And oh how I love to party alone with Joss. If I thought he was sexy when he was a two-dimensional figure from a CD cover, there’s no comparison to the real multi-dimensional man I’m now getting to know.
I watch as he breathes quietly, his hard, cut chest moving up and down rhythmically. His hair is tumbled around his face and one arm is flung above his head, making him seem almost vulnerable. But even in sleep, his other hand rests on my inner thigh, as if he couldn’t quite let me go even for the few hours of unconsciousness.
This symbol, the way he doesn’t let me go, is both tender and strong. He is tender in his need for me, the way he says that I light up his life and help him feel less alone. But he is strong in his need to be in charge—of me and everything else he touches. He won’t accept anything less than perfection from those around him, and I worry about what will happen when I’m no longer a shiny new penny and he realizes I’m far from perfect.
In particular, I worry he’ll find out I had an affair with my professor and judge me for it. It was an incredibly foolish thing to do, both professionally and personally. Joss doesn’t suffer fools lightly.
My mind wanders to the email I received from my school yesterday. My case will be heard in a few days, and if it doesn’t go the way I want, I won’t be reconsidered for the Eddie Adams award, but worse than that, my whole grade in Professor Marin’s course might be disqualified. Then it’ll be up to the college whether they let me retake the course or permanently bar me from the program.
The idea of having spent six years of my life pursuing something that might be torn from me in one afternoon meeting is almost more than I can bear. The degree is proof of my dedication, the stamp of approval that I’ve sought ever since I first picked up a camera and fell in love with how it let me look at the world. When I think of all that being in vain, my heart dies a little inside of me.
But when I think of losing both the degree and Joss, everything inside me dies a lot. Of course Joss is hardly mine to lose, I remind myself. We haven’t talked at all about what we’re doing, where we’re going, or anything beyond this tour. Given what everyone’s told me about his history with women, I should probably assume we’ll be done when the tour is, and then it won’t matter what he thinks about my affair with Marin.
“Do I need to work harder at keeping you happy, sweet Mel?” Joss’s deep voice interrupts my disturbing train of thought. I roll onto my side to face him, and he does the same, putting one hand on my hip under the sheets and beginning to explore the skin there.
“Why do you ask that?” I respond.
He rubs a finger between my eyebrows. “Because there’s a little line right here that you get when you’re unhappy about something, and I see it this morning. I can’t have you going out of this room wearing that. Everyone will think I’ve lost my touch.”
I can’t help but smile. “Oh yeah? What touch is that?”
“My magic touch with women. Here at Rock Star Central, no woman ever goes away dissatisfied. We’ll keep at it until we get it right.”
I laugh. “Riiight. So is that what Mike’s doing all the time? Just keeping at it until he gets it right?”
“Well, problem is, he missed the memo that said you keep at it until one woman is satisfied.” He smiles at me and cups my breast as he runs his thumb across the nipple. I can’t help but moan at the sensation. Until Joss, I didn’t know it was possible to feel this good. It’s like he has some secret code to my anatomy. He punches in the combination and I open up like a spring-loaded lock.
“So,” I say, feeling timid but pressing ahead anyway, “once you’ve got a satisfied customer, does that mean you move on to the next challenge?” I try to make it sound playful, but I have a feeling I’m failing miserably.
He leans up on one elbow and looks down at me. “Is that what’s got you so serious this morning? Are you still worried I’m going to get bored and move on?”
I swallow and don’t answer him, just watching his brilliant green eyes as they search mine.
Finally, he leans down and kisses me softly on the lips. “Mel, you are infinitely interesting to me. I can’t imagine a day when I could ever or would ever be bored by you. You’re the smartest, sexiest, most interesting woman I’ve ever known. I only worry that you’ll wake up one day and realize I’m overbearing and depressing and no fun at all. Then you’ll up and run off with some younger guy who has friends instead of employees and sleeps at normal times and isn’t always locked up in a little room writing lyrics about his pretentious, pathetic life.”
