by Emma Scott
I turned to the window to watch my old house go past. “Me too.”
End of September
I sat on my bed, guitar in my lap and notebook open beside me. I tapped a pen on the lower body of the Taylor acoustic, sighing at the blank pages. No lyrical flow today. Wasn’t happening. Chett was a dead subject to me, and I didn’t want to write about my dad. Basically I was too happy to go digging in the dark pits of my past.
Which, all things considered, was a good problem to have.
For six weeks now, Jonah and I had been together. A couple. Almost every night after work, he’d come to my place, or I to his. He didn’t need much sleep and I was a night owl with nowhere to be in the morning. We spent the deep hours lost in each other, making love—sometimes hard and rough, sometimes slow and gentle—then talking, eating and laughing before falling back into bed.
We had our little routines. Sunday nights at the Fletchers’ house, outdoor dinners beneath Jonah’s glowing lamps. Lots of laughter, good food and better conversation. Tuesdays were our date nights. ATM cupcakes, a fountain show at the Bellagio or just staying in to watch a movie.
He left a stash of his medications in my kitchen, and I bought a blender at a yard sale so I could make smoothies for him. And nearly every day, I brought lunch to the hot shop where Jonah and Tania were hard at work finishing the installation pieces. The gallery show at the Wynn was only two weeks away, but Jonah said he felt confident he was going to make it.
He is going to make it, I thought. And beyond. He’s healthy. His body is strong.
I felt the strength in his body almost every night. My little flame of hope was a torch now, and not even a hurricane could douse it.
My cellphone rang from the nightstand, jarring me from my thoughts.
“Hello?”
“Kacey Dawson?” asked a woman’s voice.
“That’s me.”
“Ms. Dawson, I’m from Sound Addiction magazine. I was wondering if you had any comments about the recent shake-ups in your former band, Rapid Confession?
I frowned. “What recent shake-ups?”
“Word is the tour is in danger of canceling shows due to squabbles between Jeannie Vale and the new guitarist, Elle Michaels. Is this true?”
“I have no idea.”
“There’s also talk of a messy lawsuit with a club owner. Fans are griping that the live shows aren’t as solid as they were when you were on stage.”
“Well, shit, that’s nice to hear.”
“Given the fact that your replacement, Ms. Michaels, is now reportedly on the verge of quitting—or being fired, depending on who you talk to—I wonder if you’ve given any thought to returning?”
I smiled. “Not one second.”
“That’s interesting, Ms. Dawson. No one’s been able to get a comment from you about your own departure from the band. Would you care to now?”
“No, but thanks for the call.”
I hung up and punched Lola’s number. Voicemail.
“Lola, it’s me,” I said. “What the hell is going on? I just got a call from a mag about the band canceling shows? Call me.”
I ended the call and stared at my junky old laptop. I only used it to watch makeup tutorials on YouTube. With a few keystrokes into a Google search bar I could get answers to my questions, but now I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to know. My days as the lead guitarist for Rapid Confession seemed far away now. And I liked it that way.
A text came in from Lola: Can’t talk now. RC is hurting w/out you. Jimmy wants to talk. Just FYI.
Shit, the last thing I wanted was my old life coming to intrude on my new one. Aside from occasional phone calls with Lola, I’d left the band in the rearview. Money was tight, and I wasn’t anywhere close to having even one decent song under my belt, but…
I was happy.
I texted back, Tell him to forget it.
No answer. Lola was either busy or getting on a plane, but hopefully she’d pass on my message. I thought about texting Jimmy myself but that was like taking a ball peen hammer to my little glass bubble of happiness.
“No chance,” I muttered. I checked the time. It was nearing lunch. I put together sandwiches and salads and took them over to the hot shop.
Jonah came outside as I got out of the car. “How are you?” I called across the small parking lot.
“Done,” he said.
“Done?” I said, confused.
Tania had come out as well. She threw her arms wide, echoing, “Done.”
