Arturo Bernelli smiled as the loud ovation crashed through the hall. He stood up from his bench and walked to the front of the stage. His flowing silver hair glowed under the bright LEDs. The stage that would normally have over 100 musicians had just one lone figure and a black grand piano.
He bowed repeatedly as the ovation just got louder. His eyes were filled with tears knowing this was to be the last time he'd ever experience this. The music was great, the money, the accolades were all wonderful but this was why he'd been touring for 60 years.
After 10 long minutes, he took a handkerchief from his tux and dabbed his eyes causing a louder ovation. Finally, after many bows the clapping faded, the standing reseated themselves, and no one left the hall, all eyes on the preeminent pianist of their times. His interpretation of every great work for piano was considered the one and only to own. People were known to be in tears hearing him play Moonlight Sonata for the first time. The cemeteries of the great composers found dozens of flowers on their graves after Arturo came to their city.
Tickets had gone for over $5,000 a seat for the last performance of Arturo and had sold out in 2 seconds. Many in attendance never even knew his last name as he was always known simply as Arturo. The hall went completely quiet ready to hear for the last time this great musician.
Arturo looked around seeing 100% of the crowd's eyes on him. He'd been long waiting this day, the last day he'd be able to share his gift with music lovers. He chose Severance Hall in Cleveland since he grew up in Cleveland Heights and his first and best memories of classical music were here. "I feel sad," he said simply, "I feel at a loss at how to express myself," he said looking around. Then he looked back at the Steinway behind him. "I've tried to communicate what I feel through the keys, the pedals so please pardon my weak attempt to convey how much this means to me that you all came for my final performance."
The crowd jumped up, clapping as the embarrassed man tried unsuccessfully to stop them. Then he bowed and raised his hands again.
"Please, thank you for...I know you are all lovers of music, lovers of what the great composers who came before us have created. I've always felt like an undeserving vessel to interpret the works of all the greats, Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Liszt, Haydn, Chopin, Debussy, Paganini, Stravinski... I could go on and on. I want to talk about this though," he said going back to the piano. He stroked it as if stroking a lover, "this piano was the first one I ever touched." He pressed the middle C key. He closed his eyes listening to the tone waiting until it faded to silence. He looked at the crowd, "This was the first key I ever played, the first note. I heard it and was hooked." He looked around sadly and sighed as he closed the fallboard. "There. Now you have heard the last note I'll ever publicly perform."
The crowd again gave an ovation, not as loud as many were wiping their eyes. None looked away. None made any other sound other than their clapping.
Arturo walked back up to the front of the stage, his eyes sweeping from side to side as if looking for someone. "I was blessed being able to learn on this piano, blessed to have had the finest teacher in the world, blessed to be taught by the finest person in the world. Mrs. Fielding? Ah, there you are. Please come up here," he said putting out a hand.
The entire hall craned their necks or stood as the 95-year-old white-haired woman stood and walked purposefully down the aisle. Arturo came down to the floor and took her hand before hugging her.
The crowd was again quiet as Arturo led the small but spry woman onto the stage. He turned, then put out a hand, faced her, then gave her a huge bow. He held it as the crowd gave another ovation.
"Thank you, Mrs. Fielding. Thank you for loaning me your wonderful instrument for my final performance. Thank you for putting up with me as a kid," he smiled. Then he looked at the audience and grinned, "I was a terrible student. Practice? Why would I practice when there's baseball and bikes and swimming?" he asked. He turned to the old woman who you could tell had been a true beauty in her youth. She still had her figure, still had crystal-clear bright blue eyes, and still had a smile that lit up the room. "Tell them how often you wanted to get rid of me."
Mrs. Dolores Feilding smiled and shook her head. "I never wanted to get rid of you," she said in a clear voice, "Spank you sure, but I knew there was talent inside you. I was just being patient until you saw what I saw in you, and until you felt what I felt."
* * *
Arturo Bernelli groaned hearing the boys yelling outside at the ball field. Every time he heard the crack of the bat he could smell the warm grass, and feel the breeze on his face as he ran the bases.
1958 was a great year to be a kid. Cleveland Stadium to see Rocky Colivito, Larry Doby, Herb Score, and others. Last fall, the Browns had a good season again after a disappointing one. They didn't find a replacement for Otto Graham and missed out in the draft hoping for Len Dawson or John Brodie but settled for a good running back in Jim Brown. Not a position of need. It didn't matter, win or lose they were the Browns. They'll find a way to win.
The 28-year-old Dolores Fielding looked at the boy, "Again. You're not concentrating," she sighed. She went over and closed the windows. The breeze felt good as it was a hot summer day but the boy just couldn't sit still. She sat next to Arturo who was a tall, strapping young man with large hands. He was made to succeed at whatever he put his mind to. But his parents wanted him to learn the piano afraid he'd waste his youth playing sports and not be well-rounded.
Arturo smelled the perfumed woman next to him. Ever since he started his lessons he was distracted by the sounds of his friends playing outside and then distracted again by the strange feeling he got whenever she was close. Mrs. Fielding was what his father described as a stacked dolly. She was very stacked, once he had brushed against her chest and perhaps it was the thick bra, but regardless his 18-year-old hormones made his head fuzzy.
"Look," Dolores said as she placed her hands over his, "you don't jab at the keys, you stroke them." She heard his soft gasp and sighed. It was so hard getting these horny boys to focus. "Try this section here and just gently stroke..."
Arturo felt horror as his penis started growing. It had been doing that a lot lately. He often woke up with an aching stiffy. He had no idea what to do with it and had to shower to get it to go away. Just the other day at school he had to clasp his books over his front between classes after seeing Mary Lou's panties. Why that caused this to happen was strange as there really wasn't much to see...but still, her creamy inner thighs seemed to call to him. He felt the woman's soft hands on his and tried to think of things outside but it was no use. "Ok, I'll do it better this time," he said hoping she'd get up so she couldn't see his tented pants.
Dolores sighed and went to stand next to the piano to not embarrass the boy. It was an impressive tent, she thought, not like Daryl's. 'Stop thinking like that,' she thought. 'Someone needs to focus!' she thought. She watched Arturo stroke the keys, nodding as he was doing it much better. He did have incredible hands. Long fingers, large palms.
They ran through various practice pieces and etudes when Dolores smiled, "Ok, you can go play with your friends. Tomorrow, 3 o'clock." Arturo jumped up and was out the door in a flash.
After the boy left Dolores wondered what it was about him that made her heart pound. Daryl was useless in bed but he was at least always willing if not a bit too efficient whenever she wanted to get amorous.
The next day Arturo was right on time as he always was. Never a minute early, never a minute late. At least she didn't have to worry about him being distracted that day by the kids playing outside as it was raining. He'd walked and needed to dry off so she gave him a dry towel.
