by L. B. Dunbar
On that particular day, I took Fleur to Clare’s, so I could make it to my eleven o’clock class. Then, I had to be back home by two, so Clare could get to her meeting before the theatre opened at five. I had to work that night at six, so I needed another sitter for that gig. The teenage girl on the sixth floor would come down until I finished my set which I hoped would be about ten. My life was ruled by schedules.
Being an indie photographer didn’t pay well, when you wanted to be reputable and respected. I had to use who or what I knew to get into private parties, public clubs, and popular concerts to get some valuable shots. It wasn’t work I felt good about at times, but I had connections and I had to call on them. I told myself I would never take photos of families or children, as I did respect their privacy, but public life fed off the visual displays captured by the camera. Not to mention, it paid well.
I was fortunate that my apartment was paid for and I didn’t have a car. I also had classes to finance, but my college fund had covered most of that, complements again of a thoughtful father. However, I still needed money for clothes, food, and all the things that a four year old desires, including dance lessons. I had taken the gig that evening in hopes that I could earn the other half of the money needed to afford the expensive dance lessons at the private school uptown for Fleur. The lessons were part of her upcoming birthday surprise.
I spent the rest of the day with Perk, not really doing much of anything until he finally drove me back into the city to Dolores Guard, where I found Layne in the front lobby of my ancient building.
“Hey.”
“Hi,” she said shyly.
“What are you doing here?”
“I…I was just stopping by. This morning was so…awkward.”
I ran a hand through my floppy hair, pushing it to the side as Layne watched my movement. She licked her sweet lips and I paused with my hand braced on the back of my neck. I had already eaten dinner, so I didn’t really want to offer to take Layne out.
“Want to come upstairs for a bit?” I asked.
“Sure,” she smiled that sweet shy smile again, biting her lip like she was trying to hold the smile down. Her eyes gave away her excitement; the bright brown practically glowed as I pointed her in the direction of the gated lift. We rode up in silence. I felt the same tension I’d felt in the morning at Guinie’s. I didn’t want to have to explain myself. Arturo was my friend. Guinie was his fiancé. We were all suffering.
We entered my living room and I offered Layne a beer, which she declined. She made herself at home on my couch, covered in gaming remote controllers and picked one up.
“What do you play?”
“Minecraft, War of the Worlds, Assassin’s Creed.”
“Uhm. Wanna play?”
“What?” I laughed.
“I’ll battle you.”
“Game on, sister.” I hit the remote for the television while I handed her a game controller. Logging in, her name appeared: Suicide16.
“That’s kind-of a harsh name,” I said looking at her with concern. My eyes flicked to her wrists, as if it would be written on her that she had tried something so extreme. Multiple bands of beads and woven ribbon circled her delicate forearms and I had no way of learning anything.
“My sister died when I was sixteen years old. Suicide. It was a silly name to assign myself, but I’ve never gotten around to changing it.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I ever knew that.”
I didn’t know she had a sister. Layne shrugged.
“It’s not something you broadcast to everyone. It happened,” she paused for a moment to squint at the screen, “once upon a time,” she finished on a whisper. It was obvious she didn’t want to tell me more. I decided not to push the issue further.
We played for over an hour before GalehautIII came on the screen. I ignored him, even though he could see I was active. Layne and I laughed and joked as she explained to me where she learned to play.
“I wasn’t exactly the party girl in college, so I often found the other non-party people and joined in their games. Even entered a competition once, but I lost.”
We continued to play for a while longer. She told me more about her job at Lexington Opera House, before she was fired. She had actually been an usher there. She thanked me for lining something up with the Oxford Theatre. I hadn’t actually gotten around to making that call to Ingrid, as she was kind-of on my shit list for not responding to Guinie often enough. I didn’t want to think about Guinie, though, as I was having a guilty good time with Layne. She must have sensed my thoughts and she brought up the morning again.
“I didn’t realize you were spending the night at Guinie’s home.”
“It’s Arturo’s home, and we’ve been taking turns staying there because Guinie was so sick, for a while. Now we know why.”
“Why?”
I paused my game and looked at Layne.
“What do you mean ‘why’?”
“I mean why was she sick. Besides the obvious.”
“Besides the obvious? What else is there between the loss of Arturo and the loss of the baby?”
Layne’s sharp intake of breath proved she knew nothing about the miscarriage.
“What?” Her hand covered her gaping mouth.
“Guinie was pregnant and she lost the baby. I thought…”
“I didn’t know.”
“But you said…”
“Kaye called me to say she might need a friend. He didn’t mention any reason other than the circumstances. I assumed he meant the disappearance of Arturo.”
Damn Kaye, I thought. What was he doing?
“I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it. It’s not my story to share. I just assumed you knew.”
“No. Guinie didn’t talk much. She seemed preoccupied and just let me talk.”
“Oh, and what did you talk about?”
Her face turned that delicious pink color I’d seen the other day and she turned her eyes away from me.
“What did you say, Layne?”
“I told Guinie that we had a date.”
