Sweet Thing

by Renee Carlino

  “My dad’s guitars are away in cases. I have two stands if you want to use them?”

  “I would love that, Mia, Thanks.” He went into his room and began getting settled. I brought the stands in. “Perfect.” He took them from my hands.

  “You can play in the living room whenever you want.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, definitely, except for when I’m giving lessons.”

  “Of course,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “Oh shit, I’ve got to be at work early tonight so I’m gonna get going in a minute. Thanks for everything.”

  “No problem,” I said and headed down the hallway to the kitchen. I put The Smiths on the stereo and began cutting up some veggies for a salad.

  I heard Will singing to the song as he came down the hallway. He imitated Morrissey’s voice perfectly, accent and all. It was uncanny.

  “So if there’s something you’d like to try… if there’s something you’d like to try…” I turned to face him; he raised his eyebrows, looked right at me and sang, “Ask me, I won’t say no, how could I?”

  Then he shot me his sexy smile. My knees buckled. My god, would I ever get used to it?

  He winked and said, “Bye, Roomy. Come and have a drink if you want.”

  He was dressed in gray jeans and a black short-sleeved dress shirt. He normally looked so edgy, so rock and roll, but with the collar he looked quite dapper. He must have also run his hands through his hair with a bit of gel because it was out of his face for once. It was definitely his hot bartender look.

  “Bye, buddy,” I whispered as he went bolting out the door. I hadn’t slept with anyone in two years. Frankly, it was unnatural. The way I reacted to Will made me think that I really needed to give up the saint act, but I wasn’t into one-night stands. The last boyfriend I’d had was back in college. His name was Bryan York and he was in the music department at Brown. Go figure. Except Bryan was the nerdy music guy. He played the tuba and wanted to be a marching band director. He was beyond nice, but a little strange. It was my senior year and I lived off campus by then. Students occupied most of the apartment building I lived in, so it still had the dorm feel. A few months after Bryan and I had started dating, everyone in the building noticed that he would do random drive-bys. I guess checking to see if my car was there, even though he never confronted me about anything and didn’t have a possessive bone in his body. At any rate, he was driving by rather regularly, so he quickly earned the nickname “Spyin’ Bryan.” It became such a well-known nickname that people would refer to him as Spyin’ Bryan right to his face and he would just go with it. Poor drip. I knew it wouldn’t last. We broke up but remained friends. That was my last boyfriend.

  The last time I had sex was New Year’s in Portugal two years ago. It was with some guy I met in the plaza at midnight when everybody was throwing champagne bottles into a giant pile. The crowd was wild and I was feeling festive or drunk and someone told me that the Portuguese make great lovers. I wouldn’t know; I don’t remember a thing about it except that I’m fairly certain I wore a blue wig through the whole escapade. The next morning I woke up in a strange apartment, still wearing the blue wig. There he was, lying on his side, elbow propped under his head. He was staring down at me, smiling and inhaling my hangover dragon breath. He didn’t speak a word of English. We tried to communicate awkwardly for ten minutes until I got dressed, stood at the door, blew him a kiss, and took off. I swore to myself I would never perform the walk of shame again.

  I had to get out of the heady mind space I was in. I looked out the window and it was still light out, so I decided to take Jackson for a run. I stopped into Kell’s afterward. Thursday nights were fairly busy because of a little poetry group that meets there. The group is made up of older folks from the good old days and a few college kids who like to do slam poetry. I tied Jackson up outside, got him a bowl of water, and then went in behind the counter to make myself some tea. “Hi, Martha. Why are you still here?”

  “I’m wrapping up. Jenny is running late. Oh, Mia, a man came in with a little boy. He asked if you were here and then asked about piano lessons for the boy.”

  “Huh.” I wondered why he hadn’t just called the number in the first place and then Jenny came dancing through the door with a huge smile on her face. “Why are you so happy?”

  “It’s poetry night. I love watching these college boys slam,” she said as she raised her eyebrows up and down.

  I turned toward Martha. “You can go. Thanks for everything.”

