This woman could not have created that music! #Menage #Romance #MFRWHooks

My Book Hook today is a snippet from my multi-partner romance Goldberg Variations. This is quite an old story. The original version dates from 2010, when there were many opportunities for publishing in anthologies. Still, I think it holds up fairly well. After all, music is eternal.

Of course I might be biased. What do you think?

Blurb

A violinist, a violist and a seductress.

For twenty-two years the Goldberg brothers – Richard on cello, Harvey on viola and Albert on violin – have made music together, earning a decent living and a modicum of respect in the classical music community. When Richard’s sudden demise forces Harvey and Al to find a replacement cellist, neither can imagine how their new colleague will shake up their middle-aged lives.

Deidre Rasinovsky-Corbatta is an unlikely addition to the Goldberg Trio, a shapely siren with purple hair, scarlet lips and a rose tattooed on her ample breasts – but she plays cello like an angel. The passion she pours into her music spills over into her relationships with the two brothers. When both Al and Harv fall in love with her, will this tear the trio apart – or transform it?

The Hook

“Ms. Rasinovksy-Corbatta is in Practice Room 5 on the second floor,” the receptionist volunteered. “You can go on up, if you’d like.”

Harvey and Al bundled their instruments up the stairs to a long hallway that smelled of dust and rosin. Room 5 was at the end. The door was ajar. Light and music spilled through the opening.

Harvey grabbed Al, who was about to push the door wide. “Wait,” he whispered urgently. “Listen.”

The melody swirled around them like smoke, mysterious and difficult to apprehend, shifting form and mood in each moment. Harvey recognized Bach’s masterful D minor Partita, rendered with a purity and restraint that made Harvey ache. He closed his eyes and allowed the music to invade him, to overwhelm him. The notes soared heavenward, until he felt breathless in the thin atmosphere, then sank into low, throaty tones that vibrated deep in his gut.

He knew the piece well – could remember Richard performing it, to enthusiastic crowds – but now it seemed as though he had never truly heard it before. The playing was formal and precise yet somehow the control only heightened the emotional intensity. Pensive, questing, triumphant then subdued, the music ebbed and flowed in the darkened corridor.

“She’s good,” Al whispered.

“Shh!” Harvey felt momentary rage at his brother’s interruption, then that paltry emotion washed away in the tides of Bach’s creation. She was more than good. She was great, clearly a far more talented musician than any of the Goldberg brothers. Even Richard.

Why in the world would she want to be part of their group? What could they offer to induce her to join them? Harvey fretted briefly. Then the music raised him up again and carried him along, until the last mournful note trailed way into silence and set him free.

The two of them stood motionless for a long moment, looking at each other. Harvey gave a gentle knock.

“Come on in.” The voice was low and well-tempered, with the faintest trace of an accent. Harvey led the way into the practice room.

“Ms. Rasinovsky,” he began. He was unable to continue.

He didn’t know what he had expected, but the woman facing him with the cello cradled between her thighs was a shock.

Her red-shading-to-magenta hair made a spiky halo around her head. Her plump lips were painted to match. Wedgewood-blue eyes blazed in her long, pale face. One ear was pierced by half a dozen silver hoops and every finger of the hand that clasped the bow was decorated with a silver ring.

She wore a tight black jersey that zipped at the neck. The zipper was pulled down low enough that Harvey could see the tiny rose tattooed on creamy skin of her throat and the shadowy chasm between her full breasts. Her matching skirt was slit up the front. Harvey was grateful that she was wearing opaque tights.

When she smiled, put down her bow and stood to greet them, Harvey noticed her pointy-toed, high-heeled, Wicked-Witch-of-the-West boots.

No, there was no way this woman could have created that music! He swallowed hard, and tried again. “Ms. Rasinovsky,” he croaked. “I’m Harvey Goldberg, and this is my brother, Albert.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Thank you for coming all the way to Boston.”

Al’s eyes gleamed. He stepped forward and took the slender hand the cellist offered. “The pleasure is ours, Ms. Rasinovsky. I haven’t heard that piece played so well for many years.”

The woman laughed, deep in her chest. “You flatter me. And please, call me Deidre.”

“Al is telling the truth – Deidre. Your performance was astonishing. Not only was it technically perfect, it was very moving.”

“I appreciate the praise all the more, coming from a musician of your reputation, Mr. Goldberg – I mean, Harvey.”

She made his name sound like music. Harvey suddenly felt as though somebody had turned on a sunlamp. His wool suit was unbearably hot. His necktie was strangling him. He burned with embarrassment as he imagined how she must see him: a dumpy middle-aged man, balding and a bit disheveled, blushing like a girl. He needed to take control of this interview, but somehow he couldn’t organize his thoughts enough to utter a coherent sentence.

 

You can find the links on my website: https://www.lisabetsarai.com/goldbergvariationsbook.html

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks!