"Self taught?"
She nodded. The guitar had been the one emotional release she'd had as a child. Bizzy had kept one at her house for Laura to play when she visited. Aunt Jane had wanted her to learn a more “lady like” instrument...
"But, Aunt Jane, I don't wanna learn the flute,” five-year-old Laura had whined.
Her aunt spun around, lips thinned and eyes narrowed, and charged across the living room. Laura gripped her flute and searched for a place to hide.
The older woman reached down, grabbed Laura by her upper arms, and lifted her to eye level. “Little Missy, I better never hear you whine again. Do you understand me?"
Laura stared unblinking at the beady blue eyes in front of her. When she didn't answer, her aunt gave her a hard shake. “Answer me, you little twit! Are you stupid or something?"
A tear slid from the side of Laura's eye. “I want my mommy,” she whimpered.
Aunt Jane held her suspended in the air, glowering into her eyes. Then she released her, sending Laura into a sprawl across the hard wood floor.
"Your mommy?” She chuckled as if it was the most ridiculous thing her niece could have said. “Your mommy doesn't want you. Why do you think she gave you to me? She doesn't love you anymore. You were an awful daughter, and she never wants to see you again."
Laura covered her face with her hands and began to sob. Her aunt picked her up, and for a moment, Laura thought it was to comfort her. But when she opened her eyes, Aunt Jane deposited her in a closet, leaving her to huddle in the dark amongst the mop and other cleaning supplies.
"Laura?"
She'd stayed there for hours, smothered by the smell of pine oil and bleach, wishing she wouldn't have cried. It hadn't been worth it.
"Laura?” Will touched her arm.
She jerked back.
"You okay?"
"Yeah.” She glanced around. They'd made it back to the hotel.
"You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?"
Laura pulled her rabbit's foot from her front pocket. Everything had been going fine. She'd been having a nice conversation and then something triggered the memory. Something always triggered a memory.
"Laura?"
"I'm going to finish my workout in my room. I'll um ... catch you later.” A little time by herself and she'd be fine again.
"I'll walk up with you if you don't mind."
"Suit yourself.” She entered the hotel lobby and went straight for the stairs. When she noticed that Will followed, she turned to him. “You don't have to take the stairs because I am. It's a long climb to our floor."
Will took off his sunglasses and looped them in the front of his shirt. He stepped around her and opened the stairwell door. “I'm not. I always do it. It's good exercise."
Feeling foolish she'd assumed he was taking them because of her, Laura jumped the steps two at a time to their floor, conscious of the fact he climbed close behind her. Once they reached the top, she exited into the carpeted hallway and took a deep breath. Something about being so close to him made her jittery.
"Excuse me, Mr. Burns?” a maid hesitantly spoke from down the corridor. “May I have your autograph?"
Will let out a quiet sigh. On occasion the hotel workers would break the rules and ask for an autograph, or take a picture, or even worse, steal things from the rooms. A few years back a maid had taken some discarded items from his bathroom wastebasket. Why anyone would want some used Q-tips stretched beyond his imagination, but apparently people did.
Smiling at the approaching worker, Will reminded himself that if not for the fans, Tourist would be nothing. He took her outstretched stationary pad. “And who should I make this to?"
"My son, Jimmy, please. He's a huge fan.” The maid glanced nervously over her shoulder.
Will scrawled his message across the pad, then returned it to the awaiting mother. He grinned at her huge smile and watched as she walked back to the cleaning cart.
He turned, intending to invite Laura to breakfast, and found an empty hallway. Not surprising. The quiet, elusive, new woman in his life probably wouldn't have accepted his invitation anyway.
Something had happened back there. She'd zoned out, seemed lost even when he finally got a response from her. Laura was hiding something. And while he'd always felt indifferent about emotional attachment, this time he wanted to dig. Make her open up and share her scars with him. Almost as if he felt drawn to do so. She intrigued him.
She needed a friend, bad, and possibly a good hug or two.
