by Virna DePaul
“LA. I’m home.” She pressed her hands to her eyes and released them. “Can you talk?”
“Yeah, just finished twenty minutes ago. Was just hanging with Robbie. ’Sides, I thought you didn’t want to talk to me anymore.”
“Don’t give me shit, Liam. Just hear me out.” She was always pretty, even when she was crying. Right now, she was beautiful.
I felt bad for her, whatever was wrong with her, though I had a suspicion it had to do with me. “Okay. Shoot.” I turned the corner into a quieter hallway and slid my back down a wall until I was resting at the floor.
“Look, this isn’t easy for me to say,” she began, biting her lip to keep from crying harder. “But I’m sorry for acting like a douche when I was there. The thing is, Liam, I don’t think you know how much I love you. Or maybe you do. I don’t know.”
I thought about it. “I do. I mean, I know you love me, ’cause I love you, too. But I had no idea you feel the way you do. I didn’t know to which degree, I mean.”
“The way I do love you, Liam. Still do,” she said. Her lip quivered, as she fought to control it. Wow, I had no idea it was this bad. “And that’s just the problem. I can’t be around you anymore. It’s hurting me. The more I try to be near you, the more you don’t see me. I think I need to just find my own life, do my own thing. I loved managing merchandise, but being so near you when you don’t give a shit about me hurts me, Liam.”
“Who said I don’t give a shit about you?” I asked, my tone fierce. “Of course I do. You’re my best friend.”
“That’s not what I mean. God, Liam, you’re so dense sometimes!” She burst out laughing and crying at the same time, her tears degenerating into a soggy mess of hair and snot.
“I am not going to deny that.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry I can be an idiot.”
She wiped her whole face with a crumpled ball of tissue. “Okay then, listen to me, stupidhead. I just watched the Livestream. I heard that acoustic song you did with Wes. Honestly, I’m surprised it took that long to write one. I knew you would.”
I smiled. She knew my every move even before I did. We had one Livestream camera set up for family and friends on a website whenever they wanted to watch us perform. I honestly hadn’t even thought she’d care. “Wow, so you heard that? What’d you think?”
She shook her head slowly, and I thought she was going to start wailing, because the tears were coming fast. I had never seen Helen cry like this. “It was beautiful. Really beautiful. I hate you and love you for it at the same time.” She wiped her face then gave me a serious look. “You have to go see her, Liam.”
I said nothing. I knew she meant Abby. But she’d been ignoring my texts. That was as good a sign as any that she didn’t want to see me. Going to her in spite of that would seem pushy. Wrong. Like I didn’t respect her enough to know her own mind.
“She won’t have me, Helen. She’s done with me.”
“No. She loves you. I saw it. Her friend Rosemary saw it. Shit, everyone saw it, Liam. I’m sorry I set Giselle up to go see you, but I was scared. I’d never seen you in love like that before, so if I couldn’t stop you, I knew Giselle would.”
“But nobody stopped me. I still love Abby. I just…I never told her.”
Helen’s face cleared up just then, and a calm resolve washed over her. “Then you have to go to her. Tell her it was my fault. Tell her you were stupid. Tell her whatever you want, but tell her that you love her.”
“I did. I wrote her that song,” I said.
“And it was by far the best love ballad you’ve ever written, so if you don’t show up at her doorstep tomorrow, I’ll be hugely disappointed in you,” she said.
I couldn’t speak. I just watched her face pass through an amalgam of emotions. She must really love me to give her blessing like this, considering what she felt for me.
“Do it for me, Liam. If I can’t have your love, then I want Abby to have it. Please?”
Whoa.
“She won’t talk to me, babe.”
“She will, Lee. She keeps hoping you’ll come see her. Trust me on this.”
Women knew how each other thought. Maybe she had a point.
“Liam?” Robbie’s voice echoed down the opposite hallway.
“Okay.” I nodded at Helen, watching the sheer relief wash over her face. “I’ll go to her. Thank you, babe. And I do love you. Don’t ever doubt that, okay?” I air-kissed the camera, which made her smile. We were going to be okay. That’s why we were friends to begin with.
She hung up, her sad smile burning an image into my brain, and I scrambled to my feet.
Robbie rushed around the corner, nearly slamming into me. “There you are. Classic Rock is here. I need you in the lounge ready to interview. Apparently, they had their nights messed up and came tonight.”
“Be right there, but then, Rob, I gotta go.”
“What the fuck you mean, Lee?” A knot formed between his eyebrows.
“I mean, I have to go to New York for a day—two days tops. We don’t have a show until Friday in Philly. I’ll meet you there when I’m done.”
“Liam?” Robbie picked at his temple, his voice taking on an authoritative tone. “Don’t do anything stupid. We need you here. We can’t have a Point Break show without Liam fucking Collier. I can’t have you risking your career, especially over a girl. Don’t leave,” he stressed.
I held him by the shoulders and gazed steadily into his eyes. “It’s personal business. It won’t take me long, I swear. Robbie, have I ever let you down before?” I asked to no response. “Have I?”