“You’re finished?” I said. “The installation? All of it?”
“Done,” Jonah said. “With nine days to spare.”
Tania let out a laugh. “I need to hug someone—besides the boss, here—or I’ll burst.”
“Me,” I cried, breaking into a run. I hugged the hell out of Tania, then turned to fling my arms around Jonah’s neck.
“Holy shit,” he said. “It’s done.”
All at once, I didn’t like that word. All at once, the ground disappeared beneath my feet. Swamped with a thousand emotions, I held Jonah close, pulling him tight against me, strangely afraid to let go. Afraid of something I couldn’t name yet.
Done.
Finished.
I pulled away far enough to search his eyes. “Are you happy with it?”
“I think I’m still in shock. I’ve been at it for so long…” He blew out his cheeks and gave a wobbly smile. “Eme says she’ll send a truck around for the last pieces and all the stuff that will be for sale.”
“I can’t believe it.” I took his face and kissed him. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks,” he said, yet his eyes seemed to mirror the foreign emotion clogging up my heart. His bewildered gaze held onto mine as he slowly shook his head. “It’s done…”
“Jonah,” Eme Takamura said, shaking my hand. “I’m so pleased to see you again.”
The curator of the Wynn Galleria was crisp and smart in a dark gray, pin-striped suit, impeccably tailored to her petite frame. She was business head to toe, but for a red silk hibiscus flower tucked behind her ear giving an artistic burst of color.
“This is so exciting,” she said as we walked through the lobby. Her voice was warm and slightly accented. “My team is in the space, awaiting your guidance to assemble your masterpiece. Your assistant faxed over the sketches and the diagram, and Wilson—he’s our team leader—tells me the specs are right on the money. A perfect fit.”
“That’s great. Really good news.”
“Are you well, Jonah?” she asked, glancing up at me. “You look a little pale.”
“I’m nervous as hell,” I said with a short laugh. “I want it to not suck.”
She laughed, a prim, delicate sound in the back of her throat. “Yes, I would prefer it not suck as well. But from the pieces I’ve seen—still in the boxes, mind you—I believe you’ve avoided that fate.”
“Speaking of nerves, heard anything more from Mr. Chihuly?”
“Unfortunately not. But to my mind, it means he’s still aiming to see the exhibit on opening night. I count no news as good news.”
“So do I.”
She led me to the gallery, a small, L-shaped space, explaining how my glass would be exhibited. The long wing would hold the individual pieces for sale, and the installation would be in the shorter wing.
Scaffolding had already gone up in the short wing, and a team of two men and a woman were carefully bringing in boxes from an adjoining storage room. Each box was marked with numbers and their generalized location in the installation.
Eme introduced me to Wilson, the team leader. I guessed he was in his fifties, a huge guy built like a barrel who looked like he’d break more glass than not.
He must’ve read my thoughts because he bellowed a laugh as he shook my hand, saying, “I’m on loan from a glass studio in Los Angeles. I know I look like a lumberjack but I won’t break nothing.”
“I trust you,” I said. Not that I had a choice. Nerves were firing of
f little tingles in my hands and feet, making them numb.
This is it. This is really happening.
“My assistant should be here any minute,” I said. “Let me give her a call to see where she’s at.”
“She’s here,” Tania cried, rushing in. “I’m so sorry. Accident on the boulevard. Bad one too. Snarled up everything.”
She was introduced to the team and then all eyes turned to me.
“Ready?” Tania said.
I took a huge breath. “Let’s do this.”
We called it quits around four o’clock. The other workers cleared out, and Tania and I both sank onto a bench, surveying the work so far.
“It’s going to be brilliant,” she said. “Look at that. Not even a third assembled and it’s already breathtaking. You did it.”
“We did it. This didn’t happen without you.”
I stared up at my glass, at the yellow coils and blue ribbons that had been wired together and suspended from the ceiling so far. “Do you think Kacey will love it?”
