Caressa’s Knees

by Caressa's Knees (html)

  Chapter Ten:

  Gods

  Caressa watched Kyle and Denise talking from her vantage point on the hotel sofa. They were out on the balcony, baking in the summer Dallas heat. Caressa stayed out of the sun. She always had, but now it was even more important. Kyle’s designer friend had made her three more gowns to wear at performances and they were all strapless, off-the-shoulder numbers like the first one. Her typical lobster-style burn lines wouldn’t exactly scream refined elegance. There was a black gown, and a flaming red one, and another ivory gown with lots of raw-edged fringe all over it. Caressa called it her “shag dress” and Kyle made a crack about shagging her every time she wore it.

  She didn’t know why she’d worried about leaving behind her old childish image, the staid clothes and the ponytail. It was too girlish for the way she felt now, something Kyle had known before she could admit it to herself. She wasn’t a child anymore. Not that child. Her parents’ prodigy. The miracle survivor, the one who didn’t die. Maybe letting go of that girl was so frightening because in a way it was letting go of her last link to her parents.

  She barely remembered them now. She looked at photos, remembered a few standout encounters, including the one she’d most like to forget—but never would. Mama, I don't even remember what your voice sounded like anymore. When she tried to remember it she heard only Denise, a nagging, nasal voice she hated. She didn’t think her mother had sounded that way, but she didn’t remember. She was forgetting, and she blamed herself.

  It was because she was so self-centered. So obsessive, Kyle called her sometimes. “You need to live life—a full life.” He said it all the time, an endless mantra. He dragged her out to museums and restaurants in whatever city they happened to be in. He made her watch the news and keep abreast of current events, something she’d never bothered with before. He quizzed her on world disasters and election results and disciplined her when she got it wrong.

  She knew it was a good thing to broaden her horizons, but she also knew why he was doing it. He wanted her to stop playing. Well, not stop. He wanted her to stop playing obsessively. He couldn’t seem to understand that was the only way she was able to play. She remembered not to say those words to him—You don't understand!—since he’d threatened once to leave if she did.

  She didn’t think he’d leave anymore, but he’d developed other effective ways to punish her when she rubbed him the wrong way. The worst punishment was always his disapproval or anger. When she really infuriated him he ignored her, a punishment she found unbearable in its cruelty. It straightened her out right away. It bothered her that he controlled her so easily. It bothered her more that she loved him so hard it hurt. He said he loved her too, but then he’d tap her cheek and say she was too young to know what love was. But she knew. She was much older than she looked.

  CRITICS EVEN NOTED HER MORE MATURE APPEARANCE IN THEIR REVIEWS, WHICH CONTINUED TO BE SUPPORTIVE, FOR THE MOST PART. DENISE STARTED HINTING AT WHAT CARESSA MIGHT WANT TO DO FOR HER BIRTHDAY IN AUGUST. SHE WAS TURNING TWENTY-ONE. OFFICIALLY AN ADULT, BUT SHE’D FELT LIKE AN ADULT FOR SO LONG ALREADY. MAYBE THEY WERE DOING PARTY PLANNING OUT ON THE BALCONY. BUT WHO WOULD THEY INVITE? KYLE WOULDN’T WANT ANYTHING WITH A BUNCH OF ALCOHOL, SO ANY BIG, FUN PARTY WAS OUT.

  SHE DIDN’T CARE ABOUT A PARTY ANYWAY. SHE JUST WANTED HIM TO BE THERE. IF HE WOULD JUST BE THERE SMILING AT HER AND PULLING HER INTO ONE OF THOSE ENVELOPING HUGS OF HIS, IT WOULD BE A PERFECT TWENTY-FIRST BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION FOR HER.

  DENISE WAS LAUGHING NOW AT SOMETHING KYLE SAID. HE WAS TALKING WITH HIS GRACEFUL HANDS, HIS LONG FINGERS, WAVING THEM AROUND LIKE A CONDUCTOR. IN A WAY HE WAS HER CONDUCTOR, KEEPING HER ORGANIZED AND ON AN EVEN KEEL. AND DOING…OTHER THINGS.

