The Album: Book One

by Pullo, Ashley

  “Are you drunk? Holy shit – you’re scaring me.” Natalie takes a step back and crosses her arms.

  Adam takes a step toward her and places his large hands on her tense shoulders. “Natalie, stop freaking out. And I’m not drunk. It’s Chloe . . .”

  Natalie turns her head toward the kitchen, avoiding eye contact. “Oh,” she says.

  Adam moves his hands from her shoulders to his pockets – he’s uncomfortable and losing control. “The pharmacy called my cell, asking if I wanted the prescription for Zoloft delivered to the house again.”

  Natalie turns back to look at him and sighs. “Oh.”

  “Did you know? Fuck, of course you did.” Adam’s voice is loud and agitated.

  “Why are you here, Adam? You should go home and talk to Chloe.”

  He laughs nervously, masking his fear. “She won’t talk to me. She won’t even take my fucking phone calls.”

  “Maybe she’s embarrassed. Postpartum sucks.” Natalie moves toward the kitchen in hopes to escape the awkward conversation.

  Adam follows behind her and shouts, “What?”

  At the sink, Natalie fills a tea kettle with water and then places it on the stove. “Chloe has postpartum and she’s back on her meds. It’s been over a month. She didn’t tell you?”

  “How could she – how did I not know?” Adam braces himself against the cabinet, bringing his hands to his head and yanking at his hair. He rubs his temples, breathes slowly, and closes his eyes – it’s his silent cry.

  Heartbroken, Natalie recoils to the other side of the kitchen. “You should go home and talk to Chloe. I’ll make you some tea and then I can go with you to watch the bab—”

  “No.” Seething, Adam slams his hand against the cabinet. “She kicked me out. Chloe blames me.”

  Startled by Adam’s reaction, Natalie begins to cry. “Adam, I’m so sorry. I don’t really know what’s going on, but Aunt Eileen is coming, maybe that will help things?”

  Adam drops his head and stumbles toward the door, hopeless and broken. Natalie chases after him, only to have the door closed in her face. He leaves the apartment with the little gold heart because he’s sick – nauseous without his oxygen. Adam staggers into the old elevator, clenching his fists and grinding his jaw. He’s angry because he couldn’t control the outcome. Bitter that she didn’t give him a chance. Terrified of reliving painful memories.

  Being watched. Being evaluated.

  The darkness.

  CHRIS AND NATALIE frantically remove their clothes, laughing as they bump into their new leather sofa. Natalie wraps her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek and blowing softly into his ear. They move toward the bedroom, slamming against the wall outside the door for a passionate kiss.

  Natalie kicks open the bedroom door and mutters, “We’re going to be late.”

  “I can be quick.” Chris smirks.

  “Believe it or not, I like that response.” Natalie tugs at Chris’s boxers, pulling him toward the bed. She falls back onto the mattress and quickly removes her bra and panties.

  Chris smiles at his beautiful wife while lowering his briefs and watching her scoot to the middle of the bed. He hovers over her, moving a stray curl from her face to look into her eyes.

  “Hey,” Chris drawls.

  “Hey,” Natalie replies.

  “Darlin’, let’s make a baby.”

  It’s another sweltering Fourth of July in Brooklyn, New York, as guests begin to arrive at the Ford home. Eileen and Martin LeGrange arrived yesterday – intending to stay for another two weeks while Adam and Chloe visit Paris.

  Dan and the Wandering Willows are setting up in the backyard, while Pete and his wife Marta prepare cocktails and appetizers in the kitchen. Will helps Adam hang the red, white and blue decorations, stopping occasionally to steal a brownie from the kitchen. Anthony introduces his fiancée to Mr. and Mrs. Chris Brooks, while Chloe mixes the last batch of Sangria.

  Adam approaches Chloe from behind and presses his mouth against her ear. “Hey, babe. Meet me in the bedroom.”

  Chloe laughs as she turns to face him. “Wait, is it my birthday or yours?”

  “Just get upstairs.” Adam kisses her forehead and heads to the front of the house, stopping briefly to tousle Sophie’s dark locks.

  Natalie bursts into the kitchen, glowing with excitement. “Chloe! I love you.” She puts her arms around Chloe’s waist and squeezes, causing Chloe to lose her balance.

  “What’s that about, ya tart?” Chloe studies her cousin’s sobriety before serving her a glass of Sangria.

  “We did it, C. We’re both happy. My greatest romance is with my cousin – who’d thunk it?”

  Chloe grabs Natalie’s cheeks and grins. “I’ve always known – you’re my soul mate.”

  “Hootie and the Blowfish,” Natalie attempts through squished cheeks.

  “Oh shit, that seems like forever ago.”

  The cousins. Family is meant to foster a loving and supportive environment, but these two have spent a lifetime perfecting friendship.

  Chloe kisses Natalie’s forehead and says, “I have to run upstairs. Go mingle – do what you do best and make this party fun.”

  Following orders, Natalie salutes Chloe and chants, “I will make it my duty to have everyone drunk and horny by midnight, sir.” But her face cringes at the sight of Martin and Eileen playing Hungry Hippos with Sophie. “Scratch that idea.”

  Chloe leaves the kitchen laughing and waving to her dad. Martin goofily waves back as Sophie whacks him with a light saber. Chloe pats Chris’s back before climbing the two flights of stairs to her bedroom.

  When she reaches the long narrow hall, her fingers run along the framed photos hanging on the wall. Captured memories, intimate stories . . . life. The bedroom door’s closed, so she waits, listening with her ear against the door. It’s quiet – just like the man waiting inside.

  Chloe knocks once, just for kicks. “Adam?”

  Adam opens the door and smirks. Imitating a teenager, Adam cries, “I was waiting for like for-ever.” He grabs Chloe’s waist and pulls her inside. “Get in here.” Adam shuts the door and presses Chloe against the wall.

  Chloe’s hands move to his shoulders, her hands digging into his neck. “What are we doing up here?”

  “This.” Adam kisses her, first on the cheek, then on the nose, then the forehead, the nose again, the other cheek . . .

  “Holy shit, just kiss me.” Chloe grips the back of his head and forces their mouths together, solidifying the kiss.

  Eventually, they move to the bed, spooning each other fully clothed and talking about all the things that matter. Adam plays with her hair and nuzzles into her neck. He cherishes his commitment to protect her – and she loves having a protector.

  “Hey, I actually have a present for you.” Chloe opens the drawer to her nightstand as Adam unzips his shorts.

  “Now you’re talking,” he says, stroking his crotch.

  She laughs as she pulls out a gold notebook littered with Post-it notes. “Later, promise. Here.”

  Adam sits up on the bed and takes the notebook from Chloe. “What’s this?” Adam has never seen this notebook . . . and he always looks in drawers.

  Chloe crosses her legs and faces him. “Turn to the last page.” She flips it to the back, his large hands covering hers. “I wrote a song. Ten years in the making, but I think you’ll be proud.”

  Adam’s eyes skim the page and then he looks at Chloe. “The Ballad of what?”

  “Just The Ballad. Nothing flashy – just a story.” Chloe shrugs her shoulders and bites her lip. She watches as Adam’s expressions change while reading the lyrics, covering a whole array of emotions she’s never noticed. His face remains intense, but now it’s also soft . . . layered with history.

  Adam jumps up from the bed, zips his fly, and smiles at Chloe. “Meet me on the stoop in ten minutes.” He hurries out of the room with the notebook in his hand.

  Exactly ten minutes later, Chl
oe checks her reflection in the bedroom mirror, dabs on some perfume, and then runs down the two flights of stairs. The living room is empty and quiet . . . too late for a cheesy surprise party. She peeks into the dining room . . . no one there either.

  Go outside, Chloe.

  Chloe opens the front door to a barrage of whistles and applause. All her guests are standing along the sidewalk and the neighbors are spilling onto the street. They’re all waiting anxiously for something magical to happen . . . and it will.

  Adam, as sexy and confident as ever, approaches Chloe with her guitar. He helps her into the Les Paul acoustic with the personalized strap, whispering private sentiments into her ear. With his hand on the small of her back, he turns to address the crowd forming on the street. “Ladies and gentleman, Chloe LeGrange Ford is about to play an original song for us. The Ballad.”

  Chloe strums an F chord and then stops. “This is incredibly awkward.” Adam kisses her cheek and then moves to his favorite spot, front and center against the large maple tree. Chloe glances at the neck of her guitar and pulls out her favorite pick, the platinum one from all those years ago. She focuses on Adam’s smiling face and then starts the intro.

  And then she sings.

  “Bathtub,

  Two babes,

  Hold the olives,

  Always.

  Tall trees,

  F trains,

  It’s fate,

  Always.

  Paris in July,

  Your love I can’t deny.

  I’m your femme,

  And you’re my lo-ver,

  I love you,

  Always.

