Counterpoint

The dreams do not disturb her. In fact, she welcomes them.

In dreams she can see their faces, almost feel the warmth of their touch, their caress.

Often she awakes from the memories of one lover's embrace and falls asleep to find herself in the arms of the other.

The vivid sights and sounds of their eras accompany the dreams.

Once again, she is sitting in the grand concert hall as a ripple of anticipation runs through the excited crowd. It is New York City, 1924, and he takes the stage to accompany the concert band on the piano. The evening is the talk of the town and billed as "An Experiment in Modern Music". From the first wail of the clarinet to the virtuosity of his keyboard performance amidst the blending of classical with jazz, the audience is spellbound. She watches as his symphonic composition weaves its magic and announces his legitimacy as a serious composer. The swelling crescendos and clashing of cymbals only serve to fill her with passion and pride.

Finally, the piece comes to a climactic end and, after a moment of stunned silence, the audience rises to its feet with thunderous applause. She stands there in the front row as he comes to center stage. She can see the sweat pouring from his face as his eyes search for and find her. He is smiling, beaming, and she is trying to control her thumping heart as the heat races to her cheeks. He turns to the maestro and acknowledges the musicians. The audience continues to stand and cheer. A young woman runs from the wings and hands him a bouquet of flowers. He waves and bows to the crowd and then walks to the edge of the stage, bends and hands the flowers to her.

Later, they dine privately in his suite and he makes love to her as skillfully as he makes his music. His hands. She always remembers the touch of his fingers on her bare skin, the feel of the cool satin sheets beneath their heated bodies.

She awakens and turns the switch on the lamp next to her bed. Opening the drawer of the nightstand, she pulls out a worn folder and looks at the yellowed pages within. The musical notations are faded but the inscription over the title remains dark and bold:

To Helen, my Muse and inspiration … Always, George

She smiles and sighs, returning the "Rhapsody in Blue" to its hidden compartment.

Drifting off, she finds herself amidst the exotic locales of India. He is meditating in his white robes and she waits patiently until he turns and bids her to come sit by him. They sit silently, at prayer, and then lifting himself, he takes her hand and gently pulls her up. He leads her to a lush garden and a waterfall where they disrobe before entering the warm waters. They spend the pre-dawn hours in each other's arms and greet the sun as it rises over the distant mountains. She feels reborn and seeks him out whenever she travels to the nearby sanctuary. They are discreet. Once a well-known musician, he has now found his nirvana in this distant land and acts as her lover and guru.

The dreams are intertwined and she awakens in the morning refreshed and renewed. In her dressing robe, she pauses to glance at a picture of a stunningly beautiful woman in a black evening gown, leaning on the arm of George Gershwin. Next to that picture is a more contemporary portrait of George Harrison, bearded and standing in front of an ancient temple. He is smiling shyly at someone taking the picture.

Helen smiles wistfully back at the photo and replaces it on the shelf.

It is time to begin the day … with a song in her heart.

"Our truest life is when we are in dreams awake." – Henry David Thoreau