by Karina Bliss
Kayla stabbed a fry into some ketchup. “Because I’ve been so good at driving the rock ‘n’ roller coaster so far?”
“You were Miss Hometown something, ran committees for something, and—” Dimity waved vaguely “—ran a high school office, dealing with hormonal teens.” She looked at Kayla’s fries with hungry eyes. “Now you’ve done a few loops you’re smart enough to work it out.”
“I don’t know why that makes me feel better, but it does.” Kayla placed a few fries on Dimity’s plate, ignoring her friend’s token protest.
She and Jared had been so good at navigating failure, they’d never considered success would also require a skill-set. Getting her old life back wasn’t an option. She was in a new world with new rules and new challenges, and digging her heels in and saying, “I’m not playing” would get her nowhere.
“Forget Jared for a moment,” Dimity said, dipping a fry into Kayla’s ketchup. “What do you want?”
If their old life wasn’t available, what could their life be? What would work for her? “Our family life can’t revolve around his career anymore,” she said slowly, letting ideas form. “Maddie starts school next year. We need roots, structure, community. A life that Jared can slot into, not the other way around.” Her amorphous longings starting crystallizing into goals she could work with.
“If we have to live in L.A. I’d like to find a neighborhood where mostly normal people live mostly normal lives. Other mothers who aren’t fixated on womb cleansers and finding a real English nanny because God forbid they raise their own kids.”
Her tone gathered conviction as she thought of some of her new acquaintances. “I refuse to let my days become an endless cycle of dieting, gym, and fucking Brazilians.”
“Nothing wrong with fucking Brazilians,” said Dimity, making her laugh. It was so good having a genuine friend to share things with in L.A. She needed more of them. Another goal.
And Dimity was right. It was time for Kayla to start calling the shots.
“What I find hardest is the loneliness when he’s touring,” she admitted. “Raising the kids by myself.” She’d bottled up her feelings for so long, she had trouble opening up. Letting people in again. Building up to letting Jared in. “I keep telling myself to toughen up. I mean, it’s no different from wives whose husbands are in the military or the merchant navy, husbands who work on fishing boats or oil rigs.”
“It’s completely different.” Dimity stole another fry. “Those guys aren’t having their ego stroked 24/7. They’re not exposed to drugs or adulation, to groupies and sycophants. Everyone’s in a unique situation, and that’s your reality. Rock stardom and a young family will take work, and sacrifice. And it’s work you and Jared have to do together.”
“When he starts traveling to gigs again, I’ll need to find something I can do at night, when the kids are asleep. Something that gets my brain working, maybe a part-time job.”
“Good for you,” Dimity said. “Now hold onto that positive because we have a little unpleasantness to get out of the way.” She took a copy of Musique magazine from her bag and pushed it across the table. “It won’t be in the stores until next week, but I wrangled an early copy.”
Jared was on the cover, pictured mid-performance. It was a striking shot—his body curved over the bass guitar in a moment of frozen grace, the whipcord muscle of his forearms in sharp relief, and his dark hair falling forward over eyes closed in ecstasy. The headline was in French. Les futures stars du rock. Simone Dumont en fait l’exposé.
“Shall I translate?”
“Just tell me she respected our kids’ privacy.” Kayla had fought hard for that.
“She respected their privacy. No sneaky photos included, no personal anecdotes. Just a generic lie saying how charmants your enfants are. As though any children are charming.”
“And the catch?”
“She doesn’t disparage you, exactly, but you’re portrayed as a simple soul, an ingénue in Paris kind of thing.”
“Small-town girl doing the best she can?” It was true. Ignoring the magazine, Kayla returned her focus to her neatly sectioned burger, took a bite. “Does she mention having the hots for my husband?”
“Of course not, she’s far too cerebral for that. It’s actually wonderful publicity given the shit we’ve been dealing with lately. Simone may be a salope, but she’s a great writer.”
Kayla concentrated on swallowing what felt like a golf ball. “That’s all that matters, that we get some real benefit from it.”
“Hold that thought.” Dimity flicked through the pages. “It’s very hard to take a bad photo of you,” she said. “She must have really trawled for this.”