  “Of course, Mia Pia. See you tomorrow,” she said as she gave me a big squeeze.

  Martha left and I realized I had never called my mom back from the day before. “I better get home, Jenny, I need to talk to my mom.”

  “Don’t tell her about Will unless you’re prepared for a lecture.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” I kissed her on each cheek and said, “Ciao, Bella.” I thought about it as I left the café. My mother would find out about Will soon enough. As I made my way up the stairs to my apartment, I could hear my phone ringing. I ran in and jumped for the receiver. Out of breath, I managed a labored “Hi.”

  A man’s voice came on. “Um, hi. I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

  “No, I just ran up my stairs.”

  “Oh, this is Robert Thompson. I was in Kell’s the other day and picked up a number for piano lessons. Is this Mia?”

  “Yeah. Hi, so you have a child you’d like to put in piano lessons?”

  “Yeah, I think we kind of met. I was in there with my son and you helped me at the counter?”

  It was Mr. Suitable and Stable.

  “Oh yeah, how’s it going?”

  “It…” He paused. “It’s going well, thank you. How about yourself?”

  “Great. When would you like to bring…?” I waited.

  “Jacob.”

  “Yeah, Jacob. When would you like to bring Jacob over?”

  “Whenever you’re available.” He was being slightly curt, or maybe he was just a snob.

  “How about Saturday, around six?”

  “Perfect,” he said.

  “I live above Sam’s restaurant just down from Kell’s. Just hit the button for two when you get here and I’ll buzz you in.”

  “Okay, we’ll see you Saturday, Mia.”

  He didn’t ask me how much the lessons were or how long they lasted. I wondered how safe it was to give piano lessons in New York City. I would have to arrange something where I let Sheil or the ladies at Kell’s know when I was going to start a lesson. That’s what I would do. My phone rang again.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, sweetheart. I was worried about you.”

  “Sorry, Mom, I got busy. Aren’t you coming out this week?”

  “I can’t for at least a few more weeks.” There was a long pause. “Okay?”

  “Yes, of course,” I said in a low voice.

  “I’ve been slammed at work. Everything okay, Mia? You sound distracted. How are you holding up?”

  Suddenly my feelings shifted from being worried about what my mom would think of Will, to being disappointed that she wouldn’t be coming sooner, to feeling alone and missing my father.

  “I’m fine. I miss him.” My voice cracked.

  “I know.” She took a deep breath. “Aw, Mia, I’m so sorry I can’t be there sooner. Just know that he’s with you, sweetheart, coursing through every single one of your veins.” She whispered the last part, sounding pained.

  I hovered over the piano and tapped a continuous beat on the middle-C key while I pondered her comment.

  “I suppose he is,” I said as one tiny tear traveled down my cheek.

  We said our goodbyes. That night with Jackson at my side, I cried myself to sleep thinking about my father. I woke up hours later and reached for the glass of water on my nightstand. I glanced at the clock; it was three thirty a.m. There was no light coming from Will’s room, but I could hear him sleepily strumming his guitar. The healing soun
d sent me drifting into a much more contented sleep.

  The next morning I got ready quickly. As I headed toward the hall, I glanced into Will’s room. He was shirtless and sound asleep on his side, facing the window. His tattooed arm was up over his head, his bicep almost covering his eyes. He looked peaceful and warm and it gave me the sudden urge to strip down and crawl under the covers with him. I shook my head to clear the thought, then motioned for Jackson to go lay down. He walked in and sniffed around and Will reached his arm back, petted the dog’s head, then patted the bed, calling him up. Jackson jumped up and curled into a ball against him. I took a mental photo and then tiptoed down the hallway and out the door.

  It was a slow day at Kell’s. At five, I went to the market and got all my favorites: wine, cheese, strawberries, and chocolate. I was going to play some music and indulge, alone. When I walked in, Will stood up abruptly from the couch and reached out to grab my bags.

  “Let me help.”

  “When do you go to work?” I asked while handing over the groceries.

  “I don’t work Fridays, in case we have gigs, and there was nothing tonight.”

  “Oh. No barhopping with the boys?”

