Love Will

by Lori L. Otto

  “He can thank me later.”

  “Probably won’t happen,” she lets me know.

  “I won’t lose any sleep over it.”

  “So, do you forgive me, Will?”

  “I…” I look at her with critical eyes. “I’ve moved on, Laila. I’m not sure that forgiveness plays a part in that. But am I still angry? No, I’m not.”

  “I don’t know what that means for us, going forward,” she says, half-whining.

  “For us? Going forward?” She nods her head, looking hopeful. “It means you can rest easy knowing that I’m able to love someone again, okay? That you didn’t damage me permanently. I’m sure that’s your biggest concern about us. How your actions affected me, as an individual, since we broke up nearly nine years ago. We chose to end us that night, even before I learned of your betrayal.

  “There’s no us.”

  “But I was thinking that maybe we could keep in touch or something.”

  “No, that’s not possible. That’s… a little too complicated for me. This is closure for me–on better terms.”

  “Oh… okay,” she says, not arguing. I stand up, ready to make my exit. “Good luck finding… love, I guess.”

  “I’ve found it, but thank you. She’s the best thing in my life, and nothing like you. Met her on this tour, in fact. So see? I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  “That’s great.”

  “And Laila, I don’t guess you remember why I was in Provo in the first place. My mom was sobering up… she was an alcoholic, remember? I don’t drink.”

  “I know that’s not true. I saw videos from Chicago. I know you can have a good time,” she says, acting as if she’s caught me in a lie.

  “Is that what you were hoping for today?”

  She shrugs. “If you didn’t want to get drunk with me today, that’s your business. You can punish me, that’s fine. I get it. Or maybe you just want to be faithful to your little girlfriend. Or perhaps there are cameras around? People watching?” She gets quiet. “We can go somewhere private. My apartment’s close by.”

  “I’m good,” I tell her definitively. “Like I said. I’ve moved on. So goodbye, Laila. You tell Landry I’m sorry it didn’t work out with you two. I hear infidelity’s hardly ever worth the trouble it causes.” I walk away from her and across the bar to the table with my band mates.

  “You don’t really have a type, do you?” Damon asks, his attention focused in Laila’s direction.

  “She still here?”

  “Oh, yeah. You can’t feel her stink eye?”

  “I think I’m immune to that particular affliction.”

  “What’d you say to her?” Tavo asks, laughing.

  “Goodbye. I turned down an offer to go back to her place. She apparently wanted to get drunk with me today.”

  “I’m free,” our drummer says. “She’s cute. Was she good?”

  “Idiot, we were sixteen, and each other’s first. I think.”

  “Still didn’t get confirmation of that?” Damon asks.

  “No… and we only did it once, Tav. It was a grand romantic gesture that went sour real fast.”

  “You think she’d go for me?”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Peron says. “Find your own girl. Stop going for Will’s cast-offs.”

  “Thanks, Per.”

  “Will, I have to tell you,” my best friend says, “you don’t have a good track record with girls and two-syllable names, both starting with L.”

  “Well, there aren’t any left, are there? I’ll avoid the Lolas and the Lailas.”

  “Lulu,” he suggests. “Lyla. Lela, maybe?”

  “Lilly,” Bradley adds.

  “Good one,” Peron says. “Lilith.”

  “I think a Lilith would be fine, guys,” Tavo says. “She sounds like Will’s kind of girl.”

  “She’s got the nerd quotient happening?” Peron asks.

  “Yeah,” we all agree.

  “So the rule is to stay away from girls with two-syllable L names that end in vowels. Right?”

  “And sometimes Ys,” Bradley amends the rule.

  “Of course, the sometimes Y rule.”

  “Why are we making rules for you?” Peron asks. “Don’t you have an S-H-E-A?”

  I grin. “I do. And not a single fucking L in that name.”

  “Whoa…” Tavo says, coming to some sort of epiphany.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You have two Ls in your name.” I stare at him, wide-eyed, waiting for the point that never comes. He takes a drink of his beer.

