Sweet Little Thing

by Renee Carlino

  Sweet Little Thing

  Copyright © 2014 by Renée Carlino

  Cover design: Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations

  Cover Images: Chris Wodjak Photography

  Cover design concept: Zoe Norvell

  e-book and paperback formatting by Angela Mclaurin of Fictional Formats

  Edited by Anne Victory of Victory Editing

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without prior written permission of the publisher.

  TRACK 1: Wedding Pains

  TRACK 2: The Creation Process

  TRACK 3: The Fuckin’ Hollies

  TRACK 4: Bros before Hos

  TRACK 5: Breathe

  TRACK 6: Dresses and Dry Toast

  TRACK 7: Wedding Bands

  TRACK 8: Full Bellies, Full Hearts

  TRACK 9: Cigarettes and Baby Bottles

  TRACK 10: The Way It Is

  TRACK 11: One Last Hoorah

  Three years later . . .

  Letter to Readers

  Excerpt from Nowhere But Here

  Acknowledgments

  For the readers, the lovers, and the dreamers.

  “Tyler is getting ordained online as we speak,” I said to Mia as I watched her anxiously thumb through a bridal magazine. She was sitting in the window ledge of our Brooklyn loft, wearing an oversized wool sweater and bright purple leggings. Her hair was knotted up on the top of her head in a messy bun. I was sitting at the breakfast bar across the room, slurping up a bowl of cereal.

  “Tyler is going to marry us?”

  “Yeah, why not? Who better than my best friend?”

  “I can think of a few people, like Martha or Sheil.”

  “Tyler will be perfect!”

  She stared me down for several seconds and then very subtly shook her head.

  I wouldn’t go as far as to say that Mia was getting cold feet about marrying me, but she definitely wasn’t into planning the wedding. We’d decided the day Mia moved to Brooklyn that we wouldn’t waste another minute. We would head down to the courthouse, pick up a witness off the street, get hitched, and call it a day. That was until Jenny caught wind of our little plan, God love her. I say that with the utmost love, respect, and pure sarcasm. Jenny threw a wrench in the whole freakin’ plan. As soon as she’d found out, she’d immediately called Mia’s mom and blabbered everything to her. Jenny was like that. A good friend, but man, once in a while she overstepped the boundaries.

  Of course Mia’s mom put a guilt trip on both of us. I can’t tell you how many times I heard her over the speakerphone: “But you’re my only child, Mia, and I’m not invited to your wedding?” Liz could be melodramatic at times, even though she was a pretty grounded human being in general. It wasn’t that we didn’t want her at our wedding, it was that we didn’t feel we needed a wedding to begin with. And it wasn’t Mia who eventually gave in—no, my little firecracker stuck to her guns. I’m the wuss who rolled over.

  All Mia’s step-dad had to say to me was, “Gee, Will, I sure hope your future daughters let you walk them down the aisle.” Aw, man, that went straight to my gut. I got gut punched by a hypothetical situation. Who knew if we would even have a daughter, much less one who didn’t want me to walk her down the aisle? Yet that’s all it took; just the mere thought of not being present at my future kid’s wedding was enough for me to call off the instant nuptials.

  Mia was mad at me for a week until we had really great make-up sex, and then she got over it. That’s when the bridal magazines starting popping up everywhere. I’m pretty sure that was Jenny’s sneaky little touch, but even with all the wedding propaganda flashing in front of Mia’s face, I could tell she wasn’t buying into it.

  Sitting on the ledge and staring out the window, she said, “What does your dream wedding look like, Will?”

  I looked up to the ceiling and scratched my chin. I knew I could say something really romantic in that moment, but I loved messing with Mia. “Hmm?” I waited for her to finally turn her head and look at me. “Remember the video for ‘November Rain’? Guns N’ Roses?” I wiggled my eyebrows at her.

