The Girl in the Comfortable Quiet

by Susan Ward

  He starts to laugh, kissing my stomach and pausing to peek at me with those gorgeous green eyes twinkling. “God, you should have seen your face. Why were you so worried, sweetheart? I’ve been gone too long if you’ve forgotten that giving you shit is one of my favorite things. I’ve missed it.” He laughs again. “Why were you so worried?”

  I battle to not let surface on my face how that one hits me. “Because you were being a jerk and I don’t want to deal with jealous Neil today. Besides, Jesse Harris doesn’t have a chance with me.”

  Those lush eyes soften lovingly. “Do I have a chance with you?” He kisses my neck, turning his body into me so I can feel his erection through his sweatpants. “I’m still ready to fuck without fucking.”

  His mouth takes mine in a deep, leisurely kiss, full lips and dancing tongue. I feel his fingers lightly tease the side of my breast. Yep, I’m tingling in my sex again.

  He kisses my neck. I stroke him through his clothes. Neil groans, easing back on the bed and kissing me as he takes me with him. We are heated and totally back into each other.

  “I’m so fucking hard, Chrissie. You better still be in the mood to be nice to me.”

  Laughing, I trail kisses along his jaw while my hand frees his erection from his pants. I start stroking him slowly up and down at first, then faster and faster. And the faster I do it the hotter my body gets.

  His hand caresses my breast gently, and every so often the callused tip of a finger brushes my nipple. I start to throb even more strongly in my sex. My body heats rapidly. It’s like the nerves in my breasts are supercharged, some weird quirk of breastfeeding. I feel his touch and I grow even more impatient and pulsing there.

  I pull back from his kiss, panting heavily. “God, I wish we could make love.”

  “We are making love, baby.” Neil groans, his hips thrusting up, pushing his cock into my hand so I will stroke him faster. “I love you, Chrissie.”

