by A. R. Rivera
“Gary’s out.” Max stated, swirling an open bottle over his lap. “You don’t walk into a conditional situation and start making decisions without consulting the band.”
Jake nodded, but said nothing.
“Sorry to say it, man, but I agree.” Andrew looked to Jake, whose hand was moving along my thigh. “I know you don’t want a girl in this and I get that. But, he was wrong, dude. So, it’s either Angelica or you keep doing what you’ve been doing.”
Jake turned to look at me. He took a deep breath. “What did you think of the show?”
“It was fantastic. But you—you’re vocals were so much stronger. It surprised me. I didn’t realize how much you were holding back to play lead.”
“Yeah, man, I got a lot of comments from other bands, asking if you were taking voice lessons.” Max chuckled. Andrew joined him.
“Potheads” Jake almost smiled. “I wasn’t restrained. I didn’t have to worry about anything else because playing rhythm was easy. I could focus on singing.”
“You focused the shit out of that crowd.” Andrew saluted with his water bottle.
Jake sighed. “Basically, what I’m hearing is that if Angelica can play half as good live as she did in rehearsal, she’s in?”
“She’s in.” Andrew repeated.
“And if she doesn’t give our shit away.” Max added.
+++
I held Jakes’ hand on the way to my room. He was quiet, his shoulders set noticeably lower than a few minutes ago. Once we were inside, he coolly sat on the bed, holding his head.
“You’re taking this awfully well.” The sarcasm was supposed to distract him, but he just sat there.
“Do you ever get that feeling like something is about to happen?”
“No. I’m always surprised.” I thought he’d see the irony and laugh, but he stayed quiet. When Jake raised his head, I was shocked by the stress in his face. “You just had one of your biggest shows ever. You’re signing with a record label . . . What is going on with you?”
“I’ve had this knot in my gut for the past month and I can’t figure it out.”
“It’s probably nerves about all the changes that are happening. It’s nothing.”
“Or maybe it’s everything.”
I took a deep breath. The mood should have been buoyant. Happy. But Jake was a ball of stress. Those two words passed through my mind again and I felt frustration cover me like a blanket. “What are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know . . .” He looked down.
I took my hand from his knee and sat back, irritated. “You know, but maybe you don’t want to say it. You’ve been stressing since you told me about that girl. What I don’t get is why?” Those two words played on repeat in my head. ‘Not yet . . . Not yet . . . Not yet.’
He nodded, picking at a string on the motel bed spread. I waited for him to say something to break the silence that felt very intense. He just kept pulling at the threads of the blanket. It wasn’t like Jake to be so quiet. Not with me. We talked about everything. And that silence he was emitting felt like it spoke volumes, like he was trying to tell me something he couldn’t say, something I didn’t want to hear.
“Not yet.”
I huffed, “Do you want my permission to fuck her?”
His head snapped up. I saw a second of outright shock before his eyes blazed. “What the hell kind of thing is that to say to me?”
“What else am I supposed to think?” I was just as shocked. I’d never spoken to him like that before. And asking the question out loud made me realize how ridiculous it sounded, but there was no other explanation that I could see.
He grabbed my hand from my lap and pulled it towards him. “I just asked you to marry me and you’re jealous? Over somebody you’ve never even met?”
I had to scoot closer to keep from falling over. “I don’t know why I said it. This isn’t supposed to be about me. I’m sorry.”
He kept pulling until he had my hand behind his back. I was cinched to his side by his unrelenting grip. “Sit in my lap.” He ordered.
I climbed up on his legs.
“Facing me.” He directed, and released my hand so I could turn to straddle him.
Jake’s flat eyes stared up at me. “Now, kiss me.”
I leaned down. He didn’t move at all, didn’t lean in or close his eyes. He just let me plant a soft peck on his stilled mouth. I retracted, my heart pounding at his non-response.
He sighed, taking a long blink, setting his hands at my neck. There was a challenge in his eyes when he opened them. “That’s not doing it for me.”
