by Theresa Weir
“Are you okay?” Lola asked.
Emerson gave himself a mental shake. Too much wine. “I’m cool.”
Under the table, as if to punctuate that statement, Sam rubbed against his leg.
Lola
Chapter 12
“Why do you have a snare-drum case?” Lola asked as they left the restaurant. So far the evening had been all she could have hoped for, and the other Emerson hadn’t made a single appearance.
It had gotten dark while they were inside, and the Victorian-style streetlights cast a glow. The potted trees, the window planters overflowing with flowers and greenery, combined to make the moment feel magical. And Emerson… Sweet, sweet guy. Standing there in his jeans and dress shirt and tie, his red sneakers, his curly hair.
“Um…” Emerson looked down at the case. “It’s a repair.” As soon as he spoke the words he closed his eyes, arms at his sides in a defeated stance. “Okay,” he finally said, pulling in a decisive breath and opening his eyes. “I have a confession to make.” He unzipped the case a few inches and Sam’s head popped through the opening.
“You brought him to our dinner?” Lola asked in disbelief.
“He wanted to come. I couldn’t tell him no.”
“He wanted to come,” she stated. Was he messing with her?
Emerson nodded. ‘Yeah.” He watched her closely, and she could see that he could see that she was pulling away, beginning to wonder if he was no longer weirdly charming, but just plain weird.
And then he laughed and presented her with another story. “Actually, I had him with me and was afraid I was going to be late so I brought him along. And then I didn’t want to leave him in the car. He doesn’t like that.”
That made sense. Perfect sense. Because really, who would bring a cat on a date? She smiled, and he smiled.
“I’ll give you a ride home,” he told her.
“Of course.”
That had been her plan all along. In fact, Melody’s stopping by her apartment had been no accident. There was one other thing she’d done that might be considered juvenile—a week ago she’d found Emerson’s address online and had driven past his place. Just a peek. She’d felt about sixteen, but she wanted to know more about him, and part of creating a detailed picture of Emerson Foshay was seeing where he lived.
At Lola’s house, Emerson pulled up to the curb and put the car in park. “This was nice,” he told her as she reached for the door.
“Do you want to come in?” This was the part she hadn’t planned, but she wasn’t ready for their time together to end, and she wasn’t ready to tell him goodnight.
He stared, then glanced toward the backseat.
“You can bring Sam. I even have a litter box because I take care of Melody’s cat sometimes.”
Done deal.
Emerson grabbed the case and together they took the sidewalk to the front of the fourplex. The entry code box was broken, so it was just a matter of turning the knob and then they were inside, taking steep stairs to a second floor and a door with the number three on it. She fished her keys from her messenger bag while Emerson waited beside her.
“You live here alone?”
“I used to have a roommate but she moved out a few months ago. I haven’t advertised for a new one yet. Trying to see if I can get by on my own, and the space is really too small for more than one person.”
“Which is why you’re playing in the rose garden.”
“Yep.”
She turned the key and shouldered open the door, hoping it wasn’t too messy inside.
The typical scattering of shoes and boots, a jacket and sweater on the couch. She picked up a blanket from the floor and tossed it to a nearby chair.
“Cool place.” Emerson put the drum case down and unzipped it while he took in the surroundings.
“It was built in the late 1800s. Part of the Pillsbury estate. It has a little deck outside the kitchen. You can see the basilica from it.”
“Nice.”
Sam jumped from the box and started checking out the space, sniffing along the walls while Emerson kept up his own perusal. Lola knew the apartment was a bit overwhelming, but she liked bright colors and didn’t try to match anything.
“You have a lot of vintage stuff,” Emerson said, his eyes tracking from the gold sixties couch to the mod wall clock.
She didn’t know if she should try to explain her fascination with vintage because it would come off as strange, but she did it anyway. “I like it because of the way it makes me feel connected to the past, to a time that no longer exists. Does that seem weird?”
“No.” He had an unreadable expression on his face, like maybe he was looking deep inside himself. “Not at all. Well, maybe weird to other people, but not to me. I totally get it.”
In the kitchen, Lola grabbed a couple of bowls and filled one with water, one with dry cat food. Sam let out a meow, then settled down to eat.
“Those bowls are just like ones my mom had when I was a kid.”
“On the farm?” Lola could tell he wondered how she knew, and she had to remind him. “You told me about the farm in one of your notes.”
“Oh, yeah. I just ramble. Sorry.”
“I like it.”
They sat in the living room and talked while Sam curled and snoozed between them on the couch, then Emerson got to his feet and said he’d better go. Lola stood up too. She reached out and took him by both hands and began pulling him toward the bedroom, a shy smile on her face.
He shuffled forward with a little too much hesitance. She pulled harder, and her smile got a little strained. “Don’t you want to?”
“Oh, I want to.”
“Then come on.”
He came on.
