Graham cringed, shouting for his mother to get away, run away. Instead of listening to him, though, she ran forward, swinging ineffective arms at her husband.

"Mom, no!"

Graham saw his father's fist coming toward his face and tried in vain to duck away from it. It connected squarely with his jaw, spinning him into the wall of their shabby little house.

Somewhere, Ash was crying.

Graham sat up with a start. He was bathed in a cold sweat, shaking from the remnants of his dream.

Next to him Cressida, too, sat up. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just a dream."

"It doesn't seem like nothing, you're shaking like a leaf." She leaned over and turned on the lamp next to the bed. "You want a drink? Water? Something stronger?"

Graham shook his head, but Cressida ignored him and left the room, going to the bar in the main room to pour him a small shot of whiskey. She brought it back to him and he drank it down without a murmur.

"Don't worry, sweetiecee, I sometimes get nervous the day before a performance." Graham's voice was already blurry with drink and with incipient sleep.

"I don't think this has anything to do with your performance, but whatever." Cressida put her arms around Graham's neck, burying her face in his fluffy hair. "Try to go back to sleep, okay?"
He was nodding off against her, his arms strong around her body, as he drifted back to sleep.

Cressida held him as he fell back asleep, looking at his face, the face she loved. He looked stern and suspicious, even in slumber, as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Why would anyone want to earn his livelihood this way?

Poor Graham.

But he'd chosen this, the lonely life of the soloist, the horrible responsibility of not only putting all ten fingers on the right notes, but in the right order, and then of memorizing pages and pages and pages. And even if he got all that right, he could still get knocked for his performance, still be called a hack, or talentless, or merely a technician and not an artist.

His feet moved against hers in the bed, as though he ran from someone in his dreams. He clutched at her, pulling her into his taut body, crushing her small form to his.

Just as she her self was falling back asleep, she heard him whisper in her ear that he loved her, so much, so much. "Thank you for being with me, dear Cress."

She hugged him back, as tightly as she could, trying to let him know that she would always be there, an anchor for him to tether him to this earth, to their life together.

The next morning he seemed back to his normal, taciturn self, so Cressida didn't mention his interrupted sleep the night before.

"Should I leave?" she asked, nervous about facing the professor and Katherine.

"No, why?" Graham was surprised.

"They didn't invite me to spend the night, and they certainly didn't invite me to have my meals with them and spend the day here."

"But I did, and I'm their guest, so it's fine." He hugged her, smelling so good from his shower. "I need you with me today, please. I haven't performed in public in months, having you here will steady my nerves."

"Okay. Just don't leave me alone with them." She still felt awkward to just join them at mealtimes, as though she belonged there, and she was relieved when they went out to eat that neither Thurman was present. They helped themselves to coffee, and Rosita brought them hot cereal and eggs.

"I think Rosita likes you," Graham said, leaning over to whisper conspiratorially after she refilled their coffee cups.

"Oh? What makes you think that?"

"Well, she never brings me breakfast when I'm alone. And I've heard her say that she shouldn't have to cook breakfast more than once." He gestured to the spread in front of them, which included toast and fresh fruit as well. "For you, though, apparently that's not true."

Graham wolfed his breakfast, and finished Cressida's as well, so there was nothing to clear away but empty plates, which Cressida insisted they rinse and put in the dishwasher. They warmed up their coffee cups and took them out to the terrace, where Graham stood leaning on the balcony, looking out at the city. It was chilly.

"Winter's on its way, isn't it?" Cressida said, standing next to him, feeling his hard bicep against her cheek.

He didn't respond, but merely continued to survey the landscape spread out before him. Central Park was a riot of oranges, reds, and yellows, the buildings of Central Park South and West End Avenue hemming it into a nice, even rectangular shape.

They stood together, sipping their coffee, until Graham came back from wherever he went, saying, "You must be cold, sweetiecee."

"Sweetiecee?" she repeated.

"Sweet Tiny Cressida," he explained. "Sweet T. C."

"Oh. I'm okay," she responded, pleased. She'd never been given a nickname before, except by her Uncle Morty, who insisted on calling her "Shorts."

"No, I can tell you're trying not to shiver. Come on, let's get back inside."

"So, what do we do today?"

