#painist

Adagio (Chapter 3)

Note: I’m going to add one more chapter as a bonus. It’ll still end with Chapter 6, and then 7 will be an extra scene I thought of that I think will be fun. :D

A week later the phone was still silent.

Bilba frowned at where it lay on the bedspread. It was late, late enough that she should have been asleep hours ago.

Sleep had proven elusive, however, which had led to her current situation, sitting cross legged on her bed, staring at a phone.

She didn’t understand why he hadn’t called. If he’d just wanted to be nice he wouldn’t have left the phone, right? And if he left the phone because he expected something then he’d have called.

Right?

She sighed and flopped back on the thin mattress.

Outside her window, loud footsteps clattered up a set of stairs leading to the second floor. They’d been happening regularly and were a large part of why she’d been unable to get any sleep. Part of her wanted to go investigate what was so popular up there, but the sane part of her understood she was probably better off not knowing.

She thought of her family in a far fancier hotel nearly fifteen minutes away an fought a surge of resentment. It wasn’t anything new, they always stayed in nicer places, leaving her to cheaper hotels in their never-ending quest to “teach her humility.”

She let out a huff and tried to focus on things she was grateful for, such as the ability to breathe through her nose again. The experience was somewhat dampened by the musty smell in the room but she comforted herself with the fact they’d be leaving in Mirkwood in the morning so she’d only have to deal with it for a few more minutes. 

She was more than ready to leave Mirkwood behind her. Perhaps she’d think differently had she been able to get out and see any of it but, as it was, all the memories she had from the place involved run down theaters and raging sinus infections.

More footsteps, and Bilba sat up with a grimace. The constant noise was grating, like nails on a chalkboard or a dripping faucet. That was another memory she’d have from this place, and one she’d be more than happy to leave behind.

She picked up the phone again with a scowl and opened the contacts. She pulled up a text box for “Bringer of Aspirin” and stared at it as if she could force answers through sheer will.

She had no idea what his name was or even what he even looked like. She’d been too miserable to look up. All she knew was he’d had a deep voice and had brought her soup.

And left her a phone that he hadn’t used once.

She hesitated, and hovered her fingers over the keypad. She should at least thank him, right? They were leaving Mirkwood tomorrow, so it wasn’t like she had to deal with him if he did end up being weird...so...

Pain lanced through her lip followed by the metallic taste of blood and she realized she’d been chewing on her lower lip so hard she’d managed to bite through.

Another round of footsteps from outside and she glared at the closed curtains. Then she let out a huff and, before she could talk herself out of it, typed a quick message on the screen.

Thanks for the soup and everything. I really appreciate it.

She forced herself to hit send and put the phone down. Her stomach fluttered and she scowled at it. She was being ridiculous. It was late, he probably wouldn’t even see it until—

The phone buzzed.

Bilba jumped and her heart jolted. She picked the phone up, gingerly as if it were a live snake, and pulled up the message.

You’re welcome. I hope it helped.

She waited, but several minutes passed and nothing else came through.

It did, she wrote back finally. I feel less like death warmed over now.

She chewed absently on her lower lip and tried to bat down the feeling that she was now the one bothering him. She wasn’t sure why she was basically inviting him to start a conversation. Hadn’t she just been worrying about him being a weirdo?

Good, the phone buzzed a moment later. Glad to know I helped avert a zombie apocalypse breaking out in Mirkwood.

Bilba laughed in surprise and texted back. If only the people knew how close they came. Lucky for them, they had you to stand in the breach and hold back calamity.

She reread her words and grimaced. Was that over the top and weird? It was probably over the top and weird.

I deserve a medal, he replied.

Bilba snorted. Forget the medal. Ask for something practical, like a pony, or a lifetime supply of hot chocolate.

Instead of a word response this time he simply sent back an emoji of a face crying with laughter, before adding a second text that said, You are absolutely right. What good is a medal? All it does is sit there and look shiny.

I suppose you could use it to fight off burglars, Bilba sent, but it'd be such a waste when you could have just gotten a dog.

So true. There was a pause and then a new text. If you don't mind my asking, how did you like Mirkwood? Aside from the near death, zombie apocalypse thing of course.

Bilba giggled. She scooted backward until she could shove a pillow between her back and headboard and lean back against it. She doubted he wanted to hear her whine about Mirkwood so she sent back, I didn't get to see much of it, but it seems nice. We're heading out tomorrow.

Are you? Where to next?

The Iron Hills, Bilba wrote. She was not looking forward to the trip. Hours upon hours of being trapped in a car with her stepmother, Lotho, Otho and Priscilla. There wasn't near enough room for them all and their belongings so, by the end, they were all guaranteed to be in less than stellar moods. Then Lake-town, and Dale and then we finish in Erebor.

Really? he wrote back. That's an odd route. Wouldn't it make more sense to hit Erebor, Dale and Lake-town and then finish in the Iron Hills?