The only light was from the red lamp in the living room, which was set to go off in a couple of hours. She cleared the bed, tossed clothes to the floor, and pulled him down with her to the mattress. It didn’t take much coaxing before he began kissing her with such a tenderness that she thought she would float away. At one point she paused and rolled to her stomach. “Unzip me.”
She felt the brush of his fingers at the nape of her neck, and she felt the zipper fall open, moving down the curve of her spine. On her back again, she untied his tie and pulled it free, then reached for his belt buckle. He inhaled sharply, and she felt a tremble run though him.
“Is this your first time?” She was teasing, so his answer was unexpected.
“Yes.”
Her hands paused. “You’re a virgin?”
“No.”
“But you said—”
“It’s my first time with you.”
Even though she was now reassured, she sensed that he was nervous. Maybe even scared. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I always shake when I’m happy. It’s something I do.”
“You’re so funny. Really, I don’t know when I laughed so hard as I did tonight. My stomach hurts from so much laughing.”
“I hope you don’t laugh in a few minutes.”
She slipped out of her dress and tossed it aside, leaving her in panties and bra. “Tell me, why were you always so shitty to me when I came in the shop? I have to know if that’s some part of your persona that will pop up. I have to know if that’s the real you.”
“I didn’t mean to be shitty. I wasn’t trying to be shitty.”
“Then what?”
His next words were hesitant. “Maybe I was happy.”
And happy meant scared. “You were afraid of me?”
“Terrified.”
“Is that why you started writing notes instead of talking to me?”
“You got it.”
“Do I still scare you?”
“Yup.”
&n
bsp; “Maybe we shouldn’t have sex then.”
What was she saying? The last thing she wanted was for this to stop. At the same time she knew it wasn’t wise. Not wise at all. And it wasn’t like her to sleep with a guy so quickly. That made her think of the last guy she’d been with. The grifter. Then again, maybe she needed someone to erase him, maybe she needed to quit being so suspicious of every guy who came along.
“That’s cool if we don’t do anything,” Emerson said.
Disappointment washed over her. “You don’t care?”
“I care, but I’m okay with it. I just wanted to spend the evening with you, that’s all. I just wanted to be near you, breathing the same air in the same space. Touching…that would be nice. It is nice, but I’m okay with not touching. I can live with not touching. At least for a while. We can talk. We can just talk. Because right now I think I could talk all night.”
He wanted this. That was all she needed to know. “Tell me about the instrument you’re making.” She began unbuttoning his shirt.
“I can’t talk about that. Anything but that. I’m sorry.”
The shirt slipped from his shoulders and joined her dress on the floor. And now he was taking up the cause, kicking off his shoes, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his pants.
“Like some kind of oath you make with…sandpaper and cutting tools?” she asked.
“Right.” He let out a breathless laugh as the rest of his clothes dropped into the darkness beside the bed. And then he was wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close. “I don’t know how it’ll turn out, so I can’t talk about it right now. I guess it’s kind of a creative thing. Like I can’t fail if I don’t put the information out there.”
He slipped one of her bra straps from her shoulder and kissed her on her neck. “If I don’t say the words that will draw a picture in your brain and make what I’m creating real. And it’s not real, not yet. It might never be real. Real is when I succeed. Real is when it’s finished and when it sounds at least close to the way I want it to sound.”
“I’ve never met anybody like you.”
“That’s strange, because I kind of feel like I have met someone like you.”
She was disappointed again, and maybe a little jealous. “Who?”
He unhooked her bra, and she helped him remove it. “Me,” he said.
She laughed in relief. “I know what you mean. The stuff you said about creativity… I totally get it. I write songs that I won’t share with anybody. Not my dad and not my sister. Someday, when the songs feel fully formed, then maybe I will. And, like you said, once they’re finished and real, then maybe I’ll share. Maybe I’ll even share them with you.”
Her panties were gone, and it was just naked skin to naked skin. He was kissing her. Everywhere. “It could happen,” he whispered, but he sounded distracted.
“One day you’ll tell me about the instrument you’re making,” she said, “and one day I’ll play one of my songs for you.”
“That sounds like a deal.”
“Should we make some kind of blood pact?”
“I think this will work just fine.” He kissed her lips, deeply and profoundly and with a kind of sexual reverence. And while he kissed her senseless, his hand found and stroked the wetness between her thighs. She moaned and arched her body while wrapping her legs around his hips. And then they stopped talking.
Lola
Chapter 13
Much later Lola slipped from the bed, careful not to wake Emerson. She pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of yoga pants and tiptoed through the house to grab her cell phone off the counter. Then she turned the knob on the kitchen door, opening it very slowly, and slipped outside to the small deck that overlooked 26th Street. She pulled up her sister Melody’s number, then hit the call button as she sat down on the plastic lawn chair and propped her bare feet on the glass table top.
“Melody?” she whispered when her sister answered.
