Removing the carefully folded stack of money from the pocket, I take my measly twenty-five dollars in tips and add it to the stack. Two-hundred and seventy-five dollars total. That’s how much money I have to my name. Our paychecks should be arriving in the bank next Thursday night, but mine will be gone the second it hits. Covering the fifty-dollar overdraft from when I put gas in my tank last week, and paying what it can of my rent and electric bill.
Begging whoever will listen to let my car hold out just a little longer, I tuck the jeans back in their rightful place, grab a pair of pajamas, and head into the bathroom. Washing my face and brushing my hair out from its ponytail, I stare at myself in the mirror. At this rate, I’ll never save enough for Marcus’ tuition to private school.
It’s all I’ve been hoping for this entire summer. I’d heard the public school systems in Memphis weren’t much to be proud of, but it wasn’t until trying to enroll my child in one that I really understood. So, I committed myself to working as many hours as possible at Tony’s and picking up the slack with as many cleaning gigs I could book in the meantime. That was in April. Two months later, dipping into the savings for gas here or groceries there, and two hundred and seventy-five dollars is all I have to show for it.
It’s times like these that I wonder whether my parents are ever thinking of me at all. Do they regret not standing by me when I needed them most? Is it difficult for them to walk past my empty room each day? Have they been looking for me for all these years? No, of course not. With Daddy’s resources they could’ve found me in less than a day, and knowing my mother she waited all of five minutes before turning my room into her own personal meditation studio.
Shaking off my sense of hopelessness, I brush my teeth and climb in next to Marcus. He whines a little when I slide him closer to the wall, but doesn’t wake. Sinking into the so-worn-I-can-feel-the-springs mattress, I glance at the brochures on the nightstand. All glossy publications filled with the most important facts about various private academies around town. Unable to bear the constant disappointment I put my child through, I open the drawer and rake them off inside. Schools, bills, even basic necessities will have to be tomorrow’s problem. Today, the only thing I can focus on is sleep.
Jesse
Three in the morning and I’m awakened by the sounds of what one can only assume to be animalistic fucking in the next room. Growling at Tag’s constant antics, I flip the pillow over my head and close my eyes. The wall begins to shake taking my headboard with it, and I realize it’s going to be a while before sleep finds me again. Dragging the duvet from the bed, I wrap myself up and head into the sitting room portion of my suite. A quick flip through the channels reminding me just how much I, for the most part, hate American television I flip open my laptop and click to the folder I use to find most of my comfort.
Eyes radiantly blue like sapphires, skin the golden blush of a peach, and hair so crisply golden it could’ve been colored by wheat fields in bloom hitting me all at once, I stare at the monitor. Cressida in all her glory. At age thirteen, I fell for her faster than a flash of lightening. It took a few years for her to return my affections, but once she did we were inseparable. So much so that at nineteen, I did the unthinkable and married her.
For one beautiful year we had it all. At least we had as much as two kids can when they piss off their extremely wealthy families and find themselves cut off from the well. Still, even with the adjustment to a simpler way of life we lived in bliss. Then the cancer came, a rapidly growing tumor in her brain that would send its destructive little minion cells to her liver and lymph nodes before the second consult.
For four months I watched as chemo and radiation mangled the perfectly painted portrait that was Cressida. I cried with her in the bathroom as her hair fell in clumps in the shower around us. When she was too weak to make it off the bathroom floor after hours of vomiting, I brought in a blanket and our pillows and slept at her side. And the day, that horrible, life-altering day, she died I watched her laugh like nothing was hurting. Saw her cry as she said goodbye to the ones she held dear, held her hand as the sun set. Then, I laid with her, soaking in the last moments we had. Selfishly, not wanting to give her up; amazingly unwilling to let her stay. When the tears came — mine, not hers — I felt so weak, so unworthy. This was the end. She needed my strength, deserved it. What happened instead was she attempted to give me the last bit of hers.
Reaching her bone thin fingertips to my cheek and planting the softest kiss on my lips, she whispered, “Find someone to love once I’m gone. Hold them, laugh and cry with them, and most of all love them just like you’ve loved me.”