It would, Bilba agreed. But my stepmother found out about a festival in Erebor to celebrate the prince's birthday and she's determined to be there for it.

Does she know it's a month away?

She does, Bilba answered with a sigh. Somehow her stepmother was intending to make the rest of the tour last a month to ensure they arrived in Erebor at exactly the right time. She didn’t want to know how that was going to work out. She’s got her eyes set on the ball Erebor is throwing to cap the whole thing off. 

How'd she manage to get an invitation? came the reply. I'd heard it was pretty exclusive.

Bilba tappe d a finger on her knee but then, deciding he’d probably hear about it anyway, went ahead and sent - The Thain of the Shire is my grandfather and she's been trying to leverage that the entire trip. It’s never workd, but my guess is she won't let that stop her from trying again.

The Thain? he asked. Doesn't that make you a princess?

Bilba rolled her eyes. NO. It's a hereditary title. It meant something once, but now it's pretty much just honorary. He’s really just a figurehead who comes out for parades and such. 

He was more or less the Shire’s diplomat/ambassador, in fact, a job that kept him incredibly busy but it certainly wasn’t anything that gave him the power or authority Lobelia liked to pretend he had.

Still, came the reply. That does technically make you royalty, honorary or not.

I suppose if you want to get technical, Bilba sent back grudgingly. Her stepmother insisted on it so often that the mere mention of the title gave her a nervous twitch. It never mattered until this tour when my stepmother started using it to try and get meetings with royal families and invites to balls. She's convinced she can marry my stepsister off to royalty.

She'd be disappointed in the Erebor ball then, came the response. That particular prince is spoken for.

Who knows? Bilba wrote back. Maybe there will be a lord or some such that will take an interest.

Her stepsister was pretty and if she got married off perhaps Lobelia would be taken up with that and leave Bilba alone more. It was a pleasant thought.

What about you? he asked. Looking to land a prince yourself?

Bilba shrugged, even though she knew he couldn't see. Depends on what you're defining as a prince.

Good point, he answered. What do you define as a prince?

Someone kind, Bilba replied without hesitation. Strong, protective. Someone who can make me laugh, maybe. Someone with a big family.

Her eyebrows drew together in a frown as she studied the text she'd just sent. It was far more than she'd meant to reveal, especially to a stranger.

Thing was, though, he didn't feel like a stranger. She had to remind herself that she didn't know his name, or what he looked like. She had to remind herself that she'd heard his voice exactly once and this was the first conversation they'd ever had.

She had to remind herself, because it certainly didn't feel like that. It felt like she was talking to someone she'd known a very long time. It was comfortable, easy. Like she'd simply picked up the phone at the end of the day to talk to a friend.

She’d always wondered what that would feel like.

Why a big family? he asked a few minutes later.

Just seems like it'd be nice, Bilba sent back, unwilling to get any deeper into the mess that was her family. I always thought having a sibling would be fun.

It wasn't until after she'd hit send that she remembered she'd already mentioned her stepsister to him. Fantastic, he'd either think she was crazy now or a jerk who refused to acknowledge her stepsister as a true sibling.

She was just so used to Priscilla introducing her as a “distant relation,” that she forgot people who didn’t know them might look at her strangely if she announced she had no siblings. She didn’t, but it wasn’t what she had ever wanted.

You say that, his response came back, but just wait until your younger brother "borrows" your favorite shirt and returns it with both sleeves ripped off, insisting it was a "stylistic choice."

Bilba laughed, shoulders that had been bunched around her ears relaxing. Sounds wonderful, she couldn't help sending back. Though I'd have probably sat him down and made him sew them back on again.

You're close to what happened, came the reply. Fair enough, though. I suppose it's easy sometimes to miss what you have right in front of you.

Feeling suddenly impulsive, Bilba snapped on the bedside lamp and used the faint light to take a picture of her creepy bathroom. She sent it to him along with Speaking of what's right in front of you, check out what I have to put up with.

There was silence, for long enough that the small smile she had started to waver. Had she gone too far? Maybe he didn't appreciate her changing the direction of the conversation or --

The phone rang.

Bilba jumped so hard she smacked her head against the headboard behind her. She stared at the phone in her hand for a few seconds, and then fumbled to answer it. "Hello?"

"Why do you have a portal to the underworld in your hotel room?" a deep voice demanded.

Bilba giggled and pulled her feet in closer, wrapping her free arm around her knees. "Right? I should have turned the bathroom light on before it got dark."

"I'm not sure it would have helped," he said dryly. "I didn't realize Mirkwood catered to the underworld."

"It would explain the giant spiders," Bilba said sagely. "I saw one the other day and I'm pretty sure it was as big as a small dog."

"Must have been a small one then," he said dryly. "Most of the ones I've seen could be saddled and ridden. I think it's even been suggested to Thranduil that he consider training and selling them as an extra source of income."

