soap opera sunday

This is a part of Brillig's and Kate's soap opera sunday project. For more drama, click over to their sites.

It was a bad idea. He was the conductor of the symphony for the spring concert and I was the second-chair violist. I sat right up front, mere inches away from the podium. He was also the president of the symphony board and I was the new member. We were young in comparison to the others, both in our mid-twenties.

My husband and I had just decided to separate and I was relishing the thought of freedom, but heartbroken by the thought of my dissolving marriage.

We flirted through every rehearsal. I wore revealing tops, knowing that since he was standing on a podium and I was sitting right below him, he could see everything. He showed off his power-lifter body with tight t-shirts.

I loved his interpretation of Schubert. He loved that I could read alto clef and translate string technique well enough that his trumpet-player mind could understand. I loved that he let us swear in rehearsal. He loved that everything I said had subtle sexual undertones. We shared scotch in his dressing room after the concert. We made everyone sick, especially the second violinist that had a crush on him.

For the post-season symphony fundraiser, a formal dessert and dance, I wore an evening gown that left little to the imagination. One of those dresses that you couldn't even wear underwear beneath. He was playing trumpet with the band. My soon-to-be ex-husband had brought me then abandoned me to go home and watch Stargate. I needed a ride home.

He lived just south of me and was happy to take me on as a passenger. As we drove through the city I could tell he was fighting to keep his hand on the stick shift and off my thigh.

"Where am I dropping you off?" he asked, knowing that I was still living with my husband.

I shrugged. "It's up to you." I couldn't believe I was doing this. My marriage wasn't even cold and I was entertaining the thought of going home with the conductor of the symphony.

He drove blithely past the road where I lived and kept going. I started to break out in a sweat. What was I doing? How could I be so indiscreet? Everyone had seen me leave with him.

But I didn't care.

We got to his apartment and he put on some jazz. Diana Krall.

"I didn't get to dance with you tonight," he said.

"You were playing with the band," I reminded him.

"Dance with me now."

I stepped into his arms and we did turns around his tiny living room, eventually falling onto the couch. It was all terribly cliche, but also terribly romantic. It was everything I had been missing in my marriage.

Could I do it? What would people say? Would I even care?

For more, tune in next week. Because it wouldn't be a soap opera without a cliffhanger, right?