I felt tears pricking at the backs of my eyes and blinked, focusing on the way Jakes gaze was suddenly blazing with the dark fire I loved. My heartbeat slowed and kicked up again, not with fear or irritation, but with desire. The man had me thrumming on all cylinders with a simple look. “What do you want?”
One side of his mouth quirked up, though his expression remained serious. “The world is full of beautiful girls, Angel. California is said to have the most. I’ve heard the songs, so I know.”
He tilted his head, “I know it’s not easy to be the one waiting for me to give you the attention you deserve. I’m sorry you have to do that.” He palmed my cheek. “But that is part of what I do and I need you to understand. None of those girls matter to me. You’re my beauty, my everything, my soon-to-be wife. So fucking act like it.” He smacked my backside. “That’s what I want.”
35
—Angel
Clanging metal echoes off the walls of my cell as the door closes. The mattress at my back is so thin, it’s feels as if I’m laying directly on the unforgiving metal frame. The sides of my throat stick on each swallow. Today’s session has left it parched and sore.
When my dinner is delivered, I thank the guard on the other side of the small window. I’m thinking of Avery—probably sitting in a corner somewhere, curled up and quiet, resolutely present even though I can’t see her—as I walk over to the open bathroom area to shovel the shit they call food into the toilet and flush.
I don’t want to think about food. I want to stay inside that room with Jake, holding him. But there is no way I am going to give up that night. I’ll tell them anything else. Everything. Except my last good night.
I can hear his soft, sweet voice in my ears, feel his touch.
+++
“So fucking act like it.” Jake smacked my backside. “That’s what I want.”
The room was quiet as I contemplated. What was Jake trying to tell me? He wasn’t threatening to dump me for another woman. He didn’t even mention that other guitarist, the chick auditioning to be in his band. I was the one who thought about her all the time. I was the one who brought her up and made him angry. Jake wasn’t trying to segue into asking for a threesome, or any other stupid demeaning thing like I always feared he would. So what was he trying to tell me? What was I doing wrong?
“Angel,” he spoke softer, kneading my stinging backside. “I think we can both concede that you’re a complex woman. I’ve never pretended to fully understand you, but you have always understood me, baby. I need you to do that for me, right now. Understand that this isn’t about anyone but me, and give me what I need. Please.”
I looked into his wide hazel eyes and something clicked. Jake was commanding me to have confidence in him and his love for me. He was telling me to believe in myself and in us, because he couldn’t always be the one to do it. He needed me to rise up and be for him what he was for me: solace, a place to rest.
Jakes’ life—his choices—they were exhausting. Being in his band meant he was constantly chasing—whether it was a song, a moment, a performance, or an audience—he was actively seeking to make his dreams a reality. And Jake was the one who chased me most of the time. He loved doing it, it was in his nature, but he needed me to chase him, too. And the second I got that . . . Jake was Houdini, again. He made the insecurity disappear and brought out that feeling of value; the one that
would help me take control and make love to him until the bad feelings went away, until he forgot that he was ever worried about the future. He wanted me to make him forget everything but us and he did not want to ask me for it. He wanted me to put myself in his position, to understand what he needed, and react.
I took his face in my hands and claimed his mouth, tasting him with renewed fervor. His hands gripped tightly around my waist as my fingers traced the planes of his chest. He groaned when my fingernails scratched his back and shoulders underneath his plain cotton shirt.
I peeled my top off. Next was his. I leaned back on his knees and unbuttoned his jeans, but didn’t go further. Instead, I stood, staring at him as I undressed. Jake did the same, his eyes never leaving mine.
Pushing him back down to the bed, I took his hands and stretched them out at his sides, then, began trailing my lips from his palm, up along his arm, to his wonderful strong shoulder. I went for his neck, suckling at his hot skin. Jake held my head and leaned his back. When I sat up to examine my handy work, a large red love bite marked his creamy skin.