* * * *
Laura stood at the back of the Convention Center, preparing for the second and last Toronto concert. The doors opened in thirty minutes, and like last night, the concert was sold out.
She exited the tech box and trotted down the aisle, then climbed the ramp that led to the performance area. An amp sat stage left tilted on its side. The bass player would make a ruckus over that one. She walked toward it.
"I can't believe ice queen got Ed's job,” a stage worker griped.
Laura paused and glanced past the tower of speakers. Two roadies stood talking. One looked familiar.
"How do you know her, anyway?” the other guy asked.
"We went to college together.” The first one threw down a coiled cable and spit his tobacco juice into a cup. “I've been doing Ed's grunt work for years. Dude, I'm the one that deserves that job."
The second guy snorted. “Why d'ya call her ice queen?"
"Because she's real focused. All business.” He grabbed his cup and spit again.
"Well she's the best looking techie I've ever seen."
The first roady shook his head. “Idiot. She's a lesbian."
"What?"
"Yeah. All the guys at school were always asking her out.” He reached inside his mouth, scooped out the used snuff, and threw it into his spit cup. “We even had this bet of who could lay her first. The winner would get a case of beer.” He took a swig of his soda, then let out a gurgly burp. “We all missed out on that sweet piece of ass."
Laura listened as both guys snickered. It wasn't the first time someone had made fun of her. Each time it hardened her heart a little more, made her reinforce the emotional wall she'd built around herself.
She spun around to head off stage and landed hard into Will's chest. He grabbed her arms to steady them both and searched her face with a focused expression that said he'd overheard every word.
"You okay?"
No, she wasn't okay. Twenty-five years old and she was still battling her childhood and the woman it had made her. How was she supposed to express that to someone, especially Will? She liked him, really liked him. He'd be repulsed to learn the things Aunt Jane had done to her. And then he'd pity her and be her friend out of obligation.
It had happened before, back in college. She'd shared one memory, one secret, with a boy she thought she liked. A friendship she'd hoped might turn into something romantic. And not only had he backed away, he'd told all his buddies. After that everyone had kept their distance, regarded her as some kind of a freak.
"Laura?"
"Sorry. Excuse me.” She shrugged from his grip. “I need to get back to work."
Will stared as she hastily retreated to her tech box in the rear of the Convention Center. He'd heard every horrible word, and seeing the controlled anguish on Laura's face told him it hadn't been the first time she'd witnessed such malicious gossip.
He took a hesitant step. Should he go to her? What would he say if he did? Would she accept his words of comfort? Probably not.
The roadies sauntered on stage. Will pivoted on his heel. “Hey! We need to talk."
Two
* * * *
Will and Eric lounged across from each other on Tourist's private jet. They were on their way from Canada to New York City, and Eric had been babbling about his son for the last thirty minutes. Will usually had an avid interest in his best friend's stories, but today Laura held his undivided attention.
She sat at the rear of t
he plane with a map of New York City sprawled across her lap. As Head Sound Engineer, Laura, along with the other lead production people, flew with the band members on their private jet. The stage equipment and road crew followed behind in several semi-trucks.
She chewed her gum and blew a huge pink bubble. It silently popped and disappeared back into her mouth. She made a few notes on a pad balanced on her knee, then returned to studying the map. Like every other time Will had seen her in the last few days, she wore a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and a ball cap. With her lengthy legs and firm, little butt, she had the perfect body for jeans. But what would she look like with her hair down, wearing a sexy dress and heels?
"Then he said his project partner spilled milk all over it and they had to start again.” Eric laughed. “Can you imagine?"
Will grunted in response.
Eric nudged him. “You're not even listening to me."
Cutting his attention back to Eric, Will smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, man. My mind's somewhere else."
Eric glanced over his shoulder in Laura's direction. He turned back with a cheesy grin. “Sooo, go talk to her."
Will blew out a long breath. He never felt apprehensive around women. What was wrong with him?
"Well, my, my, Will Burns, you're actually nervous. The last time I remember you being nervous about a girl was in ninth grade. You remember that cute little Suzie Pritchett who made your palms sweaty, don't ya?"