  His hand snakes around my neck, pulling my face down to him and his tongue plunges deeply into my mouth, fucking me with his kiss. In, out, slow, fast, deep and in rhythm with our searching bodies. He takes my nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, and I come apart instantly as he spills into my hand.

  ~~~

  When I wake both Neil and Kaley are gone from the bedroom. She must have started crying again—jeez, she cries a lot—and he must have gone off with her so she wouldn’t wake me. I smile. He’s so sweet at times. Nope, Neil is sweet all the time. I can already tell he’s going to be a terrific father.

  I pull on a pair of leggings and an oversized t-shirt and shove my feet into my slippers. I wander down the hallway, looking for my little family.

  I find Neil on the couch in the living room, back against the armrest, feet on the seat cushions, legs bent with Kaley propped there facing him. I hang back in the doorway and watch. He’s nodding and quietly talking to her. Not a sound comes out of her. She loves his voice.

  His face turns toward me, smiling. “She’s pretty cool. I think we should keep her.”

  Laughing, I cross the room and sink down on the coffee table close to them. “I’m glad. I don’t think she came with a return policy.”

  He lifts her up to his face and gives her a kiss before settling her on his chest. His eyes are intense, wonderfully so, when he looks at me. “I love you both so much. More than I think you know, Chrissie.”

  Instantly I’m misty-eyed and mushy. “I wish you weren’t leaving tomorrow.”

  He makes a pout. “Me, too. You going to be all right up here alone until I’m home again?”

  I nod. “Missing you, but we’ll be fine.”

  He sighs, leaning his head back. “Fuck, I don’t want to be on the road another eight months. Especially now that Kaley’s here. I want you to film everything. Send it to me. I don’t want to miss anything.”

  Getting the words out is suddenly hard. “I will.”

  “Don’t forget, Chrissie. Film everything.”

  “I won’t forget.”

  He smiles, and for some reason, I’m feeling it again. The guilt. The indecisiveness over whether I should tell Neil. The impulse to do it now while he’s here, rather than risk having him find out on the road and trying to work it out over the phone. We never argue well on the phone.

  Fuck, he’s going to find out. It’s better to know what it’s going to mean to us while he’s here.

  “There’s something I have to tell you,” I start in an obviously apprehensive way. Damn.

  Neil looks at me. His eyes sharpen. “You don’t have to tell me anything, Chrissie,” he orders, anxiously. “Don’t. Not today. Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it and you don’t need to say it.”

  Shit, what does he mean by that? I study his face and tense posture. Oh no, he doesn’t think I’m about to go there, does he? Crap.

  “It’s not what you’re thinking,” I say in a rush. “I should have told you when you got here. And I want to tell you before you leave on the road. Alan stopped by the house last month.”

  “Oh fuck, Chrissie.”

  He shoots up, settles Kaley into her baby hammock and swivels around to sit facing me.

  He rakes an agitated hand through his hair. I wait as he takes several gulps of air as if to steady himself. His eyes lock on mine, blazing. “What did you do? What did you tell him? What did you talk about?”

  I flush. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even invite him. He just showed up unannounced.”

  His jaw clenches and unclenches several times. He shakes his head, angry and in disarray. “If that’s all that happened, why are you telling me this?”

  He looks worried. Afraid. I widen my eyes and stare directly into his. “Because I wanted you to know.”

  “Why? Why are you telling me this, Chrissie? For once, tell me quickly what you think you’ve got to tell me. The faster the better for me.”

  I take a moment to rally my nerves and figure out a way to say this in the least flammable way. “Alan listened to some of my music while he was here—”

  “How long was he here?” Neil interrupts me.

  “An afternoon.” I sink on my knees between his legs, gently rubbing his thighs, trying to calm and reassure him. “Alan is going to record a song by me.”

  There—I got it out. I stare up at him, waiting.

  Neil has that look. Like I’m driving him crazy and he needs to throw something.

  “Why the fuck would you let him do that?”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “What do you mean you don’t have a choice? Goddamn it, it’s your material. He doesn’t have a right to any of it unless you say yes. What aren’t you telling me, Chrissie? Why the fuck would you do this?”

  “I have a contract with him, Neil,” I whisper. “Since I was eighteen. Alan didn’t have to ask my permission to record my music. But he did ask. I think he was trying to extend an olive branch, so we could all just move forward. I don’t want to be enemies with Alan. So I’m letting him record ‘Parts.’”

  “You said yes?” Neil looks like I’ve punched him in the stomach. “Who cares if we’re enemies?”

  “I do.” My voice sounds weak and a hint frightened.

  He exhales slowly. “We have a perfect life together. Don’t let the past ruin it, Chrissie.”

  I say it without thinking. “What do you think I’m trying to do, Neil? I don’t want to risk being enemies with Alan. Not now. It’s important to us both that we’re not.”

  Neil’s face hardens. Those green eyes lock on me, wild with emotion. Oh fuck. I can see that Neil hasn’t missed what I’ve unintentionally said.

  “Neil—”

  “Don’t say it, Chrissie.” His voice is anguished. “You promised me we would never talk about it. Not ever. If you say it…I won’t be able to…I don’t want to lose us…”

  He breaks off, running a hand quickly across his eyes. Damn, he is crying. The tears gushing out of him turn my mind blank. The words are
lost in my head as I wrap him in my arms and let him sink into my breasts.

  We hold each other quietly and I feel Neil slowly calming, pulling back into something familiar and comfortable. He opens his eyes. They are still filled with things that are painful to see.

  “Are you OK?” I ask cautiously.

  His eyes widen and he blinks. “I am if you love me. If you love me, I’m OK.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  May 1995

  I stand in the front driveway, my hand gently moving against Kaley’s back, hoping to keep her calm in the front pouch long enough to finish watering the potted plants.

  “Good morning.”

  I look over my shoulder. Jesse Harris is walking down my front drive—again—coffee cup in hand. He’s a nice guy, friendly, but I’m starting to think Neil is right. He does drop in too frequently.

  I smile. “No run today?”

  “No run. Just sort of vegetating and trying to get my thoughts organized before I start working.”