I can’t help but laugh, but I make sure to stroke my palm along his cheek as I do. “Is that seriously how you see yourself? My God, Joss, are you looking around you at all? You’re beautiful and talented and respected by everyone who knows you. And that includes me. You’re quiet and serious, yeah, and I love that about you. Happy-go-lucky guys are Tammy’s thing, not mine.”
He lays his head against my neck for a moment, just breathing me in like he often does. I think, no matter what happens between us. I will never forget Joss Jamison breathing in the scent of me as if it’s the oxygen he needs to survive.
“So why the worry then? If you’re happy with me and I’m happy with you, what’s putting that crease in your beautiful face?”
“It was nothing. A momentary doubt. Forget about it.”
“No, I won’t. I’ll do whatever you need to help you feel secure about me, about us. But I need to know what the doubts are before I can fix them.”
“You don’t have to fix everything for me, Joss.”
“I want to. Please let me.”
I sigh. “Well, we haven’t talked, you know, about what happens after the tour. And it’s probably way too soon to discuss it anyway, so I know I’m being stupid. And I’m really not needy. We can just take this—”
“Sshh.” He places his finger over my lips to stop my babbling. “Sweet Mel, it’s okay. And I’m sorry. I’ve been a dick. I feel so close to you I forget you can’t read my mind. You need to call me on that shit. I’m an only child, and I don’t always know how to play well with others.”
I give him a little laugh and a smile.
He sits up against the headboard, pulling me up with him. I rest my head on his shoulder and he does his favorite thing with my hair, running the ends through his fingers, while he talks.
“So this is what I’ve been thinking about for after the tour. We’ll get back to Portland and we’ll go straight to my condo, where I’ll finally get to make love to you in my very own bed that I paid a fucking fortune for along with the bazillion thread count sheets that the decorator swore I needed to have. Then when we simply can’t orgasm one more time, we’ll sleep.
“In the morning, I’ll make you breakfast, and while I go to the studio, you’ll work on the photo book from the tour. And if I have my way, we’ll knock off early and I’ll take you to my favorite little Italian restaurant down the street where I can spoil you with tiramisu and espresso after dinner. Then we’ll go home and make love again until we fall asleep.”
“Then what?” I ask when he suddenly stops talking.
“Rinse and repeat as much as possible.”
I lean back and look up at him. “Joss. I sort of meant bigger picture than that. I mean, that sounds like a lovely day, but what about the week after that? Or the month? What about six months from now?”
He looks genuinely confused. “Well, more of the same. Plus whatever else you’d like—vacations, shopping, another tour with the band—anything you want.”
I try to tamp down my frustration. “Okay, I don’t think you’re getting this. What I’m trying to say is, what will happen to our relationship when we get back? Will we be together? Will I be your girlfriend or whatever?”
“Of course!” he cries out. “What the hell did you think all that was about? You think I’m going to be talking about you living with me if we’re not together? Mel, what are we doing here?”
It’s all I can do to keep from lau
ghing at this point, both from sheer relief and the fact that I’ve just discovered Joss Jamison, sex symbol deluxe, is, underneath it all, another clueless man.
“Joss,” I say with an indulgent tone in my voice. “You’ve never once said we’re a thing or I’m your girlfriend or whatever. And you’ve sure as hell never said a word about us living together. How was I supposed to know that’s what you were thinking? And by the way, don’t you need to ask me to do that? I mean, you can’t just assume I want to live with you.”
He lets his head fall back against the headboard with a clunk. Then he scrubs his hand across his face. “Are we having our first fight?” he asks.
“No.”
“Okay, but I’ve screwed up? Let me see if I’ve got it straight. Mistake number one is that I’ve never said you’re my girlfriend? The fact that you spend every night in my bed, every day in my company, and have even been known to borrow my toothbrush—which, by the way, Mel, is gross—didn’t communicate clearly enough that you’re my girlfriend?”
Well, when he puts it that way.