  She scrunched up her nose and squinted but then burst into a fit of laughter. She laughed so hard she fell off the ledge and cried and then made a hilarious attempt at speaking. “Your dream, bahahaha. Your dream is to marry a six-foot-tall supermodel while you sit at a piano wearing a bandana?” She tried to catch her breath and then her eyes shot open even wider. “You know that dream doesn’t end well? Doesn’t the bride die?” Her voice got really high.

  I managed to remain deadpan even though I wanted to laugh and roll around on the ground with her. Instead, I pretended she’d hurt my feelings. “We could probably get Slash to shred on his guitar in the dusty wind outside the church,” I said, looking doe-eyed at her.

  Her face went completely blank as she lay on the ground staring up at me. “You are not serious. Since when were you such a butt-rocker? Did you like that hair-band shit?”

  “I’m older than you, Mia. That was kind of my time.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t have bangs.”

  I stalked over to the old upright and began playing “November Rain.” I belted out the lines in my best scratchy-voiced, Axl Rose impression.

  Mia crept up behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist, pressing her cheek to my back. “Please stop, honey, please?”

  I plopped down on the piano bench and turned, pulling her onto my lap. I kissed her shoulder and then her neck. She shivered.

  “It doesn’t matter to me what our wedding looks like as long as you’re there.”

  “Wearing white?”

  Between kisses, I said, “You can wear whatever you want. You can wear a trash bag for all I care. I’ll still want to marry you and kiss you like this for the rest of my life.”

  She cupped my face. “Wilbur, you are so sexy when you’re not pretending to be an eighties butt-rocker.”

  “You know what’s not sexy?”

  “What?” she said on a breath between laying kisses on my cheek.

  “June pooping on the floor.”

  Mia jumped off my lap and darted over to the kitchen, screeching in her highest voice. “No, no, no, Juney.” She caught our little puppy mid-poop and picked her up, held her arms out and screamed, “What do I do?”

  There was no way Mia would be able to get June outside without leaving a trail of poop in her wake. “Put her over the toilet!”

  I followed her as she ran down the hallway and into our tiny bathroom at the end. She held the squirming puppy over the toilet until the doggie business was complete.

  Setting June on the ground, she glanced up at me, frowned, and then mumbled, “I’m gonna be a terrible mother.”

  I helped her up and then stood behind her at the sink as she washed her hands. “No, you’re going to be perfect.” I smirked when she looked at me in the mirror. “You did exactly the right thing. First you screamed and charged at her with your arms flailing around, and then you basically held her by the neck while you ran around in a circle yelling. That is exactly what you will probably do if the same situation happens to play out with one of our babies.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “I’m kidding.” I pinched her butt.

  “Ouch, jerk-face!”

  “Baby, look at me.” Once she turned, I continued. “You are good at ever
ything you do. Trust me… everything.” I let my eyes drop to her mouth.

  “Oh, stop.” She tried to squirm out of my embrace.

  “No, seriously, Mia. You’re gonna be a great mom.” I squeezed her tighter when she huffed into my chest. “I have to get down to the studio; that tool, Chad, and his people scheduled a jam session. Whatever the fuck that means when you don’t play any instruments.”

  “I’ll be down in a little bit,” she said. “Hey, why do you think they came to us? Chad and his people?” She held up air quotes when she said the word “people.” “It doesn’t really seem like a good fit.”

  “You’re right, but the record label said we’ll basically write all his songs, play every instrument on the album, and then pretty boy can sit at the front of the stage playing air guitar and pretending he’s a musician. It’s Milli Vanilli shit.”

  “What label?” she asked.

  “Live Wire.”

  She sucked in a breath. Live Wire was the label that had basically tried to make me their monkey back when I was looking for a record deal. I’d signed with them but hadn’t been able to deliver the bubblegum-pop shit they wanted. When I tried to get out of the contract, they sued me. Luckily, Frank had scrutinized the deal so carefully he was able to find a mistake on their end, which basically revoked the entire deal. I’d gone on and opened Alchemy Sound Studios, but remained cautious when it came to working with the labels.

