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The soft clinks of crystal clear glasses could be heard throughout the entirety of the ballroom. Tasteful bouquets of white and burgundy flowers were put in high vases interlaced with ribbons and fake pearls. Candles with craved emblems were lit up, making the AC in the corner work twice as hard.
The waiters around the room were filtering through tables with practiced ease. The guests were already seated, suits finely pressed and dark as the night, making the colorful dresses stand out even more. Red borscht served with wine glasses filled halfway. The dry taste lingering on everyone's tongue after a well-spoken toast.
And now it was his time to ‘shine’, Charles thought bitterly.
The surface of his glass was already warm from the amount of time he was holding it. The wine was half-empty, more out of politeness rather than taste. He didn't like it, personally preferring the ones from that small liquid shop near d’Armes square. Nevertheless, he needed that alcoholic current in his blood. Just to make the atmosphere seem a bit lighter, a bit less pressing.
With a sigh, Charles stepped away from the wall he was leaning against. He placed his glass on the table next to his half-eaten meal. Wiped his fingers clean on a provided handkerchief. In the meantime, his eyes scanned the crowd. It was the glitterati of Monaco, although some upstarts were present, trying to mingle their way into the upper crust. Charles almost gave into the urge to roll his eyes after witnessing another poor attempt from a woman trying to get a man interested in her.
However, it wasn't his business. It truly wasn't. He was here to play.
A spark returned to his eyes when he approached the sleek, black piano in front of him. The hosts were kind enough to even ask which manufacturer he preferred when it came to the instrument. He was shocked they even thought about that, but after a short consideration, yeah, they had enough money to spend on such trivialities. His fingers brushed along the side of the piano, not feeling even a speck of dust on its surface. Seeing him move, some guests quieted down, quickly asserting him with their eyes. A couple of them awaited his performance, glasses brought close to their lips, observing.
Charles wasn’t bothered one bit. He had done gigs like that before. In less extravagant settings, but still with the same premise of entertaining the richfolk. That must have meant he was gaining popularity amongst the Monegasque people, judging that the standards of the parties he was paid to attend were rising. In no world would Charles complain about the payments he was receiving on a weekly basis.
And he would find no shame in admitting this was a bit of a dream job. Connecting both his passion and good enough salary. Perhaps soon he would start private lessons, just to feel even more self-fullfilment. For all that, he should now focus on the job he was supposed to be doing.
Charles took the seat at the bench, making sure his tailcoat would not crease. His cufflinks were lightly scratching against his skin, but there was no time to adjust that now. His dress shirt was also a bit too tight, however he could bet that none of the guests complained about that.
The ballroom was almost perfectly quiet. The waiters were delivering the last soup bowls, a couple quiet chuckles would sound here and there. Other than that it was an ideal time to start playing.
The man corrected his music sheets, eyes scanning the notes he had seen hundreds of times before. ‘Le Nocturne op. 9 n° 2 de Frédéric Chopin’ proudly stated at the very top, the piece being one of the most recognisable morning room openers in Paris back in the day. No doubt a classic, and one that everyone hopefully knew and would quickly get bored of.
Charles for the last time tried to correct his cufflinks, letting out a calming breath. With everything else pushed to the back of his mind, he relaxed his fingers and started playing.
The room fell silent. The first part of the piece being the only sound filling the room. The left hand masterfully handling the background melody, making it present but not overbearing compared to the main one. The higher tones were gracefully making everything come together. The simplicity of it assured the steady and calming rhythm.
The music itself seemed to have an effect on Charles. The world around became blurred, piano and his hands being the only focal points of his focus. The nocturne he learned since he was a small child, all emotions brewing inside him mellowing. Not even mentioning how well tuned the instrument was, Charles was yet to encounter a note out of place.
Far away, he could hear the clink of cutlery returning, conversations sparking up once again. Nobody disturbed him, other than the occasional laugh echoing down the room.
This was a job he could do for ages. Free food provided, cheap wine passing for an expensive one, the ability to direct dances and set the atmosphere. Most importantly, that blankness of his mind, whenever the music seemed to be the only thing tying him back to the real world.
