One by one, the washing machines slowed to a stop. Nicole took the wet bundles and placed them in the dryers. She returned to her magazine after starting the machines. She still had quarters since it was cheaper to dry clothes than wash them. She used three of the remaining coins to purchase a cola. She suddenly felt the need for caffeine. She had not slept well the night prior.
By the time the clothes were dry, Nicole was finished with both the cola and the magazine. She left the magazine for someone else to read. One good turn deserved another. She folded the clothes neatly before setting them into the basket. It was a heavy load, but she made it to the car. She was tempted to leave it in the car and let Laurel bring it inside. At times like this, the photographer was grateful that her lover was the stronger one. The bassist had to be; her bass weighed at least twenty pounds. The standup bass weighed more than the electric one. Laurel could handle them both with ease.
She was surprised that the truck was in its normal parking space. The red car was back as well. Nicole’s curiosity was aroused. The lights in the house were dark except for a faint glow barely visible through the windows. Soft sounds of a piano were audible as she approached the door.
Candles were lit and placed throughout the house. The kitchen table was set with more candles. A bottle of wine was opened in the center of the table. A tray of lasagna was placed prominently near a large bowl of salad.
"Thought you went to rehearsal?" Nicole called out. She was in awe over the trouble her lover went through while she was gone.
"I did." Strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind. "May I have this dance?" The remote in her lover’s hand turned the music up as a waltz began to play.
Laurel did not wait for an answer. She swung the photographer around so they were facing one another. As if by magic, their bodies drew together. The bassist led them slowly around the living room. It was not the best waltz ever seen, but Nicole was not going to complain. The circuit of the room ended where it began near the passageway between the living room and kitchen.
"Wine?" The bassist released her embrace. She poured the red liquid into a crystal glass, smiling as she offered it.
"Thank you." Nicole’s knees felt weak. This was no ordinary dinner. This was a romantic encounter designed for seduction or proposition. She sincerely hoped it was the former. She did not know if she had the strength to decline the latter.
"Here, sit. Mandy made this specially for us." Laurel seemed proud of herself. She held out a chair until Nicole took a seat. "Anything else I can get for you?"
"No, I think everything’s here." It was. The lasagna, salad, plates, bread, wine, water and silverware were already placed carefully on the table.
"Good." The bassist handed her a plate laden with lasagna. She filled a bowl with salad, handing that to the photographer as well.
"This is excellent." Nicole waited until Laurel took her seat before tasting the food.
"I remembered how much you liked Mandy’s lasagna, so I had her make some."
"Thank you." It was sincere gratitude. Mandy used herbs, spinach, and several types of cheese in her dish. Unlike her roommate, she was a vegetarian. Mandy would cook meat, but she would not eat it.
"It honestly was my pleasure." That smile almost brought tears to the photographer’s eyes.
They ate in companionable silence. Only the soft strains of Chopin filled the room. Mozart dined on his own serving of lasagna, thereby leaving the two of them alone to enjoy their meal. Laurel even provided dessert. Somehow she had located freshly made tiramisu. It was heavenly.
"I am stuffed." Nicole pushed her chair away from the table and began to clean up the mess.
"Not so fast hotshot. This is my duty. Go watch TV or something. I’ll join you in a minute." Laurel was quick to stop her.
"Ok." The photographer was too astonished to protest. Whenever the bassist stayed over, they separated the chores. Nicole would cook; Laurel would clean. This change in the division of labor was nice, but slightly discomforting. Nicole was no longer accustomed to being waited on at home. Giving in, she wandered into the living room to await her lover.
***
Laurel had requested lasagna for one basic reason. Mandy could make it hours before it was to be consumed. All the bassist was required to do after she brought it back was heat it in the oven. It was not difficult. She was pleased with the look on her lover’s face. She really managed to surprise Nicole this time.
Rehearsal had been a bore. She left after only a few minutes. Once again, she declined the offer to travel with the band to New York. She knew though that Jenna would not give up on her so easily. They claimed that they needed her on bass even though Charles was an above average player. She felt he was more than adequate to take her place. She had more important things to do in life than play music.
That thought led her to the reason behind this surprise dinner. She smiled as she added soap to the sink. The real surprise of the evening was resting in the pocket of her cargo pants. She felt the box through the material. It was a reassuring gesture. Silently she blessed Stan. She had him on the look out for such a present for months. He finally located the exact thing she wanted over Mardi Gras. She actually bought it before it was officially in the inventory. That was their little secret. He had spotted it at an estate sale and bought it specifically for this purpose. His uncle never knew it existed.
Finally, the dishes were washed and the leftovers were put into the refrigerator. It was hard to make lasagna for two people. They would be eating it for several more meals. Laurel knew that was fine. Mandy was an excellent cook.
"More wine?" The bassist knew her lover’s limits when it came to alcohol. She would not offer more than two glasses. Nicole was drunk by three.
"Thank you." Nicole accepted her glass with a smile.