  SHE FLUSHED AND SHIFTED ON THE COUCH, TRYING NOT TO STARE AT HIM. TRYING TO DISCIPLINE THE THOUGHTS IN HER HEAD. HE COULD KEEP EVERYTHING ON AN EVEN KEEL EXCEPT FOR HER WILD, HECTIC FEELINGS FOR HIM. THAT HE COULDN’T CONTROL, BECAUSE HE FELT THE SAME TOO. THEIR ENCOUNTERS GOT HOTTER, AND EVER MORE EMOTIONAL. HE BOTH ENERGIZED HER AND DRAINED HER. HE MADE HER WANT TO PLAY MORE BEAUTIFULLY AND SKILLFULLY THAN SHE EVER HAD—AND HE MADE HER WANT TO THROW IT ALL AWAY.

  SHE FROWNED AND FORCED HERSELF UP AND OFF THE SOFA TO HER CELLO. IT HAD BEEN SO LONG SINCE SHE’D FELT AMBIVALENT ABOUT PLAYING. NOT ABOUT PERFORMING OR EVERYTHING THAT CAME WITH IT, BUT THE ACTUAL PLAYING. SHE SHOOK IT OFF AND RAN HER FINGERS UP THE EBONY FINGERBOARD OF HER INSTRUMENT. SHE FELT A SUDDEN URGE TO CRY, AS IF HER THOUGHTS MIGHT HAVE HURT THE THING’S FEELINGS, THIS PIECE OF WOOD AND METAL THAT SHE TOTED AROUND THE COUNTRY AND PLAYED MUSIC ON. THAT TOO SHE SWALLOWED DOWN. FOCUS. FOCUS. KYLE WHISPERED THAT TO HER SOMETIMES, OR ORDERED IT IN A STERN VOICE WHEN HE WAS GIVING HER SOME PERVERSE INSTRUCTIONS. BEND LOWER. TAKE ME DEEPER. SUCK FASTER. FOCUS.

  The sound of more laughter drifted from the balcony. Caressa turned her back on them, tuning her cello aimlessly just to have something to do. She supposed she should be happy Denise and Kyle were finally getting along better. She played some warm-ups and then settled into a meditative piece she liked. She was feeling unusually tired. Bored maybe? This was the last show before the tour moved on to Europe, and then she would have just four more weeks of engagements. Going to Europe would liven her up again—at least she hoped it would.

  SHE CONCENTRATED ON THE PIECE, LOSING HERSELF IN THE NOTES, TRYING TO FIND THAT SPACE WHERE SHE STARTED TO LIVE INSIDE THE MUSIC, BUT SHE COULDN’T QUITE REACH IT. A FEW MINUTES LATER SHE HEARD THE BALCONY DOOR SLIDE OPEN AND CLOSED, AND THEN FELT KYLE BRUSH A KISS AGAINST HER CHEEK. SHE LIFTED HER BOW OFF THE STRINGS BUT HE WAS ALREADY MOVING PAST HER TO HIS ROOM IN THE SUITE.

  “DON’T STOP,” HE SAID. “I’M GOING TO THE GYM, AND THEN I’LL BRING YOU SOME DINNER BEFORE THE CONCERT TONIGHT.”

  “Y-- OKAY.” SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO KEEP THE YES, SIR’S IN THE BEDROOM, ALTHOUGH IT ALMOST SLIPPED OUT MORE AND MORE THESE DAYS.

  “When you’re done practicing, I want you to pack for a side trip we’re going to take before we go to London.”

  A side trip? Another forced jaunt out into reality. She was sure there was a lot to do in Dallas, but God, it was so hot. “Where are we going?” she asked, not totally able to keep a hint of displeasure from creeping into her voice.

  “My hometown,” Kyle said. “Pack casual, for two days and nights, and pack comfortable. We’re driving, and it’s five hours to Spur.”

  * * * * *

  They left in the morning. Caressa had been surprised that Denise agreed to let her go driving around Texas without her, but she seemed to think a rural getaway would do Caressa some good.