“Oh, great.” Steeling herself, Kayla pushed her plate to the side and accepted the magazine. The picture was from her high school yearbook, taken at a Halloween party in the school gym. She was dressed in a voluminous clown costume and blowing out her cheeks to camera. Next to her Jared was a dark-haired James Dean. Really? A bad photo was the best Simone could come up with? Amateur.
“What does the caption say?” Calmly, she returned the magazine to Dimity. “Hootie and the blowfish?”
For too long, she’d allowed herself to be intimidated and undermined by people whose values she couldn’t respect. It stopped now.
“Walker is sweetly loyal to his wife, Kayla, whom he met in high school,” Dimity translated. “The couple are trying to live a normal life with their young children, but rock marriages are notoriously unstable.”
“Thank you.” Kayla retrieved her cell. “That makes me even more determined to prove that French ’ho ’ho ’ho wrong. Excuse me a sec.”
She texted Jared:
Hey, Bob, it’s Betty. Can’t stop thinking about you. Maybe we could fit in another date before Christmas. I’ll text you details of where and when in a couple of days.
Her cell chimed an incoming text a minute later.
Yes.
Funny how empowering a single word could be.
Smiling, she looked up to see Dimity chewing through the last of her fries.
Dimity looked at her, then at the fry in her hand and dropped it. “I am so sorry.” She wiped grease off her fingers like it was blood on a murder weapon. “I thought you were finished.”
“I am now.” Since she had returned from New Zealand where Zander was convalescing with his Kiwi love, Elizabeth, Dimity had been jumpy and distracted. Very distracted, if she was stuffing fries down her diet-conscious throat. “Are you missing him very much?”
“What…who?”
“Zander. You guys worked together a long time.”
“Oh, him. No. We still work via Skype most days.”
So, something else then. Kayla tried again. “You look pale, are you sleeping?”
“Just wired from working too hard.” Dimity gestured for a waiter to take their plates away. Kayla knew she was flat out organizing advance promo for the release of In Bed With A Rock God, the confessional Zander’s fiancée Elizabeth had written. “I just had a brilliant idea.”
“How many is that today?” Kayla asked. Brilliant ideas were Dimity’s stock in trade, so commonplace her friends took her genius for granted. As the waiter cleared their table, Kayla ordered a piece of chocolate cake, two coffees, two spoons.
“Six…but that’s not important. I could give you part-time work.” Dimity smirked as Kayla refocused. “Scheduling, confirming interviews, proofing press releases. And since you’re in the band family, I don’t have to worry about screening sensitive material.”
“I’d love that.” Kayla got up and hugged her. “I’m not cut out to be a rock star’s arm candy.”
“You’ve got to find a way to get over that incident in Paris,” Dimity said. “That security guard was an ignorant cretin.” She waited until Kayla had retaken her seat. “This industry is full of shallow people who think skin-deep is the right weight—don’t buy into it.”
“You’d have way more credibility if you were less obsessiv
e about your own diet,” Kayla said dryly.
“It’s because I don’t have a healthy relationship with food that I appreciate someone who does,” Dimity said. “Have you ever told Jared what happened?”
“No, and I’m not going to.” She got hot and embarrassed even thinking about it.
“If you two are trying to reconnect, you need to talk about it. It’s really affected you.”
“Tell me again about the dotterels you saw in New Zealand,” Kayla said.
“If you want to change the subject, say so.” Dimity was all offended dignity. “What did you think of Joy Bar last night? I’m thinking of booking it for our Christmas party.”
Kayla shuddered. Like she was ever going there again. “Wait, how do you know that’s where we had our date?”
Dimity sat back as the waiter delivered their coffees and Kayla’s cake. “I recommended it to Jared, and booked the restaurant. It’s polite to cancel, by the way. They were pissed you didn’t show.”
Because we were otherwise occupied. “Are you telling me he didn’t even organize our date?” She paused, caught in a memory. But honey, I put it on the fridge calendar. All you had to do was…
“It’s a shame you never saw the dessert I ordered.” Dimity sipped her coffee and eyed one of the spoons on the chocolate cake.