“Then,” he continues, “my second mistake is that I assumed you’d be living with me when we got back? Of course, I assumed it because you are my girlfriend, whether you acknowledge it or not. I guess in my mind we’re living together now, so why would that change when we got back? But I know I don’t understand all the romantic bullshit that goes along with this stuff. So you want me to ask you?”
I blink at him. He sighs.
“Mel DiLorenzo, would you be so kind as to continue living with me when we get back to Portland?”
My heart jumps inside my chest. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined this outcome when I blundered into this conversation. But I hear the voice of my sister inside my head still. Joss never sticks around.
“You know, isn’t it a little soon for that? I mean we’ve only been doing whatever this is—”
“Living together,” he mumbles.
“For a couple of weeks. Shouldn’t we get to know each other better?”
“I’ve known you since you were ten, Mel,” he responds.
“That doesn’t really count, Joss. I mean, living together is a big deal, and I haven’t even decided where I’m going to go after this assignment, and if I move in with you, what about my cat? I can’t leave poor Mesopotamia at my parents’ house—”
Joss growls and pulls me down flat on the bed underneath him. “Mel?”
“Yeah?” I squeak out.
“I did what you wanted. You’re my girlfriend, and I asked you to live with me. Shut up and just go with it.”
“Okay.”
He stops midway to kissing me. “Really? Okay?”
“Yes,” I say. “Of course.”
“Damn right of course.” He buries his face in my neck, nipping and licking, sending heat to my core almost instantaneously.
“Will you do this when we live together?” I ask breathlessly.
“Every single day, baby. Every single day.”
“I think I’m going to like living with you.”
“You already do live with me, Mel,” he corrects.
Joss
I HAVEN’T said it out loud yet, but I’m in love. Mel DiLorenzo is everything I imagined she would be and more. I feel like my entire world has had a paradigm shift and she’s the cause. It’s a fucking superhuman feeling, and for hours, sometimes whole days, I can hide inside of Mel and forget about Walsh and Tammy. Then I’ll see them together—her still so subdued and him taking charge in this new way, protecting her, both of them staying far away from Mel and me—and it’ll come rushing back, like a snake ready to strike, hissing out the word along with the venom. Betrayal. I keep hoping that if I simply focus on Mel and our future together long enough, the betrayal will fade from my mind and from the air around us.
Deep down though, I don’t think it works that way. I’m deluding myself that there can be a good outcome for all of us now. In light of this fear, I’ve taken the most selfish view possible, hoping against hope every day that if something has to be broken it’ll be something other than Mel and me. This doesn’t help appease my conscience, needless to say.
Now we’re on the road to New York City, and I’m sitting on the bus with a guitar, playing around with a new song. Mike comes into the main cabin looking like he just woke up, which, considering it’s only one thirty in the afternoon, isn’t too bad. Hell, it’s pretty good I’m awake right now too.
He throws himself down on the seat next to me, scrubbing a hand over his five-o’clock shadow.
“What’re you working on?” he asks offhandedly.
I’m reticent about answering, considering how hostile he is to me normally.
“Just picking out a few things,” I answer vaguely.
“Give me that,” he says, wiggling his fingers at the guitar.
I hand it over because I’m really not in the mood to get into a fight.
He picks out some notes and then replicates what I’ve been playing with some modifications that admittedly make the song better.
“Do a D here instead,” he says as he plays. “It fits with the refrain better.”
He continues strumming, crafting some other changes as he goes. I quietly grab the iPad to note the combinations he’s making.
“Oh, dudes!” Colin comes out of his pot-induced stupor and takes off his headphones. “Are we jamming? I want in.” He grabs his bass from the seat next to him and listens for a minute before joining Mike with a pulsing complementary refrain. When it gets to the chorus, he commands, “Words, Joss.”
I start to sing the lyrics I’ve written so far, Mike throwing in a couple of suggestions as we go. I see Mel and one of the crew guys sitting nearby stop what they’re doing and listen to us.