  Her aunt was flying over to London alone and planned to see some friends. Originally Kyle and Caressa were supposed to accompany her, but Kyle switched their tickets. Caressa had a little meltdown about it, headed off by Kyle before it really got serious. “They’re just tickets, Caressa,” he’d said in a patient but firm voice. “Thousands of people switch flights every day, and nothing bad happens.” After a few hours—and a thorough fucking in the name of distraction—Caressa sunk down into the idea that her flight had been changed, but that she would be okay. Well, probably.

  Now here they were, en route to Spur. They had driven out of Dallas into lovely rolling hills and picturesque forests. The scenery was pretty, but Caressa had a feeling of leaving civilization. She didn’t have the first idea how to drive. If something happened to Kyle, they would be stranded out here in the middle of nowhere. She slid a look at him beside her, navigating their black SUV along the narrow Texas highway. He was from here. This uninhabited, wild place.

  She’d known he was from Texas. It had come up in some early get-acquainted conversation. She could actually hear a southern lilt in his voice sometimes, when he was really relaxed or tired. She liked it when she heard it, but he generally maintained a more neutral accent. She wondered if he was ashamed to be a country boy.

  HE’D WORKED FOR SOME MOVIE STAR BEFORE HE WORKED FOR HER, IN THE GLITZ AND GLAM OF HOLLYWOOD. SHE ADMIRED HIS ABIL
ITY TO FIT IN ANYWHERE AND DO IT FLAWLESSLY. HE HUNG AROUND BACKSTAGE AT HER CONCERTS IN A TUXEDO, LOOKING BETTER THAN ANYONE, EVEN THE CONDUCTORS. IN RESTAURANTS, AIRPORTS, HOTELS, MUSEUMS, TELEVISION STUDIOS, HE MANAGED TO LOOK UTTERLY COSMOPOLITAN AND UNFLAPPABLE NO MATTER WHAT WAS GOING ON. IT WAS SOMETHING ABOUT HIS EXPRESSION. SOME CONTROL OR STEELINESS. SHE LOVED WHEN HE LOOKED THAT WAY…SO CAPABLE. SHE ALSO LOVED WHEN THAT CAPABLE MANNER TUMBLED INTO SMIRKS AND GLOWING SMILES THAT LIT UP HIS ENTIRE FACE.

  “WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?” HE ASKED OVER THE HUM OF THE ROAD NOISE. IT WAS HIS SMILE FACE, SO RELAXED AND BOYISH. SHE COULDN’T HELP BUT SMILE BACK.

  “YOU’RE HAPPY TO BE GOING HOME.”

  “THAT’S WHAT I'M THINKING. I ASKED WHAT YOU WERE THINKING,” HE TEASED.

  She looked out the window, gesturing at the farmland and trees around them. “I just can’t believe there are actually people and towns out here. It seems so…remote.”

  “WE’RE JUST A COUPLE HOURS OUTSIDE DALLAS, CARESSA.”

  “I KNOW! THAT’S WHY IT’S SO WEIRD.”

  KYLE LAUGHED. “IT’S CALLED THE COUNTRY, SWEET PEA. A LOT OF PEOPLE LIKE IT. I TRY TO GET BACK HERE A FEW TIMES A YEAR. THANKS FOR COMING WITH ME.”

  “I DIDN’T REALIZE I ACTUALLY HAD A CHOICE.”

  “YOU DIDN’T. BUT STILL…THANKS.”

  CARESSA SNORTED AND LOOKED BACK OUT THE WINDOW. SHE WAS GOING TO LIVE OUT IN THIS COUNTRY FOR THREE DAYS. IT WAS KIND OF FUN. SHE WAS GOING TO TRY TO GET INTO THE SPIRIT OF THINGS. HER CELLO WAS IN THE BACK SEAT, SO IT’S NOT LIKE HE WAS TRYING TO REALLY SHAKE HER UP. MAYBE HE WAS MAKING HER COME SO SHE COULD MEET HIS FAMILY—OR SO THEY COULD MEET HER. SOME SORT OF PANG SETTLED IN HER CHEST. MEETING FAMILY. WHAT WOULD HE TELL THEM ABOUT THEIR RELATIONSHIP? THAT HE WORKED FOR HER?