“And the sexy strangers idea…was that yours, too?” This was beyond humiliating.
“No, but it sounds interesting.” Dimity picked the spoon. “Spill.”
*
The moment Kayla left the house, Jared phoned a cleaning service. The short notice cost him, but not as much as the dress, which had been more for his benefit, than Kayla’s anyway.
He spent thirty minutes tidying in preparation for the cleaner’s arrival, Rocco tottering after him pushing a toy lawnmower and Maddie locked down playing games on Jared’s cell.
When the cleaners arrived, he bundled up the kids and hit the stores so Maddie could buy Mommy’s Christmas present. She wanted to spend her own money, and sat firmly in the quantity-beats quality-camp, so they went to the dollar store. He also organized his own private present, again distracting his daughter with his cell. He couldn’t have her blabbing.
A text came from Kayla as they left the mall.
Can’t stop thinking about you. Maybe we could fit in another date before Christmas.
Grinning, he responded, then swung his son to his shoulders. “Who’s for ice cream?”
“Yes!”
Hell, yes.
The three of them spent the afternoon at his gym club, bouncing between the café and the heated kids pool. He was well-known there and people treated him casually. Rocco was the charmer, with his big smile and easy way of steadying himself on any pair of legs within reach.
They left the complex at three and called into the market where Jared bought ingredients for two meals—spaghetti for the kids, wine and deli goods for the grown-ups.
When they arrived home at four, the house looked awesome, Rocco was refreshed from a power nap in the car, and Jared had breezed through the day. But only amateurs would pat themselves on the back for good parenting. Jared knew he was on borrowed time.
Settling Maddie at the kitchen table with her mommy presents, sticky tape, kid scissors and a giant roll of wrapping paper, he stuck Rocco in his highchair with spoons and lids—the kid was a born percussionist—threw on an apron, and worked fast.
He made spaghetti sauce, mostly from scratch, even sneaking in a grated carrot when Maddie wasn’t looking. In between chopping and stirring, he laid out a platter of antipasto with all the food Kayla loved and the kids wouldn’t eat—marinated mushrooms and peppers, spicy dips and chorizo, smoked oysters.
Maddie finished wrapping gifts and used a Sharpie to write 4 Mommy laboriously on each. When Jared turned from stirring the spaghetti sauce, she was writing it on her baby brother’s forehead. Rocco’s mouth was open, and he was holding himself very still for her.
“Madison Walker!”
“But he likes it, Daddy.”
Rocco decided he liked the Sharpie more, and threw a tantrum when Maddie wouldn’t give it to him. Shit got real from there.
By the time six o’clock rolled around, the kids were in their PJs and wrapped in sheets eating his spaghetti, and Jared was exhausted. He’d just returned the kitchen to its pristine state when the doorbell rang.
Maddie nearly tripped over the sheet in her hurry to get there first. “Maybe Mommy forgot her key.”
Jared hoped like hell it wasn’t Kayla arriving early—he still had to make himself pretty. He followed his daughter, who stood on tiptoes to open the door.
Dimity swept in. “Why the hel—’lo Madison—aren’t you answering your cell?”
“It should be working.” He fumbled for his pocket under the apron. No charge. Maddie’s games had run the battery flat.
“Forget that.” Dimity did a wholly uncharacteristic thing and hugged him.
Okay, that’s weird.
“I’ve been trying to get hold of you for the past hour and a half.”
Jared’s stomach dropped. “Is Kayla okay?”
“Why wouldn’t she be? We had lunch, she was going Christmas shopping and then to a movie. Haven’t you phoned—”
“Without me!” Maddie howled.
“It was a lame one, Madison.” As Dimity spoke, her fingers flew over her phone, texting. “All about the true meaning of Christmas. Okay, I’ve given them the green light.” She glanced up. “Good, the house is clean.”
“I’m glad you approve. What’s this about a green light?” And why are you here?
“They want your reaction as soon as possible. Madison, why are you wearing a sheet?”
“Daddy’s keeping me clean till Mommy sees me.”