"Come here." She pulled her lover from the couch. "Let’s go utilize that swing of yours."
"Ok." The photographer followed willingly.
Laurel did not bother turning on the porch light. She did not want anyone to see them clearly. She did not plan on doing anything within view of casual onlookers, but she felt it was better to be safe. Nicole’s neighborhood was not crowded, but the occasional car did pass.
"So how did you manage to plan all of this?" Nicole asked as they cuddled on the swing. Her head was lying on its favorite pillow.
"I made some calls while you were in the shower this morning." She could not keep the pride from her voice. She felt that she had done very well.
"Sneaky."
"Yep. I can be when I need to be."
"So what did you tell the band?"
"I told them no." She gathered her courage. "Nicole, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you."
"Shh. Let’s not talk right now. You’ve got me in the mood for something quite different." A gentle hand covered her lips.
"What’s that?" She asked after kissing the hand. It moved to her cheek.
"This." Nicole’s lips tasted of wine.
"I think you’re addicted." Laurel murmured.
"To you? Yes I am." The photographer smiled. "Let’s go inside." She rose and offered her hand.
"With pleasure."
***
"So, tell me again why you didn’t tell me about that contract." Nicole raised her head from its resting place. Laurel sat up on the couch and looked at her.
"Are we returning to that? I thought we resolved that yesterday before I went to rehearsal."
"I want to talk about it."
"Why? I told them no. I didn’t realize that it was worthy of conversation after that."
"Don’t you think I would want to know these things?" Nicole felt her voice rise. She was interrupting a perfectly nice evening watching TV for something Laurel explained Sunday. It was not a good way to accomplish her plan, but Nicole knew there really was not a right way. This would have to do.
"I’m sorry, but I didn’t really think about it. Had I considered it then we would have dis
cussed it."
"So you can only discuss topics with me when you think they’re worthy? Are you censoring your life now?" It was irrational, but it worked.
"No I am not censoring my life. Why the fuck would I want to do that?" Laurel was getting upset.
"Well you haven’t told me everything obviously. Jenna had to tell me about the contract."
"That is what you’re upset about isn’t it? Do you want me to take the gig? Is that what you’re trying to say?" The bassist began pacing.
"I want you to do whatever it is that you want to do."
"I don’t want to go to New York. How many times do I have to say that?"
"Then don’t go. It’s not like you’ll talk to me about it anyway."
"Nicole, do you tell me everything that happens to you at work?"
"That is a bit different." She protested.
"How is that different?"
"Nothing I do at work affects our life together."
"So that job offer you got after exposing what’s his name back in January wouldn’t affect our life together?" Laurel referred to the offer from a paper in Memphis. When Sheryl and Nicole had exposed a prominent tax attorney for fraud, the Memphis paper picked up the story.
"How did you know about that?" That stopped her cold. Only Danny knew about the offer. She did not even tell Sheryl.
"I have my sources. You turned them down but never mentioned it to me. What’s the difference?" She could not find fault with her lover’s logic.
"Memphis was a smaller paper. There was no way I was going to move. It would not have furthered my career. This will further your career as a musician." When in doubt, confuse the facts. Nicole had once been told that. She hoped it held true.
"I do not want a career as a musician." Laurel over enunciated each word.
"At least tell me how you got the offer."
"A guy came up to us after Christmas and said that we should cut a demo. We cut the demo. I told you about that. Hell you took the picture we used for the cover. Then back in March, the same guy comes up with a buddy who just happened to work for a record company. They took a copy of the demo to New York. We got word in April that they wanted to sign us. We put it off since I was still in college. At least that was the official story. I told them then that I didn’t want any part of it. I still don’t want any part of it."
"And you couldn’t tell me that back then?"
"What really is the problem?" Laurel stopped her pacing.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that you can’t be this upset about me not telling you something I turned down. What is the problem?"
"My problem is that my girlfriend does not trust me or think highly enough of me to tell me about something that could have had an enormous impact upon our lives."
"You are blowing this way out of proportion."
"Am I? It’s not the first time you didn’t tell me something important." Nicole knew what she was about to do was dangerous. She was about to play her only trump card.
"Yeah? And what else didn’t I tell you?" The bassist turned to face her.
"Let’s see. How about all the details leading to your arrest? How about the fact that you were a kleptomaniac? You didn’t tell me about the details of your arrest, your continued drug use through that period, or about your reputation as a despoiler of maidens." She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. Laurel looked as if she had just been slapped.
"You know, I’ve been expecting this since that weekend in New Orleans when I told you part of it. For once I would love to meet someone who does not hold incriminating evidence to be used against me later. My parents did that; the State of Mississippi did that, and now you. Thank you very much for finally fulfilling my expectations."
"Then why are you still here?" Though she felt as if she deserved them, Laurel’s words still hurt.
