Sweet Forty-Two

by Andrea Randall

  “Let’s go!” Lissa grabbed my hand and gave it a tug.

  “Where?” I squealed as she dragged me to the front of the stage.

  “Dance!”

  I shook my head and shouted over the crowd, “I don’t know how! Not to this!”

  Lissa lifted her arms overhead and began jumping to CJ’s off-beats. “Just ... move!”

  “Ahh!” I threw my head back, rolling my eyes for effect.

  Then, I closed my eyes. And, I danced.

  I was free.

  Whirling with Lissa through the notes springing from Regan’s bow, and jumping to the precise beats of CJ’s bass drum, I was free-falling up. Up, not down. Falling up is a much grander experience when one can find the let-go-ness to do so. I’d feared I’d misplaced my let-go, but there I was, sweat splashed across my chest and dancing.

  “Woohoo!” Lissa lifted her hands in praise as the boys finished.

  I pressed my thumb and forefinger into the sides of my mouth and whistled, catching Regan’s attention. When his sea-glass eyes found me, I caught the vision of his tongue darting quickly across his lips before he smiled. I gave him a single thumbs-up before CJ hollered the name of a song I didn’t recognize and counted off with his sticks.

  And away they went...

  Though it’d only been a couple of minutes, my crash-landing back to reality felt a bit harsh. While the guys continued playing, customers continued ordering beer and food, and they required someone to deliver it to them. I’d have much preferred to stand in front of that stage all night. They were each lost in the notes, but still able to communicate with the crowd. I couldn’t take my eyes off of them.

  It wasn’t just that CJ and Regan were both good-looking—okay, hot—in their own ways. But, I’d known CJ for a long time, and even when he was starting to really excel at the drums, I’d never seen him look like that on stage.

  The way music can turn a person’s hidden emotions inside out was fascinating to me. And, exactly why I stayed away from musical instruments.

  Over the course of the next half hour, through songs fast and slow, modern and historic, CJ and Regan transformed Monday Night Football into something tolerable.

  “I’m sticking my tongue down CJ’s throat tonight, whether he likes it or not.” Lissa spoke over her applause as the guys wrapped up their impromptu set. Savage determination marched through her eyes.

  I snorted at her interpretation of the unknown. “He’ll like it, Liss.”

  Apparently, I’d spoken too soon. As they were leaving the stage, a tall young woman with long, loose curls suspended perfectly around her face and shoulders, walked up to CJ. She seemed timid, as if she were approaching him on a dare, but the hither in his arched brow and crooked smile advertised their acquaintance. CJ had much grander modes of expression when trying to garner attention. It was clear he already had hers.

  Lissa groaned. “And, would you look at her? What, is she from some mystical island of carmel-skinned, green-eyed people? How is that fair ... in any interpretation of the word?”

  She sulked into the kitchen to retrieve food as I watched. Lissa was right; she did have caramel skin, flawless under the tavern lighting. She was long and lean, and the longer I stared the more familiar she looked.

  “Your eyes just got all bug-eyed...” Lissa’s voice trailed off as I walked over to Regan.

  “Hey,” I whispered into his ear as CJ spun his sticks around, otherwise occupied. I grabbed his heated hand and pulled him into the narrow hallway in front of the back room.

  Regan looked around, confused. “What?”

  “That’s Willow Shaw.” I pointed to CJ.

  “Wow, you’re really a Six fan, huh?” He leaned against the wall and hooked his thumbs through his belt loops.

  “First of all, get your thumbs out of there. This isn’t a saloon in the Wild West. Second of all, yes, I’m a big fan, but everyone knows who she is.”

  “She’s not in the band...” Regan looked back to Willow, as if to double check we were talking about the same person.

  I slapped his arm, attempting to stop his open gawking. “No, but she’s kind of a socialite of the music scene here. She’s produced a few of her parents’ solo albums, and has worked in conjunction with major labels on some chart-toppers.”

  “Okay, that’s good ... right?”