Jakes’ eyes were dancing as he sat up, placing a hand on either side of my face. “‘I wish I was Adam. Then you’d be my Eve. And you would know it’s true when I say you were made for me.’ Do you get it?”
My chest filled with his sweetness. Heat blossomed in my belly. He was reciting the last lines from my song. And the way he said it, I knew he really felt that way. “Jake. You’re my Shakespeare.”
He rolled his eyes, but those lips of his came down with righteous enthusiasm. He scraped his palms over me, digging his fingers into my hips. He lifted me from his lap and laid me down on my back. His mouth was soft, moving languidly over me; making me want to scream and cry, and thank him for loving me. Or for breathing. His existence made the word a better place.
The delicious feeling of being everything to the man I loved danced inside my chest. I reached for him. He pulled me up from the bed until I was on back his lap. Cocooning me in his embrace, his tongue parted my lips; dancing against mine and filling my mouth the same way his body filled mine.
He spoke into my mouth as we kissed; sweet poetry and promises. I closed my eyes, focusing on the feeling of being devoured, being consumed by him.
His husky voice was in my ear. “Say it again. Say ‘yes’.”
It was an exquisite feeling, making love with Jake. So intense and encompassing. I did as he commanded, repeated everything he told me to. I was his. Body and soul. And he was mine. We kissed sweetly, reverently, holding each other in the most intimate way.
He opened his shining hazel eyes. “Angel. I love you.”
The look on his face was so intense, it made the tight coils of my desire break. Shredding and shattering me into a thousand glorious pieces. Jake watched me come apart and then wrapped his arms tighter around me, uttering my name.
Once we caught our breath, I turned on the television in time to catch the two a.m. repeat of the eleven o’clock news. Jake was quiet and red-faced through the three-minute edited interview they aired, but I was so proud. They mentioned his proposal but thankfully didn’t air any of it. And then, we made love some more.
As far as either of us knew, it was just one of the thousands of nights we would have together. We were sure our future was just beginning.
+ + +
36
—Avery
I am curled up in the corner of my cell: knees tucked up into my chest, my arms curled around them, trying to hold myself together, like always.
I think the problem was that everything was changing too fast. When we left that morning, I had never felt so alive, so free, so at peace, but by that same night, I could hardly catch my breath. I should have been content with leaving my screwed up life behind. I should have been happy standing beside Angel as the one thing she had in her life finally came together.
But I couldn’t.
+++
The bathrooms in the Mystic Muse were perpetually disgusting but I’d had like three sodas. I had to wait for someone else to open the door to let me out because I didn’t want to risk contact with the handle.
When a fat chick barreled in with a spray bottle and a push broom, I slunk out into the hall opposite the bar. The whole club smelled like beer with subtle whiffs of green smoke and urine. It seemed strongest near the trash can that’d been left outside the ladies room. It smelled like someone pissed in it.
As I wandered around, people were pouring in. The night looked promising.
When the first band was introduced, Jake left his spot near the front, pushing past the growing crowd and I noticed how so few people recognized the greatness passing by. I knew that, in a few years, when him and the band were well-known, the clueless lot that let him through might recall that they once saw Analog Controller perform at a local club, but none would recall the tall, hot guy with the boyish features currently pressing into the crowd against traffic, repeating, “excuse me,” in an oddly polite way.
I loved Analog Controller. But unlike Angel, the guys in the band never seemed anything other than normal to me. I didn’t get why making music would suddenly elevate a person inside the minds of the people that heard them. Was a persons’ capability so closely entwined to their value as people? If that was the case, I was in trouble because I could barely breathe most days. The guys did make great music, but they were still people.
Angel was leaning against one of the pillars in back and I kept an eye on her, but wanted to see where Jake was rushing off to. As I pushed through a group of guys, one of them grabbed my ass and squeezed. Normally, something like that would have me pivoting to sucker punch the asshole, but I felt the constant ice in my chest melt for a second and it threw me off. Took me a second longer to mull over what should happen next.