“Honey, Kacey’s going to lose her mind over it.” She laid an arm across my shoulders. “And if you don’t mind me saying, I’m so glad she’s here to share this with you. That you have her to share it with.”
“Me, too,” I said. All day, through the mental and physical intricacies of setting up the glass, my thoughts had never been far from Kacey. She was with me all the time. A hundred times I stopped work to look over my shoulder, sure she was there watching.
I missed her.
Tania gave my shirt a tug. “Want to head out? Grab an early dinner?”
“I’m not hungry,” I said. “I have to get to A-1 soon anyway.”
“Shit, you should quit. In a week, you’re going to be famous.”
I rolled my shoulders. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do know about that. Have you seen Eme’s roster of guests?” She whistled low in her teeth. “Even without Chihuly it’s going to be a golden crowd, and all here to see you.” She rose from the bench and stretched her back. “Maybe you should take the night off. Take Kacey out somewhere and celebrate.”
“Good idea. I might do that.”
She ruffled my hair. “Or maybe you should take the night off and just get some sleep. You look like you need it.”
After she left, I sat for a few moments more, looking around the room.
This is happening.
I stood up. Or tried to. My breath caught hard in my lungs, then disappeared without me even exhaling. I tried to draw in another and couldn’t get it past my throat, as if I had a steel band wrapped around my chest.
Oh shit…
I sat back down, sucking in shallow huffs of air.
Easy. Nice and easy, I told myself, even as my heart clanged in my chest. My gaze darted around for a stray worker locking up or the janitor. I reached for my phone to call 911…
No! It’s not that bad. It’s not…
Gradually the band around my ribs loosened. Finally, it fell away and I could inhale to the bottom of my stomach.
Fatigue. I’d been working my ass off. That was all.
I nodded, rose carefully from the bench and left the gallery. My stride was sure, my breathing deep and regular. But every nerve ending cried out for Kacey. I needed her. Every inhale and exhale marked the seconds that passed without her, and I felt them slipping through my fingers like sand.
I took some of Tania’s advice and called in sick to A-1. My first time doing so in the five months I worked there. Harry was pissed it was such short notice, and I wondered why that didn’t bother me more, to leave him in a bind.
Because Kacey is more important than driving up and down the Strip all night.
I had an almost desperate need to see her. I rubbed my palms on the thighs of my jeans as if I were a junky jonesing for a fix. I called her and though she had to work too, she managed to squeeze out of it.
I took my beautiful girlfriend to a fancy restaurant at Mandalay Bay, which overlooked the glittering Strip. She was more radiant than all of the lights beyond the windows, and she teased me for staring more than once.
The food was delicious and what I needed after a long, emotionally and physically-draining day. By the time we left the restaurant, my need to be with Kacey had morphed into a fierce desire to have her alone. We’d planned to catch another fountain show at the Bellagio, but while we waited for the check, I slid even closer to her in our booth.
“I want to take you home,” I said in her ear, my hands sliding across the smooth material of her dress. She wore elaborate thigh-high boots that laced up the front and a button-down black dress, every button undone but for a few along the middle. The flaring fabric revealed the smooth valley of her cleavage and flaring open just above her boots when she walked.
“No water show?” she asked.
“You mind if we skip it?”
Her hand slipped between my legs, over my dress pants. She found my burgeoning erection and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“I want this more,” she whispered back.
At my place, I undid the laces on her boots—one at a time—and the buttons on her dress—also one at a time—until she was down to her black, lacy bra and panties. Then we celebrated the installation. We celebrated long and hard into the night, until we collapsed on the pillows, exhausted and satiated. My body felt heavy and thrumming with waning climaxes. Kacey was soft and limp, curled up alongside me, her head pillowed on my shoulder. The clock radio read two-fifteen in the morning.
“You were intense tonight,” she said.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“God, no.” She snuggled closer. “I might not be able to walk tomorrow, but it’ll be worth it.”
I craned down to kiss her hair. “Just doing what you said at Great Basin. Taking each moment and wringing it for all it is worth.”