  “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but we have to keep her away from CJ. She’s famous for her abilities in the studio, but notorious for her activities ... elsewhere, if you know what I mean.”

  Regan’s lips pursed into an incredulous scoff. “Please, Georgia. We can’t tell CJ a single shred of that. That kind of girl is his holy grail.”

  “I just don’t want her to use her status in the industry to get him into bed.”

  “She doesn’t have to get him anywhere.”

  Anxiety simmered in my throat. “I just don’t like her.”

  I didn’t like any girl like Willow, throwing their breasts around as often as their talent. I didn’t understand why women had to do that.

  “The way you’re looking at her,” Regan interrupted my thoughts, “that’s the same way Ember was looking at you the night you almost kicked her ass.”

  I pulled my head back. “I didn’t almost kick anyone’s ass.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Well...” Shit. He was right. “Is that what Ember thought of me ... wait ... is that what you think of me?”

  Regan shook his head. “I don’t think anything, Georgia. I just met you. I do, though, want to apologize for this morning. I didn’t mean to ... you know ... make it weird. I didn’t mean to almost kiss you.” He looked down, clearing his throat in the way guys do when they’re uncomfortable.

  “Great. You think I’m like her. Willow. Fan-tastic.” I attempted to go back to the bar, but he grabbed my wrist.

  “I don’t think you’re like anyone—”

  “Ow.” I couldn’t help but wince as his finger pressed onto the edge of my bruise.

  He lifted his fingers, looking at my skin and realizing his misstep. “Sorry. I...” He grabbed my arm a little further up, lifting my hand so the bruise was between us. “I don’t know what to think.”

  “Stop thinking about me, then,” I snapped, pulling my arm back.

  “No,” he retorted defensively. There was a devoted determination circling his words.

  “Wh—”

  “I’m your neighbor now, anyway. Look, I didn’t mean to offend you, but just ... be safe, okay? I’m keeping an eye on you.” He smiled, and I was actually thankful he didn’t have a single dimple. It would have distracted from the red scruff popping up along his jawline.

  My mouth swung open for a few seconds. “I ... don’t know what just happened here, but let me try to recap. You don’t want to kiss me, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Good.”

  “You don’t think I’m like Willow, but Ember does.”

  “I don’t pretend to know what Ember thinks, and we don’t gossip about girls.” His eyebrow twitched up impishly.

  “And, for some reason, you think you need to look out for me?”

  He shrugged unapologetically. “CJ asked me to.”

  “Don’t.”

  “I’m going to.”

  “Why, for the love of God, is the Kane family so fucking stubborn?” I huffed, placing my hands on my hips.

  “Most of us were born under the sign of the bull.”

  “You’re a smartass.”

  “I am.” He nodded once, his smile widening, lifting the tops of his ears.

  “Why don’t you want to kiss me?” I challenged. I knew he was lying, but I wanted to know why. “Girlfriend?”

  “No.” The tops of his ears dropped along with his face. “I don’t want to kiss anyone.”

  “Are you gay?” It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen him checking out, or trying to pick up, any girls either night he’d been at E’s.

  “No.”
<
br />   “Ah, broken heart, then?”

  He half-huffed, half-chuckled. “That’s the G-rated version.”

  “What does the R-rated cut look like?”

  “I’ll tell you what my R-rated is, if you tell me yours.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing several times.

  “What do you mean mine?” I knew CJ hadn’t told him anything, but I got goosebumps anyway.

  “Everyone’s got an R-rated version of their pain, Georgia.”

  He wasn’t going to budge. It was something big. So was mine.

  “Another time, maybe.”

  He squinted as he grinned. “Deal. I know where to find you.”

  I looked away. He wasn’t going to get in there tonight. Or ever.

  “Come on,” I ungracefully shifted subjects, “let’s go see what CJ’s gotten himself into.”

  “Or who,” Regan mumbled.

  It was funny, and I tried to laugh, but I couldn’t.