  “KYLE?”

  “YES, BABY.”

  “ARE YOU MY BOYFRIEND?”

  SHE SAW HIS BROWS DRAW TOGETHER SLIGHTLY BEFORE HE SCHOOLED HIS FACE INTO THAT STEELY-HANDSOME LOOK. OH, GREAT. “I MEAN,” SHE WENT ON, “LIKE…WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO TELL YOUR FAMILY ABOUT ME? ARE WE EVEN MEETING YOUR FAMILY?”

  “Of course you’re meeting my family. You’ll probably meet my entire hometown. Spur’s not that big. And we can tell them whatever you like.”

  She bit her lip, feeling peevish all of a sudden. Why should she care if he was her boyfriend or not? Stupid terminology for what was going on between them anyway. She shrugged. “Whatever. I don’t care. I was just curious.”

  He was quiet, watching the road. Then he shrugged too. “I’m also curious, Caressa. Am I your boyfriend?”

  “Oh God. Can we not talk about this?”

  “Why are you getting upset?”

  “Because I feel stupid now. Boyfriend and girlfriend is so…high school.”

  “You never went to high school.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. He was constantly harping about the things she’d never done, the things she couldn’t do because of her musical career. It pricked her every time and he knew it.

  “Yes,” he said a moment later, with great resolution. “Now that I think about it, I’m definitely your boyfriend.”

  “I don’t want you to be my boyfriend,” she grumbled.

  “And you’re definitely my girlfriend. Yes. I’m pretty sure that once we said ‘I love you’ to each other, we automatically became boyfriend and girlfriend.”

  “I’m pretty sure you make stuff up, you asswipe.”

  He chuckled, squeezing her knee. “I love you, Caressa. I want to introduce my family to my girlfriend. My talented, beautiful girlfriend. Oh, and ‘asswipe’ is one of those words we put on the list. You remember? Things you’re not allowed to call me anymore? Now that we’re in the country, I’ll have to cut a switch. Plenty of trees to choose from.”

  She sank down in the seat and crossed her arms over her chest even tighter. She didn’t know if she loved him or hated him. He was right though. There were plenty of trees.

  * * * * *

  Kyle decided to stop in the town of Loving for lunch to entertain her, and because of the strange conversation she’d initiated in the car. As a boy he’d always snickered at the Welcome to Loving sign along the highway, but now it suited where he was in life. Welcome to loving. May cause headaches. He sat across from her in a diner not unlike the one they’d visited in New Jersey so long ago. Actually, not so long ago.

  All told, he’d only really known Caressa a matter of weeks. Did he really love her? After the Nell debacle he didn’t trust himself to judge love, obsession, or lust anymore. With Caressa he felt all three, but he was as wary as he was head-over-heels for her. Anyway, girlfriend was too limited a word for what he thought of her, which was why he’d hesitated when she’d brought up semantics. Hell, he would be her boyfriend, her lover, her dominant, her cello valet, her take-out fetcher, her mood-management technician. Anything. He felt like everything to her, and she was like everything to him. Okay, sure, boyfriend. If that's what you want. Whatever you want—I'm all in.

  But she was right. His family would want to know the semantics, the cut-and-dried circumstances of their relationship. He would tell his mom and dad and brothers and sisters that Caressa was his girlfriend. Then it would make sense to them when he kissed her, when he couldn’t keep his hands from touching her. Lots of people met at workplaces and started romances, and that’s more or less what they had done. His family would understand it, probably better than he did. His family were salt of the earth people. What they would make of Caressa was anybody’s guess. If he was honest with himself, part of the reason he’d brought her with him was to see her as they saw her, however they saw her. He was still working it out in his head whether or not that was fair to her.

  “HOW ARE YOUR EGGS?” HE ASKED.

  “HOW ARE EGGS EVER? FINE. IT’S HARD TO RUIN EGGS, YOU KNOW?”