Charles continued playing. He thought about switching to some more difficult pieces, like ‘Winter Wind’, but they had that unnerving and rogue melody, which he was sure the hosts wouldn’t appreciate. The minutes ticked by, he was supposed to play until the desserts were delivered and as much as he could see from the corner of his eye, the second meal had just arrived. The guests were surely taking their time, he mused.
The sky outside was almost perfectly pitch black, the lights of Monaco making the stars hide away under their glow. The Mediterranean climate bringing in colder winds, temperature hitting lower digits. People coming back from a smoke dressed up in warm coats, cheeks flushed and noses red.
An unpleasant shiver went down Charles' spine, making him curse the barely working AC. His hands weren’t getting tired, but he suspected they should start soon. He was switching to the sixth piece, hands quickly returning to the keys, making sure the momentary silence wasn’t too loud. The mood was back on, the notes flawlessly followed.
He was getting back into his groove, thoughts quickly slipping away, replaced with the pleasure of playing. A tired smile graced his features, letting himself enjoy the moment. The background drifted far away once again, a faint, superficial accompaniment to his ever flowing symphony. His music reverberated in his ears and bones. That excitement of getting closer and closer to the crescendo, fingers itching with some unspoken anticipation. He could see the reflection of his face in black varnish of the instrument, the passionate glint in his eyes present more than ever. His right hand was climbing higher towards the keys at the end. The leading melody was growing with tension. His fingers on the left pressing down in rapid succession, like a drummer in a concert.
And just when he was about to reach the apogee, to reach the final ultimatum.
The lights went out.
Gasps sounded across the room, murmurs increasing.
Charles continued playing for a couple of seconds, remembering the memory printed in his mind. He finished the crescendo, on a quieter tone than he would like to, but there was nothing he could do. Doing a little bit of mental gymnastics, he quickly opted to finish the piece on an ungraceful fermata that even to inexperienced ears sounded askew.
The buildings that could be seen outside the windows were dark and so were the street lamps. The other side of the port far away was lit though. In the ballroom, the only sources of illumination were burning candles at the tables. He waited for almost a minute at the piano, thinking maybe the lights would turn back on. It didn’t take long for people to start pulling out their phones and turning on the flashlights, Charles took that as a cue to leave his station and go search for his own. Happily he found it next to his unfinished meal. The moment he pointed the light across the ballroom, the host started shouting.
“We apologise for the inconvenience!” The man’s french accent could be heard from miles away. He stood atop of a chair, hands creating a makeshift megaphone, “We have called the electric hotline. The power is down in both Monaco-Ville and Fontvieille and seems to be a long term issue. With great sadness we inform that the event cannot, and will not, continue under these circumstances-” a series of groans echoed around the host, coupled with some boos “-out of respect to our guests-” Charles had to stop himself from rolling his eyes, “-and all tonight's side events will be moved onto tomorrow-” Wait, what?
Charles was now utterly confused. They had a deal that he would play for one party, and one party only. Nothing was said that the festiveness would continue for the next day, besides he didn’t have time the next day.
Soon, some kind of bitterness overwhelmed him. With no time to spare, Charles picked up his belongings from a chair and started stomping towards the centre of the room, using the flashlight to see. On his way, he quickly clasped the music sheets from the piano with no regard for actually storing them in the bag.
He rounded the tables and managed to approach the host just as he clumsily stepped off the chair.
“Hey, uh- if the party is off... can I have the payment?” Charles spoke in French, hoping none of the guests would listen in on the conversation.
The host grumbled something quietly prior to actually facing Charles. There was a flash in his eyes, as if the man couldn’t recognize who the musician was, before the spark of recognition finally appeared and his expression turned sour once again.
“No, after tomorrow,” came the curt reply.
“Tomorrow? We had no deal for tomorrow. I was supposed to play during the dinner and leave,” Charles argued, shining light straight into the older man's face.
“No, tomorrow's the party, tomorrow you will get paid,” he pushed Leclerc's hand away, cursing out the flashlight.
“I don’t have time tomorrow! There was nothing in the papers that said our deal would be extended!” Charles wasn’t quite sure if that was true, but it seemed both him and the man only skimmed through the job papers when signing. The host was starting to get annoyed with him, and oh boy, he was getting red.