  Laughter lets people in.

  Regan

  I didn’t see a lot of CJ during his last days in San Diego, but I got to hear all about them when I drove him back to the airport. Evidently Willow was amazing. And loud. And CJ would be returning to San Diego as soon as he’d saved up enough money for another flight.

  A week and a half later, things were well underway at Blue Seed Studios, and I felt my life settling into rhythm. I was sitting on the couch in the recording room, as the band worked over a track they’d been wrestling with for half a day. I wasn’t slated to be in that piece, but according to Bo, that was about to change.

  He scratched his head, taking a deep breath before speaking. Always the diplomat. “I’m just saying, Mike, we take out the vocal interlude, move it six measures down, and throw a fiddle in there. Five measures. It’ll make a world of difference.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, kid, but...” Michael and Bo continued their back-and-forth as Ember flashed me a “get me out of here” look.

  Aside from their talent, the Six relied heavily on Bo and Ember, and myself and Willow, to make sure their sound held enough freshness to attract new listeners, while honoring their decades-long fans. That worked well, unless one of us “younger folk” disagreed with one of them. Especially Michael, Willow’s dad. Hence, my silence.

  “Regan,” Bo waved me over, “take a look at this. I’m right, right?”

  Shit, I sighed under my breath as I rose. Willow giggled in the sound booth. Guess that’s the benefit of being on the receiving end of all of the microphones in the room.

  Bo slid over on the piano bench and handed me a pencil. “Do something.”

  He tried to sound even, but aggravation held onto something.

  I stared at the notes. They were beautiful. It was a new experience for me, looking at instrumental and vocal parts on a single score, but thanks to my time at the Boston Conservatory, it was a short learning curve.

  “We don’t have to separate them,” I said after two minutes, all eyes on me. “We can blend them, punctuate vocals on my staccatos here, here, here ... and here.”

  A collective sigh startled me.

  “Fresh eyes!” Michael patted my shoulder. “That’s all we needed. Let’s try it.”

  Several minutes and only one restart later, the song was complete, and almost perfect.

  “Let’s call it a night.” Raven, Ember’s mom, stretched her arms up, leaning back in what I’d learned was part of a sun salutation.

  I didn’t ask for this knowledge.

  The group agreed the song we’d just done was a good stopping point, and the older members fled with talk of going to bed. It was ten o’clock. I can’t blame them, as even I was starting to follow their routine. We’d get to the studio at 6 o’clock and be off and running by 7:30. I was grateful I didn’t sing, because I had no idea how they could get their vocal cords lubricated that early in the day.

  “Want to come over for some wine, or something?” Ember asked as she picked up her bag.

  “No, I think I’m going to E’s. I told Georgia I’d stop by once in a while to play, but I haven’t been since we started recording.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve barely seen her. Our schedules are opposite. She doesn’t finish at the bar until three most mornings, then I’m out the door by six ... in order to be twenty minutes late here.”

  Ember chuckled. “Yeah, asshole. Fix that shit.”

  “Anyway, by the time we’re done here, she’s usually back at work.”

  Bo wrapped his arm around Ember’s shoulders. “Two ships passing in the night, huh?”

  “I guess.”

  “None of her late-night guests have been keeping you up?” Ember arched her eyebrow, but it wasn’t bitchy. She was teasing. But, I took offense.

  “Ember, why do you take her so personally? I haven’t seen or heard anyone with her, and, really, it would be none of our business if I had.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “No, it’s not okay. Your attitude has really sucked lately, and I’m kind of over it.”

  Bo called after me, but I ignored him as I fled the recording room and sped down the hall, exiting the building and slamming my car door shut behind me.

  I don’t know why I was so protective over Georgia’s reputation. She didn’t seem to care what the hell anyone thought as she strutted around the bar and flirted with anyone and everyone. Plus, I hadn’t seen her since the night at E’s when she told me about Willow.

  Who was now at my car window.

