Rock My World

by Coulter, Sharisse

  Breaking the electric silence, Trey said, “Don’t look now.” Felicity looked up. She saw Sadie strutting across the court, heading right for them, her banana highlights peeking out of their ebony cage. Felicity swore under her breath. Trey grabbed her hand. She squeezed his. It would have been sweet if it hadn’t been for Sadie.

  “I saw your dad yesterday. My aunt flew me out to Aspen to meet this producer who’s dying for me to be in a band he’s putting together,” Sadie said, rolling her eyes as if she couldn’t care less.

  “Super,” Felicity said.

  “Yeah. Anyway, it sure looks like your dad’s having a great time on the road,” she said, emphasizing “great.”

  “Is that what you came to tell me? That my dad’s enjoying his sold out tour? Thanks. Update complete. Buh-bye,” Felicity said, waving Sadie along like an annoying dog. Sadie was not so easily thrown off course.

  “I just wanted to check on you. It must be so hard on you now that your dad is sleeping with other women.”

  “You’re pathetic, Sadie. Seriously, don’t you have anything better to do?”

  “Oh, it’s not me. Everyone knows about it. It’s even in Rolling Stone,” she said, triumph spreading across her face.

  Felicity’s bravado fell away and she snatched the rolled up magazine from Sadie. Instantly, she recognized her dad’s signature and the photo of him climbing a wall of amps, guitar dangling from his back. No, she’s lying.

  Felicity had no idea what Sadie was still yammering on about. She could have been speaking Swahili for all she cared. She forced her eyes up from the pages, which, no doubt held the answers she’d been trying to get from her mom and grandmother. Be careful what you wish for, she remembered.

  She looked up to see a satisfied Sadie spin around and leave, flanked by her gaggle of minions. It would have been comical if not for Felicity’s family’s business being plastered across Rolling Stone magazine. Her mom warned her.

  There it was. In black and white print, the soft flowing script promising entertainment to the rest of the world and disaster for one insignificant family. The title read, “Love Knows No Bounds: Exclusive Interview with Alex Anders and his New Love.”

  She couldn’t read it. It wasn’t that she’d never seen a tabloid with a story like that before, but this was Rolling Stone, the magazine that broke the story that got a general fired during a war. They didn’t waste time with unsubstantiated stories. This was bad.

  Trey coaxed it out of her hands, slipped his arm around her lower back, steadying her enough to escape the crowded gym. They didn’t say a word until they got back to his house. His mom was still at work, and half a cold pizza sat on the coffee table where they left it. The congealed grease sat atop the cheese, like petrified tears of lard.

  “Hungry?” he asked, moving around in the kitchen.

  She shook her head, staring at the wall. She looked so hard she saw a corner of wallpaper curling up, revealing a previous owner’s taste below it—faded ugliness. She knew how it felt. A wall, held together by a flimsy paper façade, peeling off to reveal its deepest darkest secrets.

  Trey made her a mug of microwaved water with a packet of chamomile tea. She put it to her lips, taking the smallest of sips. It tasted horrible. The lukewarm water hadn’t quite absorbed the tea, and a hint of something else she couldn’t quite place—probably whatever had been in the mug before—remained. Trey wasn’t known for his domestic skills.

  She thanked him. He watched her carefully, making her feel self-conscious.

  “Do you want to read it?” he blurted.

  “I can’t.” She struggled to find her breath. “Will you?” she looked into his beautiful turquoise eyes. They widened, but he nodded.

  He opened it slowly enough to give her time to change her mind before his eyes scanned the page. Her agony intensified during his silence, as she was simultaneously desperate to know and not. She couldn’t take it any more.

  “So? How bad is it?”

  He shushed her with his hand, turning the page. After what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, he closed it and set it down.

  “Are you sure you want to know?” he asked.

  “Yes!” she said, louder than she meant to.

  “Okay, but…”

  “Just tell me. I’ll find out anyway.”

  “It’s Airika—the other woman,” he said, looking at his hands.

