“Aww, Nico.”
“I mean, the guy barely has a relationship with this kid—like hardly at all—and I’m with him every day now and I feel…It’s dumb. I have no right to feel this way.”
“It’s not dumb. It’s sweet.”
“It’s not sweet. It’s manly.”
“Sure. That too. And so cute. I know it’s still new for you to experience any emotion besides horniness.”
“Shut up.”
“You’re falling for the boy.”
“He’s a really great kid.”
“Does Kat know how you feel?”
“Maybe. I don’t feel right bringing it up to her or anything. We aren’t even dating.”
“You aren’t?”
“She wants a no-strings thing.”
“Oh. And you don’t?”
“I want strings. I just don’t want to push her. It was hard enough getting to this point.”
“I can’t even believe I’m having this conversation with you. I love it. Have you told Shane?”
“Nah, I figure he’s busy on set.”
“He’s always happy to hear from you.”
“Anyway, I gotta go. I just found out about the dad thing and I was feeling weird, it’s not a big deal.”
“Okay, well I won’t make a big deal out of it, but it’s totally a big deal for you. Keep having those adorable, super masculine feelings. I miss you.”
“Miss you too. Dork.”
I hang up.
She’s such a dork.
And yet, in so many ways, my little sis is way ahead of me in life.
I’m like Tate, with his loose teeth. This more mature version of myself has been slowly pushing through, trying to get to the surface and the old me is hanging by a thread.
There’s not much I can do about the way I’m feeling right now, other than make notes for yet another song.
I pick up my notebook and slide the pencil out from between its pages.
This is not my pencil.
I flip open to the first page.
That is not my handwriting.
This is not my notebook.
These are Kat’s notes.
How do you capture the way it feels to be near Nico Todd on film?
The talent, the physical beauty is obvious, but what can I show his fans that would surprise them and make them fall in love with him even more? Or is falling in love with him more and more just inevitable for everyone?
The way his face transforms when he laughs.
When he smiles and it’s like BOOM here comes the sun.
The way he pays attention to absolutely everyone but always makes the person he’s talking to feel like the most important person in his world in that moment.
Should I be reading this?
I mean, I am paying her for this work, but…
Try to get footage of him writing in his songwriting journal. Playing guitar. The dreamy look he gets in his eyes when he’s composing.
Women will want to see shots of his hands. Strumming. Running them through his hair. Absentmindedly stroking my leg while he’s talking. I mean his leg. Get a grip, Katherine. Not on his leg. Or on anything near his leg. Just get a fucking grip.
The truth is, any footage I shoot of this guy is going to be gold. The hardest part of the job is going to be editing it all down to under two hours and choosing what to leave out. That and refraining from constantly trying to make out with him.
It isn’t until I hear a light rapping on the door that it occurs to me that if I accidentally picked up Kat’s Moleskine notebook then she might have mine.
And I hope she does. I hope she read it.
I put Kat’s pencil back in her notebook and go to the door, opening it to find Kat there. She’s twisting her lips to the side, an adorable expression on her face, but she’s all misty-eyed. She holds up my notebook. I hold up hers. We do an exchange, just staring at each other.
It’s written all over her face that she has questions for me, but also that she has some answers now too.
She takes a breath, about to say something, when Tate calls out for her.
“Mom! I got it! I can do it now! C’mere!”
Smiling, she shakes her head. “Be right there.” Dragging her gaze away from me, she turns and walks back to the front lounge, giving me a quick over-the-shoulder glance as she goes.
I shut the door, grabbing my phone and collapsing back on the bed. Texting with Kat is in no way a satisfying substitute for all of the things I want to say and do to her, but it will have to do.
ME: I really wish I could kiss you right now.
KAT: I really wish you could kiss me all the time.
ME: All you ever had to do was ask.
KAT: I read the journal. Sorry.
ME: I’m not sorry. I read some of yours too. Please know that you are welcome to get a grip on my fucking leg or anything near it, at any time.
KAT:
KAT: Were you really celibate?
ME:
KAT: I mean. For the record, I was too. But that’s not quite as big of a deal.
KAT: Also, is it okay with you if I get some footage of the pages from your journal? Just the lyrics, not the notes. So I can cut to that and do a voiceover of you talking about your process.
ME: Only if you promise to never refer to it as my “process” again. You can include the notes. I have nothing to hide.
KAT: I really love those songs.
ME: I still wish I could kiss you.
KAT: Me too. I need to pay attention to Tate. But let’s plan on doing some kissing in New Orleans.
ME: Trust me, I plan on doing a lot of that, all over. All over you, that is. But if you’d like me to kiss you all over New Orleans I’m up for it, cher. F’sho.
I get no response to the last text, but it’s fine. She’ll respond, eventually. She always does.
21
Kat
The past week and a half has been a blur of secret sex, fart jokes, po’ boys and hush puppies and fried green tomatoes, quick stops at impossibly crowded beaches and lakes, and concerts where Nico has been unveiling his newest songs for enthusiastic audiences.