His steel-blue eyes and fatherly concern were killing me. “Is this about that last-minute song you wrote?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Then go. Do what you have to do. I’ll see you in Philly by Friday at 10 a.m. Now…” He nudged me in the direction of the VIP lounge where an interviewer and photographer patiently waited outside. “Go. Do your interview then get the fuck out of here.”
*
I chartered a private plane to JFK so I wouldn’t have to deal with other passengers or take Nathan with me. It was faster, too. Finding out Abby’s Brooklyn address wasn’t easy. Robbie wouldn’t disclose it, thanks to her legal personal info rights. Her friend Rosemary wouldn’t talk to me at first, then she talked but said she wouldn’t disclose Abby’s address even if I was the pope himself from the Vatican. Apparently, that was just her way of making me suffer, because eventually, she told me how beautiful the new song was, gave me Abby’s address, and told me Abby loved sunflowers.
“Thanks for the tip.” I hugged her hard and was on my way.
It’d been years since I’d walked through Brooklyn. Vanessa’s uncle lived in Brooklyn, and we’d gone out one winter break to visit him. Our favorite place to eat that trip had been Yemen Cafe. We must have eaten there every day, so it was no wonder that the fond memories attacking me just now were all about food. I was starving by the time I reached Abby’s brownstone.
Hopping up the steps, I paused at apartment 3B and breathed in deep. I rang the doorbell and waited with sunflowers in hand.
“Hello?” a female voice said through the door.
“Hi, I’m a friend of Abby’s,” I said, bouncing on my feet.
The woman who answered the door could have been Abby’s older sister, but I didn’t remember her mentioning a sister. As far as I knew, she was an only child and lived with her mother. “She’s not here,” the woman said, reading my face, then eyeing the sunflowers. “She’s busy at the studio. Some people actually work hard for their money. You’re Liam?” She said this much the same way she might have said, “You are the spawn of Satan?”
“I am, ma’am.” I gave her my best smile, trying not to look like the no-good smartass she probably pegged me for. For years, people had wanted to interview me, pick my brain, hear me speak on any ridiculous subject, and for once, here I faced a woman who couldn’t care less what I had to say. From the look of it, she already
knew what I’d done to Abby and was about to crucify me for it. “Would you be able to give me the address to the studio? I won’t bother her long.”
She rested an elbow on the doorframe. She was small, thin, but every bit as beautiful as Abby. I could see how a difficult life might have hardened her a bit. “What do you want with my daughter?” Narrowed eyes shot invisible laser beams at me.
“I don’t want anything from her, Ms. Chan,” I said, twirling the flowers nervously. “It’s what I want to give her—everything.”
She assessed me up and down, and I’d liked to think that maybe she noticed something in my face that settled with her just fine. Giving me a sad expression, she said, “She’s working a wedding, but she’ll be by the studio afterwards. 316 5th Avenue. Third floor.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Abby
The thing about Pachelbel’s Canon in D was that, though it was a simple, elegant, harmonious piece of music, it was just about the only classical song, other than Mendelssohn’s Wedding March, Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, and Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5, that people could call by name. So it was one of the only song I was ever hired to play at weddings, and while I was sick and tired of playing it, it was an easy hundred and twenty-five bucks, and I could do it with my eyes closed.
Not anywhere near what I’d been making with Point Break, but money was money.
At a beach wedding on Long Island, the bride began her slow stroll with her father down the aisle, and though I normally never got emotional at clients’ weddings, suddenly all I wanted to do was cry. She gleamed, beautiful and happy, her father looking so proud and sad to be giving his daughter away, and all I could do was bite my lip to keep from losing it. Gigi, one of the three violinists, kept glancing over at me to make sure I was okay.
I’d probably never find love again, and if I did, I’d never have a father to walk me down the aisle. Some things just weren’t in the cards.
Playing chamber music had its pros and cons, and right now, a very big con was the lack of response from the attendees. We were invisible background music. No one looked at us. Well, except for one face among the rows of guests. For the week I’d been on tour, I’d gotten used to high listener response, roaring crowds, and seas of singing fans. It had been an awesome experience I never got to thank the L-named guy for. I’d probably never experience anything like that ever again. That was one thing about rock concerts—your audience sure made you feel like gods.
The last thing I expected at this froufrou wedding on the beach was for a young woman—a teen wearing a forties-inspired dress and a nose ring—to come up to me during cocktail hour and ask me if I was the same cellist from Point Break’s website and the online pics that had surfaced for a few days. I tried telling her no, same as I’d done with the girl on the plane, but she didn’t believe me.
“It has to be you. You look exactly like her. Besides, I watched you during the procession. You have a way of swaying with your cello that I recognized from the band’s online videos.”
“I do?” I was taken by surprise that I have a swaying thing. I did not know that.
“Yes. Oh, and did you hear that acoustic song that Liam Collier and Wesley Shaw played last night in Chicago? They had the whole place in tears. It was so very emotional.”