  “What!” she screeched, snatching it from him.

  ‘…The feelings were always there, waiting for the right time. We knew it would be painful whenever it came out, and we really didn’t want to hurt anyone. But the truth always comes out. And in the end, love wins.’

  “I can’t believe this,” she stood up, pacing around the small living room, palm pressed against her forehead. Trey looked down at his shoes. His own dead-beat dad was off raising someone else’s family, barely deigning to pay enough attention to foot the bill for his private education and extravagant birthday gifts every other year. He was familiar with the male-bashing session he presumed would imminently follow. He braced himself.

  “How could my mom not tell me? I feel awful. I’ve been such a brat. I was blaming her for being a drama queen. How could he do this to us?”

  “Maybe it’s not true?” he said, testing the waters. Now that she was acting off-script, he wasn’t sure how best to proceed.

  “But why would they print it?”

  “I dunno. I just don’t think your dad is the cheating type.”

  She didn’t know what to say. Collapsing onto the couch, she didn’t think so either, but what other explanation could there be? Every scenario she imagined seemed less plausible than the first.

  Trey put his hand out, halfway between them on the couch. She reached out, squeezing it. He interlaced his fingers between hers, the warmth of his hands radiating up her arm. An unfamiliar twinge of excitement ran through her body. She hadn’t yet identified it when she felt his full lips press against hers. The kiss was soft, affectionate. He pulled back, looking carefully for a response. She closed her eyes, kissing him again, this time pushing her tongue toward his.

  They kissed and kissed, bodies unmoving on the couch, hands linked together, cutting off the circulation to her fingers. She didn’t care. The most surprising part was how natural it felt. Before tonight, she could honestly say it never crossed her mind to think of Trey like that, but she found herself wondering how she could have missed it. Her brain told her it was an inappropriate time to be kissing someone while talking about her parents’ marriage collapsing, but her body didn’t seem bothered. The evening was full of surprises, horrifying and electrifying in equal measure.

  The sound of a key twisted in the lock. They shot apart, sitting on opposite ends of the couch.

  “Hey Mom.”

  “Hi Mrs. Parker,” Felicity said, running her hands over her hair.

  “How was work?” Trey asked, getting up, taking the pizza remnants up to the kitchen counter. Mrs. Parker raised an eyebrow, looking from one to the other of them. She sighed and pulled a Tupperware container of leftovers out of the fridge and popped it in the microwave.

  “Fine. What were you two up to?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” they said in unison.

  “Mmm, hmmm.” She turned her back so they couldn’t see her smile.

  “I should go. My grandmother will be worried.”

  “Okay, sweetie. Trey, honey, take my car so you can make sure she gets home safe.”

  “I will,” he gave his mom a peck on the cheek, grabbed her keys, and followed Felicity out the door to his mom’s Mini Cooper, parked in the driveway.

  “That was close!” she said when they were safely inside the tiny car.

  He turned to say something, changed his mind, and turned the key in the ignition. As they twisted their way down the narrow streets, bumping shoulders, their every touch excited her. The trip to her grandparents’ was quiet. She wanted to say something, but needed time to sort out h
ow she felt. She wasn’t in any position to make life-altering decisions after the night she’d had.

  He pulled into the long gravel drive, turning the lights off before killing the engine. They sat, unmoving. A million different things ran through her mind at once. She looked over at her best friend. Without thinking, she kissed him. He kissed her back, this time moving his hands around her shoulders. When they finally pulled apart, he was smiling.

  “What?” she grinned.

  “Nothing,” he said. She punched him on the arm. He pretended it hurt.

  “See you tomorrow?” she asked.

  “See you tomorrow.”

  She floated up the steps to her room, forgetting, for the moment, about the demise of her family unit. That could wait. She flopped onto her bed, happy.

  Chapter 39

  Can we talk?