  I move to the next plant and try to adjust Kaley more comfortably against my achy lactating breasts that are still the size of watermelons. Damn, when do they deflate and stop being sore?

  Jesse quickly sets his coffee on the teak bench and then rushes toward me. “Let me do that?”

  “Thank you, but I’m fine. If you take this away from me I won’t have anything to do for the rest of the morning. This is my big excitement before noon. Go. Sit. Drink your coffee. I like watering my plants.”

  His expression changes, half frowning and half amusement. He shakes his head, but goes back to the bench, retrieves his mug and then sits in a relaxed, sloppy way. He looks good today in leather boat shoe type loafers, baggy khaki pants and a pale pink polo.

  He lifts his cup and pauses. “So what do you do up here all day other than water your plants every morning?” he says, curious and confused by me.

  “What do you do up here all day other than run every morning?” I shoot back with heavy meaning.

  “Touché. I guess it was a little rude how I phrased that. I’m writing my next book. That’s why I like it here. It’s quiet. No interruptions. I can hear myself think.”

  I shrug. “I’m sort of trying to be a songwriter.”

  His gaze sharpens on my face and his hazel eyes start to sparkle. “Sort of?” He laughs. “Still not certain of anything, are you, Chrissie? I remember you saying ‘sort of a cellist’ once. It was kind of cute and a little charming.”

  My cheeks flush. Second rude comment: bringing up my embarrassingly low conversational skills during our talk in the kitchen at Alan’s party in New York.

  He takes a cigarette from his pocket and lights it. “You shouldn’t wonder about things in your life. Not now. You and Neil seem to have everything all figured out. Looks to me like you’re doing it right.”

  He sounds a smidge envious when he says that. Some of my annoyance with him wanes.

  I smile and move to the next plant.

  He takes a puff of his cigarette and slowly releases the smoke and I can feel him studying me. “So whatever happened between you and Alan Manzone?”

  That question takes me completely off guard. I tense. Why is he wondering about that now? “Are you asking as my neighbor or are you asking as a reporter?”

  He reproaches me with his eyes. “What do you think?”

  I crinkle my nose. “It doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t tell you either way.”

  He lifts a brow as if that answer is interesting to him.

  He takes a sip of his coffee. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people hotter for each other than you two were. I always thought you’d end up married to him someday. Is it true that the hottest fires burn out the quickest?”

  The entire surface of my body burns. That was an overly intimate question from a guy I’m on occasional-chats-in-the-driveway-with terms. Fuck, what’s up with Jesse?

  I turn away from him, pretending to focus on my daisies. “I wouldn’t know.”

  Silence. No response.

  After a few minutes, I chance a peek at him. He looks lost in his thoughts, staring off into the forest. It feels like he’s thinking about something private and troubling. Maybe he asked me that last question trying to answer something for himself.

  Jesse is such a mystery. He likes to talk, but he never says anything about himself except superficial shit. Oh, he enjoys slyly probing me about myself, probably a reporter thing, but he hasn’t told me a single personal thing about himself. Not one. Not ever.

  The phone starts ringing in the house. I shut off the hose and toss it on the side patio.

  “Got to run, Jesse. If I miss the morning call from Neil I won’t be able to catch him for the rest of the day.”

  He nods and I disappear through the front door. I maneuver down the foyer stairs, quickly but cautiously, and then grab a cordless phone from the living room side table. I click it on as I drop to sit on the couch.

  “Neil, I just had the oddest conversation with Jesse Harris in the driveway,” I say in a rush. “I think you’re right. I shouldn’t be so friendly with him. And where the heck are you? Why didn’t you call last night? I hate it when you don’t call me at night. You are in freaking trouble, mister, with both your girls.”

  Silence. Oh shit, maybe he thinks I’m really pissed at him.

  “I’ll call every night forever if you’ll explain what that was all about, Chrissie.”

  I flush. Fudge. I should have checked the caller ID before I let loose, but no one ever calls in the morning except Neil. “Can we just forget the last minute and start this call over again, Alan?”

  He laughs. “Sure, Chrissie. For you, I’ll forget every word.”

  “Thank you.” My discomposure over making a total idiot of myself is slightly soothed. I settle back against the seat cushions. “So why are you calling?”

  “I’m recording your song next week. I thought you might want to be there.”

  Fourth out-of-left-field, unexpected comment of the morning. My nerve tips start to prickle. I’m not sure what I should say. It’s flattering and risky and too much to dare.

  “It is something songwriters sometimes do, Chrissie. Collaborate on the tracks. I want you to be happy with what I’ve done with ‘Parts.’”

  I roll my eyes. Alan just gave me an out, a way not to let my careening emotions propel me into doing something stupid. Like going into a studio with him. Like being within a hundred feet of him. Like admitting to myself that I want to do both. Friendship from afar, for a multitude of reasons, is the only safe recourse with Alan. Fuck, what’s wrong with me that I’m considering doing this?

  I run my fingers through my hair. I exhale. “It means a lot to me that you want me there, but it’s not necessary, Alan. Anything you do to my song will be brilliant. And getting out of the house is a little tough for me these days.”

  A pause. A laugh. “I didn’t think of that when I reached for the phone. How are you doing? How is Kaley?”

  My pulse ticks up at the way Kaley’s name sounds on Alan’s voice. “We’re good. Both good. But I’m still pretty much housebound.”

  “Nothing is wrong, is it?” Alan sounds alarmed.

  “No. It’s just more of a production than it’s worth to go anywhere since Kaley was born so I don’t do it.”

  “Well, then I understand your reluctance to be at the recording session. Consider being there, Chrissie. I’ll work around your schedule.”

  The way he says that, sweet and kind Alan, kicks up the temptation into a new hemisphere.

  I sit up. “I’ve got to go, Alan. Kaley is starting to fuss. Thanks again.”

  I click off the phone and toss it on the couch. Starting to fuss? I look down at Kaley sound asleep against me. Lame, Chrissie, lame. To use the baby-fussing excuse when there is no baby fussing sound in the room.