Bilba suppressed a shudder. "Well, then I'm doubly glad we're leaving tomorrow. The less chance of seeing a pony sized spider the better."

He chuckled and the sound sent a strange thrill through her. Don't be ridiculous, she scolded herself. She barely knew him. He could still end up being a serial killer.

Footsteps clattered up the stairs yet again and she sighed. "I think the main portal must be on the second floor. People have been coming and going up it all night."

"What motel are you in?" he asked.

"Mirkwood Inn and Suites near the river," she replied without thinking and then instantly kicked herself for her stupidity. She'd just warned herself about the fact she didn't know him and then immediately turned around and told him where she was.

Maybe her stepmother was onto something about her being irresponsible after all.

He let out a hiss. "That's not in the best part of town. I'm surprised your stepmother chose to stay there."

Her stepmother hadn't chosen to stay there, Bilba thought with annoyance. Hr stepmother had chosen to stay at a much nicer hotel on the far side of town where there were no portals to the underworld in the bathroom, and where there were no stairways right outside her window.

Something heavy thudded against her door suddenly and Bilba gasped, tensing as the door rattled in its frame. A slurred voice mumbled something outside her door. 

"Are you all right?" her new friend(?) demanded over the phone.

Bilba nodded shakily and then, remembering he couldn't see her, said, "Yeah, I think someone is drunk and thinks this is their room."

"Who are you sharing the room with?"

"No one," Bilba whispered, “it’s just me.”

It had been just her for a very long time.

She pursed her lips as tears threatened. She was not going to start crying on the phone to a total stranger. “I better go, if he hears me talking it’ll just encourage him. Besides, you probably have to get up pretty early for the theater."

"The theater?" he asked.

"Yeah." Bilba pushed the blankets back, trying to ignore the musty smell coming off them, and slid underneath. She curled up on her side with her back to the door and lowered her voice to a whisper. "How early do stagehands have to be there? I'm always there pretty much as soon as the doors open, but I've never beaten you guys."

"Pretty early I'd imagine," he said mildly. "I’ve enjoyed talking to you."

"Me too," Bilba replied with a yawn. She felt strangely relaxed despite all the commotion around her room and thought she might end up getting some sleep after all. 

"Thank you again for the soup --" she paused. She'd been about to say his name, only to remember, with some surprise, that she still didn't know it. "I just realized I never asked your name."

"Fili," he said. "At your service."

In her fatigue, Bilba decided he sounded almost flirty and heat flooded her face in response. Don't be ridiculous, she scolded herself. She was not flirting with someone she'd never even officially met. “It’s nice to meet you, Fili,” she said softly. “So to speak.”

"So to speak,” he agreed. “Maybe I'll talk to you later?" he asked, sounding hopeful. Or at least Bilba convinced herself he did. She didn’t think anyone had ever sounded hopeful about speaking to her, but it was a nice thought to have.

"I'd like that," Bilba admitted. "Don't feel bad if I don't respond right away, okay? If my stepmother finds out I'm talking to you she'll freak."

"Overprotective?" Fili asked. "Nothing wrong with that."

"Sure," Bilba whispered. A hollow feeling settled into her gut at the thought of actually having a parent who cared enough to worry that she was speaking to a virtual stranger. "I'll talk to you later, Fili."

She hung up and settled on her side. The bedside lamp was still on, but she had no interest in turning it off.

A second thud sounded against her door, and she tensed and mentally tried to will the drunk to go away. She pulled the blanket up and focused on the far wall, idly counting the number of steps it took different people outside to get up the stairs.

Her body began to relax again, and she started imagining what it would be like in a family with Fili and his unnamed brother. The thought was a pleasant one, and she yawned and settled deeper into the mattress.

It vaguely occurred to her that the stairs and the hall outside her door had fallen quiet. In the pleasant silence, she sighed and drifted off to sleep.

Her final thought before sleep claimed her was that, for the first time in a long time, she was actually looking forward to tomorrow.

How are you living your best life? 

 My friend Jean-Yves Thibaudet, an incredible pianist, embodies a philosophy that says, "You can’t just show up; you’ve got to dress up!" 

He always looks fabulous from head to toe. On the gloomiest days, his style fills the room with sunshine. 

Jean-Yves's collection of Vivienne Westwood pieces is impressive, featuring sleek and stylish custom-made designs perfect for the stage. He often arrives at rehearsals in an eye-catching bright scarlet red velvet peacoat or a cozy denim jacket covered in fun illustrations—outfits that seem meant for performances! And those striking Vivienne Westwood sneakers?

They add a bit of sparkle to the 10,000 daily steps he takes. If staying active feels like a grind, incorporating some sparkle into your workout gear or water bottle could help motivate you. 

 When I asked him what inspires his fun and lively sense of style, he beamed and said, “We only live once, and there’s no dress rehearsal—just that one show; we’ve got to enjoy it!!!!!” 

my steinway and me