  “You’re not going to let them take credit for your songs, are you?”

  “Our songs, and of course not. Frank is handling the contract on this one because they came to me with no material. A good-looking kid with a decent voice who’s willing to do anything comes along and bam, record deal, no songs required. He doesn’t care if the label makes him sing ‘You’re My Fucking Sunshine,’ all he cares about is screaming girls. We’ll get writing and producing credits on it, and we’ll get paid well. Frank will work it out so we don’t get screwed. I promise, baby.”

  Frank Abedo was the talent agent who’d gotten me signed with Live Wire. He believed in me and thought I had a rare talent. He genuinely wanted the business to be about the music, so he’d understood when I’d wanted to get out of my contract. After I opened Alchemy Sound Studios, he stuck around, even though there was nothing in it for him. He brought a lot of talent my way, and he was well-versed when it came to contracts, so he was definitely an asset for our team.

  When I got down to the studio, Chad was waiting in the lobby with his manager.

  “Thanks for waiting, guys. Follow me.”

  I’d hired another producer and an assistant just out of college. Both guys were already in the control room setting up the sound board.

  “Let’s record everything today,” I announced. “We need to get some layers down.”

  Chad followed me into the room beyond the glass where all the instruments were sitting. I picked up my acoustic guitar, took a seat, and motioned for Chad to sit in the chair near the vocal mic. I noticed he had a notebook under his arm. Chad was the darker-haired version of Zac Efron; he even had the adorable, chummy smile and glowing blue eyes.

  “Whaddya got, bro?” I said to him, dipping my head toward his arm.

  He looked nervous. “Oh, these are just some lyrics I wrote. Hey, by the way, I’m totally stoked to be working with you.”

  “Thanks. You know, typically we get the music down first, but let me take a look.”

  He handed it over and then crossed his arms and sat back in his chair.

  I read the first line: Girl, you’re my girl.

  I immediately shut the notebook, tossed it aside, and said, “We’ll revisit that later.”

  “Oh, okay, no problem.”

  I played a few rough versions of songs while Chad sat by, looking lost. Mia came in wearing black leather pants and a tight sweater. As I strummed the Gibson, she made her way over to the piano. She smiled and threw her hand up, waving to Chad. He smiled back and then I watched him study her as she passed. Then his dipshit, googly eyes dropped to her ass while she moved the piano bench out.

  When he looked back at me, I glared at him and began strumming a dreary and much louder tune. His body sank into his chair and he dropped his head down to stare at his fidgeting hands. Mia began playing a sullen little melody in an attempt to accompany the monotonous song I was forming, and then she stopped abruptly and turned toward me.

  I continued playing.

  “Is this going to be a ballad?” she asked.

  Without taking my eyes off of dipshit, I said, “No, baby, this is what’s called a funeral march.”

  Chad threw his arms up and said, “I get it. I get it. I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?” Mia asked.

  “Nothing!” Chad and I both shouted.

  “Let’s move on,” I said, arching one eyebrow at him.

  Chad kept his eyes trained on either the ground or me through the rest of the session. He never once looked back at Mia. We managed to get down rough versions of four songs. There was one gorgeous ballad that Mia composed on the piano that had Chad’s manager doing backflips. It was heartbreaking to think such a beautiful song, written with passion and depth by a beautiful person, was going to be performed by some dweeby kid, but that’s the other side of the coin, I guess.

  Mia and I had made a decision that this was what we wanted. I’d passed on my opportunity for commercial success as a recording artist. It had been one of the toughest decisions of my life. Mia had never strived for that sort of fame; she knew it came with a price. Instead, we’d found a way to still make music but maintain normalcy. The only thing that sucked was that we had to give our songs to other people, people like Chad.

