by Deana Birch
“I’m having a hard time seeing the humor. Why don’t you spell it out? I could use a laugh.”
She slumped against the desk. “Tristan and Genevieve were the names he gave to the kids he thought we’d have together.”
Oh, just that. For fuck’s sake, had they printed wedding invitations too?
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m still not laughing.”
“I can see this isn’t funny to you. And once again, I am sorry.” She crossed the room and came back to me, again laying her hand on my collarbone. “We just made so much progress. Don’t let this ruin it. Please.”
“Are you seeing him again?”
“No. I promise.” She squeezed the muscle in my neck.
I sighed and softened. “Do you really love me more?”
A warm, genuine smile graced her lovely face. “So much more.” She brought her other arm around my neck and clasped her hands behind it. On her tiptoes, Louana pressed her lips to mine.
A knock at the door broke the kiss and we both turned to find Mario with a tart look on his face.
“Uh, sorry to interrupt but I need you in the studio.” His eyes darted from her to me and narrowed.
Louana stepped back from me, and her posture straightened so that her back was as rigid as a board. “I’ll be right in.”
Mario left after a glance at the flowers on the desk. He probably thought I’d brought them. Nope, that would be the boyfriend who was classy enough to do something so elegant. Not the one who hadn’t shaved all week and probably had a stain on his white T-shirt.
“I could sleep on Steven’s couch and take you to lunch. Shane’s doing vocals today. I wanted to be there, but I’d rather be with you.”
Louana walked over to her desk and picked up a leather-bound notebook and a pen. “That sounds amazing, but Vincent is coming in at noon. We have a working lunch.” She frowned and gave me a kiss on the cheek as she passed by.
After a coffee with my buddy Steven, I drove back home. I knocked on our landlady Fern’s door with some fresh fruit and a container with the chicken and vegetables Louana had left for her. My best friend, Archie, gave me a warm, tail-wagging greeting then darted off, probably to locate his ball.
“I think I may owe you an apology,” the old coot said through her dark pink lipstick.
“What? Why? Also, that seems entirely out of character for you. Dear God, are you dying?” I checked her forehead with the back of my free hand as if a fever would indicate death.
She swatted my arm away and reached for the food. “Well it was me who let in that other fella on Sunday and you’ve been huffin’ and puffin’ ever since.”
“Me?” I looked over my shoulder.
“Got a bit of a jealous streak, huh?” Fern set the containers on her table and bent down to get Archie’s ball from behind her plaid couch where he was pawing and whining for it.
“If by ‘streak,’ you mean ‘four-lane highway,’ then yes. But I’m working on it. Plus Mr. French Soccer Star is leaving the country.” I grinned at the thought of him taking a detour in Antarctica.
“He smelled divine.” She tossed me the ball, and Archie followed it across the room then sat at my feet.
“He sent her flowers.” I whined through an exaggerated frown.
Fern laughed. She laughed at me. If I hadn’t adored her so much, I’d have been offended. “You ever done that?”
I shook my head.
“You need to up your game, my dear boy. I know that girl loves you, and the two of you make me ill with your passion but show her. Woo her. Pick up her damn dry cleaning.”
I closed an eye and lifted the opposite brow. “Are you saying I’m a shitty boyfriend?”
“That shoe seems to be about the right size.”
At 6 p.m. Friday, John opened a beer. At 6:01, he opened three more and the four of us drank to a rough week. As we listened back to all the progress we’d made thus far, we discussed, took notes, and tried to figure out what kinds of songs were lacking. The second, third and fourth beers went down too smooth. Turns out, The Spades—who had spent a couple weeks behaving like rock stars in rehab—were oh so quick and ready to revert to a band of traveling idiots. On the road, we always blew off the stress of shows together. Apparently the stress of a new album needed the same solution.
And Christ, not bickering was like Christmas. Our engineer, Ronnie, had stayed for one drink after we’d finished the final playback and then taken off for the weekend. Our manager, Phil, had also left, which meant our only supervision was the assistant who had to make sure we didn’t touch buttons or burn the studio down. There may have been an intern lurking around—someone kept the booze coming after all—but the four of us were too amused by our inside jokes to give a fuck.
It was no surprise when other people started to show up. John’s ability to keep the party going always included adding guests. Fortunately for the studio owner, that meant we took the party down the street to a real bar. Unfortunately for my liver, it meant Shane and I found whiskey.
Halfway through the bottle and in a nasty booth that could probably collect social security because it was so fucking old, Shane leaned over. “I’ve been internet stalking that asshole for you.”
“My asshole?” I pointed to my chest.
Shane faked shock and said, “Your asshole has an Instagram account? What’s its handle? @TheRileyRing? @JakesBackdoorJunk?”
I took another shot and slammed the tiny glass down. “@RileysRoundEye.”
“Good one,” he slurred. “But I’m serious. You’ll be happy to know Voodoo Fuck Face has gone back to France.”
My mind was foggy, and I didn’t want to be reminded of Dimitri and his power over my girlfriend. It had stabbed me in the gut all fucking week. I poured another shot for each of us and handed one to Shane. “To the departure of Voodoo Fuck Face and to us getting completely shitfaced.” Our glasses clanked and spilled a little onto the booth—probably good for killing germs.