I paused for a moment. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get into it; I didn’t date, and I wasn’t pleased she told Guinevere. It wasn’t that I didn’t want Guinie to know, it was that I didn’t want it to seem like I was having a good time, if Guinie was miserable.
A flash on the television screen broke the slowly growing awkward tension.
Why aren’t you responding, Your Grace?
Layne raised an eyebrow at me.
Have you got a girl with you?
Layne laughed and the tension broke. I liked her laugh.
What the fuck you playing games for if you do, bitch? You should be getting laid.
“Ok, that’s enough of him,” I laughed hesitantly, clicking off the set. Layne smiled.
“Bring girls here often, huh?”
“No, not typically.”
Layne smiled broader and bit her peachy colored lips. Her eyes dipped for a moment.
“I could be so much more than typical,” Layne said softly.
My head whipped up to see her looking down, firmly gripping the controller still in her hands. I wasn’t sure how to respond to that comment.
“It must be hard,” she absentmindedly pushed down on the buttons even though the game was off.
“Excuse me?” I choked.
“You’re Lansing Lotte. Teen heartthrob extraordinaire.”
“Teen? I’m twenty four,” I laughed.
“But women, as well as girls, love you. Those blue eyes. That dimple on the side of your lips.”
I reached up to my face as if I had food on it.
“I don’t have dimples,” I scorned her, flirtatiously narrowing my eyes at her.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know,” she laughed.
“I don’t.”
“Yes, you do,” she teased and reached a shaky finger to the side of my lips.
She traced her finger lightly around the side of my mouth and
began to pull back when I reached forward and gripped her finger with my teeth. I held it in my mouth for a moment and she gasped. I coached myself into thinking I could do it. I needed to do it.
“We never quite fulfilled your song the other day,” I said, my voice hoarse.
“What?” She blinked as her eyes were focused on my mouth.
“The song…it wasn’t fulfilled.”
She blushed deeply.
“Maybe you could sing it again for me, and we can see if the rumor is true.”
I paused and cupped her cheek with my hand.
“Or I could just touch you and make you sing, instead.”
Her mouth opened and I pounced on those peachy lips. It wasn’t soft like our first kiss. It was demanding. I wanted Layne to wash my mind blank of someone else. I wanted her to want me unlike any other. I wanted Layne to be a friend…with benefits.
Without thinking, I was forcing Layne back on my couch, sliding up her body with my own to crush her breasts flat against my chest. She was under me before I knew it and my hand skimmed up her side. She was firm until I reached her lush breasts. I began to lose myself in them. Through her shirt, I could feel her excitement. Her nipples were peaked, and I knew she wanted me.
I slipped my hand back to her waist and began the slow ascent up her body to remove her shirt, in hopes of getting closer to her. She shifted her hips; suddenly I was between her legs, matching my throbbing self against her core. She whimpered in pleasure as I ground into her, at the same time I covered her breast over her bra with my hand and squeezed. I pressed into her again and her hips thrust upward to meet me. I didn’t think I could wrap my head around more, but I was definitely turned on by Layne. She had a rocking body under her bulky sweater. I was getting lost in her moans and responses to me.
I broke from her lips to trail kisses to her neck. She tilted her head allowing me greater access to her sweet skin and rubbed her core up me before she spoke, “I’m not Guinie.”
I stopped cold, my lips still on her neck.
“I know that,” I grumbled, and attempted to keep my rhythm against her. I needed that. I needed the release.
“I could be so much more than she could be to you,” Layne said softly.
I knew that. I did. I wanted that. I wanted to desire someone other than my best friend’s fiancée. My head understood; it knew the truth that I could never have her, but I couldn’t get my heart to grasp it.
I pulled back from Layne and peered down at her brown eyes. They were innocent and full of questions that I didn’t have the answers to.
“I ruined it, didn’t I?” she said softly to my chest hovering over her.
“No, you didn’t ruin it. I just can’t promise you anything, Layne, and I think that’s what you want.”
“No,” she sighed. “I just want you to realize that I’m not her. I want you to want me,” she emphasized.
I sat back on my haunches, my knees between her legs that still straddled my body. She lay before me, baring her soul, and sending signals from her body that she would give me that, as well. But I was suddenly turned off. I couldn’t keep going with her at the moment. I liked her. She couldn’t be a one-night stand.
I pulled Layne up and hugged her to my chest for a moment.
“I think it might be time for you to go,” I said softly into her hair. I could tell by the limp of her body that she was hurt, but I couldn’t comfort her. Selfishly, I needed her to comfort me, instead. I helped her off the couch then slipped my hands into my jean pockets. I followed her to my door where she paused.
“You’re not Arturo,” she said quietly.
“I know that, too,” I snapped at my second reminder of the day that I wasn’t him. The great Arturo King, whose name was starting to piss me off.
“You can’t replace him,” she added further. “He’s the leader. The front man. It’s in his name. Arturo King.”
“I never wanted to replace him,” I bit again, anger clearly growing in my voice.