  “I work in a bar, Mia, and I play in bars. It’s kind of nice to be home at night once in a while.” He paused and asked without a trace of sarcasm, “Is that okay?”

  “Yeah, of course. So you’ll probably want to have some quiet time and hit the hay then?”

  “Actually, I thought maybe we could have that coffee. You know, just as friends.”

  “I have wine,” I said.

  “Even better.”

  I started to cut up the strawberries and cheese and spread our feast out on a platter along with the chocolate, some almonds, and a few crackers.

  “Yum, that’s the best.” Will said, eyeballing the plate.

  “Yeah, it’s great with wine.”

  “Mia, it’s great with anything; it would be great with tequila.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “No, seriously, I’ll show you.” He disappeared to his bedroom then came strolling down the hallway with a big smile and a bottle of Patrón.

  I took in Will’s appearance. He was wearing baggy, faded blue cargo shorts low on his hips along with his usual belt and a plain white V-neck T-shirt. He had just a tiny sprinkle of chest hair. Barefoot and unshaven, he looked hot.

  He found glasses in the first cabinet he opened. He poured us each a shot, grabbed a piece of cheese off the platter, and popped it into his mouth. He swallowed, held his glass up, winked at me, then shot it back.

  “That’s perfect! Now your turn.”

  I grabbed a piece of cheese, ate it, and then drank the tequila, slower than recommended, I’m sure. “Gross! That was disgusting! Your theory sucks, Will.”

  “I know, I just thought we needed an icebreaker.” I rolled my eyes at him and he playfully elbowed me.

  I opened the bottle of red wine and poured us each a glass. Will put a Muddy Waters record on from my father’s collection. I stood in the kitchen while he sat at the bar on the other side of the counter.

  “I would’ve never been able to find a room for this price, especially where I could play my guitar. I just wanted to say thanks again, I really appreciate this.”

  “You’re welcome. It’s nice to have the company and I think Jackson will appreciate it too. By the way, I wanted to ask if you can take him out when you’re around if I’m not here?”

  “Of course, I’d be happy to. I love dogs. I always wanted one growing up, but my parents didn’t need another mouth to feed, you know?”

  “Yeah, no kidding.”

  We continued chatting for a while. I went off to my room to change into sweats and my favorite old faded Clash T-shirt. When I came back out, he smiled at me and said, “You’re cute. This is gonna be like a slumber party, huh?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Not exactly.”

  We polished off the wine and I reached for another bottle. I wondered if it was a good idea, but we seemed to be getting along really well and we were keeping it clean, so I figured why not. During the song “I’m Your Hoochie Coochie Man,” Will pulled a harmonica out of his pocket and played along perfectly to the music. I felt inspired and a little tipsy, so I went over to the piano and played some slow boogie-woogie blues along to the song. He walked up next to me like he was going to sit, so I stood and turned the piano bench perpendicular, allowing him to sit behind me. For me it’s too hard to play when someone is seated right next to me at the piano. We sat back to back. When the song ended, I started right into a medley of famous blues songs while he accompanied me with the harmonica. We continued drinking the second bottle of wine on the couch.

  He sat down next to me with his acoustic guitar and said, “This is a song called ‘Little Mia.’” Then he smiled really big. As soon as he started playing, I knew it was the song “Little Martha” by The Allman Brothers.

  I laughed. “You’re a cheater.” He winked at me, but I was quickly distracted by his playing. I looked down at the angel wing tattoo as he plucked the guitar strings. I could see the muscles in his forearm moving; his strong and accurate fingers played the song perfectly. He watched me intently the entire time while I thought about other uses for his skilled hands.

  When he finished the song, my chest was tight and I felt that familiar ache I got in his presence. “Play something for me,” he said.

  “I think I’m too drunk.”

  “That’s the best time.”

