by M. J. Duncan
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Like me saying no has ever stopped you.” Gwen tilted her head to the side and picked up her sandwich. “Go for it.”
“Once this whole thing is over and you’ve come clean and Mallory”—he rapped his knuckles on the table—“is in London, would you try and find this Dana chick again? Do you even know where she lives?”
The idea was certainly tempting, but Gwen sighed as she shook her head. “No. I mean, I know she lives somewhere around LA because she said she went to a book signing in Westwood last year. But there are what, like nineteen million people or something who live here? It’s not like this is a small town where people just happen to run into each other.”
“So you didn’t trade numbers?”
“No. The only thing I gave her was a shitty-ass apology on a scrap of hotel stationery. And, besides that, I mean, what’s the point, you know? It was a stupid, ill-advised fling. The biggest mistake of my life, honestly, and trying to find her again after all of this would just be…”
“Hmm?” Luke prompted.
“Weird,” Gwen breathed, though it came out sounding more like a question than a statement of fact.
“Why? I thought you liked her?”
“I did. I do. I just…”
Luke waggled his eyebrows and leaned in closer to ask in a mock-hushed whisper that reminded Gwen of the way Regan had been “whispering” to Dana the night they met in the elevator. “Was the sex that bad?”
Gwen smiled in spite of herself and shook her head, grateful for the slice of levity Luke’s humor—however crude—injected into what was a terribly depressing conversation. “No. It was actually really, really good.” She rolled her eyes at the pleased smile he gave her, like he was proud of her or something for being a lying, adulterous bitch. “No. Don’t even go there.”
He held his hand over his heart like her words had wounded him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Gwen picked up a pickle spear and pointed it at him accusingly. “Yeah right.” She pulled it back when he tried to lean across the table to take a bite out of it, and glared at him. “You have your own pickle. Leave mine alone.”
“How was I supposed to know you weren’t offering to share?” He teased. “But, seriously Gwen. You wouldn’t try and look her up?”
“No. It was a one-night-stand that happened while I was in a relationship with somebody else. I left her in bed with an apology note and ran away as fast as I could. I don’t know what movies you’re watching, but that isn’t the beginning of some beautiful relationship. It’s a chapter of my life I’d rather forget and, even knowing that I’ll probably never be able to, I’d just like to move on.”
“I know,” Luke sighed. “I just…”
Even though she knew she would regret asking, Gwen could not stop herself. “What?” She nodded reassuringly when he seemed to consider whether or not he should actually continue. She might not like what he has to say, but she knew that he was only trying to look out for her. “It’s okay. Just get it out so we can move on.”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, weighing his words carefully before he spoke. “I know you’re upset with yourself for what happened, but Gwen…your smile when you were telling me about Dana earlier was the most genuine one I’ve seen on you in a long, long time. You might not like that it happened—and believe me, I get it, I do—but I love you, and I just want to see you smile like that more.” He picked up his sandwich again. “So, maybe life isn’t always a fairytale. Maybe it just really fucking sucks sometimes, but even in the suckiest of fairy tales the hero ends up with a happily ever after.”
“Maybe the Disney version,” Gwen quipped dryly. “And, I’m no hero. If anything, I’m the villain in this story.”
“You’re not a villain.”
“Yeah, check with Mallory on that one after her audition.”
He shook his head. “You made a mistake. That doesn’t make you a bad person. And if I have to remind you of that every day, I will, but for now I’ll drop it.”
“Thank you,” Gwen whispered.
“You’re welcome.” Luke picked up one of the two double-dipped French dip sandwiches he had ordered and gave her a kind smile. “So, are you still thinking of adopting a cat? Jay has been bugging me non-stop about it.”
“I keep going back and forth on it, to be honest.” Gwen bobbed her head thoughtfully, grateful to be able to think about something other than her disaster of a life. “On the one hand, I like the idea of having somebody around the house with me, but on the other—I’ve never had a pet before.”
“And you’re totally against becoming the crazy lesbian cat lady.” Luke winked and pulled out his phone. “I think you should do it,” he said as he unlocked the phone and opened his photo app. He tapped on the screen a couple times and handed her the phone. “And that’s not just because Jay has his eye on this totally adorable little gray kitten from our neighbor’s cat’s litter for you. He says she’s the sweetest of the lot, super-friendly and cuddly.”
Gwen looked at the picture of Jay cuddling a tiny gray kitten and smiled. It really was adorable. “He’s the crazy lesbian cat lady,” she said as she handed Luke back his phone. “But you can tell Jay that he’s right. The kitten’s very cute.”
“They’re going to be putting the litter up for adoption in two weeks,” Luke shared as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.
“Let me think about it for a couple more days and I’ll let you know.”
“Okay,” Luke agreed easily as he checked his watch.
“We good on time still?” Gwen asked as she looked at their still mostly uneaten lunches.
“Yeah. But we’re gonna need to stop chit-chatting and actually start eating.”
“Okay.” Gwen picked up her sandwich. She watched him do the same, and sighed as she nudged his foot under the table. “Thanks.”
Luke smiled and nodded. “Any time.”