  Later that night, back in our apartment, Mia came skipping into our bedroom. “All right, I’ve got an idea. I think we should have everyone meet us on the Fulton Ferry Landing at one o’clock. We’ll write super simple vows. Tyler can say whatever garbage he needs to say, then we’ll kiss and be married and everyone will be happy.”

  Sitting against the wooden headboard, I propped my hands behind my head. “Gosh, that is so romantic, Mia.”

  “What?” she whined.

  “You know there are at least five weddings happening on the Fulton Ferry Landing every Saturday?”

  “The more the merrier!” she said with a cheesy grin.

  “You know what, I take it back. You’re right. We don’t have to have a wedding. Christ, do you know how much it would cost to feed every member of my family? Whoever wants to come, can come out. We’ll do the vows like you said, at the ferry landing, take some pictures, go to dinner, and then catch the first flight out of here and go to the Bahamas and blow our money there.”

  “That’s a perfect idea.”

  “Okay, you deal with your mom, Martha, and Sheil, and I’ll deal with Jenny and Tyler. Jenny’s going to be pissed; she was looking into permits to have a fireworks show.”

  We both laughed.

  Mia said, “It’s funny how Jenny didn’t want a big wedding but thinks everyone else should have one. Oh, I wanted to ask you. What kind of ring do you think you would like?”

  I hadn’t thought once about my wedding ring. “Should we get tats?”

  “You want me to get a tattoo?”

  “Yeah, why not?”

  “Okay.” She flashed me a small, tight smile and then began gnawing on her nails.

  “Are you scared of the needle?”

  “No.” She watched me as I processed her reaction.

  “Do you like my tattoos?”

  “Yeah, I love them,” she said passionately, and then it hit me.

  “Oh, baby, I love your skin too. I love that virgin skin, and I’m not letting anyone ink it.”

  “Okay, thanks.” She chewed off a hefty piece of her thumbnail. Mia hated her hands and nails. Because she played the piano with so much fervor and for many years, her hands were bulky compared to the rest of her petite features. She would gnaw on her nails because she hated the way
they looked, and I think it calmed her nerves too.

  “Jesus, lady, go easy. Your thumb is bleeding.” She looked down at it and shrugged. “By the way, I have a bone to pick with you.” I said.

  “I despise that saying on so many levels.”

  “Why?”

  “Think about it. Picking bones, that’s disgusting.” She said, scrunching her nose up.

  “I could make that argument about chewing on your thumbs, but I’ll let it go. I have a complaint.”

  She climbed up next to me and cuddled her face up to my bare chest, then she used her index finger to trace a line down my happy trail to the belt on my jeans.

  “What sort of complaint, Wilbur?” Ah, Mia’s sexy voice.

  I reached down and ran my hand up her thigh. “You should not wear these pants around that horny little High School Musical kid.”

  She popped up and looked me straight in the face. “He totally looks like Zac Efron, huh?”

  “Mia, he practically shot off a load just staring at your ass.”

  She punched me in the chest. “That is vulgar, Will Ryan.”

  “It’s true. You can’t dress like that around him.” I tackled her back down on the bed and hovered over her.

  “I thought you liked these pants.”

  “I do.” I began kissing my way down her body. I lifted her shirt and kissed the swell of each breast before moving down the center of her body. “But you know what I like better than you in these pants?”

  “Me out of these pants?”

  “Am I that predictable?” I said as I quickly peeled them off her body.

  “Yes.” She sighed.

  I sat back on my heels. “You’re beautiful.”

  Holding her leg from behind her knee, I kissed my way up the inside, from her calf to her thigh and all the way up to her panties. I peeled the lace from her hips with my teeth and then down to her ankles as slowly as possible. She lay there naked from the waist down, watching me gaze at her, hungry for her. Her skin was pure white and it contrasted so strikingly against her dark eyes and hair. She was an authentic beauty. I leaned over her body, putting my weight on my hands, which were placed on each side of her head. Her eyes were searching mine. She whimpered and then tried to lift her face up to kiss me.