The Piano Teacher Read Free

time to compose herself. She shifted, feeling a drop of perspiration trickle down her thigh.
    No such luck. Mrs. Chen swooped through the door, a vision in cool pink, holding a tray of drinks. A small, exquisite woman, with hair cut just so, so that it swung in precise, geometric movements. Her shoulders were fragile and exposed in her sleeveless shift, her face a tiny oval.
    “Hello! ” Mrs. Chen trilled. “Lovely to meet you. I’m Melody. Locket’s just on her way.”
    “Locket? ” Claire said, uncertain.
    “My daughter. She’s just back from school and getting changed into something more comfortable. Isn’t the heat dreadful?” She set down the tray, which held long glasses of iced tea. “Have something cool, please.”
    “Your English is remarkably good,” Claire said as she took a glass.
    “Oh, is it? ” Melody said casually. “Four years at Wellesley will do that for you, I suppose.”
    “You were at university in America?” Claire asked. She hadn’t known that Chinese went to university in America.
    “Loved every minute,” she said. “Except for the horrible, horrible food. Americans think a grilled cheese sandwich is a meal! And as you know, we Chinese take food very seriously.”
    “Is Locket going to be schooled in America? ”
    “We haven’t decided, but really, I’d rather talk to you about your schooling,” Mrs. Chen said.
    “Oh.” Claire was taken aback.
    “You know,” she continued pleasantly. “Where you studied music, and all that.”
    Claire settled back in her seat.
    “I was a serious student for a number of years. I studied with Mrs. Eloise Pollock and was about to apply for a position at the Royal Conservatory when my family situation changed.”
    Mrs. Chen sat, waiting, head tilted, with one birdlike ankle crossed over the other, her knees slanted to one side.
    “And so, I was unable to continue,” Claire said. Was she supposed to explain it in detail to this stranger? Her father had been let go from the printing company and it had been a black couple of months before he found a new job as an insurance salesman. His pay had been erratic at best—he was not a natural salesman—and luxuries like piano lessons were unthinkable. Mrs. Pollock, a very kind woman, had offered to continue her instruction at a much-reduced fee, but her mother, sensitive and pointlessly proud, had refused to even entertain the idea.
    “And what level of studies did you achieve? ”
    “I was studying for my seventh grade examinations.”
    “Locket is a beginning student but I want her to be taught seriously, by a serious musician,” Mrs. Chen said. “She should pass all her examinations with distinction.”
    “Well, I’m certainly serious about music, and as for passing with distinction, that will be up to Locket,” Claire said. “I did very well on my examinations.”
    Locket entered the room, or rather, she bumbled into it. Where her mother was small and fine, Locket was chubby, all rounded limbs and padded cheeks. She was wider than her mother already, and had glossy hair tied in a thick ponytail.
    “Hallo,” she said. She had a very distinct English accent.
    “Locket, this is Mrs. Pendleton,” Melody said, stroking her daughter’s cheek. “She’s come to see if she’ll be your piano teacher so you must be very polite.”
    “Do you like the piano, Locket? ” Claire said, too slowly, she realized, for a ten-year-old child. She had no experience with children.
    “I dunno,” Locket said. “I suppose so.”
    “Locket! ” her mother cried. “You said you wanted to learn. That’s why we bought you the new Steinway.”
    “Locket’s a pretty name,” Claire said. “How did you come about it? ”
    “Dunno,” said Locket. She reached for a glass of iced tea and drank. A small trickle wended its way down her chin. Her mother took a napkin off the silver tray and dabbed at her daughter’s chin.
    “Will Mr. Chen be arriving soon? ” Claire asked.
    “Oh, Victor! ”