Chapter One

Jane encounters Kit.

Christmas eve had reached the point where it was no longer enjoyable. The last minute christmas shoppers flurried under Jane’s apartment window. Their arms overflowing with bags, boxes and wrapping paper tucker under their armpit. The TV played in the corner, blaring the local ads that became too loud. Hurting her ears, she lowered the volume a few numbers. Leaving it on the even twenty-four. She pushed her fork around in the Stouffer's tv dinner. Stabbing at the peas, at covering them under the mashed potatoes.

Jane tried to ignore the music sheets spread out in front of her. Jingle Bells, and I’ll Be Home for Christmas where the topped picked for her to play. Over, and Over, and Over again. The pages bore thirty-two check marks for each time she had to play them. And that was only in the past week. She pushed them all together, hitting them down onto the keys to straighten them. Then did she notice the black fingerprint stains Rosemary had left behind. An old friend who used her cramped studio, as another studio storage space for the pastels and oils. Whose fumes frequented the air so often, the windows were never closed. Not even the New York cold that blew threw.

Lifting the white sheer curtains into the air. Blowing them over the beige lamp where they stayed. Until sliding off, back into their place. She licked the napkin, wetting it enough, and scrubbed the spots clean. There would be a word with Rosemary. Not again would she let her ruin a piano. Especially not the Steinway her parents had bought her. Jane picked at the last bits of food, deciding that had grown cold and inedible. And she sighed. Once more would she be alone on Christmas.

There was no bother going shopping for gifts. Her parents had called her months in advance to tell her of the cruise they had pre-booked. Ally and her husband would be spending time in the Rockies. She had boasted how Jeff had finally bought the cabin they had been eying for the past four years. How wonderful she thought. But, felt more jealous than anything. Even when her Grandma neglected to mention she would not be coming over for the dinner. Spain was rather nice this time of year. And she wouldn’t miss it with her new male friend, Ferdinand. How could her own grandmother snag a date, and not she? Jane pondered if she were busy, or if it were just her. Deciding that looking into it, wouldn’t cheer her up.

The food clumped together at the bottom of the garbage can, as Jane flung it all down. Setting her fork into the holder in the dishwasher. Then shutting it with a bang. Janes wiped her hands onto the front of her jeans. Scrunching her hands at the denim feeling. Carolers knocked on the door below. She could hear them through the open window. Belting out the notes as the door opened. Mr. and Mrs. Wagner clapped with glee. “Oh, aren’t they wonderful Thomas.” Mrs. Wagner said. Jane sat along the edge of the open window. Moving the curtain from her face, and fastening it to the wall. She peered through the fire escape grating. Watching the bobbing of black top hats, and red and green bonnets. Pulling out her phone, she half expected it to be blinking green. A message, call, anything.

There was nothing, and it slid onto the floor loud enough to draw attention from below. The carolers looked up, waving at her. She smiled and waved back. Their faces turning red from the cold wind that started to blow hard. Tom Dane looked back at her. Her replacement pianist that hadn’t scored a decent gig in several months. This is what he’s doing now, singing to strangers. Instead of using his slender dark hands that wrapped around the songbook. A few crooked teeth lined the bottom row of his strong jaw. Rosemary had said it was the smile that kept him from walking down the runway for Calvin Klein. Jane didn’t mind it one bit, or the his boyfriend that came attached to his hip. Marcus wriggled his fingers into the air, mouthing a Hi.

“Come on, there’s room for one more.” Marcus shouted. She was half tempted to shut the window and hide behind the couch. Though Jane had been a performer at heart, there wasn’t a single vocal chord that could produce a good note.

“I’m a bit busy, thanks though.” Marcus’ lips turned pouty.

“I know you're lying.” He snapped his fingers “The whole of Astoria knows you spend your days alone.” Tom laughed, nudging him in the side. As the carolers abandoned the two, making their way across the street.