  “He still drunk from last night?”

  “Maybe,” Bradley admits, patting him on the back.

  “Oh, to be Tavo,” I say through a sigh, looking over the menu. “Have you guys ordered?”

  “We were waiting for you.”

  “She’s still staring at me, isn’t she?”

  “Wanna go somewhere else?”

  “Definitely. And you know what? For trusting me–or not, I’m not sure which one–with my ex, it’s on me.”

  Since they all know about my meeting this morning, nobody argues.

  We go out to a bar after the Provo show and schmooze with some fans. Once Damon and Tavo have found their hook-ups for the night, Peron and I head back to the hotel with Alex. Exhausted from a long day, I decide to decline the offer to write and retire to my own room.

  Knowing it’s very late, I decide to call Shea anyway.

  “Will?” she answers with a gravely voice that she then clears. “How are you?”

  “Sorry I woke you up.”

  “It’s okay. I fell asleep watching TV again. I tried to wait up. How was the show?”

  “Great. Really good crowd.”

  “How was Provo?”

  “It’s changed a lot in the past eight years. Some parts are almost unrecognizable.”

  “You didn’t run into Laila, did you?” she says with a little laughter on the end of her question.

  “Funny you should ask that.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “She tracked me down at the hotel earlier today. Wanted to have a drink with me.”

  “Did you?”

  “I skipped the drink part, but I did meet with her. Hope that’s okay. It was all out in the open, in the hotel bar. The guys were even there, watching me like a hawk. You can get a play-by-play from Damon.”

  “I trust you. But I want to know what she said…”

  I tell her about the entire conversation. She stays silent for the entire retelling, and I make sure not to leave out a single detail.

  “I made sure to point out that you were nothing like her,” I explain at the end. “I know it was kind of petty, but can you blame me?” She doesn’t answer. I look at the phone to make sure we didn’t get disconnected. The call timer’s still counting the minutes. “Shea?” I listen closer into the speaker, turning up the volume. I can hear her slow breathing. She fell asleep.

  I laugh to myself. I’d worried that she would be moderately upset that I didn’t tell her earlier. That she would take that as me hiding something from her, but it turns out, she doesn’t seem to care at all.

  I decide to find my iPod and a pair of earbuds, and pick a soothing playlist that I often use to try to help me sleep. Leaving the call active, I place one of the earbuds next to the mic so if she wakes up, she’ll have something to listen to.

  After getting ready for bed, I put in the other earbud and turn off the lights. Once I check one last time to make sure she hasn’t awoken, I shut my eyes and see the barrage of numbers and shapes parading through my mind. I let them blend with the cool blues and purples of the current song I’m hearing, the vision now a beautiful abstract work of art. If only someone could reach into my brain and transpose what I see onto a canvas, I think I’d be a pretty kick-ass artist. Unfortunately, that technology doesn’t exist–yet–and Jon got all the fine art skills in the family. When the song is over, the illusion melts away, but is quickly replaced by another with d
ifferent colors and formulas and geometric shapes.

  I let this go on for a few more songs before I bring in my new, trusty secret weapon: Shea. Memories of her or imaginings of us together in situations that have yet to happen sweep away the clutter, slow my overactive brain to a restful pace, remove the worry of problems I didn’t solve today, and allow me to sleep. Tonight, knowing she’s on the other end of that phone is as good as having her next to me in my bed. I hold a spare pillow close to me, pretending it’s her, and listen as the song carries me into a dream where we’re living together in Manhattan. I’m tying her sneaker in the middle of a run through Central Park. When I stand, she hands me a bottle of water we’re sharing. It’s completely ordinary, but the unity I feel with her in that moment is like nothing I’ve experienced with another human being in my life.

  In the morning, it’s quiet in the room–almost. I hear the faint, tinny noise of my music coming from my headphones, which are no longer near my ears. I find my phone on the floor beside the bed. Apparently, my sleep was restless, even though I don’t feel the effects of that at all.

  Shea’s disconnected our call, but left me a text.

  - - I woke up to one of Damon’s songs: Harness

  - - I’ve never paid attention to the lyrics before, but something tells me you wrote it:

  Bucking, wild, can’t rein me in

  Sultry, sweet, the taste of sin

  Flee each night from where I’ve been

  No harness made will hold me

  And she cannot control me

  There’s no praise for the virtueless,

  A man untamed, like me.

  - - I’d never want to control you, Will, but I’ll extol your virtues until you believe you’re worthy of every last word. I love you. And I’d like to think you’re a little less wild; a little more tamed. Maybe?

  - Let’s just say the taste of your sin will keep me from fleeing.

  - Consider it the harness.

  - Consider me reined in.

  - It’s a good song, though, right?

  I wasn’t sure if she’d be by the phone or not, so I’m happy to see the little graphic bubble that shows that she’s responding. Sitting up to stretch, I wait patiently to see her message back.

  - - It’s a sexy song.

  - - We should make love to that song.

  - Now? I’m turned on already.

  - - When are you not? I meant when we see each other again.

  - So that’s a no?

  - - I have a little catering job today. I told you about it.

  - I didn’t forget.

  - Hey… every time you see someone licking their dessert from their spoon, I want you to think of me licking that sin from your body. Okay?

  - - Will! That’s not fair. I’m only going there to serve my desserts, you know. And it’s mousse. That’s all they’ll be doing, licking their spoons!

  - You told me what you were making.

  - I know what I was saying. I want to be the only thing you think about while you’re there… and the first person you call when you get home.

  - - I’ll call you first thing.

  - I’ll have the song queued up and ready to play.

  - Have I told you I love you today?

  - - No.

  I unplug my earbuds and press the call button.

  “You can be so bad sometimes,” she says in lieu of a typical hello.

  “Remnants of the old me. I make no apologies. Take the good with the bad,” I tell her facetiously.

  “You know I like it.”

  “I know you do. And I love you. You can harness me anytime, Shea. Exploit me to your heart’s content, because I’m yours.”

  “I don’t want to exploit you…”

  “Sexually… use me.”

  “Oh… I can do that.”

  “I know you can. Today?”

  “It’ll be difficult over the phone, but I will do my very best.”

  “I love a woman who faces a challenge head-on.”

  “For such a smart man, you say some silly things sometimes.”

  “I think it adds complexity to my character,” I say in a mockingly-thoughtful tone.

  “Because the genius-level IQ, your education, and your natural talents don’t do that already? I feel like your left brain and right brain are both so powerful they may soon be fighting to the death… you could be in real trouble, like, any day now.”

  “Don’t say shit like that,” I say with a chuckle.

  “Hey, Will Spaceman… it doesn’t work that way.”

  “Thank you, Shea. Thank you for clarifying that. Oh, and by the way, when you see those people licking their spoons, don’t think about the whole me-licking-your-sin-thing, okay?”

  She laughs into the phone. “Stop saying that. But why are you telling me not to?”

  “Because I have to get on a bus in an hour and a half, and then we’ll be in rehearsal and shit. And I don’t have time for that this afternoon. I don’t want to leave you high and dry… or wet… as it were.”

  “Oh, I hate you. I’m not going to be able to un-think that now!”

  “I’m sorry… I wasn’t thinking. But… I’ll be at the hotel tonight. No show to go to. We’ll probably go out, but we won’t be too late. If you’re not busy, I’d love to, uh… stay in with you.”

  “You’re asking me… in? For a date?”

  “I am. Charge up your phone and clean off your camera.”

  “I’ll dress appropriately,” she says. “I accept.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  Chapter 27

  “Double down on eleven. Split aces and eights. Got it?” Tavo asks me as we walk toward the blackjack tables.