  THE OTHER PEOPLE IN LOVING’S ONLY DINER WERE STARING AT HER CELLO CASE PROPPED BESIDE THEIR TABLE. A SUMMER TOUR MEANT CONCERNS ABOUT HORRORS LIKE WOOD WARPING AND GLUE SOFTENING. HE KNEW SHE WOULD EXPECT HIM TO GO OUT AND ACCLIMATIZE THE CAR BEFORE SHE BROUGHT THE CELLO BACK OUT AGAIN. SHE WOULD NEVER HAVE AGREED TO LEAVE IT SITTING OVER THE FOLDED DOWN SEATS IN THE BACK.

  “LISTEN, I JUST WANT YOU TO BE YOURSELF AROUND MY FAMILY, OKAY? I DON’T WANT YOU TO BE NERVOUS OR ANYTHING.”

  SHE GESTURED AT THE TREES BEYOND THE GRIMY GLASS OF THE WINDOW. “I’M MORE NERVOUS ABOUT THE SWITCHES ALL OVER THE PLACE HERE.”

  “YOU SHOULD BE,” HE SAID IN A TEASINGLY OMINOUS TONE. “AND WON’T IT BE EMBARRASSING WHEN I HEAD OUT AFTER DINNER TO CUT ONE AND CALL YOU INTO THE WOODSHED?”

  “OH MY GOD! DO NOT DO THAT!”

  HE LAUGHED AT HER VERY REAL ALARM. “I WON’T. JESUS, CARESSA. MY FAMILY DOESN’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THE KINKY STUFF. SO IXNAY ON THE INKSKRAY IF YOU CATCH MY MEANING.”

  “YOU’RE THE ONE WHO BROUGHT UP THE SWITCH THING.”

  “OH, I’M SWITCHING YOUR BOTTOM,” HE SAID, LEANING CLOSE TO HER UNDER THE CURIOUS EYES OF LOVING’S CITIZENS. “I’M JUST GOING TO DO IT WHERE NO ONE ELSE WILL BE ABLE TO HEAR YOUR SCREAMS, MOANS, AND BEGGING.”

  “I DON’T BEG,” SHE SHOT BACK UNDER HER BREATH.

  “HA! YOU BEG EVERY NIGHT. YOU BEG FOR COCK UNTIL YOU’RE HOARSE, YOU LITTLE SLUT.”

  CARESSA CRACKED UP AND KYLE LAUGHED TOO. SHE COULD BE SO GENUINELY FUN WHEN SHE LET HER GUARD DOWN. THEY PASSED THE REST OF THE TRIP TO KYLE’S PARENT’S HOME IN SIMILAR GOOD HUMOR. HIS PARENTS GREETED HER WARMLY AND SHE DID THE SAME. HE WONDERED HOW SHE SAW THEM. HIS FATHER WAS A TREE SURGEON, A LITTLE ON THE RUGGED SIDE, AND HIS MOTHER A SOFT-SPOKEN HOUSEWIFE WITH A TEXAS-SIZED PHYSIQUE—AND HEART.

  SHE CLASPED CARESSA INTO A WELCOMING HUG AND HE SAW CARESSA STIFFEN BUT THEN RESPOND, HUGGING HER BACK IN KIND. THEY WERE LED TO SEPARATE ROOMS ON THE SECOND FLOOR. KYLE, TO HIS OWN OLD ROOM, AND CARESSA TO THE ROOM OF ONE OF HIS NOW-MARRIED SISTERS. BEING SPUR, WORD HAD GOTTEN AROUND IN A FEW SHORT HOURS ABOUT HIS RETURN, AND FAMILY AND FRIENDS WERE ALREADY ARRIVING FOR A HASTI
LY-THROWN-TOGETHER BARBEQUE.

  WITHIN AN HOUR, KYLE’S BROTHERS AND THEIR WIVES, HIS SISTERS AND THEIR HUSBANDS, YOUNG NIECES AND NEPHEWS AND WELL-MEANING FRIENDS ALL DESCENDED ON HIS PARENTS’ FIVE-ACRE PROPERTY. EVEN OLD GREAT-GRANDMA WINCHELL MADE AN APPEARANCE, AGREEING TO BE WHEELED OUT ONTO THE PORCH FROM HER GROUND FLOOR ROOM IN THE BACK.