Two women slid in across from us without asking. One of them had blonde kinky hair and she reminded me of the cokehead who had held Shane hostage in the Mondrian a few weeks prior. It made me laugh, a drunken cackle that I couldn’t stop. When I finally spat out the words for Shane to let him in on it, he busted up as well. I don’t remember if the women stayed or left or laughed or flipped us off. I didn’t care. I had steam to blow off and Shane was welcome company. Maybe if I killed enough braincells, I would wipe away the knowledge of everything Louana had shared with the much-higher-class, rich, French prick.
I’d made it home, somehow. Perhaps on the wings of lost rock stars just as irresponsible as myself. Probably Uber.
My head throbbed—fucking whiskey—and I squinted against the sunlight. For some reason, I was on the couch. Louana stood over me in a floral sundress with a bottle of water stretched out like an offering from the hydration gods.
“Ahh, what time is it?” I tried to find some focus.
“Here. Squirrel shit remover.” She handed me the water.
“I need a shower…” I peeled myself up and sat on the edge of the sofa with my head hanging low. “If you love me, you’ll make me the greasiest breakfast in the history of greasy breakfasts.” I unscrewed the water, drank the entire thing, and felt a little moisture return to my dry—and sure to be red as fuck—eyes.
Louana walked out of the living room and down to the linen closet. The aspirin bottle shook like a maraca as it flew toward me, and I caught it at my chest.
“You wanna go to the beach today?” she asked.
“Nope.” I would be lucky to move from the couch to the shower and then back to the couch. My phone dinged from the floor. I found it buried in the pile of my jeans and socks, the battery about to die.
* * *
Mom: Hey! Can you please let either Dad or I know what hotel to book? He says we should stay at the beach, but I looked at the map and that seems far. I want to reserve it today. Love you & can’t wait to finally m
eet your girlfriend.
I couldn’t believe my mother had typed those words. Not that she wasn’t happy. She was probably secretly going to bakeries all over Phoenix and tasting wedding cakes.
After breakfast, which turned out to be a midafternoon lunch, I brought my laptop to the couch and crossed my ankles on the coffee table. Louana busied herself in the kitchen, and I called out to her, “My parents and my little brother are coming for the Greek Theatre show next weekend. Do you think you could take Friday off? They get in that morning.”
She leaned into the doorway and twitched her lips to the side. “Best-case scenario is a half day. With Bob out, I have a lot of extra work to do. And Vincent is proving more and more difficult.”
Shit, that was right. Of her two bosses, one of them was basically MIA and taking care of his wife. And I knew that made her busy at work, but I still wished she’d take some time for my family.
“How’s Karen, anyway?”
“We haven’t gotten many updates…” She scratched the side of her cheek and said, “Um, so speaking of the Greek, my friend Casey wanted me to ask if there was any way he could come to the show.” She shrugged, and I realized it was the first time she’d ever asked me for anything related to my music.
I wanted to help. Truly I did, but one week before the show was short notice. “Pfff …” I twisted my lips. “I already have the four of you guys. Sam has all of Gina’s family. John gave his passes to strippers. I can check with Shane, but Phil was pretty clear that four was our max. The people at the label are taking up a lot of space. Sorry, baby.”
“I totally get it. But if I didn’t ask, he would never talk to me again. He’s a bit of a fan. No worries.” She turned around and slinked back to the kitchen.
“Hey. I’m not done. Can you come back for a minute?”
She rolled her shoulder into the doorway and smiled. I patted the spot next to me on the couch, and she came over, tucking a foot under her ass.
I continued, “Right, so that’s next Saturday. Friday night—and hopefully the day—we’ll spend with my family, and then maybe they can come here on Sunday before they leave?”
“Sure, I can make brunch.” Her lips pressed together in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
There was still something off about us; her answers were too courteous, and her normal sass, which I loved, was missing. But maybe she was walking on eggshells. Trying to make up for the Dimitri debacle. God, maybe I’d turned into a tyrant. What was it that she’d called me? A steamroller? Some weird word she liked to use when she was pissed at me for pushing us to move too fast.
But we needed to work out some logistics. I glanced back at my laptop. “Great, next order of business.”
“You have a list?”
“The only time I talked to you this week was when we were fighting. We have to make some decisions together now that I live here. Look at this …” I turned the computer around and showed her some pictures of entertainment units. I explained how I wanted to build one with a sliding door and asked what she thought about the design. She liked one in particular; it looked like a barn door on one side, with shelves on the other. You could slide the door to hide the TV or to watch it. She gave me the green light and I moved on to the next item on the list: drawers. I needed some place for my clothes.
“You’re talking about spending ten thousand dollars.” Her eyes peeked out from behind her hands.
“Yeah, but I’m gonna build the entertainment unit.” I pointed to the TV resting on two chairs in front of us.
“Fine.”
Wow. She really was dancing around conflict. I hope she wasn’t planning on negotiating any deals for Mario today.
