peculiar smell that a few years in the cupboard had not dispelled.

It still fit. If anything, she was leaner than she had been in her musician days, more toned through all her visits to the gym. She put her hair in a bun. It was so thick and dark, almost like her mother's, and she needed to secure it with a rubber band before the clip would stay in place.

She stood before the mirror, looking at herself from all directions. That was not Justine Feldman the insurance worker that she saw in the mirror. That was Justine Feldman the musician.

"Hey, that's a new number," Tom said when she came into the living room.

"Do you like it?" She whirled around, making the hemline balloon out around her ankles.

His gaze raked her form from her bare shoulders to her slim waist to the long and flowing skirt. He drank her in, which his expression said,
It's that I already booked the restaurant, but otherwise, I'd know something much better to do
. "Very classy. When did you buy that?"

"Two weeks ago, I think."

I
t was a week night and traffic had eased a lot by the time Justine and Tom left the apartment. The thunder clouds had moved out to the east, barely still visible on the horizon. The moon hung low over the buildings of the inner city like an orange orb.

The taxi dropped Justine and Tom at the very end of George Street in the rocks, from where they walked to the harbourside restaurant strip at the quay.

The night was quite warm, and they chose a place in the outdoor dining area, where the ferries put-put-putted past and an endless stream of tourists ambled between the restaurant and the water, occasionally stopping to take pictures of the Opera House, of their partner with the Opera House, of themselves with the Opera House, of the kids with the Opera House, and got asked to take pictures of random other groups of people with the Opera House. There was also a duo of guys playing didgeridoos a bit further down, and the doleful rhythmic rumble cut through all other sounds.

A waiter came to the table and brought menus. There were no prices, but Justine had been here several times before and knew that the place was frightfully expensive. She ordered the barramundi because it would be less expensive than the lobster. Tom found it amusing but she liked paying her own way, except the trouble was that his salary was about four times hers and it was the end of the month, and reminding him of that fact seemed petty when they were having a nice night out.

He ordered lobster and a bit later when the drinks waiter came, Tom also ordered champagne.

Justine hated to think how much that bottle that was brought to their table in a stand with a bucket full of ice was worth. She pushed away any apprehension, any desire to ask him
look are you inviting me, or am I expected to pay for half of this?
He would find it amusing. He'd said so many times that he could pay. It was as if he loved watching her struggle and was waiting for her to admit defeat.

While the waiter poured a small amount of champagne in Tom's glass, she took a sip from her water. Water was safe. Restaurants had to provide that for free.

The waiter handed the glass to Tom, who sniffed it and drank. He nodded. "Excellent."

Then the waiter poured more champagne in his glass and hers as well, and bowed. "Enjoy your evening, Sir, Madam."

He went back into the kitchen.

Justine nervously licked her lips. "So, what is the special occasion?"

He put down his glass. "A lot of things are going to change. First of all, we're going to leave this crappy unit."

He was always talking about how terrible he thought their unit was, but she didn't think it was that bad. Granted, the bedrooms were small, but it was close to everything, and the building was only five years old, so no leaky baths, no thin walls where you could hear the neighbours snore and no shag pile carpet.

"I guess we could look at something to buy, but..." She twirled her glass around. Tom had expensive tastes. Who was going to pay for the massive mortgage?

"No, we're not going to buy. I want to get out of this stupid, provincial town. I want to live in a real world city."

"Like where?" He often talked about leaving Sydney, because everywhere else was better simply because it was somewhere else.

"Singapore."

What?

"Don't look at me like that. The manager asked if I was interested in a transfer, and I said I was."

"Is this, like, a promotion?"

"You could say that. We pay almost no tax, and we'll live in one of the expat communities. The bank is looking after housing. We'll have a big house with a pool and tennis court and a cleaning lady and cook, so you can do whatever you like and live like a princess."

"But what about..."

—
my work?

But her job wasn't really that much. She liked her colleagues—sort of. They were very different, but they were friendly and she had a lot of fun with the girls. But the job itself was quite dreadful. "Well, it's a bit of a shock, but I guess I could get used to it."

"The bank pays for visits home twice a year, and we can easily pay for more visits, if we want to see our families."

Whenever they visited his parents' place, Tom always ended up having stupid arguments with his mother over really trivial stuff, like whether he brought a bottle of spring water to the gym or a drink bottle with water from the tap. Caroline argued that the bottles were bad for the environment, and Tom said that reusable bottles went disgusting on the inside. There didn't seem to be a
buy bottled spring water, refill when empty until the bottle gets disgusting and then take another one
option for either of them. It was really tiring to listen to. Tom's father usually made himself absent during those discussions.

Justine's parents lived on the Gold Coast these days and if they moved to Singapore, she'd probably see them just as often as she did now.

A big house with a pool and tennis court sounded nice, and maybe she could—

—If she wanted to start playing music again, whatever meagre contacts she still had in the music world were here.

