Piano Man

3.

This man was dangerous. He had the possibility to take my heart and stomp all over it and I would be totally okay with it.

He was a little taller than me, maybe a couple of inches. His eyes were green, just like mine, and his hair was curly and brown. He was muscular, but not in a gym rat way, with tattoos all over his arms. Damn it, I'm losing the ability to even think coherently.

He looks like he's going to try to play piano versions of Fall Out Boy songs and pass them off as classical music. If he's the new piano player, we're fucked.

"Hi!" he looks me up and down, with an ease I so wish I could have as well. "I'm Jamie. I'm the new piano player here. I'm looking for Michael O'Connor."

I'm absolutely fucked. And he has a deep voice, making me weak in the knees. Thank god for my immaculate poker face and nonchalance.

"Good for you" I tell him, turn around on my heel and leave. Nailed it.

Flash forward a few hours, and the restaurant is completely full. If I had a tiny table with two chairs on my head someone would demand to sit there.

"Give me the Truffle Risotto with extra Parmigiano Reggiano, along with a glass of your finest Pinot Noir" one of our customers asks me, with a fake smile plastered across her face, dead eyes and what I imagine to be a stick up her ass.

"Of course, right away ma'am" I say sweetly. This was the game of life and so far, I was losing to a sociopath who actually calls parmesan cheese Parmigiano Reggiano.

As the night flashes by and the tables empty one by one, I start cleaning up the space. These days it seems like it's always my turn to do it

Suddenly, I turn around as I hear the song Vienna by Billy Joel being played on the piano. I smile slowly as I approach the new employee.

"You're good" I tell him, coming up from behind him.

"Am I?" he enquires, with a smile that says, "tell me more".

"Well, Vienna is my favorite song, so I will assume that anyone who can even vaguely play the first five notes is a genius".

"Is this the part where I scoff at the cliché of a young person relating to "Vienna"?" he cheekily replies. He hasn't stopped playing once. His hands move along the keyboard like they're meant to be there, like they came with the instrument as a nice little accessory. I can think of another place where they're meant to be, but I push the thought from my mind as quickly as I could.

"It's a cliché for a reason" I say acting fake-hurt. He laughs as he attempts to remember how "Empire State of Mind" started.

"I love Billy Joel" he says after a while.

"So does 99.9% of this country. That 0.1% is my Great Uncle John, and boy is that a conversation you do not want to have". I tell him, as I sit down next to him. "He's more of a Dylan ride or die fan".

"No matter if you love him or absolutely despise him with your entire being, everyone in Jersey will defend him like he's their uncle, which there's a high chance that he is. Jersey people are weird", Harry tells me with a smile.

Suddenly, he gets up and lowers the keyboard cover, and starts walking to the employee lockers to gather his coat, I presume. I can't imagine there's anything else in there on his first day.

"When I moved to New York, I listened to "Vienna" on the train and cried like a baby", Harry tells me before turning the corner.

I sit at the piano for a while longer. This is going to be interesting.