I meant it. I didn’t want to replace him. I didn’t want to be the lead man for the band. I was a worthy singer, but didn’t aspire to be the greatest. Of course, I didn’t want to replace him. I just wanted his girl to place me in her heart.
It was a few days before I showed my face at Arturo’s apartment. Guinie had decided she couldn’t stay there any longer and was planning to move back to her father’s home. Leo DeGrance was the owner of The Round Table and the new co-manager of Camelot Records, a company owned by Arturo King. Leo had managed The Round Table bar for years and through his place he coached bands from the ground up, literally. As an underground bar, it catered to the birth of bands under the tutelage of Leo. He was knowledgeable in what would work and what would not, and he knew the breaking point would be the moment band members didn’t treat each other as equals.
As members of The Nights, we knew that secret, and we were equal to one another, despite Arturo being our known leader. So as a group, we decided to meet at the bar and discuss what we were going to do as a band. Kaye Sirs definitely had his opinion. It had been decided to cancel the concert, but we still had an album to consider.
“Here’s the thing,” Kaye began, “we have ten songs and we need three more. Do we continue with what we have and only release the songs as singles or do we release an album with three songs minus Arturo?”
“We won’t do it without Arturo,” Perk spoke immediately.
“Wait a minute,” Tristan interrupted. “What are some options to finish the album without Arturo?”
“Tristan,” Perk admonished under his breath in warning.
“I’m serious. We can at least finish this out. Act like he’s coming back. He might be coming back, right?”
“I think we need to start thinking like he’s not,” Kaye said softly to the table. In my opinion, Kaye had an ulterior motive. He was co-manager of Camelot Records with Leo Degrance. He had been our manager for as long as we had the band together, but he wanted out. He wanted his own “gig” and running Camelot Records was a way for him to be the star, something he could never do with Arturo around.
“Where is he?” I bit.
“What?” The sound was an echo in the narrow cylinder of the empty Round Table.
“You know where he is, don’t you?” I said with a growl, my eyes narrowing at him.
“Are you out of your mind? I don’t know where he is. If I did, I’d have him here. Now.” Kaye said slamming a hand on the table as he stood.
I stood also, pushing back my chair with force.
“Maybe you don’t want him here? You know where he is and you’re keeping him away,” I shouted.
“Lansing,” Perk spoke again in warning at the same time Tristan said, “Have you lost your mind?”
I looked up to see Guinie standing in the shadows of the bar near the private entrance. Her face was white in the dark surroundings of the dimly light underground.
“I’m sorry,” I said, rubbing a hand through my hair and sitting back down with force. “I don’t know what’s come over me.” I looked into the shadows to find Guinie was gone.
“I know what’s come over you,” Tristan said softly, his gaze following mine, “but it needs to stop.” His words weren’t damning, but his tone was serious. While Perk had been in his own world, focused on one goal other than his drums; Tristan, on the other hand, had subtly been noting my increasing attention toward Guinevere. He never said anything outright. I didn’t feel he was condemning me, but he was warning me. We didn’t know anything definitive about Arturo, and I needed to get my head out of my ass.
“I’m sorry, Kaye,” I muttered, as he lowered himself into his chair opposite me. Within minutes, Leo was amongst our group.
“What’s going on?” His voice would be the reasoning behind our questions. Leo had always been a guide for us. While Arturo had Mure Linn as his mentor, we collectively had Leo.
“We need to make some decisions about the album,” Kaye sighed.
L
eo leveled Kaye with a glare I’d hardly ever seen.
“No, we don’t. And they don’t.” He swept his hand through the air to include us. “We’ve discussed this. We need more time and some distance from the accident before we can make any decisions about the album. It’s on hold. Camelot Records holds the rights, and at this point the release date is TBA. We have time. At least until after the holidays.”
Leo had a determination to his voice. His statement was final. We would wait on the album.
When our discussion was over, I followed Leo through the private entrance and down the darkened hall to an elevator. The elevator led straight up three flights to the dual entrance of the DeGrance residence: one side was Leo’s office; the other was the family’s living room. I continued behind Leo into his office to find Guinevere seated across from Ana.
Ana LaFaye was Arturo’s stepsister. She’d had a sick obsession with Arturo for years, after she learned they were connected through the marriage of their parents. She gave the entire band the creeps. Her son, Morte, was the spitting image of her with his piercing green eyes and his pale white skin. His hair was jet black and his head hung as he stood before Guinevere.
“Lansing, darling,” Ana hissed in my direction with her own green eyes. I’d often felt like if I looked into them I’d turn into stone, like a mythical creature. She didn’t approach me as she knew I would never touch her, but her words wrapped around me in a hold that stopped me in my tracks. I turned my gaze quickly to Morte who was now embracing Guinie. Ana’s eyes narrowed in displeasure.
“Morte, that’s enough,” she said. She didn’t reach out for her own child, but simply clenched her fists to prevent the action. Morte released Guinie and wiped his cheek to clear a tear. I never had a soft spot for him, and neither did Arturo, much to my surprise. That tender moment reminded me that he was a child. Guinie reached up to swipe another wayward tear and then brushed at her own eyes, forcing a smile.