“It’ll be something fun, I promise we won’t make fun of your voice.” Tom said.

“Really, I’ve got food in the oven, trying to figure out how to make a ham.” Jane began to trail on. Her heart wasn’t in the mood to be taken in by company she wasn’t all too familiar with. Tom tucked his hand into Marcus’ coat pocket.

“Well you know where we live. If that ham of your burns, you’re welcome to share dinner with us.” Jane nodded, and Tom threw up a hand, and Marcus blew a kiss and went down the three steps. Burning Ham? Jane wasn’t sure if she had ever cooked a ham before. Did they know that? Even at twenty six years, almost twenty seven, her cooking skills were known in the family to be abysmal. Her mother’s freckled face filled her mind. Blonde hair pulled back tightly enough to give a semi-facelift. Kneeling down to her level in the high heels she insisted on wearing. To recreate the 50’s housewife lifestyle in the 90’s. Not every child got to experience the complete season of Leave it to Beaver every month. “A man won’t want a woman who can’t cook for him.” She would say. Her red lipstick stained lips, pulling back into a smile.

Her body gave a shudder at having to make buttermilk pies once again. Not this year, not ever. Jane moved over to the second window, shutting it close. The air had kicked on, signalling it were 50 degrees or so. Her finger tips growing numb, and unable to stretch them out properly. Quick as she could, she shoved them under the heated blanket that laid on the couch. They flexed around, until the joints no longer creaked from the cold. Only music could sooth her boredom and lonely heart.

Jane sighed, as she sat down upon the wooden bench. Standing up, only to reach for the cushion. And sit down again. The keys were white. New as they could be. She had only had the piano for five months, after the last one had been burned by a fallen candle. The scorch marks from the incident still burned into the wood stained floor. Pieces of tape still stuck to the far right keys. Rosemary had asked for lessons once. And once was enough to never do it again. She scratched at the remnants that held a bit of orange construction paper. That once held the key names. It scraped under her unpainted nails, and she dug it out. Flinging the tape to the floor.

To play the Christmas music or not? Or make something up? Make up a Christmas song, she opted. Jane placed her hands she found too pudgy to be worthy of a musician. Even if everyone told her there were not big, but not like the other pianist. That held elegance that flowed off the ends of their fingertips. Her index finger reach for the G key, and pressed down. Then to another, forming a chord. The music poured out of her without even thinking. She played, stopping every so often to jot down notes. Or find the next part of her song. Replaying it again, until it made sense to her. Jane became lost in song, swirling around and forgetting her sorrow.

“NICE SONG” A voice shouted. Jane stopped her playing. Turning to the shout that came from outside. She walked to the window, expecting Tom and Marcus to be waiting down below. But it wasn’t them, an unfamiliar face stood in the street. His hair were dark, falling just past his ears. Hands tucking under his armpits to keep his hands from freezing. The black coat upturned to hide his neck. He looked from here, but his friendliness was not common for the New York she knew. “I SAID NICE SONG” He shouted once more.

“You don’t have to shout, I can hear you.” Jane said, almost annoyed by his loudness. Did he not have enough self awareness that other people lived around her?

“Sorry, couldn’t leave without telling you.” He pulled his hand to his mouth and coughed into it. Sending the cold weather breath out. “Did you make it yourself?”

“Yes” She said, rapping her nails along the window seal. He could see that she wanted him to go.

“Well, I’m Kit.” He stepped forward, craning his neck to see her better. The sun had started to set behind the apartments. Allowing the sun to shine directly into her face. She squinted trying to make out why he was still there.

“Nice to meet you Kit, I’m Jane.” She smiled.

“Like Jane Austen?” Jane groaned, the joke of Jane Austen had worn it course over the years. “I’ll assume that you’ve heard that one too many times?” He gave a light laugh. Shaking his head to remove a strand of hair the felt into his eyes.