After we’ve gone through it twice and I’ve put more notes down, Colin hollers to the back of the bus, “Walsh! Get your pussy-whipped ass out here and jam with us.”
A moment later Walsh strolls in, one eyebrow cocked, trying to decide if he needs to give Colin shit back or not.
“What the hell’s going on?” he asks with the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“We’re jamming, man. Joss’s got a new song,” Colin says as he thrums out the chorus again.
Walsh reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and produces a pair of drumsticks. “Like a Boy Scout,” he chuckles, referring to being prepared, as he sits down across the aisle from me. He swivels his chair so it’s facing the built-in table next to it and taps out a rock-star worthy set of rhythms. I laugh.
“Let’s do this,” says Mike as he plays an intro to the song that I didn’t write but sounds wickedly great.
I sing and Colin hops in as Walsh catches the rhythm and then speeds it up, nodding his head when we follow his lead and change the pace. When the chorus comes, Mike and Colin chime in and Walsh laughs as he tries to keep up with the words. I look over at Mel, whose smile is like a one hundred-watt bulb, and I catch her eye. She gives me a wink, and my heart soars. My beautiful girl, my band, and good music, if only it were this simple all the time.
WE’VE FINISHED the show in New York and now the guys are partying. I go to have a drink, but Mel’s gone back to the hotel, saying she had a headache, so I don’t stay long.
When I arrive at the suite, Mel’s in bed with the lights out. I undress and climb in beside her, stroking her hair. “Are you okay, baby?” I whisper in the darkness.
I hear her sniff. “Yeah, just tired I guess.”
“Did you take something for the headache?”
“Um, I don’t really remember,” she answers as she sighs softly.
“C’mere.” I gently pull on her shoulder to get her to roll over so she’s not facing away from me. “Hey, what’s going on? You seem upset about something.”
She clears her throat then says, “No. Everything’s fine.”
“Yeah? So our music isn’t finally hurting your head?”
She laughs, but it�
��s empty, not her usual giggle. “No.”
“Did you talk to Tammy tonight or something?”
“Joss, I’m fine. Just leave it be,” she snaps at me. She’s never snapped at me. Mel simply doesn’t do that. Now I know something’s wrong, and if something’s wrong with Mel, I have to fix it. I just have to.
I sit up and reach over her to turn on the lamp next to the bed. She cringes away from the invasion of light until her eyes adjust. I look down at her as she blinks. Immediately I can see that she’s been crying. I can also see the moment she realizes I know. She tries to turn away from me quickly, but I catch her, grasping each of her shoulders and lifting her up until she’s sitting beside me. Pushing the hair out of her face, I run my thumb along the puffy skin below her beautiful baby blues.
“What happened, sweet Mel? You know I’m not going to stop until you tell me, so out with it.”
She looks at me briefly, and I can see a certain fear flit across her face. She nibbles on her lower lip, and I reach down and gently pull it free before stroking her cheek. She’s making me hurt somewhere deep inside. I don’t want to see this look on her face ever again, and I feel like I’d do just about anything to erase it.
Her gaze drifts down to the sheet lying across her lap. “It’s about school. I was hoping for something that didn’t work out is all.”
“I’m so sorry. I thought you were all done with school though.”
“No. I mean, I told everyone I was—” Her voice fades as she looks away from me and struggles not to cry. Finally she takes a deep breath and forges on. “I made a mistake, Joss. A huge mistake, and now it looks like it might cost me everything I worked for all these years.”
“Oh, baby, what happened?” My chest aches to see the pain in her eyes.
“My last semester of school, this winter, I took a class from a professor who’s really important. He’s famous in photojournalism, and students would kill to get into his course, but he hand selects the top students for this final section before they graduate.
“From the very beginning of the semester, he was really encouraging about my work. Saying I had a bright future and he could help me make contacts after graduation. I was so flattered, Joss. I’d worked hard to get to where I was. I was the top student in my program, you know?”
A Lush Betrayal Page 15