“Are you okay?” Panic from the other end. “Is something wrong?”
Lola checked the time. After 2:00 a.m. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was so late.”
“Are you okay?” Melody repeated.
“I’m fine,” Lola assured her. “Better than fine.”
“Oh, my god. The asshole. This is about the asshole, isn’t it?”
“He’s asleep in my bed at this very moment.”
“He stayed over? And you guys…”
“Yes.”
“That’s not like you.”
“I know.” Lola pulled at the hem of her shirt and tried to wrap her arm in the fabric, wishing she’d put on a sweatshirt. “I’m scared,” she confided. “I like him. I really like him.”
“And that scares you? Sorry to sound like a shrink.” Melody directed her voice away from the phone. “Everything’s fine,” she told someone. “Lola’s in love.”
“Stop!” Lola whispered loudly.
“It’s Joe. Joe won’t say anything. Joe understands love.”
“Oh, my god.”
“I’m sorry, but I had to tell Joe. I tell Joe everything.” That was followed by the sound of kissing.
“I’d tell you to get a room, but that would be pointless, wouldn’t it?”
Melody laughed. “Okay, I’ll be serious. Totally serious. I would say be cautious, although I’m afraid it might be too late for that. But… well, you know how this guy is. You know how he’s been for years, and you yourself said nobody changes.”
“He was afraid of me. All these years, he was afraid of me. That’s why he was such an ass.”
Melody let out a sigh. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Let’s forget about that. What do I do? I’ve never felt this way about a guy. That kind of thing where your chest feels tight and you just hurt. You just hurt. I can’t imagine what happens next, or where this might lead because what I’m feeling is so strange, so alien.”
“Breathe.”
“I’m trying.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Lo. I really don’t. Just be careful. That’s all I can say. Just be careful. And don’t rush into anything.”
“I want to rush. I want to rush and hang onto him and never let him go. I want to lock the bedroom door so he can’t escape, so I can keep him here forever. Because I’m afraid when he walks out that door he won’t come back. Or he’ll walk out that door and he’ll be the asshole again.”
“I can advise you against locking him up.”
Lola giggled. “Okay. Anything else?”
“Just…I hope it works. For you, I hope it works. But I don’t completely trust him. Have to be honest with you, sis. I like him, but there’s something not quite right… Can’t put my finger on it.”
‘’I know, I know. I think that’s why I called you. And I think that’s why this scares me so much. I have to tell you something else. Something that happened when we… when we…”
“Stop! I can’t listen to this. I don’t want to know the intimate details.”
“He cried.”
That got Melody’s attention. “What?”
“He cried.”
“Maybe he was just…I dunno, exhaling and inhaling in a trembly kind of way. Guys do that during orgasm.”
“I don’t think that’s what was going on.”
Silence from the other end.
“Mel?” Without waiting for a response, Lola continued: “I think that’s when it happened. I think that’s when my heart started to hurt. I think that’s when I began to wonder…if I love him.”
“You hardly know him.”
Lola nodded in agreement even though her sister couldn’t see her. And the nod was more of an affirmation of her identical response—as in how could this happen with someone she hardly knew. “I just think…. Well….” She touched a finger to her lip and dropped her voice even more
, and now she felt like crying. “I just think he’s very special.”
From inside came the sound of a thud. Maybe it was the cat, but maybe it was Emerson. “I gotta go,” she whispered. “Call you tomorrow.”
“Love you,” Melody said with a tone that was a combination of concern and wistfulness.
“Love you back.”
The sisters disconnected.
Inside, Lola found Emerson standing next to the bed pulling on his jeans, belt buckle jangling. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to fall asleep.” His eyes skimmed the semi-darkness. He finally found what he was looking for—his shirt.
All the while Lola’s heart was sinking as she stood silently in the doorway. He seemed in such a hurry to get out of there. Was this the return of the asshole?
Because of the streetlights, it was never completely dark in her room once your eyes finally adjusted. She could see him, and it was like a blurry Polaroid image that felt like something that had happened not moments but years ago. And Emerson was standing in the center of the past. “You don’t have to go,” she said quietly.
He paused in the shrugging-on of his white dress shirt. In the subdued light creeping in about the curtains, she could just make out the curve of his wrists as he straightened his collar. Silhouetted against the lighter background, she saw the curls of his hair and even the leanness of his jaw line.
Her body sang with a newly awakened awareness of him, and the pain she’d tried to describe to Melody increased with his proximity. She had this crazy notion to get her violin and try to create a sound that might mimic what she was feeling, but she didn’t think any instrument could capture such sweet pain.
“I don’t?” he asked. “I thought…”
She relaxed a little. He wasn’t leaving because he was done here. She’d been with a few guys where that was the goal. To get her into bed, and once that happened they were gone. Just gone. So it was understandable that she was jumpy and suspicious. And then there was the whole asshole thing. And the grifter thing.
