1 7. STORM

The clear liquid tastes like what I would imagine gasoline tastes like and burns my throat as it heads down to my stomach, where it explodes in a nuclear fireball .

“What was that, drain cleaner?” I wheeze as I slam the shot glass back on the bar .

Nick shakes his head and knocks back his own. “You young people these days can’t drink anything unless it’s apple-cinnamon or blueberry flavored. This is real Russian vodka, made from potatoes, not corn. Strong enough to sterilize a bullet wound .”

I cock an eyebrow. “Seriously? You try to poison me, then you follow it up with a ‘young people these days’ shot ?”

“That’s right,” he grins. “And while I’m on the subject, get off my lawn .”

I can’t help but giggle. “A joke and a pop culture reference from Silent Nick !”

“I’m full of unplumbed depths .”

“You’re full of something .”

“Walked right into that one,” he says with a wince .

“It’s okay,” I say, patting his hand. “The mind starts to dull a bit after a certain age .”

“That’s it,” he says coldly. “You’re going over my knee .”

I shriek and bolt from the sitting room toward the main staircase, Nick in hot pursuit. I giggle all the way down the second-floor hallway to the music room before finally collapsing, breathless, on the Hamlin’s antique bench .

“I give up!” I squeal, holding my hands up in surrender .

He takes them in his and pulls me up so that I’m sitting on the bench. He takes a seat beside me .

“Play for me,” he says .

Play for me . How many times have I heard those words in my life? Always a command, or worse, a demand. But from Nick, it’s a request, even though it’s not phrased as a question. Playing for him is a pleasure, not a chore .

“What would you like to hear?” I ask as I position myself at the keys .

“Do you know any Tchaikovsky ?”

“Sure. Let me guess, you like him because he’s a good Russian composer, like your good potato wodka .” I say that last in a thick accent .

Nick shrugs. “They’re the only ones I know. We had to learn about them in school. Tchaikovsky, Shostakovich, Stravinsky, the ‘Mighty Five.’ As far as we knew, they were the only composers in the world .”

Again I’m struck by how limited his life must have been before he came to America. How small his perspective must have been. I may have had a shitty life growing up, but at least there was always the possibility of something better. Something to hope for. He never had that. Worse, he didn’t even know he could have that .

My fingers wander to the keys that start off Tchaikovsky’s Nocturne in F Minor . Some might call it a sleepy piece, but I’ve always found it has a haunting beauty to it .

Nick closes his eyes as he listens. I don’t know why, but this means more to me than I can ever say. It doesn’t come close to repaying him for everything he’s done for me, but it’s a start. He claps softly as the piece comes to an end .

“It amazes me that you can remember that without sheet music,” he says .

“It’s not really amazing,” I say. “That’s the only Tchaikovsky I know .”

“That’s like saying ‘I can fly a plane, but only an F-18 fighter jet’. It’s still amazing .”

Even now, his praise makes me blush. “Thank you. Anything else you’d like to hear ?”

“Play your own favorite piece .”

“My favorite?” I grin. “Okay, but you might be surprised .”

He sweeps a hand at the keys. “Now you’ve got me intrigued .”

“Remember, you asked for it .”

He nods and closes his eyes in anticipation. I guarantee he’s not expecting what comes next .

My fingers pound the keys four times, banging out the opening chords to Jerry Lee Lewis’s Great Balls of Fire, and Nick’s eyes snap open. I screech the lyrics about shaking my nerves and rattling my brains – there’s a reason I’m a pianist and not a singer – and Nick stares at me as I launch into the first verse .

There’s something primal about the song’s rollicking rhythm that I’ve loved since I was a little girl. Playing the classics can transport me and touch me deep inside, but sometimes I just want to pound the keys like a maniac and get the people around me moving .

Next thing I know, Nick is grinning and bobbing his head in time to the music. My caterwauling doesn’t seem to be putting him off, so I keep singing. By the third verse, he’s joined me .

Then I lose myself in the solo, with its sharp, driving notes, and Nick is grinning and nodding frantically along, spurring me to slam the keys down with all my strength. By the time we’re back to the chorus, both of us are screeching at the top of our lungs about chewing our nails and twiddling our thumbs .

I pound out the last four notes and we collapse into each other, laughing like kids .

“That was fun,” Nick sighs .

“I wish I’d been recording you,” I say. “I’d totally blackmail you with it. Nick the Grim is really the karaoke king of boogie-woogie .”

He straightens up immediately. “That’s not even funny .”

I nod sternly. “You’re right, I’m sorry .”

Then we’re off again. When we finally calm down, Nick slides an arm around my waist. It feels so good, like a warm blanket .

“I wish I had a talent,” he says wistfully .

“You mean besides escaping the fall of the Soviet Union, building a vast fortune and rescuing damsels in distress ?”

“You know what I mean,” he grins .

“Anyone can learn,” I say. “Tell you what: since you’re teaching me self-defense, I’ll teach you piano. What do you think ?”

He frowns, and with a stab of panic I suddenly realize what I just implied: that I’d be here long enough to teach him to play piano. That’s a lot to presume .

“I don’t think I can,” he says .

“That’s – that’s fine,” I stammer. “I mean, I didn’t mean to …”

He gives me a quizzical look and holds out his hands. “I mean because of these .”

Relief washes through me as I see what he’s talking about: those giant fingers of his .

“We can work with those,” I say. “It just takes practice .”

“If you say so .”

“Let’s start with just one.” I take his left hand in my right. “Index finger only .”

He extends his pointer and I tap it against the C key. “Tap this three times .”

He does. Then I take his finger onto the B, then the A, then back to the B, C and D. Then I lift his finger onto the E key .

“Tap three times .”

He does .

“Okay, now do all that again. Can you remember it all ?”

He plays all twelve notes again in perfect order with perfect timing .

“See?” I say. “You’re a natural .”

“What was that?” he asks .

“Ever heard of Heart and Soul ?”

He shakes his head, so I play the first few bars myself. “It’s a Hoagie Carmichael song. One of the great American standards, and a good first song for piano beginners .”

“You were using both hands, though,” he says glumly. “That looks complicated .”

“No more complicated than the techniques you’re teaching me to use in the dojo. Like you said, it just takes practice .”

I take his hand in mine again, only this time I stroke his palm with my fingertips .

“Like I said, I think we can work with these,” I coo. “Don’t you ?”

He gets my drift instantly, hungrily. An instant later, his hands are on my thighs and his lips are on my throat as his fingers roam into places where they’re more than welcome .

“That’s the way,” I sigh. “Practice makes perfect .”