"Today I practice for a bit, then we pack up our shit and head over to the concert hall, where I practice some more, then I get sick, then I perform, then who knows? And you just stay where I can see you at all times, and maybe let me hug and kiss you sometimes."

Cressida smiled. "I suppose I can do that."

"Good morning, Graham. Hello, Cressida." It was the professor. "Are you ready for today?"

"Yes."

"And is Cressida to be with us all day?" She was so smoothly rude, it was incredible.

"Yes."

"How lovely. I've arranged the car for one o'clock, please be punctual. We should be finished by six or so."

"Okay." Graham headed to the practice room without another word, placing a hand on Cressida's elbow and taking her with him. Cressida supposed the professor was used to this behavior from him, especially on performance days.

She assumed he'd be working on the Moonlight Sonata, since that was what he was performing, but to her surprise he started on the Rachmaninov again, going over the same thundering bars over and over, rearranging the fingering and trying it again.

Cressida opened her laptop, hoping to get her homework out of the way before they left. She got lost in her writing and editing, and was surprised when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Time to go," Graham said, looking distracted.

They went to his room, where Cressida changed her clothes and he grabbed the garment bag with his suit in it.

They were met in the entry by Professor Thurman and Katherine, who also had a garment bag with her.

The ride through the city was short and uneventful, though the mood in the car was tense. Graham reached back between the seats to squeeze Cressida's hand once, and she squeezed back, hoping she was giving reassurance.

The car pulled over to let them out, and Cressida looked around, shocked. "This 'little charity performance' is at Lincoln Center?" she asked.

"Not the main stage, of course, one of the smaller auditoriums," Katherine responded.

They entered the building, which was already a hive of activity. The piano was gorgeous, black, shiny, and fully ten feet long.

They quickly made their way backstage, and Professor Thurman said, "I'll show Cressida where she can wait until the show starts."

"Not necessary, she'll be with me."

"What, in the actual practice room?"

"Yes."

Katherine and the professor both stared, but Graham seemed not to notice as he pulled Cressida into the practice room with him and closed the door.

"Nosy busybodies," he muttered. He looked at Cressida. "You don't mind, do you?"
She shook her head.

"You look really nice today," he said. "In case I didn't say it earlier, or forget to say it later."

Cressida felt like purring.

It was about an hour later that there was a knock on the door.

Graham swore and got up to open it.

It was Professor Thurman. "We have an emergency," she said without preamble. "One of the soloists has been in an accident. He was riding his bicycle here, of all things, and was hit by an automobile. He'll be fine, but he's in hospital, and can't make the performance. I need you to fill in for him and play two more sonatas."

Graham just stared at her.

"Please, Graham, it's in the program, and without them the show will be too short. It's for charity, they need to feel like they got a full show for the donations to work out right. No one else can do this."

"What two sonatas?"

"Mozart's A major and the Schuman #2 in G minor. It shouldn't be a problem, you've known both of them since your freshman year, you could do them in your sleep."

"I don't have the music. I can't even brush up."

"I've got it right here." She handed him a sheaf of papers.

Graham swallowed and took them from her.

"Thank you, Graham, I knew I could count on you." And she was gone, leaving only the scent of her Chanel No. 5 in the doorway.

"Oh my god, Graham, can you do this?" Cressida asked, appalled.

"Yes. I'm going to need you to turn the pages for me, okay?"

"What?" In front of that huge auditorium full of people? "No, I can't."

He just looked at her.

"Can't you get Katherine? She'd be much better suited for it than me, at least she can read the music." As much as she didn't want to see them on stage together in such an intimate setting, Cressida felt it would be much better for Katherine to have page turning duties.

Graham shook his head. "Please. I need you."

Cressida gulped and nodded. "Okay. Okay. Do we have time to run through them? So I can practice?"

Graham smiled, the ghost of his usual smile. "Of course, let's do it now, then I have to get dressed."

She dogeared the corners so she could grasp them, and spread them out a little to make it easier. She also realized, as they went through the music, that he didn't really need it and only looked at it every so often. This was reassuring.

There was another knock on the door. "Thirty minutes, sir," someone said through the door.

"Okay, I'm off to get dressed," Graham said. I'll see you backstage, okay?"