“It’s something I’ve heard since grade school. I’ve never seen you through here, Kit.” She began to muse. “Have you moved in nearby?”

“Lost my pass, and my phone died.” He pulled it from his pocket. Pressing into the side to show it wasn’t turning on. His hand were thick from what she could she. Strong, with a large visible scar that across the top. It were three or more inches long, and rather red. He’s in a gang, she thought. Kit took to her expression that lingered too long on the hand. “I swear, the hand is from a boat accident in college. Hit a propeller before I could get back on. And after that I was the “Kitattee”.” Jane snorted at his nickname.

“Dumb as a Manatee?” She grinned

“If you count Cornell as dumb, then yes.” He shrugged his shoulders. And suddenly she felt abashed for not having gone to something so prestigious. “I hope you don’t feel intimidated by it. I only got on by a Rugby scholarship.” He flashed his grin whose teeth were far straighter than Tom’s.

“No, not at all. I’ve never met anyone from there.” Jane stepped out onto the fire escape. Leaning over the edge, making Kit lean back. Near choking on his own spit.

“Would care to have dinner with a Cornell graduate, and I mean only from there. I have not done anything else with my education, and it’s been seven years.” She laughed at his joke.

“It’s Christmas Eve, don’t you have family?”

“They’re busy, don’t say you are.” Kit said.

“I’m afraid I’m the same as you. Everyone I know is busy, or well I did blow off two friends.” Her voice trailed off at the end. Marcus and Tom, she’d have to avoid any and all bars for the night. It had steadily became dark, and if they were out, and Tom did burn the ham, she’d have a good chance of running into them. As her mind wandered, Kit grabbed the lower ladder of the fire escape. Pulling himself up, knocking down the trashcan that fell with a clang. And rolled off the sidewalk. Only being stopped by a parked car. His feet dangled until he hoisted it high enough to catch a bar.

“What are you doing.” She asked, as Kit continued up the way. Careful as to not knock over the flower pots that held crumbled leaves on the inside.

“Coming to see you, my eye’s aren’t what they used to be.” He said below her, starting up the stairs, and past the second floor window.

“Your eyes can’t be that bad, you look as old as I am.” As he came closer, he was much taller than she thought. Kit had to hobble under the grating, ducking his head as to not hit it. His grey eyes caught hers. And he stuck out his hand.

“Now we can meet as everyone else does.” She took his warm hand, and shook it. His face was flushed from the wind that picked up. Kit turned her palm over in his hand, drawing his finger across the softness of it. “So it’s these hands of where the music came from.” He flipped her hand over again. Feeling the back, and tracing over the few, faint freckles the lined it. Jane’s breath caught in her throat, as she followed his eyes. He took the left in his hand and held them.

“Should we go?” For brief second, she had forgotten to speak.

“Yes, I need my coat. And to close my windows so no more Kit’s come through.” Jane said as she stepped back into her apartment. Noticing the mounding piles of dirty laundry, uncleaned fish tank, and papers that scattered the counts and top the piano. In haste, she tried to shove them under the bed before Kit could even come through. Jane spotted the grey coat from under her bedding, that crumpled on the bed’s edge. She jerked it out, flailing it around to losing it from the sheets grips. Kit watched her struggle until at last, it pulled free. The silken material felt cold against her skin, as she slid her arms into it. Kit poked around the papers that she had written on. Removing one from the pile and putting it into the back. He looked to be reading the notes with each page he discarded, smiling every so often.

“Ready?” Jane asked, Kit placed the pages back on the stool.

“I was thinking, Jimmy’s Bistro. There’s no guarantee that we’ll have Ham. A meatball sub, break tradition!” Kit said

“There’s not tradition in the family, no need to start.” Jane said as she opened the door, pocketing her keys and phone. Kit went out before her, stepping into the brightly lit hallway where the neighbor boys were practicing their drums. Jane shut the door, and went down the steps, leaving the drumming behind her.