  “I heard you the first three times, dude,” I tell him as I glance down, still surprised to see the black pants covering his legs. We’d all decided to dress up for our last night in Vegas before flying up to Idaho. When Ben had planned the tour, he scheduled in a four-day vacation for us, so the band members and Alex have all enjoyed three fully-stocked, two-bedroom penthouse suites. We’ve eaten like kings and I’ve been close to unconscious at nights in the most comfortable bed that could possibly exist. I haven’t even heard the shenanigans that have been going on in Damon and Tavo’s suite next door. Peron’s bitched about the noise every morning, but once I’ve talked to Shea at night, I drift off to sleep and don’t wake up until our most familiar star dances behind my eyelids, informing me that another day lies ahead.

  It’s not like Peron wasn’t making noise of his own. He had met a girl who was in town for a conference, and brought her back to his room the last two nights. She seemed a little stuck up, and quite conservative. Not the type of girl you’d expect to have a random hookup with a traveling rock star. But Peron’s not your typical musician. She’d probably never sleep with the likes of me. Not without one too many drinks and the encouragement of a few drunk girlfriends, anyway.

  During the days, we spent most of our time apart. This, being my first time in Vegas, I had a lot of exploring to do, and not everyone had the same interests as I did–at all. The National Atomic Testing Museum wasn’t on anyone’s to-do list, and it wasn’t because they’d already seen it. Even the Area 51 exhibit wasn’t enough to lure anyone to go with me. I was more than a little astounded at the amount of scientific data they had amassed in that location. I could have spent days in there, if they’d given me full access.

  Alex went with me on the Hoover Dam shuttle tour, but just because he didn’t want me to go alone. He had no interest in seeing the engineering marvel, but was polite enough to listen as I rattled off the history of its construction, the challenges builders faced, the details of its operation, and the number of deaths associated with the project. At the end of the day, he bought a postcard and a mug to send to his ten-year-old daughter who lived with his ex-wife in LA, and asked me to take a picture of him at the dam before we left.

  I’d spent about thirty minutes total on nickel slots since we landed. I could
n’t justify blowing my money on gambling, so I had quit while I was ahead. The rest of the guys had insisted we all play the tables tonight, so I’d set a limit of two-hundred dollars for myself. Even that amount is painful to part with, but when none of the other guys flinched at the thought of losing their hard-earned cash, I decided to stop protesting. There was no way in hell I would admit to my brothers what I was doing tonight, though. We just weren’t brought up like this. I know Jon’s never come to Vegas. He’s never been to Atlantic City, either. We never even played poker games at home; hence the crash-course in blackjack with Tavo.

  “I bet you’ll be one of those card counters,” he says quietly. “If you find yourself doing that, you can’t make it obvious. Do it, but don’t get caught. You’ll get us kicked out.”

  “I’ll be too focused on why the dealer’s cards aren’t perfectly aligned, or trying to figure out the probability of one of us getting a blackjack with each hand.”

  “That’s what counting cards is for.”

  “Then I guess I’ll inadvertently be doing that.”

  “Shhh!”

  “I don’t plan to be in the game long enough to get any good at that, don’t worry.”

  “Then you can help us!”

  “Oh, Tavo…”

  “Can I get you two something to drink?” a waitress asks as we approach the table where Damon, Peron and Bradley are surrounded by women.

  “Jack and Coke,” my friend says.

  “Just a Coke.”

  “It’s Will Rosser!” a girl squeals, moving away from me.

  I smile at her, encouraging her back to where she was standing next to her friend. I don’t bother to correct her. “How are you tonight?”

  “Oh my God. I’m good. Oh my God.”

  “Calm down, Maribeth! She’s not normally like this,” her friend says.

  I look down at my suit and back up at the two of them, then shake my head. “I’m not normally like this. It’s cool. This is Tavo…”

  “I know who Tavo is!” Maribeth says, still grinning from ear-to-ear.