Before I could respond the monitors went blank, her pulse slowly jumping to zero. As the doctors and nurses rushed in, I leaned forward kissed her pale lips once more, and whispered, “Never.”
That was the night my old identity ceased to exist, the night I became Jesse Lee. Music had always been a passion, a talent my father thought a waste. My earliest memories of what career I’d choose when I grew up involved me proudly informing my teacher in primary school that I was going to be a rock star. My father dismissed the idea almost as soon as it’d come out of my mouth. I was going to go to Oxford, study business, and take over in his name once he was ready to retire. No crazy dreams for his son, no sir. My father didn’t matter anymore though, he’d warned me not to come back once my marriage ended, and with Cressida’s final words it had.
I booked a ticket to Los Angeles for the day after the funeral, and packed my bags. I wasn’t sure what America held for me, but I’d always heard it was the land of opportunity and I was determined to take it. Luckily, unlike so many other fools who blindly fly to West Hollywood hoping to make all their dreams come true, opportunity did find me. In the form of Tag, a fellow Brit, who moved here a few years ago and was in a band looking for a lead singer. The fact that I also played guitar was an added bonus.
Three years later and as they say, the rest is history. Our band is a household name across the globe. At least, I thought it was until I met Sophie. Thoughts turning to her for the millionth time tonight, I wonder what she’s doing now. Not since Cressida has a woman captured my attention in such a way. Terrified by the implications of it all, I shake my head clear and crawl back into bed. Tomorrow we have our concert. The following day we leave. Period. As soon as I get one foot out of this city, I’ll get Sophie Westbrook out of my head.
Can’t Get You Out of My Head
Sophie
“Mommy! Mommy, get up. I made you breakfast,” the sweetest voice in the world calls through my haze.
Squinting to relieve my dry sockets, I pry my eyes open and sit up. Standing next to my bed is the brown skinned, curly brown haired, blue eyed boy who gives my entire mediocre existence meaning. Smiling at him, I take the soggy, three-parts milk; one-part cereal bowl of Apple Jacks from his hands. Nervous eyes fixated on me, I lift my spoon and take a bite.
“Mmm...delicious!” I set the bowl on the nightstand, and pull him up in my lap. “Did you have some for yourself as well?”
“Yep. I even cleaned my mess.”
“You did?” I ask, dreading the state of my kitchen, but too moved by the pride he’s showing in himself to let it get in my way.
“Uh huh. And, I packed my bag to stay the night with Pops and Granny.”
“Hmm...” I yawn. “Who told you, you were going to do that?”
“Aunt Kita,” he beams.
“Did she? Well, we’ll have to see. Mommy thought we might spend the night together here, maybe even take a trip to the zoo tomorrow. Tony said we could use his pass.”
Lost in thought, he looks at the wall for several minutes. “I have an idea!”
Laughing at his enthusiasm, I ask, “What’s that?”
“Tonight I’ll stay with Granny and Pops. Tomorrow you can pick me up. Then we can go to the zoo. It all works!”
“My genius boy,” I reply, tousling his hair, “but we’ll have to ask Granny and Pops fi
rst. And, I’ll have to pick you up early, because I have to work tomorrow night. So, you’ll have to go to bed on time. No staying up all night playing video games.”
“I can still play a little bit of video games, though, right?”
I chuckle. “A little, but nothing past seven o’clock. Okay?”
“Pleasure doing business with you, ma’am,” he answers, seriously, extending his hand out to mine.
I shake his hand and pull him in for a squeeze. Tickling his ribcage, I whisper, “I love you, Bean.”
“I love you too, Mommy,” he says, sweetly. “Now, eat your breakfast before it gets cold.” He hops off my lap, and dashes to the door.
“Cereal’s supposed to be cold,” I call behind him, grabbing the bowl and slipping my feet into the house shoes I keep by the bed. If I can’t start my day with a decent meal, I can at least start it with a cheaply made pot of coffee.
Jesse
The knocking pulling me out of a web of tangled dreams in which Cressida faded into Sophie, and Sophie turned into a burning pit of fire waiting to consume me, I wake with a start. Rubbing my eyes, I glance at the digital alarm clock on the nightstand. Twelve o’clock. Shit. If I don’t get my ass in gear, I’ll be late for our two o’clock sound check. Running a rough hand through my hair, I force myself from the bed.
“Get your arse up,” Tag yells. “We’ve got things to do today.”
“I know, I know,” I yell, heading for the door. “Maybe if someone would’ve kept the noise to a minimum last night, I could’ve gotten a few decent hours in.”
“You’re a rock star, Jesse,” he says, as I open the door. “Embrace it. I know I am.”
Standing in the open doorway with nothing but my underwear on, I stare at Tag and the woman who waited our table last night. “Aren’t you a sight for hungover eyes?” She taunts, taking me in with hungry eyes that make me feel even more exposed than I am.
Leaving the door open, I step back into the room and toss on my jeans from last night. “What are you doing here, Tag?”
“Get dressed, we’re going to a barbecue,” he says, helping himself to a bag full of peanuts from the mini bar.
“Don’t you have your own room to charge that crap too?” I ask.
“You make more money than I do,” he shrugs. “Anyway, like I said. Get dressed. Lacey’s taking us to an exclusive backyard party.”
“We have sound check in a few hours, and I haven’t even showered.”
“You can shower in your dressing room. Trust me. You don’t want to miss this.”
“What’s so special about some bloody family barbecue?”
Like a mad man, he turns to his new found groupie and hands her his room key. “Why don’t you go get your purse? We need a minute.” Waiting till she leaves the room, he launches on me. “Do you want the waitress or not?”
Befuddled, I ask, “Waitress? You mean Sophie?”
“You remember her name, and you haven’t shagged? You’ve got it bad, mate. Okay, so here’s the deal. Lacey’s roommate and the waitress are apparently close. The roommate’s parents are having a barbecue, and the waitress is going to be there.”
Images of Cressida’s face slowly fading to Sophie’s burning fresh in my mind, I flop back onto the bed. “I’m okay. You guys go on without me.”
“What are you talking about? This is your chance to bag and tag her. Show up, be your charming self, get in there, and move on. Last chance, mate. If you don’t take it now you’ll regret it.”
Exhaling, I run my hands over my face. He’s right. If I want to get Sophie out of my mind, I have to get her in my bed. “Okay, give me ten minutes to grab a quick wash and find some clothes.”
“Ten minutes. That’s all you get. We have to make this quick if we don’t want a delayed sound check.”
The First Cut is the Deepest
Sophie
“Okay there, Country,” Markita asks setting a wine cooler in front of me.
“Fine. Just exhausted.”
“Don’t tell me my nephew woke up early after all the work that went in to keeping him up late.”
Laughing, I open the cooler and take a small sip. “Seven-thirty as usual. He wouldn’t be Marcus if he wasn’t a morning person.”
“True story. He gets that from TJ, you know. He used to drag me out of bed every morning at six o’clock. ‘The early bird, Kita. Be the early bird.’” She sighs and takes a seat next to me. “It’s still surreal.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. Blinking back my tears, I peel a piece of chipped paint from the ancient picnic table. “It’s been six years to the day.”
“And, yet, it still feels like yesterday. How are you really holding up? I saw the bills, Country. If you need help, we’ll all pitch in with something. It’s the right thing. You didn’t ask TJ to leave you alone in all this.”
Chest constrained, I think of the way TJ died. The real way, not the bullshit police report. I picture his big, brown eyes as he realized he was going over the bridge; envision the struggle as the mighty Mississippi engulfed him. TJ would’ve never gotten in that car without checking things. If there was a problem, he would’ve known. He wanted to be a father more than anything, to pass the legacy of love his dad had given him down to Marcus. There’s no way he would’ve taken a risk in losing any of that.
Blotting my tears on my t-shirt, I look over at her. “I can’t take your money, Kita. Everyone at this barbecue is struggling just as much as I am.”