  KYLE ACCEPTED THEIR EXCITEMENT AND AFFECTION, BUT STILL FELT SELF-CONSCIOUS. HE WOULD ALWAYS BE THE BIG TIME HOLLYWOOD BOY IN THEIR EYES. JEREMY GRAY HIMSELF HAD COME TO SPUR A YEAR OR SO AFTER KYLE HAD STARTED WORKING FOR HIM. THAT HAD SHUT DOWN THE TOWN COMPLETELY. A FEW WEEKS LATER, KYLE HAD LEARNED THAT JEREMY PAID OFF HIS PARENTS’ MORTGAGE. THERE HAD ALSO BEEN A HUGE NEW PLAYGROUND BUILT FOR THE KIDS OF SPUR RIGHT NEAR THE CENTER OF TOWN, APTLY NAMED GRAY PARK. KYLE HAD TOLD JEREMY ONCE, IN PASSING, THAT KIDS HAD NOWHERE TO PLAY IN SPUR, THAT HE’D PLAYED IN ABANDONED BUILDINGS AND TRAIN TRACKS AS A YOUNG CHILD. WHEN HE’D LEARNED ABOUT THE MORTGAGE AND THE PLAYGROUND, HE’D BEGUN TO VIEW HIS POWERFUL BOSS AS SOMEONE AKIN TO A GOD.

  A FICKLE GOD THOUGH. JEREMY GRAY HAD HAD HIS MOMENTS, JUST AS HIS CURRENT EMPLOYER DID. BUT NOT TONIGHT. AS DARKNESS FELL AND HIS PARENTS’ GUESTS MILLED IN THE BACKYARD TO SHOOT THE SHIT AND DRINK BEER UNDER THE STARS, HIS MOTHER PREVAILED ON CARESSA TO PLAY FOR THEM.

  HE THOUGHT SHE MIGHT REFUSE, CITING SHYNESS, OR THE EVENING TEXAS HUMIDITY, BUT SHE HAD HIM BRING OUT HER CELLO AND SAT BESIDE THE BIRDFEEDER IN A WEATHER-BEATEN CHAIR. SHE PLAYED A FEW ORCHESTRAL PIECES, LOOKING ACUTELY SELF-CONSCIOUS AT THE SILENT STARES. THEY WEREN’T MEAN STARES THOUGH, BUT ADMIRING ONES. THERE WERE NO CELLISTS HE KNEW OF IN SPUR, BUT ONE OF HIS FATHER’S FRIENDS WAS A FIDDLER AND HE WENT RIGHT HOME TO GET HIS INSTRUMENT. ANOTHER MAN WENT FOR A TRUMPET. A FRIEND OF HIS SISTER’S HAD HER GUITAR IN THE BACK OF HER CAR.

  THUS BEGAN A SINGULAR EXERCISE IN EXISTENTIAL DISSONANCE. CARESSA GALLO, WORLD-RENOWNED CELLIST, WAS PLAYING AT AN IMPROMPTU SPUR HOEDOWN, AND SHE DIDN’T MISS A BEAT. HE REALIZED WITH NO SMALL AMAZEMENT THAT CARESSA COULD PLAY JUST ABOUT ANYTHING ON HER CELLO—TO INCLUDE SONGS SHE DIDN’T EVEN KNOW. SHE ACCOMPANIED THE MUSICIANS OF SPUR ON FAMILIAR SONGS AND SONGS HE COULD TELL SHE’D NEVER HEARD BEFORE. COUNTRY BALLADS AND LOCAL TRADITIONAL SONGS, EVEN A ROLLICKING POLKA. PEOPLE LAUGHED AND DANCED AND THE MUSIC WENT ON AND ON, LONG PAST THE TIME HE WOULD HAVE THOUGHT HER TOO TIRED. HIS GREAT-GRANDMA EVEN RESPONDED, CLAPPING HER BONY HANDS AND SMILING CROOKEDLY.