“No kid, you either come back tomorrow, play and get paid, or you leave now and don’t get paid because you haven’t finished your job,” the tone was stern, and an accusing finger was pointed in the pianist's direction.
“Listen, the deal was clear. Just give me the amount I should be paid for the last two hours and I will leave,” now it was his turn to get heated. Charles swatted away the finger with the sheets he was holding. A couple of guests observed the interaction silently, understanding French or not, they seemed very intrigued.
“You ain’t getting shit,” the last word was shamelessly hissed out, “I’m seeing you tomorrow. Here at 7pm, playing that gosh darn piano,” each word was punctuated with a jab to Charles' chest, who couldn’t give one singular care in the world.
“Well, I’m sorry, but I think you can’t afford me tomorrow,” Leclerc replied and dropped the music sheets onto the floor, “Good luck finding another pianist, I’m heading out.”
And with that he started walking towards the entrance. The host shouted something along the lines of ‘ungrateful brat’, but Charles was too busy weaving through the crowd that gathered around them. He was muttering apologies every time he stepped on a ladies dress or bumped shoulders with someone trying to make his way through the dark. He quickly sneaked behind a door with a sign ‘workers only’ where he left his black dustcoat and grabbed it.
Charles stepped out into the cold, night air outside. The street was dark, lamps not working at all. Some guests were standing nearby, smoking, the red butts of cigarettes glowing in their hands. He ignored them and crossed the road to reach the other side. Turning off the flashlight, the man called a taxi.
As much as he didn’t live that far away, only thirty minutes on foot, Charles couldn’t find the energy in him to make that journey. He was lucky enough that his brother had dropped him off when the party had started, except now it was just after midnight, and he doubted that Arthur would come to rescue him. At least his taxi was already on the move, so that was one of few positives.
In general, Charles dubbed this night as absolutely horrible. It started out fine, like any other, but the end was something else entirely. He didn’t get paid, at all! Perhaps he could’ve bargained more, humiliated the guy even more. Though, it could’ve also gone the other way, where a bad word about him being an ‘ungrateful brat’ would taint his reputation as a spotless musician. Either way, the tiredness was overcoming him now, and he silently begged that his apartment was spared from the power outage.
This night couldn’t get even more shitty, right?
A taxi, as much as he could see in the dark, stopped right before him, some new model of a Lexus. The car was sleek black, with tinted windows making the inside invisible for onlookers. The glaringly obvious advertisements on the doors were the only things making it actually look like… well, a taxi.
Charles closed his phone, putting a stop to his mindless doomscrolling. The car was definitely waiting for him, but it’s not like he would get into a random car just because it looked like an Uber. Bitting his lip, he knocked on the blackened window. The glass rolled down just a couple seconds later, revealing the dark inside.
“You getting in or not?” asked the voice from the driver's seat.
Immediately, Charles caught onto the strange accent, the man was from Europe he had no doubts about that. Maybe German? No, not quite distinguishing enough, although judging by the name his app provided…
“Max… Verschtappen?” it sounded german, that’s for sure.
“Yeah, where to?” straight to the point.
“Uh… Avenue Pasteur 3, Villa Pasteur please,” Charles quickly scrambled into the rear seat, checking his bag if he surely took everything, “The parking lot entrance may be closed because there is no power. So you can drop me wherever you want.”
Right when Charles closed the doors, Max (that was his name, right?) put the gas pedal to the metal. The car roared, tires screeched against the damp road from the rain all these hours ago. Charles could bet they hit sixty in just under three, but he was too busy frantically putting on his seatbelt to actually count. The car zoomed through the dark streets, windows around them reflecting their lights. The radio that was silently playing had been completely drowned out by the sound of the engine. Leclerc stumbled to hold his bag closely to his chest, hoping nothing spilled out from it.
“Putain…” Charles mumbled, in spite of that the driver seemed to hear him.
They slowed down near the traffic lights, all of them flashing yellow in even intervals. The car stopped sharply, although there were no other vehicles around them.
