The Instructor

The Instructor

Chapter One
Late 1990s

I’d met Alan sometime around the end of my junior year of college. I was studying English. Or was it art? I never knew what I wanted to be. Somehow, I made up my mind to become an author. Instead, I wound up working odd jobs in cafes and supermarkets to pay off my student loans. Life’s a bitch. My parent’s thought it would be a wonderful experience to study abroad in England. “See the world; sort out your life,” to paraphrase my mother. What world? It’s just England. I didn’t even have a say in it; they told me to pack my bags and go to London. I was against it until they told me they were paying for everything. Air fare, a little on-campus apartment, the whole nine yards. All I had to pay for was city transportation and groceries. I was stunned; were they trying get rid of me or what? And so on one rainy morning, I waved good-bye to my folks and never came back.

Okay, back to meeting Alan.

It was the middle of July. I was bumming around Westfield’s music department waiting for Anne. She shared the apartment with me. We had our likes and dislikes, and she made a good friend. A door leading to the music lab was unlocked. Curious, I walked in and took a look. The place was deserted, lights off and all. While there were instruments everywhere, it was the piano that captured my interest.

I couldn’t whistle a tune to save my life, so playing the piano was impossible. And yet, for reasons unknown, I was drawn to the stark black and white keys. They felt cool and slick against my fingertips. Making sure there was no one around, I turned on the keyboard. The little LED blipped on with an ominous red glow.

Holding my breath, I played a note. A rich sound filled my ears and echoed in the silence. I played a second note higher up on the scale. It reminded me of a tinny bell. Like a child, I became lost in a barrage of discordant sounds. So entranced in my joy, I failed to notice that I’d acquired an audience.

“I’m sorry, but the lab’s closed.”

Frightened, I jumped and spun around.

Standing in the doorway was him. Dressed in a black suit and shades, he looked intimidating. And sexy as hell.

I couldn’t help but to blush. Thank God the lights were off.

“I was just waiting for a friend,” I said, switching off the keyboard. “Her name’s Anne Halden, have you seen her?”

“No, but I do know her,” Alan replied, removing and pocketing his shades. He turned on the lights and I found myself swimming in his blue-gray eyes. He was breath-taking up close. From the way he moved to those slender fingers, everything about him was wonderful. How could Anne ever concentrate with this man beside her?! I swallowed hard before speaking.

“How is Anne? I mean, is she doing well?” I asked, leaning against a wall.

I listened with fake enthusiasm of how Anne was doing great with her lessons, is at the top of her class, and would be performing at the spring concert. Blah-blah-blah.

“…exceptionally talented student and I know—miss, are you alright?”

“Hmm? Oh, I’m fine, really,” I lied. I was bored to tears, but I wasn’t about to tell him.

“For a second there, I thought I’d lost you,” he said, smirking. I swallowed, embarrassed to have been caught unaware. “How about we take a short walk?” Alan asked, suddenly shifting gears.

“Sure,” was all that I could say, following him out the door.

We spent the next ten minutes talking about the world we lived in and life in general. It so happened to be that Alan was quitting his job to pursue a career as a solo musician. He had scored a contract with a major record label and intended to release his first album next May.

“Wow, that’s wonderful!” I congratulated him.

“Thank you. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time,” he said, smiling. “The studio’s all set up and I already have a few demos in progress.” He paused, and then asked. “Say, would you like to hear them? I’d love to know your opinion.”

I was shocked. Why was he asking me, of all people?

“I’d love to,” was my reply. “But not tomorrow. I’ve got to work after school. The same goes for Friday.”

“No problem, I’ll just bring them on Thursday. How about meeting me here back at four?”

“Deal.”

“Great, I’ll see you then, Ms…”

“Bidwell. Sara Bidwell.”

“Ms. Bidwell,” Alan repeated. “I’m Alan Wilder, pleased to meet you.” He reached his hand and I took it. I gasped when I felt his grip, strong and firm. A blush crept its way into my cheeks, and elsewhere.

“It was nice meeting you,” I heard him say a thousand miles away. Once again, I was lost in his beautiful eyes. They stayed with me long after we’d gone our separate ways.


“That was…interesting.”

I stifled a yawn and leaned back into the chair. It was a quarter past five in the music lab. We were on the seventh demo.

“I know, it’s not quite what you were expecting,”

“Oh, I don’t mean that in a bad way,” I quickly added, catching the disappointment in Alan’s voice. “It’s just that, well, it’s a bit outside of the box. I’ve never heard anything like it.”

Alan sighed and removed the CD from the computer. Then he glanced at me, brooding.

“You’re lying, aren’t you?”

“What?! No, I’m not. Why, don’t you believe me?”

“If I had to ask, would I not?”

I ignored the sarcasm and looked away, not willing to face a challenge. I could feel his eyes on me, searing into my flesh.

“Sara, I just want your honest opinion. Is that too much to ask for?”

“Okay, fine,” I said, irritated. “It’s too slow, the lyrics are nonsense, and it hardly deserves six minutes worth of play. There! I’ve said it, are you happy now?”

“Much. You shouldn’t hide your true feelings. It makes for a miserable life.”

“Who are you, my father?”

“No, but I never give meaningless advice,” he retorted, standing. I watched him shut down the computer and slip on his shades.

“There are two demos left I’d like to share. Are you still up to it on Monday?” he asked as he switched off the lights.

“Yeah,” I said, grabbing my purse. “See you later, Mr. Wilder.”

“Please, call me Alan,” was his low reply as he grabbed my arm at the doorway. I looked up at him, surprised. A slight smirk tugged at his lips. I could smell his cologne, rich and intoxicating.

‘Please don’t faint, please, don’t faint, please don’t faint...’

“See you later… Alan,” I whispered, tugging my arm free. I practically ran down the hallway and barely made it to the ladies room when I collapsed with relief.

‘I think I’m love.’

AN: Reviews are greatly appreciated!