"I’m wondering that myself. I thought you were different. You told me that it didn’t matter." Laurel grabbed her keys from the entertainment center. "And just for the record, I was not a kleptomaniac. It was a conscious decision to steal, not an impulse."
"Oh fuck." The words were torn from her throat as she watched her lover leave. Laurel’s decision to steal may have been conscious, but Nicole knew it was not always that way. She had stolen the photographer’s heart. The photographer was sure that had been unconscious.
The door slammed shut, waking Mozart. The whine of an old engine and the squeal of tires let her know that Laurel was gone past recalling. Nicole sunk to the floor, curling herself into a ball. The big dog padded over. He whined to get her attention as he placed his head on her thigh. He was still there for her.
***
Laurel knew she was pushing her truck harder than she should. The old vehicle was held together by duct tape, sweat and faith. She could not afford another vehicle. This was all she had aside from a small street motorcycle and a dirt bike. Neither of them were adequate transportation for a musician. She could not strap her bass to the back of a motorcycle anymore than she could take her truck on an off-road adventure.
She downshifted as the grinding reached her ears. If she were not careful, she would soon be walking to her destination. Whatever that destination may be. She did not know. All she knew was that her heart was in pieces. She was futilely attempting to outrace the pain. It did not work. She really did not expect it to.
She pulled into the parking lot at Mabel’s without really realizing that she was there. It took several seconds for her brain to comprehend it. Finally, the electrical impulses were recognized. She did not want to go home, she could not go back to Nicole’s and there was nowhere else she could go. Laurel slowly got out of her car and walked into the truck stop.
Scorning the customary booth, Laurel took a seat at one on the opposite corner. The waitress knew her and brought over a cup of coffee without asking. Had she been in a better frame of mind, she would have appreciated the gesture. She gazed around listlessly. She did not know anyone there. That was good. She was not in the mood for conversation.
The first cup of coffee helped clear her head. The second helped strengthen her resolve. There was something wrong. Nicole did not tell her everything. There was only one thing she could do. She had to go back to the house and talk this out. It was not their first fight, but it was definitely the worst. Michael had been correct. The honeymoon was over. She had to get back on the board and ride the wave again. At least, that is how she interpreted his analogy. She really did not know much about surfing.
Laurel threw two dollars on the table for her coffee plus a small tip. The waitress, Amber, waved as she left. The bassist waved back. She was feeling better than she did when she entered the establishment.
The truck groaned as she cranked it. She would have to get BJ to help her examine it later. Right now she just hoped it would get her back to Nicole’s house. It was only seven miles, but she wondered if that were seven miles too far. She could only push the truck so far before something else would need to be replaced. Her luck held true. It stopped complaining. The trip back was slower, but she made it.
The lights were off when she pulled into the grass by the driveway. She parked the truck, only then seeing the photographer. Nicole was sitting on the porch swing, drinking a beer.
"I didn’t expect you back." The voice came from the darkness.
"I can’t stay away. We need to talk this out."
"I’m sorry. I overreacted. I didn’t mean what I said." Nicole’s voice was full of sadness.
"Couples fight all the time. Why should we be any different? We just have to accept it, get over it and move on." A court appointed psychiatrist had once told that phrase to her. It held true for most of life.
"I really am sorry." She could not see the tears, but she knew they were there.
"Oh, sweetheart, it’ll be alright." Laurel took a seat on the swing. She went to pull the photographer into her arms only to find that Nicole was already there.
"Make me believ
e it?" The photographer’s voice was small in the darkness.
"How should I do that?"
"Let’s talk tomorrow. I just want you to hold me tonight."
"I think I can manage that." Laurel was content to do just that. She leaned back, bringing Nicole’s head to rest on her chest. She leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on her lover’s head. She took a deep breath, taking in the scent of shampoo and perfume. The mix was uniquely Nicole. It was imprinted in the bassist’s memory. She would never forget it and would always recognize it.
The photographer leaned up as Laurel returned for another chaste kiss. This kiss was not chaste. It was far from innocent. It was fueled by passion, desire, and a need to reaffirm the righteousness of their connection. It never seemed to end, but was continued in several smaller ones. Each was followed by caresses. Somehow they made it from the porch to the bed without ever separating.
Chapter Seven
Laurel woke to find herself alone in bed. Mozart was lying beside the door and the photographer was nowhere to be seen. She thought for a moment that everything was right with the world until she noticed the note lying on the photographer’s pillow. She read through it twice before she comprehended it.
"Well, guess that’s it then." The bassist refused to let herself cry. She attempted to redirect her despair into anger. It was the only way she could cope at the moment.
Gathering her clothes, Laurel stuffed them all into her backpack. Whatever did not fit was stuck in a pile to be carried out to her truck. She decided to shower at her house in case Nicole came back early. She did not want to be around if that happened. The note was folded carefully and placed in her wallet. She wanted to shred it into a million pieces and leave them all on the bed, but the entire situation was too surreal. She needed proof that it had happened.
All That Jazz Page 8
