by Amber Burns
Naturally Jesse notices our guests first.
“I brought company.” I say.
“Oh?” Dan, finally catching up, gives our guests an up-down survey. “I should have noticed two beautiful women.”
“Back up, Casanova,” I shove a hand against his chest, aware of the hot stab of annoyance shooting through me when Astra flusters over Dan’s open appraisal.
Jesse laughs on his standing and rounding the table to meet the ladies.
“Jesse Black,” he smiles at Holly’s introduction, catching and releasing her hand for Astra’s. “That’s Daniel Wright.”
“Dan,” the latter corrects, smile as smooth as cream.
Jesse shakes his head. “I should be thanking you for saving me from these two.”
“Hey,” Dan and I are in synch. Everyone laughs, but I’m looking over at Astra, glad to see she’s faring better once out of the cold.
“So how do you know this loser?” Dan hitches a thumb in my direction. “You classy ladies can’t have wanted to be seen with him.”
“He’s persuasive,” Astra says, drawing out of her scarf.
She’s working it from her neck along with her coat, giving us a view of her long flowing shirt over her dark denims. The V cut to the paisley print rides low over her chest, the swell of her breasts tightening my pants, making me consider skipping dinner and taking her home for a private show.
“Persuasive, huh?” Dan’s sultry drawl earns a growl from me.
Astra looks surprised, like she isn’t aware of how delicious she is, of Dan’s obvious flirting, and my jealousy.
Jealousy. That’s new.
“Where do I…?” Astra trails off, approaching the long table seating ten comfortably. There are table mats everywhere: Custodio once said it’s important to be ready for any moment, any guest. I never cared for his careful planning and obvious neurosis, it clearly is paying off now.
“Here.”
I draw a chair for her, intending to sit beside her. Dan has the same idea.
“Great,” he grins, “we’re seat buddies.”
Holly’s losing her coat, too. She’s being led across the table by Jesse while he delves into our college meeting story. Like Astra, Holly’s dressed to impress. Her black, slim jeans are paired with a white suit jacket broken up with by the effervescent purple-pink of her blouse.
Beside Jesse’s black, fitted tee shirt and light wash jeans, she looks even more fancy. Not that our drummer bats an eyelash, holding out his hands for her coat and divesting it over the chair beside his original seat.
“Thank you,” Holly murmurs at Jesse’s politely pulling a chair out for her. Her cheeks crimson, not as bright or tantalizing as my Astra’s, but she’s definitely embarrassed and speechless. It all goes over Jesse’s closely shaved head.
Most of it passes Jesse: If it isn’t music or his older sister and their long-widowed mother, Jesse’s clueless. Having met the female half of his genes, I know where his good breeding hails from.
I can’t say the same for Dan, taking my silence and distraction as an opportunity to woo Astra.
“Shouldn’t you be tucking your napkin under your chin or something?” I tease, but there’s the dark tentacles of jealousy turning my thoughts towards malice, sharpening my voice.
“Har har,” Dan pulls his sleeves up and picks up a knife and fork, dropping his fists on the table hard enough to rattle the rest of his cutlery and Astra’s nearby. “Bring on the food.”
Busy with his stomach, and Holly and Jesse as wrapped in their conversation as they are, I’m free to study Astra’s profile. She acknowledges me with a brief smile, coppery waves cascading over her shoulders as she settles back in her seat, gaze meandering to the rest of the room.
Since I’ve seen Custodio’s house time and time again to the point where I can draw the layout for most of the property, I’m all about Astra.
“Isn’t he creeping you out?” Dan sweeps a tanned hand over his growing beard. He’s leaning on the table over Astra.
“Says the mountain man. That thing keeps growing or is just me?” I’m close to snarling. Leveling the irritation is hard, but I remind myself this is Dan, my bandmate and friend of twenty-some years, and though we’ve butted heads, it never has and will be over a woman.
Even Astra.
“Hey, the beard is off-topic.” He says, stroking his hairy extra like it’s Cousin Itt on his face.
I scoff but stay silent.
Under the table I locate Astra’s hands clasped over her lap. My palm absorbs her heat for the shocking fraction it takes her to turn her hand to me.
Palms kissing, I entwine our fingers and squeeze my gratitude and she, thankfully, tightens her grip in answer.
God. I want her so much.
Chapter 6
Our one day apart is killing me.
“Damn. If I’d known OC was going to be getting you lovely ladies years later, I wouldn’t have ever left.” Dan is saying; he’s riveted on Astra.
“You used to live here too? Like Ryker?” Holly asks. She and Jesse are back from whatever private world they’d entered.
“Yeah. We go back, me and this guy.” Attention drawn from Astra, Dan turns his appreciative gaze to Holly. “We moved after college. Newark. Promised each other we’d board together and keep us from drifting back to town.”
“You were in Newark?” Holly might have sounded like she’d settled into OC, but I wouldn’t label her tone anything less than fawning as she speaks of the city.