Will rolled his eyes. “How could I forget Suzie?” He took one last sip from his bottled water and set it aside. “Wish me luck,” he muttered and made his way down the aisle.
Laura glanced up from behind her map as he approached. Another pink bubble came out and hung poised in the air.
"Hi,” Will greeted her warmly. “Can I join you?"
She popped the bubble and placed her gum in a scrap of paper. “You're welcome to sit, but I won't be much company. I'm studying."
Not giving her a chance to change her mind, Will quickly stepped past her legs and took the seat beside her. “I've been to New York a lot. Maybe I can help."
"I want to visit Ground Zero and see all the major things you hear about on TV. And I want to eat in Little Italy. Italian's my favorite."
Italian's her favorite. Good thing to know. “So you want to hit all the sites like the Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building, Chinatown, and so forth?"
She nodded.
Will reached across and took the pad balanced on her knee. She jumped when his fingers brushed her leg. He kept talking, hoping to ease her skittishness. “So,” he glanced over her list, “I know where all these things are. Let's see, you want to go to Grand Central Station.” He leaned over her arm, pointed to a spot on the map. “It's right there. And as you can see,” he trailed his finger to another spot on the map, “it's up some blocks from the Empire State Building. Convenient, huh?"
Laura cleared her throat. “I'm, um, more tired than I thought. I'm gonna try to get some rest before the plane lands. Okay?"
"Oh ... okay.” He watched as she neatly creased the huge map and stowed it inside her backpack. She was retreating into herself, and he wasn't sure what he'd done to cause it. He thought things had been going smoothly. She pulled out her Walkman and slipped a CD in place.
"You don't mind if I sit here, do you?"
She smiled a little and shook her head. “No."
Will studied her profile as she put on her headset, leaned back, and closed her eyes. She had a cute little nose with just enough freckles to make her adorable. Those large, innocent, yet wary, green eyes made him want to protect her and earn her trust.
His gaze roamed over her face, clean and void of makeup. Someone cleared his throat. He glanced up to see Eric holding a piece of paper with STOP STARING! written on it. Will stuck his tongue out at him, then picked up the pad of paper Laura had used and began jotting down lyrics that had been going through his mind.
Laura inhaled a deep, calming breath, trying to make her heart slow to its normal pace. With a day's worth of whiskers, faded jeans, and tan cowboy boots, the man sitting next to her looked rugged, masculine, and in charge. He needed a leather vest, a rope, and a Stetson, and he'd look right at home on a ranch. She almost smiled at the image. Until a few days ago she'd rarely given a second thought to the way a man looked.
Their faces had been mere inches from each other while they looked at the map. He possessed the most unique, ebony eyes. So black, Laura couldn't discern where the pupil stopped and the iris began.
He'd brushed his arm across her breast when he leaned over to point at a spot on the map. An accidental brush, but it shot heat through her whole body, and she'd reacted the usual way-by freezing up.
From the look on his face, her actions had confused him. They'd confused her even more. But the fact that he insisted on staying beside her, even though she tuned him out, amazed her.
Will was doing crazy things to her insides. Something about him seemed non-threatening, comfortable. It was becoming increasingly difficult not to warm to his friendly demeanor. She wanted to reciprocate, flirt a little, but she didn't know how. Wasn't used to it. Generally, people acted polite to her, but it stopped there. Only Ed and Bizzy had made an effort to get to know her. Why? Because it was too hard. She required too much work, at least that's what a counselor had told her years ago.
Counselor. That had been a mistake. She'd seen an ad in her freshman year and signed up. A bunch of seniors taking a psychology class decided to do “counselor” work for extra credit. But she'd tried it, being eighteen and naïve, and was told by her assigned therapist that if she got drunk, she'd loosen up a little. Some advice.
Beside her, Will moved positions, and his arm bumped hers. Laura peeked at him through her right eye. He was scribbling on the note pad with a bright purple pencil, oblivious to her. She shifted away, closed her eyes, and let her mind drift...