  Jenna read the text message blinking on her phone’s screen. It was from Alex. She sat up on an unfamiliar bed, worried before remembering where she was: Noelle’s guest bedroom. They had a good old-fashioned sleepover, grown up style: wine, bread, cheese and chocolate. It had so refreshed her that without thinking, Jenna replied: I’ll call you in an hour.

  As soon as she sent it, fear gripped her heart. She hadn’t spoken to Alex since their fight and she didn’t know what to say or what he wanted to talk about. She didn’t know if she was ready to talk. In a panic, she got up, throwing her clothes on, hardly noticing that they’d been washed, dried and folded for her overnight.

  Noelle seemed miniaturized sitting at the giant breakfast table, bathed in early morning light. Her snow-white hair was perfectly coiffed and she exuded sophistication even dressed in her pajamas.

  The table, set for two, reminded Jenna of the tea parties she and Airika used to throw for their dolls when they were little. Noelle ate a bowl of oatmeal, a newspaper open in front of her. Jenna didn’t want to be rude.

  “Good morning,” she said, joining Noelle at the table.

  “Sleep well?”

  “Yes. Thanks…for last night,” Jenna said.

  Noelle didn’t look up. She just made a “pfshhh” sound, flicking off the compliment with a wave of her hand.

  “Eat! Manja!” Noelle pushed a basket across the table, piled high with croissants, muffins and bagels—a veritable feast of carbs. Jenna looked from the feast in front of her to the lonely bowl of oatmeal in front of Noelle. Noelle waved a hand again.

  “My old body won’t let me eat like I used to, but at least I can take pleasure in watching someone else eat my favorite foods.”

  Jenna hesitated, part of her already pushing the calorie-ridden foods away, knowing how long it would take her to burn off just one of the offending tempters. She could hear Airika shrieking that one bite would add ten pounds and at least as many cellulite dimples directly to her thighs. She used to listen to that part of her.

  Instead, she smiled and picked up the biggest blueberry muffin of the bunch. She took a satisfying bite off the top, her favorite part, relishing the airy texture and sweet fruity flavor. She followed it with a gulp of cappuccino. Noelle watched, approving, and flipped through the paper. Jenna ate the muffin, watching out the window where a squirrel stripped a pinecone with its tiny hands.

  Its movements were quick, methodical, purposeful. She studied it, transfixed by its determination not to waste anything. I wish I were so certain. She was jealous of a squirrel’s purpose in life. That couldn’t be a good sign.

  “I have something for you,” Noelle said.

  “What?”

  Noelle pulled a hatbox up from where it sat unnoticed on a nearby chair. She pushed it toward Jenna, gesturing for her to open it. Jenna pulled at the large ribbon, lifting the oval lid. Inside the box was a very large, very cumbersome looking camera, just like the one she’d used the day of the Vogue shoot.

  “For me? I can’t accept this!”

  “Of course you can. Every photographer needs a camera. Plus, now I get to make my stipulation.” Noelle’s face exploded in a huge grin, alluding to how she must have looked as a teenager.

  “Yes, this is purely selfish,” she continued. “You must take photos every day and you must use this one, prime lens. The 50mm is considered the most honest lens—the closest to approximating the human eye—and I want you to record something every day. No frills, just light and shadow. That’s how you’ll learn.”

  Jenna opened her mouth, speechless. She picked up the camera with its tiny lens dwarfed by the massive camera body. She looked through the small viewfinder, finding Noelle. The frame was only large enough for her head and shoulders. Jenna clicked the shutter, capturing Noelle’s pleasure and surprise. The soft light pouring in through the window lit everything else in the frame, allowing Noelle’s sharp brown eyes to pop, silently conveying their message.

  “I will. Thank you,” Jenna said, turning her lens out the window to the squirrel, still working on its pinecone. She looked at the image, frowned at the blurry shapes, then adjusted the shutter speed and clicked again.

  “Ah, voilà! A photographer is born,” Noelle said, beaming.

  ***

  An hour later Jenna sat on the corner of her bed, phone in hand, working up the courage to call Alex. She felt like a teenager, dialing the numbers she knew by heart, stopping, and hanging up. Finally, she took a deep breath, dialed all the numbers and waited for him to answer.