"Don't tell me this is too fast for you?” Max replied, sarcasm sneaking into his voice. He turned to look back at his passenger, putting his arm behind the head rest next to him. The man was smiling cheekily, if Charles looked close enough he could see the white of his teeth sneaking out. The yellow light behind him was making his hair look like an eternal halo. The golden glow of his skin reminded Charles of Klimt paintings that he saw back in the day, exhibited in the most luxurious museums. But he was too absorbed in admiring something else. Piercing, laser-focused eyes. They were staring right into him, as if trying to read him like notes on a stave. They might’ve jumped lower once, and Charles found that he was too hot for the tailcoat, and the shirt he wore was certainly too tight now. He could feel a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks, while he tried to uselessly get rid of a lump in his throat.
Finally, after what must’ve been at least ten seconds of awkward staring, he remembered he was asked a question.
“Non! No… I-I just… rarely drive this fast…” he bit his lip once again, a nervous habit. Charles turned his head to the side, trying to break eye contact, failing to notice how the driver's eyes seemed to follow the stretch of his neck, “I-I mean I like driving fast. And… I wouldn’t be opposed if you drove fast too.”
Was that flirting? Charles himself didn’t know. If it was, it wasn’t smooth at all.
The comment made Max (yes, his name was definitely Max) chuckle, shaking his head a little.
“C’mon then. Let me show you what real speed is,” the locks on the doors clicked open, and the driver patted the shotgun seat next to him, as if that explained everything.
Charles, without saying one word more, tossed his bag into the front. He climbed out of the car and rounded it from the other side. Throughout the whole ordeal, no cars appeared on the streets. As much as nightlife in Monaco was always present, it seemed to quiet down for this exact moment. The barely remaining puddles on the road splashed under his shoes, and the cold air brought him a tiny bit back to reality. Charles could see his reflection in the shop fronts, tailcoat tugging at his waist, hair slightly ruffled after being a full day on his feet.
In spite of all that, the nerves seemed to leave him once he propped himself in the front seat. Exhaling loudly, running a hand through his hair to at least make it a touch nicer. Max, almost immediately, seized him with his eyes. Taking in his outfit and faint lines of exhaustion that seemed to grace his face. After Charles made sure his seatbelt was on properly, and noticing that they were still not moving, he sent a questioning glance towards the driver.
“Ready?” Max asked, eyes digging straight into his soul, hand already gently caressing the handbrake.
Was he really waiting for him to get settled now? Charles wasn’t that fragile for him to ask for permission, especially since he didn’t ask before.
“Oui,” and right as he said that, as if five lights had gone out, Max sped away flat out.
The handbrake went down, and with it the tires screeched, the clutch burned. The force of the sudden speed pushed Charles back into the seat.
Ah, so that’s why he asked if he was ready.
The buildings blurred outside the windows. Singular rooms lit up with candles were the only indicators where actual walls were. The lines on the road shining with the light from the reflectors, thrumming immensely when Max drove over them. The very few people on the street would point their flashlights at them, possibly recording, possibly just trying to identify what was speeding down the roads. The rev of the engine was loud, hitting rotations so high Charles was sure it would get damaged. Max wasn’t deterred by any of it, switching gears with such precision which Charles never saw before.
While he would promise everyone he was only observing the road ahead during that crazy drive, it wouldn’t be necessarily true. On long straights, twisty turns, when almost drifting around the roundabounds, Charles would sneak glances onto Max.
His jaw was set, tightening if another car appeared on the road. Hands grasping around the wheel, turning it fluidly. Gods, don’t get him started on the arms. Muscular, but not enough for them to seem bulky. The same was with the driver’s build in general. The man definitely hit the gym at least two times a week. Still, everything fell short when it came to his eyes. The blue shining in the darkness of the night, irises dilated by the adrenaline. The way they seemed focused on everything around them; checking side mirrors; evaluating the best driving lines. And obviously, how they seemed to drag Leclerc in whenever they made contact. The blush that spread across Max's cheeks when Charles noticed him staring was so boyish, shameless in a way.
Perhaps, the Monasque could give it a shot.
Perhaps, the night wouldn’t get any more awful?
However, he would enjoy this ride for now.
