She waited in the shadows at the glossy piano with trembling fingers. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes then curled and uncurled her fingers three times, her ritual. In anticipation of the events of the evening yet to unfold, she strained to control her inner vibrations. The spotlight clunked on with a glare. The emerald dress enhanced her crimson hair glistening in the intense light.
Gradually exhaling, her fingers began dancing gracefully through their rehearsed routine. They winged over the keys of ivory and ebony with the agility of a ballerina performing a pirouette.
The final notes faded amid cheers and applause of the crowd. She stood to her feet with poise and bowed to the eager audience. One tall, distinguished, man stood out from the throng. He smiled broadly through his neat 3-day stubble. He was so strong and being with him made her feel safe. She could hardly wait until she was in his arms.
She turned and floated off the stage with a sense of pride and accomplishment. It was the only time in her illustrious career with no mistakes during the performance. She felt like she glowed, her cheeks hurt from smiling.
Backstage, she waited with the others participants for the concert to end. She paced the floor and looked at the backstage door wishing he would walk into her waiting arms. In reality, the time was shorter than a New York minute.
In a self-confident manner with all the pride he could muster, he slowly swaggered up to her and swooped her off the floor. He kissed her cheek and spun her around twice. The adoration was apparent. She’d never been so happy. She giggled like the schoolgirl she really was.
“Daddy!” she exclaimed.
“Sweetheart, you were magnificent! You played perfectly! I’m so proud of you!” he gushed, re-setting her on the floor and taking her hand.
“Do I deserve a treat, Daddy?” she asked bashfully.
“A treat? What a good idea. How does triple chocolate cheesecake with an Oreo crustsound to you?”
“It sounds good, Daddy, but that’s not even close to what I want!”
“Okay, okay, let me guess again. How about a hot fudge sundae with a cherry and rainbow sprinkles?” he suggested.
“Nope.” She loved this game.
They began walking toward the doors to the parking lot where their blue, faithful, rusty Ford pickup waited.
“Oh, I know what you want; a hot brownie with vanilla ice cream, drizzled with caramel syrup.”
She squeezed his hand and said with playful reproof, “Daddy! You know what I really want.”
“Hmmmmm”, was his reply as if he was deep in thought. They walked slowly in silence for another moment.
Suddenly, he stopped and in one very stealth move, he reached into his coat pocket and said, “Maybe I do know what you want…”
Their eyes locked with full expectancy. He magically produced the long awaited, wax paper wrapped treat. In unison they shouted, “A pickle!”