Cressida nodded, chewing her thumbnail.

"Don't worry, in a hundred years we'll all be dead, and none of this will matter," Graham said in a surprising moment of levity.

Cressida shook her head at him and pecked the corner of his mouth as he left with his garment bag.

She found the lounge area and saw copies of the program. Graham was last with the Moonlight, and she saw that someone named Mitchell Coventry, lately of the bicycle accident, was about midway through with the Mozart, and right before Graham with the Schumann. So he'd be performing the last two pieces of the show.

Graham came to find her, looking very sharp in his dark gray suit, very serious and official. They took their places in the wings, waiting in line to perform in chairs that had been set out for them. Katherine was first, lucky duck, she'd get her anguish out of the way before anyone else.

The guy next to them took an unusual interest in Cressida, who looked outstanding in her cream colored dress. Cressida tried to shut him down with monosyllabic answers, but he was persistent.

He'd just asked her out when Graham came back from his pre-concert solitude long enough to tell the guy, "She's with me, in every way there is, lay off." He put a hand on her knee to drive his point home.

"Excuse the hell out of me, sorry, man," the guy responded. After that he left her alone.

Cressida could hear the audience clapping for each piece. They sounded loud, like there were a lot of people.

Oh god.

Then it was Graham's turn to play the Mozart, and she was following him out on to the huge, scary stage holding the music in her hand. There were a few sounds of surprise when the audience saw him, and he was well-known enough that there was a smattering of applause for him, even before he performed.

He put the music on the stand and then pushed the stool back a good six inches to accommodate his long legs. He turned and nodded to Cressida, though she didn't feel like he even saw her.

He began playing, the beautiful opening notes of the Mozart floating out into the air, and Cressida concentrated on watching him, when he nodded, so she'd know when to turn the page. His face was stern in repose, the profile looking serious and thoughtful, and she saw that he even had his eyes closed for parts of it. She realized this time that the second movement was known to her as the Turkish March. She hadn't noticed when they ran through it in the practice room. Finally the last page was turned, and she was finished, for this time anyway. She sat sedately back on her chair, relaxing as much as she could with hundreds of eyes on her, or Graham, rather.

Then Graham was bowing to tumultuous applause, and she was following him offstage, thankfully, carrying her chair as she'd been told to do.

They went back to the waiting line of performers, getting line where they belonged.

"Mitchell Coventry was in a car accident, so Graham's taking his place," Cressida explained to the people around them.

Graham was silent.

Cressida looked around. Why, why did all of these people put themselves through this? Everyone looked tense and on edge.

Before she could do much, it was their turn onstage for the Schumann, and Cressida, even though her heart was in her mouth and she felt faint, felt marginally better than last time. Graham was good about nodding when it was her turn to turn the page, and she was even able to anticipate some of the page turns by looking at the notes and watching Graham's eyes.

Again, he got his own applause when they appeared onstage, and Cressida realized that Graham was the reason most people had come to this particular event, and that to the audience, he was a definite upgrade from Mitchell Coventry.

After the Schumann, her reluctant part in the show was over, and she was free to enjoy Graham, performing, thundering away at the crazy third movement of the Moonlight, which didn't really sound like moonlight at all. She supposed the moonlight was the first movement, the second movement was the moving in of clouds, and the third was a thunderstorm, for whoever heard of anything being all moonlight?

If only it were so.

Graham bowed to deafening applause, then gestured for all six of the performers to come out and take one last bow.

Then Professor Thurman came out and bowed on behalf of the Academy, and it was over.

"Thank Christ," Graham said after they were safely backstage again. He turned to Cressida. "Let me get out of this monkey suit and we'll go out for a drink and dinner, okay? That sound good?"
He was back from wherever he went before a performance, Cressida was glad to see.

"Yeah, that sounds great," she responded.

He hugged her and kissed her hair.

"Thanks for today," he said gently, moving her hair off her shoulder.

"You're very welcome."

They were waylaid in the hallway by Katherine. "We're all headed to the White Horse for drinks and dinner, are you going to join us?"

"No, I have to get Cressida home, thanks anyway."

And they both noticed the way Katherine's face fell. "Okay, see you back at home, then."

"Yes, see you later."