ELEVEN
Gwen hid a yawn behind her hand as she kept an eye on the front door of Aigle—the Mediterranean restaurant near her house where she and Mallory had agreed to meet for dinner before their performance at the Hollywood Bowl. She was exhausted, but that had become her new normal over the last week. Between studio work and teaching a seminar at the Thornton School of Music and the increased practice regimen she had inflicted on herself as a way to keep from thinking about how screwed up her life was, her days had been busy enough that she didn’t have much time to remember what a horrible person she was, but her nights were a different story.
No matter how badly she wanted to put everything that had happened in Maui behind her, her subconscious had different plans, and sleep had come in ever-increasingly short spurts over the last week as dreams of electric blue eyes and hungry, fervent kisses jolted her awake in a disquietingly increasing frequency. Even the short nap she had tried to take earlier that afternoon had ended with her waking up with a start—her heart pounding in her chest and her pulse pounding between her legs—leaving her both aroused and angry with herself for being so weak. She did not want to keep thinking about Dana. Did not want to remember the way her tan skin looked against crisp white sheets. Did not want to find pleasure in the echo of Dana’s pleasure that had yet to fade from her memory.
“Good evening.”
Gwen looked up at the server—a pretty brunette who looked to be in her late-twenties with warm brown eyes—and sighed as she forced a small smile. “Hello.”
“My name is Petra and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” Her eyes flickered to the second place setting across from Gwen as she added, “Can I get you something to drink while you wait for your companion?”
Gwen glanced at her watch as she barely managed to stifle another yawn. It was early, not quite a quarter past five, and if she was going to make it through the concert later she was going to need a little help. “Can I get a cup of coffee and a water?”
“Of course.”
“Can I get you something to drink?” Petra asked.
Mallory nodded. “A water with lemon, please.”
“Of course. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
“Traffic was a bitch,” Mallory explained as she slipped her cutlery off the ruby red cloth napkin and draped it over her lap to protect her black slacks that were a more tailored version of the ones Gwen wore. Though their dress code for Hollywood Bowl performances meant that they would be forced to don ties once they reached the venue, for now the top three buttons of her white tuxedo shirt were left open, and Gwen could just make out a hint of white lace against the shadow of her cleavage.
“I’ll bet,” Gwen commiserated. Since Mallory lived near Disney Hall, she had been traveling with the flow of cars making their evening exodus from the city, which meant that she had most likely not gone above twenty the entire time she was on the freeway. “How are your audition preparations coming?”
“Good.” Mallory nodded confidently. The audition information for the London position had been posted the Friday before, which had stepped up the intensity of her preparations to the point that, with the exception of a quick phone call the night before to set up this dinner, the last time Gwen had even spoken to her was when they grabbed a quick lunch at Patina after rehearsal the Wednesday before. There was a part of Gwen that appreciated the space Mallory’s impending audition gave her to try and find some kind of acceptance within herself with what she had done without having to pretend that everything was fine, she had also very much needed moments where things actually were. “Most of what they want is pretty standard: a Mozart concerto solo, the first movement of Schubert’s second, the first page of Don Juan, and the scherzo from Schumman’s second. There are, of course, the obligatory excerpts from Brahms’ fourth and Mahler’s fifth, and though I found the inclusion of Debussy a little surprising, there’s nothing I can’t handle.”
They both leaned back in their chairs as Petra returned with their drinks. “Are you ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes?”
“I think we’re good,” Mallory said without bothering to consult with Gwen. “I’ll have the Greek salad and the chicken tagine.”
Gwen was grateful that she frequented the restaurant often enough that she knew just what she wanted without needing to look at the menu. “And I’ll have the pink lady apple and Manchego salad and the Mushroom flatbread, please,” Gwen ordered, smiling politely as she handed Petra her menu.
“Excellent. I’ll put those orders in for you ladies. Would you like your salads first, or with your entrées?”
“You can bring them out first,” Mallory answered for them both. Once they were alone again, she brushed her hair out of her face and smiled. “I figure that if I really focus on one piece per week and build from there, I should be in good shape by the time the audition rolls around.”
“Have you heard who else is going for it?”
“Nothing concrete.” Mallory shrugged and reached for her glass of water. “All I heard from the board there when I submitted my resume was a brief note of acceptance and the standard information regarding the audition itself. But rumor has it that Groves, Mills, Shaw, and Swan will all be there.”
Gwen arched a brow in surprise. The four violinists Mallory had just named were—along with Mallory—considered the most talented concertmasters in the world. If all five of them were going to be throwing their hats into the ring for the London position, it would be the most highly-contested audition in over a decade. “That’ll be a tough crowd.”
“Mmm.” Mallory agreed as she took a sip of water.
“You worried?”
Mallory smiled confidently and shook her head. “Worrying won’t accomplish anything. The last thing I need to do is go into the audition thinking about what they’re going to do. All I can do is make sure I’m in my best playing condition possible and prove that I am the most deserving candidate for the job.”
Gwen nodded as their server returned with their salads and, once she had gone, asked, “Have you booked time with Beth?”