He has had every woman at his shows convinced that he was singing to them, but I know now that he was singing about me. It’s a private thrill that hurts my heart. He has been respectful of my request to hide our relationship from Lou and Tate, but I’m not so sure that my total inability to keep from smiling whenever he’s around is hiding anything from anyone at all.
Despite our meek protests, he insisted on booking massages and facials for Lou and me at the Raleigh hotel spa while Tate is out with his father. Nico is sticking around the hotel because his manager has scheduled an important conference call with some big music industry promotional guy, and Ricky will be sleeping all day. When I asked Nico if it would be okay for me to give Drew his number in case anything comes up with Tate, he answered ‘of course’ before I’d even finished the sentence.
I hooked up with Drew when I was in a month-long phase of trying to numb my feelings after my father’s death. He was cute and nice, just passing through town, and exactly what I needed when it came to not feeling anything. In a way, he has been my only ally in raising Tate, besides my mother. But now that I’m bringing Tate down to the hotel lobby to meet with him, I’m thinking that my son has so much more in common with Nico than he does with his biological father. The guy has barely any personality that I’m aware of. Maybe he saves it for the people that he’s closer to. I just hope he brings his A-game for Tate today, because Tate is so excited it’s kind of breaking my heart.
He had asked to look at the few pictures I have of Drew and requested that I cut his hair shorter so that he looks more like him. Drew was wearing gray in every photo, so he wanted to wear gray today too. He’s got his backpack with him because he wanted to bring his playing cards, his favorite books and the Japa
nese milk trick that Nico gave him.
“Knock knock,” he says, kicking his leg into the air as we wait on one of the sofas.
“Who’s there?”
“Weirdo.”
“Weirdo who?”
“Weirdo you think you’re going, huh?”
I laugh. “Did Nico teach you that one?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve got one for you… How do you keep someone in suspense?”
He shrugs. “What’s suspense?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Hunh?”
“It’s hilarious, trust me.”
“You’re weird, Mom.”
“I know.”
“Is it time yet?”
I check my dad’s watch again. Drew is a few minutes late. “I’m sure he’ll be here in a minute. He’s probably finding a parking spot.”
Just as I say it, Tate jumps up. “That’s him! That’s him, right?”
I look up to see Drew walking through the sliding doors, talking on his cell phone. He looks around the lobby impatiently, sees us, and nods. He stops where he is, finishing his phone call, before coming over to us.
“Hi, sorry I’m late,” he says. He gives me a quick hug, and then bends down to talk to Tate. “Hey there, Tate. Wow, you’re so much bigger than the last time I saw you.” He holds his arms out for a hug, which makes me happy, but Tate is surprisingly shy when he steps into it. Drew pats his back, awkwardly, and then stands up and moves away from Tate, who has his arms by his side. “Good to see you,” Drew says. “Are you coming to lunch with us?” he asks me.
“No, I thought we agreed I wouldn’t. I can cancel my plans if you want.”
“Naw, it’s fine. Just making sure. What kind of food does he eat?” he asks me, as if Tate isn’t right here.
“He’s a pretty good eater. Unless the food is slimy.” I wink at Tate, who is studying Drew.
“Okay, well there’s a family-type restaurant about a mile from here. I thought I’d take him there. I can text you when we get there. My girlfriend might meet us later.”
“Oh, great. You ready to go with Drew, Tate?”
“Knock knock,” Tate says, staring up at Drew.
“Oh. Who’s there?”
“West.”
“West who?”
Tate shrugs. “I forgot the west of the joke. Sowwy.”
Drew nods. “Cool. Well, the valet guy let me park out front for a minute, so we better go.”
“Okay. You’ve got Nico’s number, right? I’ll be at a spa for a couple of hours.”
“Right, yeah, I have it.”
I bend down to kiss my son on the head and then boldly take Drew’s hand and place Tate’s in it. Because it doesn’t seem to occur to Drew that he should hold his hand. “I’ll see you in a few hours, okay, buddy? Have fun!”
“Bye, Mom.”
“See you in a bit,” Drew says, remembering to slow his gait so Tate and his little legs can keep up with him.
I watch them go and can’t help but feel like this is just some errand that Drew has scheduled for today. Something to cross off his To Do list before he can get back to his weekend plans with his girlfriend. But at least it sounds like she wants to meet Tate, which is a good thing. I think.
My mother and I are in our robes and flip flops, in the waiting area of the hotel spa. We’re sipping our cucumber lemon water and flipping through magazines when she says in a hushed voice, “You’re boinking Nico, aren’t you?”
I close the magazine and calmly place it back on the side table.
“I wouldn’t put it that way. But yes, Mother. I am.”
“I’m not telling you what to do, but maybe you should—"
Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I cut her off. “Remember how you said I should have boundaries with my son? Well, I need to have them with you too. So whatever it is that you think, maybe you should respect the fact that I’m a nearly twenty-eight-year-old who is capable of making rational decisions. Not an irresponsible idiot.”
Her mouth is a straight line and she is silent for approximately five seconds. “I was just going to say that maybe you don’t need to hide it from Tate. If it’s getting serious, he shouldn’t be kept in the dark.”
“Oh…That’s not what I thought you were going to say.”
She looks down at her magazine. “Sorry to disappoint you, hon.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s serious.”
“I think Nico would.”
The tip of my nose tingles.
“That man is not messing around with you, Katherine. Quite the opposite, I think.”
I don’t even want to look at my mom, because I can tell by her voice that she’s tearing up too and if our eyes meet we will both start blubbering.
Our massage therapists come in, to usher us off to our separate rooms, and I try to relax into this new idea of me and Nico coming out to Tate as—what? A couple?
Nico Todd may be ready for me now, but are Tate and I ready for him?
22
Nico
If anyone asks me how I spent the day today in Raleigh, I will not admit to sitting around my hotel room with my phone’s ringer on high volume just in case Tate’s dad calls.
But that’s what I’m doing.
I have a conference call with a promoter for a big new music festival in half an hour. My manager has been excited about it for weeks, and it sounds like a cool opportunity. But that’s not why I’ve kept my phone charged and within reach ever since Kat took Tate down to the lobby an hour and a half ago. This is the first time I’ve been the designated emergency contact for a kid, and I don’t want to screw this up. I made Kat put Drew’s number in my phone, just because.
As I’m picking my phone up to take it to the bathroom with me, it rings.
The Caller ID says Tate’s Dad.
I pick up immediately, with a deep voice. “This is Nico.”
“Hey, Nico,” says the asshat with a voice that does indeed sound more like a Drew than an Andrew. “This is Drew, Tate’s father?”
“Yeah, what’s going on? He okay?”
“Yeah, something came up. I need to take him back to the hotel but I called Kat and it went straight to voicemail. Are you at the hotel?”
“Yes. Where are you? Do you need me to come get him?”
“Nah, I can drop him off. We’re less than a mile away.”
“I’ll come down to the lobby.”
“Great, thanks man. Appreciate it.”
Fuck you.
An hour and a half, he spends with his kid.
I call my manager to reschedule the conference call, telling him there’s a family emergency, and hang up after he protests. I’m down in the lobby in two minutes, pacing around until a tall, broad-shouldered guy walks in with Tate. He isn’t even holding his hand, just looking around for me so he can pass him off.
“Hey, buddy,” I say to Tate. He looks so sad, I want to knock Drew’s teeth out of his head.
“Oh great, cool. Thanks. Something came up,” Drew says again. “I gotta go—it’s cool for me to leave him with you, right?”
“You can leave him with me.” But it is definitely not cool, dickhead.
“I’m gonna go, okay pal?” he says to Tate. The way he bends down to hug Tate, so superficially, in such a rush, makes me want to punch him in the balls. He pulls away first, and Tate nearly falls forward.
I take Tate’s hand.
“Okay, so we’ll Skype soon, right?” Drew says to Tate, as he’s backing away.
Tate nods, pouting.
“Thanks again,” he says to me.
I nod at him and pick Tate up. “Hey, you okay?”
He nods, still pouting. He looks so much smaller and younger than he usually does.
“You want to go up to my room?”
He sniffles. “Where’s my mom?”
“She’s in the building but she’s at a spa appointment with Lou. They’re getting facials, but they’ll be done in an
hour or so. We can wait up in my room if you want. Or we can get something to eat at the restaurant here. Did you eat?”
“Yeah. We can go to your room.”
“Okay.” I carry him to the elevator and then put him down. He stares at the floor the whole time. “What happened?”
He shrugs. “I wanted to do the milk trick for him. I stood the menu up so I could pour the milk into the trick glass without him seeing. But I spilled the milk everywhere.”
“Aww, it happens. There’s a saying—no use crying over spilled milk. That applies here.”
“He called you after that.”
Fuck, I wish I had punched that guy in the nuts. Seriously? That’s all it took?
“I tried to show him all my tricks. But he didn’t want me putting stuff all over the table.”
I’m guessing it wouldn’t be appropriate to swear and tell him his father is an idiot. So I say, “I’m sorry to hear that, buddy. Maybe he just doesn’t like magic tricks.”
We don’t say anything until we’re back in my room. The front of his T-shirt is a little wet from the milk spill. Tate lets his backpack fall to the floor and climbs up onto the sofa. I take a seat beside him. He rests his elbows on top of his legs and rests his chin on his fists.
“Are you sad?”
He shrugs. “I miss my room.”
“Back in LA, you mean?”
“I wish I could get in my bed now.”
“Yeah. I know what you mean.”
“When can I go home?”
“A month.”
“That’s a long time.”
“You’re having fun, though, right? Usually?”
“Yeah. Do you miss your bed?”
Honestly, I just want to be in any bed that your mother’s in, is what I want to say. “Yeah. Sometimes. But you kind of get used to being on the road after you’ve done it for a while.”
He doesn’t respond to that.
“You were hoping to spend more time with your father today?”
He sighs. “Something came up. He had to do something else. With his girlfriend, I think.”
Charmer Page 18