“And that’s where they met me,” Jesse smiles, blond brows almost invisible and blue eyes brighter under the spotlighting from the two smaller chandeliers above the dining area. The drumsticks have made it into his hands again.
“Jesse was our fourth-year TA for Philosophy 101.” Dan slaps the table, jabbing a finger at Jesse. “And you failed me, almost.”
“Because there were strong signs of plagiarism, and the Prof was going through all the corrected papers, double-checking for fair grading.
“Can you imagine what he’d think if I passed on blatant copy-and-paste tactics?” Jesse shakes his head like the supposition scared him. I can’t see why not?
Graduating summa cum laude didn’t fall into his lap – he’s pretty smart for a guy who still dresses like he lives in his mom’s garage, but living the dream of a rock star...as a rock star.
“So I forgot to mention names when paraphrasing, it still doesn’t justify the D-minus,” Dan sniffs. “Friends don’t do that to friends.”
Seeing this is standing on bad ground, and feeling the tension skitter through Astra to our connected hands and straight to my heart, an arrow of dread to my vitals.
I break up the age-old argument between them – more of an argument for Dan than Jesse, but I can’t count that the slimmer man’s cheeks are redder than our bassist and back-up vocals.
Right on cue too.
Tzatza is back and spritzing the air with her perfume. She punctuates her steps with new heels.
The T-strap, rock-studded red and black heels clack over the tiling, her asymmetrical cut glittery red skirt hugging her slim, toned legs, exposing an expanse of flesh which was more than necessary.
“Sorry for delaying the feasting,” Tzatza sweeps into the chair at the head of the table beside me and the empty seat she would have taken if her husband was showing up. Sure enough Tzatza says, “My dear husband won’t be joining us tonight.”
Only I’m perceptive of her stealthy glance at the empty chair and the brief longing that softens her sharp cheekbones, puffy lips and darting eyes.
The food isn’t too long after that. There are more staff milling about tonight than the usual. The cook lives in the mansion, but the three waiters had to be hired out for the evening.
Not that there aren’t wait staff around the Lopezes on a more than normal frequency. It’s all background noise to me.
So I’m swept up in Astra’s reaction to the young gentleman juggling their appetizers, main dis
hes and desserts. Holly is taken with the extra care lay people aren’t used to. Astra is about as taken by everything except for the wine.
“No, thank you,” she smiles up at the waiter in the midst of pouring her the expensive grand cru Chablis.
“Don’t you drink?” Tzatza’s nails are curling over the side of her coupe, the white chardonnay swishing about the glass. She taking a sip as Astra says, “No, not usually. But especially not tonight as I’m not feeling well.”
“A cold,” I offer, voice a little hoarse, abrupt. Tzatza’s gaze flickers between us. Under the table I feel Astra’s hand slipped away. I grasp at her fingertips, desperate to hold onto her. I squeeze in an effort to calm her.
Tzatza can’t hurt her, not with me here.
A distraction comes dressed in a white shirt, black coat and tie. Dessert arrives in the same silver-lidded reveal.
“It’s gelatinous fruit cake, Miss. There are citrus accents and that’s spring grass.” The youthful waiter is kind and patient with Holly’s questions over the dessert choice.
Astra is having difficulty getting her knife to slip into the small round cake for a sample.
“Here,” I grab her plate and exchange it with mine, her protest minimal with Tzatza watching us like a hawk – a hawk with smoky, cat’s eyes.
Murmuring her ‘thanks’, Astra takes the piece I sliced off and enfolds her smooth, glossy lips around the tip of the fork. She chews a bit and swallows, humming her approval.
Jesse is doing the same for Holly, save he’s actually sidling closer to reach for her fork and slicing the cake for her.
“You,” Tzatza hooks one of the poor unsuspecting waiters. “What does Senor Vega think he’s doing?” she’s switched to Spanish, at least having that decency.
Too bad I understand her fully.
Jesse, a bit fluent in Spanish himself, meets my gaze between helping Holly and I give a slight shake, the exasperation lowering my shoulders.
The waiter apologizes, and this drags Dan and the ladies’ attentions. Tzatza waves him off, mumbling, “Basta ya.” Enough.
She smooths her ruffled feathers, engaging me and the guys on Lola’s birthday plans, leaving Astra and Holly with their palpable confusion.
Newly changed she might be Tzatza could have tried at altering her attitude, too.
“Band?” Holly whispers to Jesse once she has his attention, her voice carrying across to us.
Jesse sets aside his puzzled look and reveals the truth. I garner a look at Astra when our locked hands grow tighter.
Understanding that to be my cue to keep her knowledge about Tense Finger a secret from Holly and everyone else, I match Jesse and explain, even allowing Dan to hop in with his bit.
For my benefit Astra plays her role perfectly; her shock tempts me to laugh and break our cover.
“A rock band,” Holly’s genuine surprise lowers her fork from her nearly cleaned plate, the dessert becoming a fast favorite despite all the extra work. My compliments to the poor chef and wait staff chewed out by their hormonal employer.