“I was wondering…” She let her fingers trail over my chest, across my scar, and along my shoulder. “If you’d given any more thought to letting me invite some of your old UNLV friends to the installation next week. Carnegie too, though that’s going to be short notice. I know you’re not—”
“Yes,” I said without thinking. “Let’s invite a few. The friends I was closest to.”
Kacey lifted her head to look at me, her smile radiant. “Really?”
I nodded. “I’ll try to dig up some email addresses for you. I’m sure they’ll think I’m an ass for waiting until now…”
“I’ll make sure they won’t. I’ll explain you were busy, on deadline, but now your project is done.” Kacey propped herself on her elbows, the swell of her breasts pushing against my chest. “I’m so happy you changed your mind. Can I ask why?”
I started to tell her it was to make her happy, or that I really wanted to see my old friends. I told her the truth instead.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t feel as important as it once did to keep them away.”
She traced a shape on my chest with her finger. “Maybe it’s because you accomplished what you set out to do. No distractions.” She grinned shyly. “Well, except for one.”
“One beautiful, amazing distraction.” I pulled her mouth to mine, kissing her softly at first, then deeper.
You need to take it easy…
“Hold that thought,” I murmured against her lips. “I need water. Want some?”
“Sure.”
I got up and padded naked to the bathroom. The light blasted in my eyes when I flipped it on, and they flinched at the harsh glare. I tried for one of the two glasses on the sink and missed because white lights were suddenly dancing across my vision. I grabbed the counter as the floor spun beneath my feet and my breath turned shallow.
The hell…?
The episode, or whatever it was, passed in moments. My vision cleared, and I breathed deeply a few times until my equilibrium was restored. A side effect of the meds, probably. Or more likely I’d just overdone it with Kacey. That was probably it. Even as I was taking her like a madman
, I knew it was too much. But tonight I couldn’t get enough of her. I needed to fill my hands with her, touch her everywhere, inhale her, absorb her, as if I could carry her with me even when we were apart.
Nice and easy. Chill. The installation is done and you have every day free to see her.
I filled both water glasses with steady hands and returned to the bedroom.
“Thanks,” Kacey said and drank hers as I climbed back into bed. She set her glass on the nightstand and took mine when I was finished. “Now… Where were we?”
She kissed me sweetly, then seductively, but I gently pulled back. “The day’s finally caught up to me. Either that or you wore me out. Pretty sure it’s the latter.”
She huffed a dramatic sigh. “Tease.”
“I know. Come here.”
I wrapped her up in my arms, tucked her head under my chin, and kissed her hair. Even after sweaty, voracious sex, she still smelled like caramel. I filled up my lungs with her, taking her with me into sleep, where I dreamt of a gently rocking boat and a swiftly receding shore.
It was opening night of Jonah’s installation at the Wynn Galleria. I hadn’t been this nervous and excited since the night before Rapid Confession’s first big concert.
Miraculously, I didn’t want a drink. I hadn’t had a drink since I’d left the band and hadn’t smoked a single cigarette either. I had the urge now and then, but I would never smoke around Jonah, and if I smoked in my apartment, it’d be everywhere when he came over.
So I kicked two bad habits. One for me, one for him.
I put on a little black dress that came to mid–thigh in the front, with wide shoulder straps and a skirt that draped to my calves in back.
“It’s a reverse mullet,” I’d told Jonah over the phone earlier that day. “Party in the front, business in the back. Do you think it’ll be appropriate?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “My main concern is how easily it comes off.”
The joke was a relief. Jonah had been distracted, nervous and stressed this last week of the load-in. I hadn’t yet seen the finished product, and anticipation threaded through my stomach as I piled my hair on my head, letting some loose tendrils fall down. I applied my usual makeup with smoky eyes and bright red lips, and then paced my little living room, waiting. One glance out the window revealed a sleek black limousine pulling to the front of my building, just as my phone chimed an incoming text:
