by Karen Booth
Chris rolled his eyes and took my hand. “Yes, Samantha, news.” He cleared his throat, which made it seem that much more like theater. “Claire and I are happy to announce that we are expecting a baby.” His hand went to my belly and gently patted.
“Oh my God!” Sam exclaimed. “Grandpa, can you believe it?” She bugged out her eyes in dramatic fashion and clapped frantically. “You’re going to be a grandpa again. I’m going to be a big sister.”
I started to laugh. If it hadn’t been right to tell Sam before anyone else, at least it made it a hell of a lot more fun. Of course, I had to wonder how much of Sam’s reaction was an act and how much of it was real.
“My goodness, Ladybug. How wonderful. I don’t know how many more happy events you and Christopher can cram into one year, but I’m not complaining. I’m only glad I’m around to witness it.”
“Dad, you aren’t just witnessing it. You’re a part of this.”
Chris pulled me closer and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “She’s right, Richard. You too, Sam. It’s important to us both that you know that you’re a part of everything that’s going on in our lives right now. The wedding, the house, and most importantly, the baby.”
My dad put his hands back in his pockets. This much open talk about feelings and happiness was a lot for him to take. It was surprising he hadn’t initiated talk of renovation projects for the nursery. “We should go or we’ll be late.”
We piled into the Volvo and headed into Carrboro, a once-tiny mill town surrounded by Chapel Hill on three sides. When I’d moved to North Carolina, there wasn’t much happening there, but nearly twenty years later, it was bursting at the seams and home to lots of very happening restaurants.
Chris pulled into the parking lot where the farmer’s market had once been and we entered through the restaurant’s back patio. The four of us went to the hostess stand, which was a little silly, since all she did was grab menus and the wine list before marching us back outside to our table.
“Lovely evening, but I’m glad they have heaters out here.” I took my seat on the metal bistro chair next to Chris. A woman across the patio had pointed at him and was now taking a picture with her phone. Can’t get away from it anywhere.
Chris perused his menu, oblivious to it. “I guess wine is out of the question since you can’t drink.” He put his arm around me. “Unless you want something, Rich.”
“Water is good for me,” Dad answered.
“You should get a cocktail or a beer,” I said to Chris.
“No. It’s all right. I don’t need the extra calories anyway. I need to stay in fighting shape for the shows coming up in New York.” He patted his stomach. “Can’t wait until we’re in the new house and have a pool. I’ve started to develop a paunch.”
“No, you haven’t,” I said. “But you can always come running with me if you want.”
“I might have to take you up on that, however abhorrent I find the idea.”
“Ladybug, is it safe for you to exercise like that while you’ve got a little one on the way?”
My eyes darted around the patio, wondering if anyone else had recognized Chris, if anyone was listening to our conversation. You’re being paranoid. “Yes, Dad. It’s fine. Lots of women run right up until their due date.” I closed my menu. “Where’s the waiter? I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving.”
“Now you know what it’s like to be around you all the time.” I squeezed his knee under the table.
“Between the two of us, we’re eating for four.” Chris flagged down our waiter. “We have an emergency eating situation on our hands. Pregnant woman. Very hungry. We need an order of the hushpuppies, the pork belly, and four house salads to start.”
“Bring some bread too,” I said. “Extra butter.”
“You have no idea how excited I am to hear you say things like extra butter.” Chris handed his menu to the waiter.
“So. When’s the due date?” my dad asked.
“Late May,” I answered. “Right around Sam’s graduation.”
He shook his head and sat back in his chair. “Goodness. A baby, a new house, renovations, a wedding, a studio project, a new job, high school graduation. It’s a wonder we can all keep up.”
Chris sat back in his chair. “I’ll be glad when it’s next May and we can finally breathe.”
“Tell me about it.” Sam grabbed a hunk of bread from the basket and slathered it with butter. “I can’t wait to be done with high school.”
“I bet.” I nodded in agreement, admiring Sam as candlelight flickered, casting shadows across her rosy skin. Her blonde ringlets were extra bouncy today, her eyes somehow an even prettier shade of blue. Done with high school. My nodding stopped, the corners of my mouth turned down. May would be anything but a time to breathe.
Chapter Nineteen
I’d shrugged off this reunion business as nothing more than a return to old hat, but the truth was that I was as excited as the day my dad first let me have at his beloved acoustic guitar. We’d managed to sell out Radio City Music Hall for five nights, in record time no less. It was thrilling, even if I did my best to play it cool.
It felt like it’d been a lifetime since Banks Forest had done this—played proper shows. My life was so different then, an unholy tangle of drama and discontent. Now things were on track. I was about to marry the woman I never thought I’d find. We had a baby on the way, another milestone I’d once convinced myself wasn’t meant for me, no matter how badly I’d wanted it. The band itself was on excellent terms, all of us happy to be back in the saddle, grateful that the fans had embraced the reunion rather than balking at it. If ever there’d been a time for me to reclaim a bit of the past without becoming mired in nostalgia, this was it.
The three rehearsals, all in New York, went much better than expected. It was evident that Nigel and Terence had both been practicing quite a lot on their own. I certainly had, although that was more of an ongoing proposition. A day or two without the guitar in my hand and I started to get antsy, or as Claire would call it, “dickish”. In a similar vein, Graham’s entire existence was practice for this, so he was “on” from the minute he had the microphone back in his hand. Angie’s most persistent complaint in their marriage had long been that he was always behaving as though he’d never stepped off the stage. For her, it was a trial in patience. Hell, I could only take it in small doses unless I had a pint or two in me. For the fans, it was pure gold.
On the first day, mere bars into What Do I Say?, which was the second song we decided to tackle, any worries I’d had about us being a bunch of old farts evaporated. Terence pummeled the drums, pounding away as he had when we’d been in our twenties. Nigel’s bass lines locked in, thumping and boosting the music to the sweet spot that sustained the urgency of the songs in their original form.
“Bloody brilliant.” Graham bounced up and down behind the mic, grinning ear-to-ear when we’d wrapped up the first go-through on that song. “The fans are going to go bonkers.”
“I hope so.” On the inside, I wholeheartedly agreed, but no sense blowing Graham’s ego out of proportion. Keeping him hungry was the best way to make this happen. For me, the blood was pumping through my body in a way it hadn’t in a long time. If this was a comeback, we’d taken complete control—we owned it. The media had panned our live performances endlessly over our long career, but if they decided to slag this incarnation, fuck them. If I knew one thing mid-way through the first rehearsal, it was that we’d never sounded better. Not even close. “Let’s take another run at that one.”
The only bump in the road was coming up with a set list, a task we dove into at the end of day one. Graham and I argued like brothers, so badly that Terence and Nigel begged out of the discussion entirely saying that as long as we played Love, Destroyed, it didn’t matter. By the end of day three, Graham and I were still bickering over the track listing, never mind the sequence of songs for the shows.
“Come on, Chris, w
e’re leaving out half of the hits.”
“If we play all of the hits, it’ll be a three hour show.”
“Oh, so that’s it.” Graham scribbled two more songs at the bottom of the list. “Don’t think you can last that long.”
“Piss off.” My phone rang, Claire to the rescue. I dug it out of the back pocket of my jeans. “Hello, darling.” I plucked the pen from Graham’s hand. He scowled in response, but I didn’t want him tinkering without my supervision. “How are you?”
“Hello, Claire!” Graham yelled as I walked away. “Can’t wait to see you tomorrow, even if your future husband is a pain in my arse.”
“Is that Graham?” she asked.
“Yes. Annoying, isn’t he?” I found a quiet corner and perched on one of the hard equipment cases.
“Sounds like somebody has some extra energy. Poor Angie.”
Poor Angie? How about poor me? “Tell me about it. How did your meeting with Laura go? Are the magazine’s offices nice?” I spied Graham talking to Terence, gesturing wildly and pointing at the set list we’d been working on. Luckily, Nigel was having none of it, shaking his head “no” when Graham tried to wave him over.
“The offices aren’t much now. They have Laura in a temporary space while the up-fit is finished. I didn’t get to see any of it.”
“Did you tell her that you’re pregnant?”
“I did.” The line was so quiet it sounded as if the call had dropped. “I can’t say she had the best reaction.”
“What did she say?”
Her hesitation with my question was again, unsettling. “Nothing bad, it was just that it seemed like she was forcing herself to act excited. She was definitely shocked when I first told her.”
“Do you think you could’ve misread her reaction?”
“I don’t think so. She was pretty clear about her concerns. You know, whether I’m going to be able to focus and balance life at home with a new job, especially since I won’t be working out of the New York offices.”
“How do you feel about all of that?”
“I get it. She has a lot riding on this. She wants it to be a home run. She isn’t interested in wading into these waters. She wants to blow everybody away, right away. That means she needs an editorial staff that’s top-notch and totally committed. I already worry that I might not be in the category of top-notch, so that scares me.”
“Don’t say that. You know you’re better than top-notch.”
“As a writer, maybe, but I’ve never been an editor before. She’s taking a big chance on me. I’m probably even more of a gamble now than I was before and that has to make her nervous. I mean, let’s face it. I’m going to be distracted with a new baby. It doesn’t matter how much help we have. It’s going to be tough.”
“I don’t plan to be one of those dads who doesn’t change diapers or walk the floor in the middle of the night.”
“Oh, I know. But I’m going to be nursing and I can’t just sit back and hand the baby over to you all the time. Plus, we’re both going to be tired and stressed. Add in the fact that I’m already going to feel a little out of the loop with work by virtue of not working out of that office. It’ll be tricky.”
“You know you don’t have to take this job. You can tell her no. Even though you already agreed to it.” I rubbed my forehead. I wanted her to be happy, I wanted whatever she wanted for herself, but I couldn’t deny that what I really wanted, more than anything, was for us to be happy. Together, one unit, as harmonious as possible.
Again, she was quiet. I really wished we weren’t having this conversation on the phone, so I could gain a better sense of how she was feeling. It was far too easy for her to hide behind words, and if Claire had any weakness, it was getting wrapped up in what she thought the world wanted from her, rather than what she knew in her gut was right. “But I really want it,” she said, in a breathy, almost desperate tone that told me how dead-set she was on this. “It’s a challenge and I like the idea of pushing myself professionally. After the whole Entertainment Weekly fiasco, I want to have more control of my destiny as a writer.”
I had to admire her motives. She saw something better for her career and wasn’t afraid to try it, however daunting the prospect might seem. “Then we have to find a way to make it work, so you can prove to Laura that you were absolutely the right woman for the job. We’ll find a way. Together.”
“You’re so amazing,” she said, in a sweet lilt. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. There was a photographer waiting for me outside Laura’s office when I left. He asked if I was pregnant.”
I closed my eyes. “He wasn’t aggressive with you, was he?”
“No. He just took some pictures and talked to me while he followed me down the sidewalk. I ended up hopping in a cab.”
“We may need to get you your own driver when we’re in New York.”
“Yeah, there were a lot of fans outside the hotel, too. They had to put them behind a barricade.”
The same thing had happened outside the rehearsal space. It always amazed me the bits of information the fans were able to dig up. Here we go. “I’m sorry. I hope that didn’t bother you.”
“No, it was fine, but you’d better be careful when you get back here. When are you coming back? I miss you.”
I smiled and shook my head as I caught another glimpse of Graham berating Terence. “I miss you too, darling. I’ll be there as soon as I give in to Graham’s demands.”
“How long is that going to take?”