He didn’t bat an eye at how Max seemed to ignore directions on his GPS, choosing to laugh whenever they made a turn that made half of their wheels lift off the asphalt. Leaving tracks on the ground with every press of the breaks. Revving the car when a drunken group walked by, cheering on them like they were in a rally. The radio got muted, not allowed to taint the sweet sound of the engine. With every whoop the musician let out, the driver took the next turn sharper, with more determination. Indicators and traffic regulations were forgotten in favour of pure and unmatched speed.
Charles rolled down the windows, ignoring the cold that hit him. The adrenaline was working overtime in keeping him warm, he could feel sweat rolling down his neck. With no regard for if he would be sick tomorrow morning, he took off his tailcoat while they were dashing through Tunnel Albert. It was quite difficult to get out of it with a seatbelt on, but he finally made it with a little bit of wiggling. He tossed the coat on the back seats, and while doing so, he noticed Max staring at him. Charles felt a rush of boldness in that moment, winking at the driver and very innocently correcting his collar. The man knew he was well-built too, he couldn’t let Max think he was the only one. That’s why, he let the shirt stretch across his arms, a smug grin plastering his face. Now it was Max’s turn to go still for a moment, a drop of sweat falling down his temple.
That singular action made Leclerc smile innocently, pretending that what he had done had no ulterior motive.
The emergency lights of the tunnel were blinding compared to the black shadows of the street. In spite of that, they gave him a clear view of the shameless staring that Max was doing. Charles reached with his hand towards the wheel, and lightly corrected it to the left side, letting the car drift away from the wall.
“You are driving too close to the edge, chéri,” he said. The last word might’ve accidentally slipped in, but he felt it gave his words that cutting, ironic tone.
Max exhaled sharply at that, shaking his head in disbelief and focusing once again on the road.
“Klootzak!” he replied, then chuckled softly.
“What?!” Charles started laughing too, not sure he heard correctly due to the wind rushing through the window, “I don’t know German!”
“German? That’s Dutch, you idiot!” Max nudged him in the ribs and laughed fullheartedly, Charles thought that singular sound would be the end of him.
And they continued driving like that, banter forgotten, engine filling in the silence. They left the bright tunnel behind, emerging on the far south-western side of Monaco. Unexpectedly, Max pulled into a petrol station nearby, making his way into a small parking lot and taking up two spots. The only lights that were working were those next to the petrol pump, ones that the small generator could power. Charles has been uncontrollably giggling, high on the adrenaline. It took him a second to calm down and after a moment he started observing what the driver was doing.
Max fiddled with the taximeter, pressing various buttons and cursing quietly under his nose. Leclerc could see the payment, which got racked up during their little journey, disappear (thankfully, because it was quite an amount).
“There we go…” Max mumbled.The screen flashed with zeroed numbers, as if their journey had just begun, “The original drive was nine minutes. From where we are now - it’s three. You can afford three, right?”
“Yeah! Yeah, of course!” Charles grinned, energy from the drive seeping from him.
The driver smiled back. In the dark, it was hard to tell if his cheeks were red because of the exhausting ride or Leclerc himself. Max turned on the left indicator, even checking if someone was not coming from behind. The difference between this cautionary driving and what they were doing before, made Charles giggle once again.
And just when they were about to rejoin traffic, two people stepped in the vehicle's way. They didn’t notice them before, hidden under the veil of darkness. One of them stepped in front of the bonnet of the car, dragging the other person behind them by hand.
“Wait,” Max whispered to Charles and rolled down his window to talk with them, “What do you want?” politely of course.
“We need a lift,” one of them said sternly. It was a man of straight posture and a lean body. He was dressed in a black suit, which was slightly rumpled. His right hand was holding onto something beneath the jacket, making Max hold the wheel a touch more tightly. The man's hair was short, brushed to the side. The taxi driver couldn’t tell the exact colour of it with this poor lighting. His accent wasn’t local, which in a city like Monaco could mean anything.