  ~~~

  I pull into Jack’s driveway and park. I stare at the house, telling myself to turn around and go back to the mountain. I sig
h. I’m here. I got dressed and did my makeup. I’ve got Kaley packed up for a day with Jack. It would be stupid to turn back now, though I’m still not sure why I woke up this morning with a change of mind about hearing my song recorded. Creative attachment to the work? Curiosity over what Alan is going to do with “Parts”? Or maybe it’s realizing that the correct professional and friendship move is for me to be there? Each is a reasonable and logical motivation for my flip of decision.

  I groan, laying my forehead against the steering wheel. Why do they sound like excuses to do something that I shouldn’t?

  I open the car door and climb out. I unclip Kaley’s car seat, lift her out in it, and then grab her overly stuffed diaper bag.

  God, I’ve packed for her like I’m leaving for a week. I shouldn’t be gone more than six, maybe seven hours. It’s one song and Alan steps into the studio with every track completed in his head before he ever picks up an instrument. It won’t even be more than one roll of tape. It will be perfect the first time. Just like it was when we recorded Long and Hard. God, he is so brilliant.

  As I hurry toward the front door with Kaley, I tell myself that sitting in on the session is about me starting to behave like a professional and nothing else.

  “Sort of a songwriter.”

  I scrunch up my nose, remembering my voice exactly how it sounded when I said that to Jesse. Jesse was right about one thing during his incredibly invasive chat in the driveway. Neil and I both know what we’re doing, together and separately, and are getting it right. It’s past time to dropkick the sort of from my thought processes, speech and life.

  Jesus Christ, Alan is recording a song by me. You can’t get any more official as a songwriter than that. Then the voice inside my head, that one I can never shut off completely, reminds me that I may be making this more significant than I should, that this might just be a kind gesture on Alan’s part, that my song might suck, and his recording it might end up a pathetically obvious I did this for a girl I used to fuck thing.

  Oh God, I hope it’s not that.

  I search through the house for either Maria or Jack. I go first to the back wall of glass in the kitchen. Jack is sitting at a table sipping coffee.