“Not long, if I can help it.”
“Okay. Hurry back. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I hung up and sidled up to Graham and Terence. “How many thousands of times have we done this?”
Graham shrugged. “I don’t know. Too many to count, I suppose. Why?”
“Did it ever really end up mattering? Did we ever once walk off the stage and say that the show would have been better if we’d played this song or that?”
“Maybe once or twice,” Terence said, always the most even-tempered member of the band. “Not many.”
“Exactly.” I patted Graham on the shoulder and handed him the pen. “Consider this the white flag. You two sort it out. Ask Nigel if he cares to chime in.”
“What’s that?” Nigel pushed his now-thinning long hair off his face as he fiddled with an effects pedal. “You talking about me?”
“Just putting your name in the mix for the set list conundrum. If you want in,” I answered.
“You’re serious.” Graham stared at the ballpoint as if it was the gift he’d always wanted. “You’re giving in. To me.” His eyes narrowed. “What’s the catch?”
“Believe it or not, there is none. I would simply prefer to spend my time with Claire. And we had such an excellent rehearsal today. I don’t want to spoil the mood with an argument. I’ll see you lot tomorrow.”
Chapter Twenty
“You are so gorgeous.” Chris pressed the elevator button for the lobby and kissed my temple with his temptingly soft lips. The compliment didn’t go unappreciated. It’d taken considerable effort to squeeze my pregnant ass into my jeans. “I don’t really want to take you anywhere, but I suppose people would be upset if I didn’t show up to the gig tonight.”
“Your adoring fans might stage a riot.” I admired him with a sideways glance. He’d already dressed for the show—black leather pants that made his butt look ridiculously good and a black dress shirt that had never once been buttoned all the way. While getting ready, he’d asked for help with his hair, which made for a very surreal moment as I combed gel into it with my fingers, watching him scrutinize his own reflection in the mirror.
“Speaking of adoring fans, as the head of the International Banks Forest fan club, do you need to stop out in front of the hotel and lead the die-hards in some sort of pre-show ritual?” He smirked and cocked an eyebrow.
“Very funny.”
“I try.”
The elevator doors slid open. The man a
t the front desk caught sight of Chris and rushed over. “Mr. Penman, your driver has asked me to have you wait for a moment. He’s on his way inside.”
Chris slipped on his aviators, a move few mortals can pull off indoors.
Lou stormed through the lobby doors and made a beeline for us. “Mr. Penman, things have gotten a little hairy outside. We’ll need to be quick.”
“My primary concern is Claire.”
“Absolutely. NYPD has everyone behind a barricade, but the fans are anxious to see you. An officer will lead us to the car. You follow him, then Ms. Abby, and I’ll bring up the rear.”
“Ready, darling?” Chris asked. “Will you be okay with this?”
I nodded, having flashbacks to the scene outside Tiffany’s. “I’ll be fine.”
We were inundated with shrieks and flashes of light the instant the lobby door opened.
“It’s him.”
“Christopher, over here.”
“I love you.”
I huddled behind Chris as we dashed across the sidewalk. The car door opened, we were swept inside, and the noises muffled when the door was closed.
“Are you okay?” Chris asked, as the crowd noises filtered into the car again when Lou climbed into the driver’s seat.
My heart raced, and so did the car, away from the hotel. I had to admit that it was exhilarating. “I’m great.”
He took my hand. “Of course you are. You’ll be an old pro at this before long.”
I looked at Chris for what felt like the one-hundredth time in a few short hours, studying his strong profile, that perfect jawline. It was so wonderfully strange to see him in his element, basking in the spotlight he so deserved, all while taking me along for the ride.
He caught me staring and swiped off his sunglasses. His eyes were so brilliant it was as if they were on fire. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“I just can’t believe this is happening.”
He leaned over and kissed my ear, taking a gentle nibble of the lobe. “I can pinch you if that will help.” The waft of his cologne left me light-headed.