Laura and Bizzy ran down the hallway toward Bizzy's bedroom. Aunt Jane had given Laura permission to spend the afternoon with her best friend. Never had she been allowed to spend four whole hours at Bizzy's house.
The two eight-year old girls lay side-by-side on the carpeted floor, coloring in Bizzy's new books. “I got some pencils for my birthday. Wanna see?” Bizzy grinned, displaying a missing front tooth, and tucked her springy black curls behind her ears.
Laura nodded, and Bizzy crawled across the carpeted floor to her dresser. She rummaged through the bottom drawer, pulled out some pink and purple iridescent pencils, then turned back. Her grin slowly faded.
"What happened?” she whispered, pointing to Laura's legs.
Laura glanced over her shoulder and saw that her yellow dress had ridden up her thighs, exposing the red welts slashed across the back of them. She scurried to her knees and smoothed her dress down, embarrassed that her best friend had seen the marks.
"Was it your aunt again?” Bizzy asked, crawling toward her.
Laura studied the crayons in her fingers. “I didn't want to eat liver. It made Aunt Jane mad."
Bizzy squeezed her neck. “We're gonna run away someday when we're big enough. I promise."
Laura nodded.
"Laura ... Laura ... Laura."
Her eyes flew open.
"Hey, the plane's landing. That must've been some dream. It took me forever to wake you up."
"Did I say anything?"
Will pulled back, obviously perplexed by her alarmed voice. “No,” he ventured carefully. “You didn't talk in your sleep."
Laura looked away from his frown. Bizzy had told her once that she talked in her sleep. If Will heard her nightmares, it'd be too much ... too awkward, too embarrassing. She reached inside her front pocket, latched onto the familiar rabbit's foot, and stood up. “Excuse me, I need to go to the restroom."
"Laura?"
The concern in his quiet voice made her stop and turn back. He leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “I don't know what weighs so heavily on your mind, but everything's goin
g to be okay. I won't pry, your business is your business, but you can trust me. I want you to believe that."
Never in her twenty-five years of living had anyone, but Bizzy, showed her such an open-armed, unconditional, extension of friendship. She stared at him blankly, not sure what to say or how to react.
"Thank you,” she whispered, her heart banging so hard that her chest vibrated.
Will's eyes crinkled. “You're welcome."
A little dazed, Laura made her way down the aisle, feeling a smile forming on her face.
* * * *
Laura stood motionless in the hotel's lobby with her backpack looped over both shoulders and duffel bag hooked in her right hand. Never had she seen anything so grand.
Gold accessorized and sparkled off the ashtrays, balcony railings, and elevator doors. The white marble floor gleamed from a recent waxing.
A couple of suited businessmen lounged in a corner off to the right. Linen and silk clad women stood in a tight circle talking in hushed tones, probably waiting to go shopping somewhere in New York. A young couple strolled by holding hands.
"It's magnificent, isn't it?” Will commented, coming up behind her. “Let's put our stuff down, and I'll show you around."
"I can't, but thank you anyway. I've got a meeting at Madison Square Garden in one hour.” She turned and walked toward the check-in counter.
"You don't have to worry about checking in. Our manager does that for us. Come on,” he motioned with his head. “I know what floor we're on."
Laura followed him across the lobby. Will pressed the elevator's button, and when it dinged, they stepped inside. Glass-paneled doors slid closed, and she stood, confronted by her image.
She wiggled her toes in her scuffed Nikes and thought of the white, patent, leather shoes she'd been forced to wear as a child. God, how they'd hurt her feet.
Her well-worn faded jeans were unraveled around her ankles. The left knee had a tiny hole where she'd snagged it on the side of a speaker years ago. Aunt Jane had hated jeans and never allowed Laura to own a pair. It was the first piece of clothing Laura bought when she escaped her aunt's home. Jane would have a raging fit if she saw Laura's choice of attire now. Nothing pink and lacy about her.
Laura's Secrets Page 2