“Weird.” Dimity dumped her laptop on the couch, knocking the cushions out of formation.
Jared straightened them. “Whose react—” A howl from the kitchen interrupted. Rocco didn’t like being left out.
“Oh.” Uneasiness played across Dimity’s face. “Is the baby still up?”
Maddie laughed. “He’s not scary, silly billy.”
Crash.
Jared ran, stopping in dismay at the kitchen door. Globs of spaghetti sauce encircled the high chair and Rocco’s bowl was rolling across the floor toward him. Leaning forward, his son followed its progress with interest. “Uh-oh.”
Jared grabbed paper towels from the pantry. “No. We don’t throw food.”
“No,” Rocco repeated gleefully.
Maddie tugged Dimity into the kitchen. “He won’t bite unless you put fingers in his mouth.”
“Stand back, you two, until I’ve cleaned this up.”
“No, you need to get cleaned up.” Dimity confiscated the paper towels. “For a start, take off that greasy apron. We need a sexy soulful vibe, not a short-order cook. And your hair’s flat. Madison, run and get your daddy a comb. Hurry now, the TV crew will be here any minute.”
“What TV crew?”
“Don’t worry, the kids won’t be in shot. But we’ve got to make the most of this.” Her cell rang. “It’s Zander.”
“Make the most of what?”
She held up a hand. “Hi Zee. Yeah, I’ve found him.”
“Okay,” Jared said. “I’m losing it.”
“And why wouldn’t you?” Seth Curran, Rage’s drummer, walked into the kitchen with a grin like Christmas Day. He grabbed Jared in a man hug. “I’m trying not to tear up myself.”
“How did you get in?”
“Maddie let us in.” Skirting the spaghetti sauce, Seth went to Rocco, who was going ballistic with excitement. Every living creature loved the band’s affable Kiwi sticksman. He was a walking, talking charm offensive.
“Us?” Jared repeated. Had he been dropped into an alternate reality?
Moss McFadden, Rage’s lead guitarist, entered the room, a bottle of vodka under one arm and a rare smile in his green eyes. He punched Jared’s shoulder. “Congrat
ulations, buddy. Let’s get this party started.”
“Not until after the news crew leaves.” Dimity threw Jared her cell. “Zee wants to talk to you.”
“Will somebody please expl—Hey, don’t touch that.”
Too late. Moss had already taken a handful of walnuts and a wedge of blue cheese, ruining Jared’s careful display.
Giving up, he put the cell to his ear. “Zander?”
“Capitalize on this,” his mentor said from New Zealand. “Wring everything you can out of it, publicity-wise. It couldn’t have happened at a better time for you. I’m proud of you, man, it’s well deserved.”
Jared watched Dimity throw Moss some paper towels. “I don’t have the first clue what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you do,” Dimity said from her knees. “The news has been out for two hours.” She and Moss were smearing the sauce around the floor with the ineffectiveness of two people who never cleaned.
Seth studied him as he took Rocco out of his high chair. “He doesn’t know,” he said, and started to laugh.
In his ear, Zander said. “Seriously, you haven’t had a call? The Grammy finalists have been announced. You’re up for Song of the Year with ‘Kayla’s Song.’”
The news was too much to take in. Her song. The one he’d poured his emotions into. Lonely and homesick, he’d written it through the three-month auditions and performed it on the show finale. It had sat at number one on iTunes for a week and been recorded as part of his prize. And it had become a popular addition to the set list on Rage’s tour, along with several other of Jared’s songs, as Zander tried to manage the demands on his failing voice.
And now it was up for an award. Damn.
He needed Kayla. This was her nomination as much as his. He couldn’t even think about what this meant without her.
He reached for his cell, then remembered the battery was flat and picked up the land-line, but his hands were suddenly shaking so much he kept missing numbers.
Maddie skipped into the kitchen carrying a comb. “There are more people at the door.”
“The press.” Dimity leapt into action. “Seth, entertain the kids. Moss, keep cleaning the floor. Jared, put down the phone, look humble, yet confident and take that damn apron off!”