  “Okay.” I stumbled over to the piano and sat down at the edge of the still-perpendicular bench. I couldn’t even see straight as I started fumbling over the keys. The melody for the Tori Amos song “Icicle” started to form and I leaned forward to concentrate. I played the haunting parts haphazardly and loud. I got completely lost in the moment and began mumbling something from the song about feeling the words. I was feeling it, that’s for sure. I was feeling it right on the edge of the piano bench until I realized Will was gawking. He looked completely stupefied and then he smiled really big. I felt my face flush and my heart race.

  I immediately stopped playing and in a very determined voice I said, “I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Will.”

  “Goodnight,” he murmured breathlessly.

  As I stood up, I tripped over my own lame feet and fell smack on my face in the hallway. “Ow! Fuck!” He was at my side in a second, hoisting me up. When I stood, I noticed he had a curious look in his eyes. He grabbed my chin with his index finger and thumb and tilted my head up.

  “You okay, baby?” he said with a crooked, cocky smirk. Oh, that sexy smile. I couldn’t even respond. I just stared up at him, mouth slightly open. He closed his eyes and leaned in to kiss me, but instead his face met the palm of my hand.

  “Jesus Christ, Mia, I was just gonna kiss you.”

  “No, Will, this is what I mean. We have to keep it just friends.”

  Then it happened. I said something I wished I could take back as soon as it came out of my mouth. “You’re not even my type!” He looked shattered and dumbfounded. I stalked off to my room feeling nauseous, embarrassed, but more than anything scared that I had hurt him for no good reason.

  Track 4: Cheers, Baby

  The next morning I was woken up by Jenny plopping down forcefully onto my bed. I covered my face with the blanket, shielding my eyes from the light. “Mia, it reeks of alcohol in here.”

  “Yes, I had some last night,” I said, moaning.

  “Is that why Will tried to kiss you?”

  “What?” I shot out of bed, then collapsed right back onto it from the sudden head rush.

  “How’d you know that? How’d you get in here?”

  “Will buzzed me in and then he left. He left you a note on the counter.”

  “Where’d he go?” I scrunched my eyebrows.

  “I don’t know, but he looks dashing in a suit.”

  “Will has a suit?” I directed the question back at myself. “I need
to see this note.” I moseyed toward the kitchen. I was feeling my stupidity from the night before. Not only did I hurt physically, but I was also suffering from a major moral hangover. I shouldn’t have been so mean to Will. I could have told him how I desperately wanted to lick his arms while he played the guitar, or how tempting his mouth was during our moment in the hallway. I could have told him how I felt and then explained that I wanted to keep it simple and that’s why we couldn’t sleep together. Instead, I was a jerk.

  Will’s note was on a coffee filter, printed in perfect block letters.

  HEY, ROOMY,

  SORRY I TRIED TO KISS YOU LAST NIGHT, YOU WERE JUST SO DAMN CUTE. IT WON’T HAPPEN AGAIN. I HAD FUN, THOUGH. LOVED YOUR SHOW… WINK.

  I was relieved but strangely disappointed that he was relatively unfazed by my rejection. Visions of Will traipsing random, faceless women back to his room ran through my mind. I dry heaved, but I knew if we were going to be strictly friends, then I would have to accept him bringing women home. My mind wandered to where debonair Will in his suit might have gone that morning. Jenny came in and snapped me out of it.

  “Geeze, what kind of show did you put on?” she asked, looking over my shoulder at the note.

  “It was nothing. I just played a few songs for him.”

  “Why don’t you like Will?”

  “Jenny, I like Will fine, but I don’t want to date an almost thirty-year-old, struggling musician who rents a room from me for four hundred dollars a month.”

  “Oh, so that’s what this is about? He doesn’t make enough money for you. Hmm, Mia, you don’t really seem like the type to care about that, but I guess you do.” She smiled sarcastically at me.

  “Jenny, I’m just like everyone else. I want to meet a man who is a team player. Not someone who is swept up in his feelings and art. Besides, I don’t even think Will likes me, he’s just a guy in a band who will sleep with anyone.”

  She studied me with a tolerant expression, then said, “Whatever you say, Mia. I’m going down to Kell’s.” Heading for the door, she glanced up at a picture of my father, stalked over to it, and kissed it. “See ya, Pops.”