Music is meant to be fun. Ring me if you're interested
. God, why was she even thinking about her chance encounter with Darren?

Tom fumbled in the pocket of his jacket. No doubt his phone was buzzing or maybe it was someone from work, and he would spend the next fifteen minutes talking about
I mentioned it to her, and she says it's good
. He took the phone on his knees, where she couldn't see it. Just as well.

But he didn't pull out his headphones and he kept looking at her with this intense expression.

A feeling of dread crept over her.

This was Really Important News of the kind that said
They made me director of the branch and I'll be earning lots and you'll be expected to host lots of parties.

Her heart thudded. Last time he got a rise, his hourly increase in salary was more than her entire hourly wage.

"The biggest change of all, honey, is that I'd like you to come with me as my wife." He put something on the table. Not his phone, but a small box.

Justine's heart skipped a beat.

"Open it," he said.

She pushed up the lid. Of course there was a ring inside, one with a big flashy stone, much bigger than she would have chosen for fear of the cost.

Tom got up from his chair and dropped to one knee next to her. All the guests at the tables around them stopped talking and watched.

He said, in a clear voice, "Justine Marie Feldman, will you marry me?"

The people in the restaurant sank in an expectant, tense silence.

Justine wanted to say something, but she didn't know what. Her  tongue felt like rubber.

For a couple of long moments, there was an awfully tense silence. A silence that would affect the rest of her life. A silence in which she could say yes, or she could say no. Although did she really have a choice? Tom was good to her. He had helped her so much when she needed it. He was her beacon of strength. And she guessed that once she was his wife, she would no longer need to worry about paying an equal share of their expenses, although she hated the idea of being a kept woman, and would have to do something about that. Later.

He held her hands, and his palms were sweaty. His eyes were big and pleading like those of a puppy dog.

Justine's cheeks burned, and the thought of all those spectators made her even more flustered. Trust Tom to do something grand and embarrassing like this. She hadn't expected this. She had expected him to eventually move on when he grew tired of her.

"You're serious, right?"

"Never been more serious. You make my life worth living. I want to share it with you." And he smiled that cute smile that made her melt inside. Yes, they were different, but that had never stopped her parents loving each other.

"You silly, of course I will."

All the strangers cheered and clapped.

*   *   *

T
hey returned home late that night. Justine was already feeling light-headed from the champagne, but Tom insisted on having another glass of wine. They sat in the living room, keeping most of the lights off so that the glow of the city lights illuminated the room. Another thunder cloud produced soundless flashes on the horizon.

She didn't know if it was the wine—rather more than she usually drank—but Justine was overcome by melancholy. You were supposed to be very happy when you decided to get married, right? Well, she didn't feel like that. In fact, she felt the beginnings of a panic attack. The sweaty palm and racing heart. Those attacks had been so debilitating in her second year at the Conservatorium.

She had never considered that Tom would ask the question because he had never said anything about it before, not even asked her semi-officially before asking the question in such an embarrassing place as a restaurant.

Did he really want to spend his whole life with her? She'd always thought that he needed a woman who worked in banking, whose life revolved around the gym and had expensive tastes.

They had both drunk too much for making love, but made an attempt at it anyway. With Tom falling asleep on top of her after doing his thing but before pleasing her, it was really lame, but she guessed there were plenty of other occasions to do a better job.

Justine had to push Tom aside and worm herself out from under him. She fell asleep for perhaps an hour and then lay awake listening to Tom's snores. He would inhale in a deep breath, then there would be a short silence followed by a snore that sounded like a poorly-maintained lawnmower.

She would listen to that sound for the rest of her life, lying awake at night. She might poke him and then he'd stop snoring for a while, but it always came back. Yet being with him was safe. He always knew what to do. Being married to him would be a good thing. But that stupid feeling of doubt always plagued her at night, when doubts became fears and small problems became so big that she couldn't see anything else.

Chapter 4

Tom rang her at work the next day when it was almost lunchtime. He wanted to know if she had told her parents yet, and when Justine said she hadn't, he suggested that the parents be told at the same time, because his mother was an awful gossip and she might ring around and tell everyone.

When Justine got off the phone, Donna was staring at her, mouth open, eyes wide. "Is this what I think it is? Are you getting married?"

"Yes, but please—"

Too late. "Oh, girls, listen to this. I have the most awesome news." Donna climbed on her chair and stood in the middle of the office garden. She had pushed her glasses on top of her head and her curly hair bounced around her face. In typical Donna style, she was wearing a bright red dress with polka dots, the type you'd see in the 1950's style movies.

The usual group of girls gathered around, a gaggle of glittering bangles, painted eyelids, lip gloss and very high heels.

Justine cringed. Why did Donna always embarrass her so?

Most people were still at work. From surrounding cubicles came sounds of people talking and phones ringing.

Stella stood up and looked over the edge of her cubicle."Shhh, be quiet."

"Don't be such a bore," Donna said.