But victory brought a grin to my face and I was ready for the last topic.
“Oh, yeah, then there’s that.” I pointed at the piano she had rented for me. “Can you see how much it would cost to buy it? I don’t think I can give it back.”
“So sentimental.” She rolled her eyes. “But that’s even more money. You can’t just blow through your bank account.”
Finally, a bit of fight. But the timing was shit, because I wanted to pay all the rent, and now the docile agreements from earlier were long gone.
“We split it, or I stop giving you blowjobs.” Her empty threat made me chuckle. I thought back to her saying our relationship was balanced. As much as I wanted to take care of her, she’d said she liked us on even ground. I kissed the tip of her pointed nose.
“You wouldn’t do that—you enjoy it too much—but fine. Half the expenses, and you need to tell me what they are. It’s not fair for you to pay for all of Fern’s and my food.”
“Deal.”
My negotiation skills needed work, but her happiness trumped mine.
I closed my laptop and reached for my phone. “Alright, let me call Shane about the ticket for your friend.”
5
LOUANA
* * *
It was just before 8 p.m. in France when Stella answered her phone. She was delighted to hear from me, and we both cursed the nine-hour time difference that made it difficult for us to speak more often. She clucked away all the latest news in her life before turning to the main event.
She was no fool; she knew my phone call was not coincidental. She showered Dimitri with compliments about how nice it had been to come and check up on me, to which I politely agreed. Yes, yes, he was more and more handsome. I finally interrupted her and said the only thing was that Dimitri’s visit fell at a time when I had just started dating someone, and it was a bit awkward. She pressed me for information about Jake, but I explained that it was too new and I didn’t want to jinx it. And I definitely left out the part about us already living together.
The subject changed to the holidays, and she wanted to make sure I would come for as long as I could. I reminded her I had a job now, and Americans beginning their careers were lucky to get two weeks out of the entire year. There was unfortunately no way I would be able to come for as much time as I had with my mom previously.
I hung up hoping I had accomplished my mission but knowing I would need Dimitri to play along as well. I decided to call him the next day from work where I would be far from Jake’s ears. The seed of truth I’d fed Stella would have to be enough. Over the next few months, I could nurture my tree of little lies until Stella warmed up to the idea of me with someone else. Maybe I could even convince Dimitri to show some arm candy in Marseille to prove he’d moved on as well.
“Were you talking to your mom?” Jake came into the living room, dressed and clean from a recent shower.
“My grandmother. I told her I had a new boyfriend.” I winked and smiled.
“How’d she take it?”
“She’ll get used to it.”
He went to the kitchen and I followed. I leaned against the counter as he made his coffee out of a machine he had recently added to the appliances.
“You speaking French makes it difficult to eavesdrop.” He lined up his cup and waited for the coffee to spurt out.
“At least I speak. You text all the time. That’s much more difficult to hear.” I tried to be playful. I knew he still interacted with fans on social media. Fans who would give just about anything to be in my position.
“Maybe. But it’s almost like there’s a side of you I don’t know about…” His ankles crossed at the same time as his arms while the machine gurgled next to him.
“Well, it would be impossible to know everything about me already.” I moved over to him, laced my arms around his neck, and looked up into his eyes.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” he said.
“How ’bout I show you?”
“Even better.” His eyebrows jumped, and I bet his deliciously dirty mind went into overdrive.
With his hand in mine, I led him over to the piano and sat down. I thought for a second then curled my fingers above the keys. Jake’s eyes grew wide before a long blink. I pressed down and played my way through “Für Elise�
�� by Beethoven.
“You never told me you could play,” he said once I’d finished.
“Oh, the granddaughter of an opera singer takes piano lessons and plays for all of her grandmother’s friends at Christmas.” I hoped the formality of the music, the lack of error, and the admission of being put on display would give him some insight into my upbringing.
He studied me for a minute like he was going to ask me something but must have decided against it. Instead he said, “Looks like the smog outside stopped you from your nudist tendencies. Do you need any help prepping for Sam and Gina?”
“I’m all set. I prepped everything Friday night when I had nothing better to do.”
Merde.
The words were out before I could stop them. Jake deserved the right to hang out with his friends. I didn’t want to make him feel guilty about it. I quickly changed the subject and hoped the small dig for not coming home would go unnoticed. “Fern invited Christine and Boom Boom. I think Archie is in love.”
Jake pulled me into his lap and kissed me softly. “I’m totally in love.”
Happy he hadn’t caught my flub, I said, “Me too.” I ran my fingers through the soft hair at the base of his neck. “Me too.” The whispered confession I’d made to Jake earlier in the week was true: I did love him more than Dimitri. And I owed it to myself and Jake to work harder for us. I dropped my head into my favorite part of his body—the little nook between his neck and his shoulder where my head somehow perfectly fit. I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around his torso.
We stayed there, quiet, for a long time. Perhaps the dust had really settled, and we were finally moving onto a proper relationship.
When the buzzer announced our guests, I regretted breaking the hold. But the barking dogs called, and I was eager to see Gina. I hated that shit had gotten weird because of Jake’s money and I was ready to help mend the wound.