  Willow tapped her fingernail to the beat of the song we’d just finished until I turned on the car and pressed the button for the window to go down.

  “What’s up?” I tried to sound composed, and unlike the tantrum I’d just thrown.

  “She’s not mad about Georgia, you know.”

  “What?”

  “Ember. She’s not mad about that girl from the bar. She’s mad at me.”

  I shook my head and shrugged. Male code for I need more information.

  “I made a pass at Bo two weeks ago, and she lost her shit.” Her tone was nonchalant as she picked at her fingernails.

  “You what?”

  “Oh for God’s sake, Regan, they’re not married.”

  “But ... they’re together.”

  She arched the same eyebrow Ember always did. “So. They’re not married. Anyway, I tried; he declined the offer. We move on.”

  I had a million things I wanted to say to her, but nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand of them would have guaranteed my departure from the album project, given her parents were thirty percent of the band.

  “Nice,” I settled on. “Well ... I’m heading out.”

  I drove away, as Willow stepped back and slid into her black Beetle convertible. I considered calling Ember to apologize for my outburst with her, but I couldn’t deal with that right now. I hadn’t played much in the studio over the last two days, and I was itching to get to E’s and let some of my pent up energy out on stage.

  A sense of relief overcame me when I reached the parking lot at E’s, and saw Georgia’s car there. I found myself missing her smile and her lack of apology for anything she said or did. She wasn’t crass or anything, but she didn’t waste time filtering through everyone’s facades to decide what she should or shouldn’t say.

  The crowd was modest for a Saturday night, but that worked in my favor in terms of finding an open stool at the bar. I hadn’t eaten anything but raw fruits and vegetables, largely in the form of salads, for lunch over the last week and a half, and I was dying for deep fried meat.

  “Hey hot-shot recording star, I thought we’d never see the likes of you in here again.” Lissa caught me out of the corner of her eye, not looking up from the pints she was filling as she addressed me.

  “It’s good to see you, too,” I teased.

  “What can I get for ya? You’re playing a set tonight?” She leaned forward, and where her cleavage should have been I just saw pale sk
in stretched across visible ribs in the center of her chest. Far too skinny.

  “Wings. Hot. And, yeah, if there’s an opening.”

  “For you, I’m sure there will be. Celtic Cross will be in later to do an after-hours set, I think. Maybe they’ll let you play with them.”

  I shrugged and she handed me a Guinness I hadn’t ordered, but needed. Badly.

  After a refreshing sip, a more satisfying voice came up behind me.

  “Well, well, well. How’s life at the commune?” Georgia sat on the empty stool next to me, setting the oversized food tray on the bar.

  Her voice was bright and normal, but her eyes looked tired. More grey than blue, and dark circles were starting to form all around them. Not just underneath. I realized she could have been sick, or something, and I wouldn’t have known. Not very neighborly, I thought. And, certainly not watching after her as I’d promised CJ I would.

  “It’s good. Long days, a lot of lettuce ... and yoga breaks.” Not that I participated in them. Neither did Bo. We usually took them as an opportunity to sneak a beer at the bar next door. “How are you doing? We’re neighbors and I never see you.”

  She sighed while smiling. “Busy here, then when I wake up you’re gone. Oh! That reminds me, the mail came yesterday and there was a large envelope they needed a signature for. I was on my way here, signed for it, and stuck it in my car. Let me go get it.” A thousand words a minute and she bounded on short heels out the front door.

  “Here.” She was slightly out of breath when she returned, handing me the large thin envelope with David Bryson and his Concord, New Hampshire return address in the top left corner.

  Instinctively, my palms began to sweat. It wasn’t that it was David I was worried about. Bo’s surrogate father and business partner was a hell of a guy. It was that I hadn’t spoken much with him since Rae’s funeral.

  I remained silent, feeling Georgia’s eyes on me as I ran my finger between the seal and the envelope. I felt something square at the bottom of the envelope, but I pulled out the larger single sheet first, setting the handwritten note on the bar as I read it.