“Of course.” Beth Miller was the favorite masseuse of several members of LA Phil. An amateur musician herself, she had an innate understanding of the strain joints and tendons suffered while playing and knew just what each musician needed to help them remain in top-form depending on their instrument. “I’ll be seeing her every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday between now and when I’ll need to fly to London. I also made a standing Saturday morning appointment with Laurie for a quick paraffin wax treatment and a review of my physical status.”
Laurie Young was a physical therapist who worked out of the same office as Beth. “Are you hurt?”
“No. But I can’t afford to get hurt, either. With the hours I’ll be putting in practicing every day, one can't be too careful.”
“Of course,” Gwen murmured as she picked up her fork and stabbed at the salad in front of her. “That makes sense.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Mallory said as she began eating as well. “So, how was your weekend?”
“Good. It was mostly spent running errands, but I did have dinner with Luke and Jay Saturday night.”
“How’d that go?”
To anyone who did not know her, Mallory looked completely interested in Gwen’s response, but Gwen knew better. She could see the distance in Mallory’s gaze that signaled that she had checked-out of the conversation, and she had no doubt that the quick movement of the fingers of Mallory’s left hand on the side of her glass were her practicing whatever audition piece was playing through her head at that moment. “It was fun. Jay grilled some carne asada and we just hung out.”
“Good. I’m glad you’ve got friends to keep you company while I’m focusing on my audition.”
“I do,” Gwen confirmed. “Don’t worry about me. Focus on what you need to do.”
“You’re too good to me, you know that?”
Gwen forced a smile as her stomach dropped. She was the complete opposite of good, and she prayed that none of her guilt showed on her face as she shook her head. “I’m not.”
“You are,” Mallory argued with a wink. Another diner jostled their table as they passed by, and she sighed as she glanced at the time on her phone. “And I love you for it. But we’ve got about an hour until we need to be backstage, so we should probably try and speed things up here,” she said as she set the phone down and tucked into her salad.
Gwen sighed as she followed suit, grateful for the distraction their timetable provided and hoping that, perhaps with a little more time, she would finally be able to begin moving past what she had done.
TWELVE
Gwen leaned against the edge of the vanity in her bathroom and lightly prodded the shadows under her eyes, which she thought seemed a little lighter than they had before she had all but passed out on her living room couch earlier that afternoon. The unplanned nap had, of course, ended when memories of tan skin and white sheets invaded her thoughts, but the few stolen minutes of rest she had managed before then seemed to have done their job. Her limbs were still heavy with exhaustion, but she did feel better equipped to play at the Children’s Hospital charity gala that evening.
“You look marvelous, darlin’,” Luke drawled, crossing his right leg in front of his left as he leaned against the doorway between Gwen’s bedroom and the en suite bath.
“You do too.” Gwen winked at Luke’s reflection in the mirror. “I see you went all-out for tonight and even broke out the tails,” she observed as she picked up the tube of mascara from the counter and began unscrewing the wand.
“I did.” Luke tugged at his sleeves as he pushed himself upright and did a slow spin to give her the full effect of his tuxedo. “It’s not every day a guy gets to go to a black tie gala,” he added with a grin as he returned to his previous position, looking every bit like he was posing for an ad in a menswear mag
azine. “You almost ready?”
“Almost,” Gwen assured him as she focused on not stabbing herself in the eye with the mascara wand. “What’s Jay doing tonight while we’re doing this?”
“I dunno. Probably working on lesson plans or something.”
Gwen arched a brow in surprise. Jay was the music director for the upper school at Harvard-Westlake in Sherman Oaks, in charge of both teaching specialized ensembles and spearheading the elite private school’s orchestra program, but there was still another month or something left of summer vacation before the school year would start again. “Already?”
Luke nodded. “Between the different symphony and jazz courses and ensembles, and the AP music theory course he teaches, he’s got a lot to get organized before he goes back in a few weeks.”
“That’s nuts,” Gwen muttered, shaking her head as she re-capped her mascara and slipped the tube into her makeup bag.
“Believe me, I know.” Luke moved out of Gwen’s way as she made her way into her bedroom, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Teachers do not get paid nearly enough for the amount of shit they do. But enough about that, what celebrities do you think will be at this thing tonight?”
“No clue.” Gwen braced a hand the footboard of her bed as she slipped on her heels, and smoothed her hands over the skirt of her full-length evening gown as she stood back up. The halter-style gown was fitted through the bodice but loose enough in the skirt to allow her to sit comfortably to play, and she cocked a brow at Luke as she turned toward him. “Good enough?”
“More than. Don’t tell Jay,” he mock whispered as he kissed her cheek, “but you’re the prettiest date I’ve had all year.”
Gwen laughed and shook her head. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He waved a hand toward the hall. “I didn’t see your cello when I came in. Is it in the study?”
“Yeah. Do you need to go grab your clarinet?” The Taglyan Complex was down the hill from her house, in the heart of Hollywood, which meant that parking was at a premium. Even with valets handling the actual parking, the wait to leave at the end of the night had the potential to be insane, and carpooling had seemed like the wisest option.
