by Becky Wicks
'What a funny address, Peter,' she replies, switching off her cell.
31
I grab some forties from the deli before we head into the park. I know damn well I shouldn't be encouraging Chloe to drink again, and I shouldn't be drinking either, especially not after last night, but that argument in the cab really got to me this morning. I want things to be cool with Chloe and God knows I want to forget all this stalker bullshit, too.
I flip the lid off a beer with my fingers, hand it to her. We're sitting by the wall at the Nutter's Battery Site in the twilight, keeping our heads down whenever anyone walks past. It's one of a string of military fortifications on a steep bluff and from here we can see the light fading across Harlem Meer. It's one of Chloe's favorite spots in the park.
'I love it here,' she sighs, swigging from the bottle. She pulls her jacket tighter around her as I throw our empty hot dog trays into the trashcan. Somehow it got to November. 'I love the colors. Remember when Jack told us the world used to be all black and white?'
'Did he?'
She laughs to herself. 'Maybe it was just me he told,' she muses. 'He said everything was black and white - the trees, the sky, the oceans. I totally believed him. He said it only turned to color when a massive rainbow hit New York, and then the whole world lit up bit by bit. I used to think all those black and white photos were really how it used to be.'
'That sounds like Jack,' I smile. She leans into me for a second and I breathe in the blueberries, the scent of her shampoo. Courtney flashes back into my head against my will - her skin against mine, her spiky hair on my shoulders as she tried to sleep close to me. I close my eyes. What the fuck did I start? 'I miss Jack,' I say from out of nowhere.
Chloe pauses with the bottle to her lips. 'I bet you miss a lot of things. Everyone else thinks life's so much better when you're famous, right?'
'Everyone else,' I repeat. 'No one really knows, till it happens.'
I look down at her mouth as my face brushes the fake flowers in her hair. Her gloss has worn off and I can still make out the faintest trace of a scar. I stop my fingers reaching to touch it, grip my bottle, take a swig. I can't help seeing Zayne kissing her all over again. I don't know what happened with them after I left the club. I don't want to think about it.
A crash of thunder strikes to the east. 'Uh oh,' Chloe says dramatically and I spot a drop of rain land on her nose, then on her lap, on her brown leather boots. I can feel it falling on my head now and we both stand up. She grips my arm for a second. She's tipsy and I take her camera bag, put it around my shoulders, put our bottles in the trash.
An umbrella seller walks past, like they always do at the faintest hint of rain in New York; they're psychics I swear. I take a red umbrella, hand him ten bucks. 'Keep the change,' I say, opening it up and turning back to Chloe. She's disappeared. I turn around as the skies open up and the rain comes beating down.
'Noah!'
There she is. She's spinning on the grass in front of me, face up to the sky, round and round and round. Her brown floaty dress is flying out from the waist like a ballerina stuck on repeat. She's pulling the flowers out of her hair, shaking it loose. The light from the streetlamps starting to come on are casting flecks of orange on the shine and she's still spinning, in one spot now, laughing up at the sky like a crazy person.
'Noah!' she yells again. 'You have to spin for aunt Madeline, remember?'
It feels like so long since I saw Chloe laughing and something lifts from my shoulders almost instantly. Aunt Mads told us she and her boyfriend danced and span in the rain on the deck of a ship once, just because she'd seen it in a movie and always wanted to do it. Then, when it rained, she dragged us to her yard in The Bronx and we all span around till we were soaked and hysterical, doing stupid high kicks on the grass.
I can't take my eyes off her as she spins and spins and spins. And I feel it hit me. It smacks me hard; the thought that Chloe is the most beautiful creature I've ever seen, right here, right now, spinning like a figurine in a silver snow-globe.
She bounds up to me, giddy and still laughing. Raindrops are careening down her cheeks and her eyes are huge now. 'Come fly with me, Peter,' she breathes, reaching for the hand that isn't clasped around the umbrella. 'Or are you too grown up for that now?'
The wind picks up and clutches at her dress. I reach out instinctively to her face, run a thumb along her cheek, swiping at raindrops. 'You're drunk,' I whisper, but even as she frowns and rolls her eyes at me I have to smile because I see her; the kid who held my hand when my dog died, who gave names to the snails in her yard, who made me jump about her bedroom carpet like it was an ocean full of islands.
I see the seventeen-year-old who clung to me when her dad died. The secrets we left in the branches; the way our desperate lips searched frantically for some modicum of sense as we let our minds go out the window and fucked with more passion, more heart than I've ever experienced with anyone else in my life; even if she was drunk, even if we were grieving. It doesn't change what it meant to me.
Fuck. She's amazing. I love her. Why the hell did I let her go back to Cooper? Why the hell did I not just tell her sooner? Would it even have made a difference?
She's tugging on my arm and I realize I haven't spoken yet. 'Chloe...' I start. But the flash strikes us like lightning. I'd know it anywhere and it has nothing to do with the weather.
'Paparazzi,' we say in sync, and I grab her hand, pull her with me as we both break into a run.
'Where are we going?' she cries as more flashes strike us in quick succession. We break free of the grass, hit Central Park West and the tarmac helps us move faster. 'Chelsea's the other way, Noah! We need a cab!'
She's right. But the paps will be all over the apartment too, I know it. And there are no cabs in sight. I stop in a doorway and pull her against me, using the umbrella to cover our faces. Her hands steady on my chest, on the front of my wet clothes. For another moment I'm thrown and I can't think straight because all I can think about is Chloe spinning, spinning, spinning. My head is spinning. Her face is an inch from mine. I still have her camera over my shoulders.
Fuck, Noah, pull yourself together.
I think of something else. I pull away, step back onto the street. I can't see the paps anymore but I'm pretty sure they'll be lurking in the shadows somewhere, the bastards. 'We have to get on the subway,' I tell her, 'to The Bronx.'
Her eyebrows raise in understanding. 'Madeline,' we say together, and both clutching the umbrella, we start off into the rain.
32
Chloe
Madeline answers the door in a floor-length pink nightgown with a man's jacket draped across her shoulders. Her short, silvery hair is sticking out to the left like it blew there in a freak tornado. She eyes us both up and down and a grin spreads across her familiar face.
'Well, I thought I was in for a night of good dreams after watching the Clooney marathon but I never expected a blood-related pop star to show up on my doorstep! Noah Lockton, are you real?'
'Hey, Mads, I'm so sorry to just show up; we were being chased...'
'Goodness, Noah, come in, come in, you looked drenched, you poor things! And who is this?' I lift my hood and follow him inside. 'Oh, sweet heavens, if it isn't my little Chloe! Look at you, so beautiful!'
She puts a warm hand to my cheek, does the same to Noah before shutting the door to the pouring rain and ushering us down the hallway to the kitchen. I note how the carpet is still the same; how the same wonky photo frames are hanging on the dark green walls.
'Who was chasing you? I was just putting some tea on... actually come through here, let's get you something warm and dry, shall we...'
She chatters on as she leads us to the spare downstairs bedroom and Noah tells her about the paparazzi. She shakes her head in sympathy, flicks on a dim bulb and lights up the dark antique furniture I remember so well. Memories rush back to me as I look around the room. The photos on the walls are a tribute to Madeline's time as a Rockett
e. There are pictures of herself and her stage friends with absolutely every star you can imagine.
'Look at you two, here after all this time!' Madeline gushes, rummaging though a wardrobe full of clothes that probably haven't been touched since the seventies. She holds up a shirt against Noah and then hands it to me instead. 'You're a bit bigger now,' she laughs.
'I missed you aunt Mads,' I say, meaning it.
'Not as much as I missed you, my darling. And Noah, I feel like I've got a superstar in my home! You were just on the TV, on the MoonRise re-run! What in heavens made them interview you with puppets?'
She hands him a bigger shirt and some dry pants that look like something an old man might wear -- all black and brown with red checks. 'Those should do you. Towels are on the dresser there. I'll leave you here to change. I want all your news. Oh goodness...' she comes up to me, squeezes my cheeks again, 'so beautiful,' she repeats before sighing and bustling out of the room.
Noah turns around and peels off his sweater and shirt. I catch the ripples of his muscles as he moves in the lamplight; his tattoo, the smooth, tanned skin of his back, the way his biceps and shoulders flex when he grabs a towel. He rubs his hair dry before he reaches for the other shirt. I picture Courtney running her hands all over him.
Things are so different to the last time we were both in this house.
He catches me staring and I look away quickly. The happy buzz I had from the beer is wearing off and now I'm just cold. I grab a towel, peel off my own clothes and boots and pull the shirt on. It's so long it comes down to my knees, baggy, old and green with racing horses all over it.
'Suits you,' he says, and when I turn around Noah's smiling at me with his arms folded.
'That doesn't suit you,' I reply, motioning to his outfit. I can't help laughing a little at the way the shirt she gave him is still a bit tight, how the pants are a bit short. He strikes a model pose and walks over, takes the towel I'm still holding.
I watch him in the dusty mirror as he stands behind me and starts drying my hair with it, rubbing it gently over my head and then squeezing clumps between the fabric. I close my eyes, feeling tired and thirsty suddenly. What the hell am I doing, drinking? I said I never would. But when I think about the death threats, and Zayne, and the photo of Brandon Cleaver and...
Courtney's face flashes into my head again. Her body pressed up against him, her bright red nails on his back, his hands moving down to her ass. Noah leaning in to kiss her again, leading her away.
I turn to face him, put my hands to his shoulders. 'Don't,' I say. He freezes with the towel.
'Don't what?'
'Don't... do that.' I grab the towel from him and throw it on the bedpost, turn and go to leave the room, but he catches my arm.
'What's going on?' He's searching my face and I have to look away. I hate that this tears me up. I hate that I can't get this... thing... out of my head.
'Nothing. Come on, she's waiting,' I say, walking out and into the kitchen.
The kitchen smells just like it always did - coffee and the fragrant aftermath of baking with nutmeg. Piles of cookbooks take up every available surface, crowding tall shelves that hold mismatching cups and saucers. A lit vanilla candle is sitting in the middle of her huge wooden dining table and as I settle in a cushioned dining chair a pot of tea and a plate of chocolate chip cookies is promptly set between us.
'Such an exciting visit. So, tell me everything,' Madeline urges, scraping a chair back opposite me, crossing her arms and looking at me over the top of her reading glasses. Her wrinkled face is so warm and friendly and I'm instantly sad I didn't come to visit her sooner. We always had such great times here.
Noah scrapes the chair out next to me, sits down, shoots me a questioning look but I ignore it. The clock on the wall is ticking loudly, showing ten thirty-four. This time last night we were getting drunk... I hadn't kissed Zayne yet. Had Noah kissed Courtney? Screwed her in the tour bus already?
'Things are kind of crazy, Mads,' Noah says, resting his head on his arms for a second.
Madeline puts a hand on his damp curls, then pours us all tea into mugs. 'I have a general idea, I think,' she says, patting a paper folder on the table. She opens it up and pushes it towards us. It's every article Noah has ever been in. 'But I need a live rundown. The one from last night, you with this Courtney girl...'
'That's his new girlfriend,' I cut in. I grab the folder but Noah slaps his hand over it and stops me moving it.
'What are you, twelve? She's not my new girlfriend.'
'I should hope not,' Madeline adds, looking between us. She's silent for a second, sips her tea. 'Didn't you just finish things with the other one? Jayde, wasn't it?'
'Well...' Noah starts.
'There's pretty much always someone, Mads,' I offer before I can stop myself. 'It's kind of hard to keep up.'
I can feel his eyes scalding into my cheek and I laugh to make a joke of it, pointing to a photo of Jayde draped around him, taken in Brooklyn, and another of Courtney and another of a swarm of fans with their hands touching him wherever they can reach. Madeline nods, smiling softly as she sips more tea. Shit. Why can I never just shut up? This is why I shouldn't drink. It makes me horrible.
The two talk around the elephant in the room about the tour and Denzel and Jack. I add my news on Shimmer and the stalker and my mom and I drink from my mug, feeling the last traces of the alcohol wash out of me and the annoyance at everything settle back in.
'How about a song before bedtime?' Madeline asks eventually, clapping her hands together. 'Will you Noah, please? You always filled this house with music! What was that song you sent me once, about the butterflies? That was adorable! I'll go fetch the guitar!' Madeline stands up and hurries off in her nightgown.
'What was all that about?' Noah says, soon as she's gone. His eyes are stormy now, like the rain outside got trapped in them.
'All what?'
'You know what, Chloe. I never said anything about Cooper being the biggest fucking pothead in Colorado, did I? Or Zayne. Did you forget the way you threw yourself all over him last night?'
My heart slams into my ribs at his words. I look away, draw my feet up on the wooden chair and hug my knees. 'You know nothing about Zayne.'
'And you know nothing about Courtney,' he snaps. 'You just think you do.'
'Here it is,' Madeline chirps, walking back in. Bless her awesome heart, acting like she doesn't feel the tension in this room. I rest my head on my knees for a second, hearing Noah tune the guitar, the way he's twanging each string extra loud, angrily.
'Can you remember it?' he asks after a moment.
'How could I forget,' I sigh, looking up. The last thing I want to do right now is sing with him, but he's already picking the strings and Madeline is looking at us like she's the proudest, most excited Lockette on the planet.
It's already quarter past midnight
But I don't really want to move from my chair
If I leave, will you hear me still singing this song
Will you wish I was there?
I want to hear one more of your stories
Tangle up in your dreams, give up the fight
'Pour one more glass of that wine
And I might not go home tonight...
I join him, sing my lines in harmony, just like we only sang together yesterday. We always used to sing. We sang everywhere. I made him sing all the Disney songs with me till Alyssa came along and took over.
I couldn't say
Exactly what changed
I think I went and fell in love with you somehow
And I shouldn't stay, so I'll go now
But just so you know now
You give me, you give me
Butterflies
That's what I get when I look in your eyes
Butterflies
Tell me you're feeling this feeling I'm feeling inside…
I watch his foot tapping on the lino, the too-short pants rising up every time and I can see
all over again why America pays to hear him to do the same thing; in slightly better clothing. He's like a magnet. I can't be mad at him. It’s like he casts some crazy magic spell that renders me almost helpless, no matter what the hell it is he's singing. By the time he's finished with the song I can't even meet his eyes.
Butterflies.
'If it's OK with you guys, I need to sleep, I'm exhausted,' he says, hugging the guitar to his too-tight shirt, making his arm muscles jut out like some cartoon Hulk. Madeline claps and whoops.
'That was beautiful, both of you. You should sing together more,' she gushes. 'I can see you both up there, up in the stage lights!'
'It's Noah's thing, not mine. I'm just the shadow,' I reply, trying to calm the fluttering in my chest. I'm kind of aware that the lyrics might mean more than they used to.
'There are spare toothbrushes under the basin. I only have the one spare room now, since I turned the other into the study,' she tells him as Noah kisses her cheek goodnight. 'I'm sure you won't mind sharing, right?'
'Chloe can do what she wants,' he replies, coldly. 'She usually does.'
He walks out and my heart does the drum thing again and when I raise my eyes, Madeline is studying me quizzically. 'Are you going to tell me what's going on?'
33
I lean back in my chair, listen to the taps going on in the bathroom. Madeline pours what's left of the tea into our mugs. 'You're worried, aren't you?' she says, adjusting her glasses. 'You think all these other girls, this Courtney, whoever she is, you think they mean more to him than you do.'
'I never really think about it,' I lie. But my heart is practically in my throat now and my palms are clammy. Holy shit. She has telescope eyes. She really does see everything.
'Of course you do,' she smiles. 'The heart can see very clearly what the eyes can't sometimes. Love isn't all sparks and firecrackers. Sometimes it's more subtle than that. It takes time to settle inside you, you know, like it's doing with you and Noah?'