The other person was much more distinguishable. His hair was curly, but also cut short. He had a barely visible goatee, as if he couldn’t fully grow it. Though, the most recognizable thing about him were his clothes. Neon green (or yellow?) shirt with some black patterns. Party glasses from the 90’ hanging on that shirt's collar. Loose, dark jeans, that he definitely was stepping on with how long they were. They seemed to be the only thing not colorful about his outfit. The guy looked like he had run a marathon with how sweaty he was, and an apparent smell of… something was accompanying him.
The duo looked like they were taken from two, very different movies.
“Sorry, but I already have a client,” Max replied calmly, his left hand a twitch away from pulling the window back up.
“Listen, you have to take us somewhere right now. I’ll pay double,” the man in the suit argued, while the other seemed to be frantically looking around.
“Nope.”
With that Max pulled down the handbrake, and the tires screeched once again. The man who spoke to him grabbed his companion when the car started moving, assuring they wouldn’t accidentally get run over. He also seemed to curse at something and took the other stranger by his arm to quickly lead them away. Max quickly pulled onto the road, driving away.
He needed to make a 360 on a roundabout and when he passed the gas station again, he could still spot the two of them. He wasn’t quite happy about the fact that the formally dressed man was now holding a gun in his right hand, but thankfully he didn’t seem to be interested in their taxi anymore.
Making a greater distance between them and strangers, Charles turned back to look at them, however they had already disappeared behind a corner.
“What was that about?” Leclerc questioned, turning back to stare at the road ahead.
“Don’t know. And I think I want to keep it that way,” Max murmured darkly, focusing on making a tight hairpin turn.
“Yeah, same…” Charles replied and the silence returned.
Now, with no engine revs or wind rushing, the journey to their destination was quiet. The mood was completely killed and the joys of the ride before were a distant memory. Charles stared out the window during the short drive. The other side of Monaco gleaming with lights, alive, prideful, a complete opposite to the quietness where they were.
When they arrived at the apartments, Charles found himself not wanting to leave the car, something bolting him to the seat. Max also didn’t seem too happy, a frown on his face. After a minute of total silence, the driver finally managed to find his words.
“Can I have your number? Just to repeat this stint once again, obviously,” he said, pressing something on the taximeter, the terminal awaiting payment.
“Yeah, sure,” Leclerc answered quietly, as if he didn’t want to disturb the city that was sleeping around them. Then after a moment he added, giggling shyly, “Don’t you have my number listed anyway on the taxi app?”
“I do. I wanted to ask you myself though,” Max smiled smugly, holding his phone for Charles to type his number into.
“Touché.”
After that short exchange and finalising the payment, Charles prepared to get out of the car. He already had his bag in his hand, the entrance to the apartment awaiting him. The power was still out, judging by the fact that every window of the building was dark. As much as this whole night was ending on a rather bittersweet note, it did end up finishing better than he had predicted.
And that was only thanks to one person really.
So, with the car door opened and one foot on the ground, Charles leaned in across the gearbox and gave Max an one-armed hug. The man certainly didn’t expect it, but soon he raised both of his arms to embrace Leclerc, patting him on the back lightly.
“Thanks, you made this shitty night a lot better,” Charles said softly, pulling away and finally stepping out of the car.
“No problem,” Max replied, leaning slightly so he could still look the other man in the eye, “I can make more nights of yours better, just give me a call,” he added, accompanying the whole sentence with a wink.
Something about that sentence made Charles feel lighter on the inside. Something giddy and untamed now frolicking in his mind.
“Watch it, or I might actually take you up on that offer,” he replied with a smile, perhaps with a more excited tone than he would like to. He was holding onto the doors edge, one push away from closing them, “See you later?”
“Yeah, see ya,” and with that response, Charles closed the doors.
He took one step back, making sure Max could comfortably drive away. The driver was waving at him, which was barely visible through the tainted windows. Charles waved back, with a tired smile on his face. And with that, Max took away, speeding down the street. He honked a couple of times for good measure, even sticking his arm out of one window, with one finger pointed up at the sky.
After he disappeared behind a corner, Charles let out a long breath, fighting the exhaustion that now settled deep into his bones. His bag at his side, weighting him down. He turned around towards his apartment and before he could cross its threshold, he looked one last time onto the street.
He could still hear the engine revving from far away, giving him a slight hope that maybe, he will meet Max again.