It’s the hard truth, and we both know it. The James’ don’t have much of anything to their name. Marcus’ grandparents own the house we’re all gathered at to celebrate TJ’s life, and the car parked under the carport. Other than that, they don’t have any real assets.
It’s a far cry from the world I come from in which the Westbrooks’ either own it, or know the person who does. The James’ have one thing we never had though, and that’s love. Looking around the lawn, I examine all the smiling faces and laughing relatives. My heart filling three sizes more, I whisper a thanks to TJ for making me a part of this wonderful family.
“Mommy,” Marcus calls, running at full force to get to me. “Pops and Unc are going to my daddy’s grave. Can I go too?”
I turn my attention to Earl, TJ’s father, who’s slowly making his way toward us. Earl’s been disabled ever since he fell off the riverboat he used to work on. The near drowning experience caused a stroke, which left his face slack on one side. Balancing himself with his cane, he gives me a lopsided smile and slurs, “You’re raising a good man here, Sophie. TJ would be proud.”
“Thanks, Pops,” I answer, standing to hug him. “Here, why don’t you take my seat?”
“Oh, that’s alright,” he replies. “Me and the boys were gonna sneak off and pay a visit to the man of the hour. You don’t mind, do ya?”
“Hmm, well that depends. Has Unc been drinking?” I turn toward Earl’s brother, carefully examining him for any signs of intoxication.
“Relax, Sophie,” he chuckles. “I haven’t had a drop. Knew the old man would want to see his baby boy, today of all days. Figured I’d save it for when we got back.”
Still apprehensive, I glance back down at Marcus. He is TJ in the flesh, everything but the eyes which plead up at me in desperation. “Okay,” I cave. “The cemetery and straight back.”
Relieved to have his way, Marcus lunges at me. “I love you, mommy. Don’t leave till I get back. K?”
“I won’t, Bean. I promise.”
Watching them go, I hike my sweaty leg over the picnic bench again and take another sip of my cooler.
“You’re gonna have to be more drunk than that if I’m gonna stand a chance at beating you in bones, ya know,” Markita teases.
“You and I both know I could be completely sober and you’d still destroy me in Dominoes. Besides, I have to drive home. One’s my limit, so I’m going to savor it. I don’t want to risk anything, especially not today.”
“Have you been up to see him?” She que
stions, finishing off her Hard Lemonade.
“Not yet. I was planning on going with Marcus in the morning, and finishing our day out at the zoo. A little happy to help with the sad. Now, that he’s going with your dad, I’ll probably just go later. Once there’s less chance of being interrupted by other well-meaning mourners.”
Truth be told, Pops taking Marcus to visit TJ’s grave is probably a blessing in disguise. We’ve been going every year since I had him. The past two years Marcus has asked the same questions. Why did my daddy die? Can I see him someday? Did he love me? And, every year, I do my best to explain the difficult truths of this cold world to my brilliantly innocent son. This year I don’t think I have it in me.
With everything that’s gone on, with all the ups, downs, and in between, I just need peace. I need my time to grieve, to hate my father for taking him from us. Time to lash out and be mad at the world, to forget that I’m twenty-one and my entire life has been derailed. That’s what I need. With Marcus safe at his grandparents’ house, tonight that’s what I’ll have. Tomorrow, I’ll dust myself off and take my son to the zoo like none of it ever happened. Reminding myself where I am, I blink the tears back from my eyes.
Warmly staring back at me, Markita says, “It’s okay to miss him, you know.”
“I know.” Nursing my drink, I smile back at her. “Truth be told, it’s not even just about him. It’s just everything. Maybe I’m about to get my period or something. I don’t know why I’m so damned emotional lately.”
“Or maybe you just need to get laid. Lacey told me you passed up a piece of prime rib last night. What happened there?”
“Same thing that always happens.” I shrug. “I have Marcus to think about. I can’t just run around boning every man that offers.”
Rock and Roll Country (Jesse's Girl #1) Page 2