  Brooklyn Bridge,

  Guitar picks,

  Roses suck,

  Always.

  Coffee bars,

  Rock star,

  Paisley scars,

  Always.

  You’re my Rainbow Connection,

  And your lips are my selection.

  I’m your femme,

  And you’re my lo-ver.

  I love you,

  Always.”

  Chloe holds on to the last word, full of resolution and purpose. The Ballad is her closure. But then she decides to replay the refrain – inviting everyone to sing along to the chorus. Because it doesn’t matter if the words are unknown, a chorus is simply a melody set to the backdrop of life, simple . . . repetitive . . . rhythmic. Applause erupts and encores are requested, but Chloe puts down her guitar and summons Adam with a sultry smile.

  Adam pushes off the tree and walks toward the stoop, pausing to watch the fireworks overhead – finally, he gets his fireworks.

  “Skynard!” Natalie screeches from the street.

  “Pearl Jam!” Pete adds.

  Chris cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Ace of Base!”

  Every great story has a beginning, whether it’s a planned meeting, a random encounter, or an impulsive jump into the unknown. But it’s the middle of the narrative that really counts . . . expanding the verse and building the chorus. And this story, the one that starts as soon as it ends, is a musical journey of fate and acceptance.

  Adam joins Chloe, sweeping her hair to the side to rest on her shoulder. He kisses her exposed neck, taking his time to savor each surprising sensation.

  Boom.

  Sizzle.

  Crack.

  Moments later, amidst the glow of a dozen fireworks and the buzzing energy of a Brooklyn summer, Adam quietly makes his request.

  “Rainbow Connection.”

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to everyone that helped transform my manuscript into an album.

  Erika Q. Stokes and Nick Fantini expertly adapted the words and visions in my head into a gorgeously packaged novel. Erika, thank you for answering your phone last June. Nick, thank you for your friendship and creative ingenuity. Thank you both for sticking with me and keeping it real.

  This remix, remaster and reLIVE publication would not have been possible without the dedication of my quality control consultant, Beth Ann Simkanin. We’re kindred spirits, but your commitment to my dream is more than I could ever ask for from a friend.

  To the ladies that laugh at my jokes, question my quirky decisions, and respect my need for authenticity, thank you. Liis, Jennifer, Alison and Nicki, don’t quit me!

  Garland, Texas produced some amazing people—brilliant yet humble. Thank you, Jamie Beshears, for supporting and encouraging me over the past year. You’ve taken on a multitude of tasks and roles flawlessly, and I am truly grateful for your friendship. And to my buddies, Captain Matthew Hammond of the USMC and DJ Kiernan—thank you for offering your time and extensive knowledge. Thank you GHS Class of ‘96 for inspiring me to embrace the ‘90s and highlighting the wonderful things about Generation Xers.

  The lyrics to The Ballad were written by a lovely and witty Canuck. Ceilidhe Wynn is a genius in my mind, and I will forever love this girl. Thank you—thrice.

  Thank you to my small circle of trusted author and blogger friends—you know who you are. Late night conversations with a bunch of neurotic authors and sympathetic bloggers are probably one of my favorite things about the indie world.

  Merci beaucoup, mes femmes. I’m lucky to have a group of readers that I can call my friends.

  To new readers and re-readers, thank you for choosing my book out of all the wonderful books available. I write for myself, but I also write with the intention that someone else will read it!

  I need to thank the two people that nurtured and cultivated my vivid imagination, and showed me that healthy, happy families exist. They also let me watch obscene amounts of television, which in fact, did not rot my brain. Thanks, Mom and Dad!

  To my wonderful children, Luke and Sydney—I love you both more than you will ever know! Now go to sleep and let me write.

  Vincent, can you imagine what life would be like if it didn’t rain on that Labor Day? I and love and you.

  About the Author

  Hey y’all!

  The Lone Star State will always be my home, but fifteen years ago, I became a New Yorker. NYC is an amazing place to find inspiration in my daily surroundings—the random and the ordinary that make up reality. My writing showcases inspired ideas, as well as my love for dichotomy, authenticity and humor.

  My goal as an author is to create relevant and strong female characters in Women's Fiction, and male leads that are imperfectly perfect.

  When not developing fictional scenarios on a laptop, I can be found at a soccer game with my husband and two children.

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/ashleypullo

  Twitter: @ashpullo

  My NEW AMAZING WEBSITE: www.ashleypullo.com

  Or find me at any local Starbucks around 3 p.m.