  “Jenna?” he said, answering on the first ring.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “You asked me to call. I’m calling,” she tried to keep her voice from shaking.

  “Yeah, thanks. It’s good to hear your voice. I miss you.” His words sounded formal, foreign. She was used to his easy-going confidence. Why is this so hard?

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Fine. What do you need to talk to me about?” She asked, not at all sure she could stay strong if they fell into their usual banter.

  “I wanted to warn you about an article that’s coming out.” As he said it, her body stiffened. She didn’t say anything.

  “It’s in Rolling Stone. I did the interview a couple weeks ago, just days after … you left,” he said. “I thought I recognized the girl interviewing me, but I didn’t put it together. Do you know Rose McKenna?”

  Oh shit, what did she do now? Rose McKenna had insinuated herself into Airika’s circle of influence through her job as nanny to one of Hollywood’s A-list actors. Her charge was nine at the time. Somehow or other she got Airika the styling job when the mini-celebrity got an Oscar nomination and, ever since, a bizarre friendship had blossomed between them.

  Jenna hadn’t trusted Rose from the first time they met, when she had the gall to ask if she could get a signed guitar from Shawn Jax. When Jenna said “no,” she replied, half joking, “Relax, I’m not a stalker fan or anything. I just wanted to sell it on eBay.”

  Jenna gripped the phone, holding her breath, waiting for her husband’s voice, wishing he were going to say something she knew he wasn’t.

  “I know Rose.”

  “Well, I guess she spliced my interview and then did a separate one with Airika. So it looks like … but Jenna, I swear, it’s not true … ”

  Jenna’s mouth went dry. Her heart thumped in her ears. Her breathing became choppy and Alex’s voice muffled.

  “ … It looks like we did the interview together.” He sighed, sounding defeated. The only audible response was a sharp intake of breath and a small squeaking sound Jenna assumed must have come from her. She was outside of her own body. This can’t be happening, she thought. But it is, said another, more annoying voice in her head.

  “Let me get this straight. You did an interview with Rose. Airika did an interview with Rose. And then Rose cut them and pasted them together to look like you did the interview together?”

  “Yes,” he said in a small voice.

  “And that’s the absolute truth?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.”

  �
��Okay?” he asked.

  “Has the issue hit newsstands yet?”

  He was having trouble comprehending her line of questioning. He expected her to rail about how stupid he was to do an interview without Mindy there and that nothing was ever really off the record. And he would agree and then they’d make up and go back to their isolated bubbles. But something was … different.

  “I don’t think so. I haven’t even gotten the mock-up,” he said.

  “Have you told Mindy?”

  “No.”

  “Call her. Tell her what happened. Then call Frank.”

  “Frank?”

  “Your attorney,” she sighed in exasperation. “Give them the details. Let them do their jobs. If it hasn’t shipped yet, we can still salvage this.”

  She heard the assertive tone in her own voice. She felt a surge of power coursing through her body as she gave him orders. Her whole life she’d been passive and let other people do things for her—fix things for her, protect her. For the first time, she took charge of her own life. A smile crept across her face, the wild thumping of her pulse steadied into an anthemic rock beat.

  “Thank you,” he said, his tone unfamiliar.

  “Call me when it’s done.” She hung up, feeling a rush of adrenaline. Without giving herself time to think, she dialed Airika’s number.

  “Why did you do it?” Jenna spat as soon as Airika picked up. It was a loaded question and she didn’t mind how Airika took it.

  “Jenna?”

  “Why did you do it?” Jenna repeated.

  “Didn’t we already do this?” Airika said.

  “I’m talking about the interview. With Rose.”

  “What interview?”

  “Your interview in Rolling Stone with Rose McKenna. You can tell me what you said and help me fix this now, or you can talk to our attorney later. Either way you’re going to have to explain.”

  “Look Jenna, I can tell you’re mad. I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. I never did an interview with Rose.”