Who the hell did whoever think he was, touching me like he knew me? What gave him the fucking right to familiarize himself with my body? The black inside me wanted to boil over, but I took a deep breath, reminding myself to stay in control. To be careful.
I spun back around, catching the drummer and bassist from Anemic Psychos laughing at me. Morons, that’s what they looked like, with their nicotine stained teeth and chain wallets. I wanted to punch them both before killing one to force-feed his remains to the other. I’d seen them at sound check, but didn’t know their names. They were both tall and lean, both smiling at their probing conquest. The fucking egos were twice the size of the puny Indie label they were on.
“Which one?” I pointed at them each in turn.
The drummer pointed at the bassist, while the bassist pointed at the drummer. Neither spoke.
“That’s the way you want it?” I stepped in between them, threw both my hands out, and simultaneously grabbed both their scrawny asses, kneading a shocked musicians’ cheek on each side of me. The drummer jumped, belting out a surprised laugh, but the bass player leaned into me.
Yeah, he’s the one, I thought, and looked him square in the eyes. “Don’t touch me. Ever. Again.”
When I turned back towards the stage, Andrew was watching me. Well, gaping might be a better description. I winked at him and walked back to the pillar where Angel was watching on the opening act.
Amid my little foray, I’d lost track of Jake, but he’d turn up sooner or later. I took the time to talk myself down. Grab-assing was par for the course at shows like this. Both those idiots smelled like booze, too. I wanted to dismiss it and set my mind on the show I was supposed to be enjoying instead of the shitheads trying to ruin it for me.
The second band, Proselytes, took the stage and it was a major improvement over Playing Doctor. As I listened, I noticed Jake peeking from a doorway just off stage. Studying him, I saw something mischievous in his eyes. That look . . . it meant he was planning something. It had to be something for Angel.
For some reason that I could not unearth, that upset me. Being left out was nothing new, actually it was standard procedure. But what was new to me was who that feeling was bein
g directed at. My girl was getting what she wanted and I was happy for her. Wasn’t I? And why did her fulfillment make me feel so angry with Jake?
From the beginning, I did not think Angel’s life would change because of him. I had never seen a relationship bloom before. I didn’t know what the buds looked like. I thought their little encounter would start hot and fizzle fast; for whatever reason it didn’t.
Jake wasn’t exactly some douche trying to get Angel to give it up under the bleachers. I knew what he did with me played no part in how he felt for her. He never had to say it. It was obvious. It didn’t bother me. Not at all. I knew I was not the ‘take home to mom’ type of girl. Angel was. And those two had this . . . connection, like this visible thread that seemed to tie their souls together when they locked eyes. It was nauseating to watch half the time, but seeing the way she smiled made it worth the pukey-burps.
I’d made a habit of disappearing when Jake came around Angel. So it was no different when Jake walked onto the stage during the second performance. I always came up with an excuse—I had to go to the bathroom or needed some air, or a smoke, or whatever would fit in the moment. Angel never noticed the excuses. She never noticed anything but Jake.
But then he sang for her. Sank to his knees for her. Poured his heart out for her in front of a room full of rowdy, drunken strangers as they openly made fun of him.
Angel was the third person to fall to her knees. First it was Jake, when he asked his question. And then it was my turn. I couldn’t believe he was asking. And then she said yes! She sank to her knees and said yes. What was he thinking? She was seventeen years old. Didn’t she want to continue with school? We grew up watching the shit that happened to girls that married too young and hadn’t we decided that an education and independence was more important? Weren’t we supposed to get a place together in California? Then, she said yes. To him! And that made me realize that my answers were no. Hell no.
After the shock had time to sink in, I went and had a nice conversation with my reflection in the bathroom mirror; reminded myself that I loved Angel and wanted her to be happy, that the whole trek out to the land of sunshine was for her.