Speaking of the rearing ugliness of said employer, Tzatza sits up straighter, deciding perhaps she’s had enough of not being the center of attention.
“Do you not listen to music?” she’s brisk, demanding, rude.
Holly is onto her. “Yes. Not rock music though,” she casts an apologetic look around the table.
“That’s cool.” Dan shrugs. “I’ve got my preferences, too.”
Jesse is agreeing and Holly’s shoulders are relaxing from their position to her ears at Tzatza’s insinuation.
“And you, Dr. Olsen?”
“I listen to more radio news than music,” Astra says after displacing her napkin from wiping her mouth of moist cake crumbs.
“You don’t say.” Her dismissal touches a frown to Astra’s expression.
Tzatza forks a dainty helping of fruit cake into her mouth, dabs her poufy lips and taking a sip from her drink, turns to inquire about Dan’s parents and their snow birding experience at Dan’s farm-turned resort in NorCal.
Dinner comes and goes too quickly for my liking. Soon I’m walking Astra and Holly to the door with an entourage. Tzatza bids them farewell on her ascent up the stairs.
Dan rushes up with Holly’s cell, catching her warm smile and particularly falling over himself on fumbling through a less-than-smooth comeback.
More refined, Jesse offers her her jacket.
“Wait,” I say, unable to swallow the idea of Astra leaving the house. We could head to hers, but sex couldn’t possibly be healthy for her, not in her fragile state.
The warmth of the house alleviated her symptoms, yet it’s obvious there’s a frailty to her steps and her breathing is softer, shallower, smiles weaker.
“Just for another half hour, maybe less, to give you a private showing,” I go on, trying to rile the guys into helping. Meanwhile Jesse’s blond brows meet in the middle, intrigue narrowing his eyes and likely keeping him from responding.
Not going to get help there. At least not without a trade-off and I’m not ready to delve deeper into whatever spell Astra’s woven around me, through my firing blood and my waking, unoccupied thoughts...forget about my dreams.
Tucking his thumbs under the pits of his long-sleeved stripped Henley, Dan spaces his legs, limited edition orange Chucks grounded. It’s like he’s prepared for battle save that large, toothy grin erasing the martial part of my assessment.
“Yes,” he hisses, bobbing his head wildly. If his hair hadn’t been tied back in a bun, like it usually is off-stage, the long dark blonde strands would be doing the windmill from his enthusiasm. “We have to do this, and I’ll be damned if you two aren’t rock converts by the time we’re through.”
“That and we could use more fan girls,” he mumbles through a feigned cough seconds later.
My champion and I persuade Astra and Holly to follow us, Jesse closing our rear. I try to ignore his intent stare. We’d clearly be having a talk at some point.
But not now.
Now I’m busy admiring Astra’s thrall in our impromptu studio.
From his days dabbling in music production, Custodio built a soundproof room for the business venture that hadn’t really taken off past Tense Finger’s debut.
Of course there was the severance pay and fat check he got on signing us off to our current label.
I grit my teeth at the memory. Decades later and it still bites. I won’t let it sour tonight though.
“Are you really going to play for us?” Holly’s voice comes through the speakers in the recording room. We’ve shown the girls how to use the microphone in case the music overtakes us and they need something.
“Yeah, apparently,” Jesse shrugs, easing behind his drum set. His sticks are out of his pocket in his hand. For the only one of us three to eat and breathe his music, he sounds reluctant.
“He thinks the floor toms might have been raped by the airport handlers. Not that rape is a light matter.” Dan lopes his bass’s strap over his shoulder, fingers already plucking several notes of one of our songs.
“Stickler.” I say over my shoulder, feeling Jesse’s glower.
“Whatever,” he does that shrugging thing again. “Are we playing or not?” And to punctuate his point he belts out a two phrases, unloading the fill like the pro he is.
The cymbal crash has Holly and Astra sitting up.
Through the glass my girl is watching me string up. I do my usual test, tuning to as near perfection for the mellower piece. Though not our usual stuff, I like the song.
We don’t have to speak to know what we’re playing. One of us always gives a hint by starting off the notes. It’s Dan who sets us in motion; Jesse and I are along for the ride in as much as we let the music move us.
“Dragging, sucking, infiltrating – empty walls of writhing limbs; altar spices, final, glass sacrificing, we’re ready to take the climb...down,” I hold the note of the final verse, Dan backing vocals into the chorus.
Lyrics finished, we belt a final riff and close with Jesse’s cascading symphony of cymbals.
“Can we come in?” Holly asks, and at my thumbs-up, she leads Astra inside the wood paneled room. “That was amazing.” Her loud sigh says enough.
Astra is more timid, less forthcoming with her opinion until Dan’s in her face. “Well? Are you thirsty for more?”
His wording bunches my muscles, readies my fists – the instinct to knock his teeth scares the shit out of me, and I nearly miss hearing Astra’s response.