Who? I almost asked. I don’t know anyone by the name of Lie-am. “No, which song?” I’d heard them play every song in their set multiple times, and they didn’t have any acoustic pieces. “You mean Save Me Tonight?”
She shook her head. “Something new,” she said. “I’d never heard it before, but that’s typical of Liam Collier to just come up with fresh new songs while on tour and throw them into the mix. Anyway, the whole stadium stilled to listen then cheered at the end for like ten straight minutes. You can see it in the video.” She produced her phone from her small, thin purse. “Want me to play it for you?”
“No, that’s okay.” I wanted to shake this girl off. I didn’t want to hear about Point Break anymore, as nice as she was.
“Here. Listen.” She played it for me anyway, and I just wanted to crawl into a hole. She pushed her reddish, curly hair behind her ears while she held the phone horizontally for me so I could watch. I paused in filling my plate with fresh fruit to listen. The song sounded a lot like Serenade, and then I realized it right then—he’d done it on purpose.
The words stabbed my heart. And she’ll never see me again.
The song was about me.
I felt the hot buildup of tears. Damn it. Why did he have to go and write a song about me?
“What’s it called?” I whispered, my eyes glued to the shining, kneeling, singing punk cowboy pouring out his heart at center stage.
“I think it’s called Abby Shines. Cool title, but I don’t know what it means. Not sure who Abby is, but…” Suddenly, she stopped for a moment and gaped at me, mouth open, fingers touching her lips. “Ohhhhh.”
*
By the time I returned to the studio, I had cried all the tears I was going to cry. Enough of that. I had a job to do, an audition to prepare for. The last thing I needed was a cocky rock star drawing attention to himself at the expense of others all over again. I slammed into the studio, threw my purse on the ground, and ripped open my cello case. Flipping a seat around to face the window overlooking the city, I sank into the chair and threw my sheet music on my stand, even though I knew the piece by heart and could see the composition with my eyes closed.
How dare he use my melody, my notes from my piece to write his own music? Wasn’t there a law against that sort of thing?
But it was an homage to you, dumbass.
He wrote a song about me by using music that sounded like me and adding lyrics about me.
I admit it was romantic, and no, nobody had ever gone to such an extreme before to show me they loved me, but this was He Who Shall Not Be Named, a drama queen, and he could be acting. I was not falling for that again.
I was on fire tonight. Eyes closed, and feeling myself sway now that that girl had pointed it out, I felt Serenade come out of my soul, felt it the way you’re supposed to feel a piece such as this—with nothing less than passion, wild abandon, and borderline insanity. I thought my bow would burst into flames, as horse hair sprang and rosin flew into a cloud of dust.
Suddenly, a low voice joined my cello, startling me.
“She’ll do you in, she’s fiery as sin…”
His voice was like smooth, raw honey.
My stomach dived. He had come for me. I felt my body awaken in places that hadn’t felt alive since I was last with him. Damn it, how my body knew.
I didn’t stop to face him.
In a rage, I continued dragging my bow across the strings, finishing the piece to the very end, because damned if I was going to let him interrupt my life again. As the last note played out, echoing in the studio room, I felt his presence creeping closer. I turned half committedly. Out of the shadows of the foyer stepped a pair of dark brown boots. One thumb was hooked in a belt loop, his shirt half open, a light scarf around his neck. In his other hand were big, beautiful sunflowers.
I hated him.
“Hi, Abby. Sorry to surprise you.” What he gave me wasn’t really a smile so much as a regretful look, but it was going to take more than looking cute, a few flowers, and smelling amazing to convince me of anything.
“What are you doing here?” I turned, facing the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the street below.
“I only want to talk to you, love.”
Love? That was a new one. I wanted to snort. What I did was melt inside. But only for the brief seconds it took me to pull myself together. “Leave me alone. You’ve done enough.”
“I won’t take no for an answer.”
“Is that right?” I stood suddenly, slinging my bow across the room. It landed in my open case. “Well, you better start learning how. You don’t get everything you want, Liam Collier. You don’t get me.” My palm struck my own chest.
�
��I didn’t come to claim you. I only came to talk to you. Won’t you listen? That’s all I’m asking.”
My head dropped, my chest heaved. I sank into the chair and sighed. “I’m listening.”
His presence, his aura, his cloud of Liam-ness drifted closer until the familiar scent of his skin again filled my senses, torturing me. “Just hear me out.”
He crouched by my feet. I did not meet his eyes, kept my focus on his boots instead. His soft hand gently slid over mine. I fought the urge to fling him away.
“I’m sorry I hurt you. Giselle means nothing to me. I was trying to figure out how I felt, testing myself to see how much I loved you.”
“Well, I failed that test then, didn’t I?”
“No, you didn’t.” He clutched my hand tighter. Pulled me just a tiny bit closer. “That’s why I’m here.” His fingers lifted my chin, and for the first time in almost two weeks, I gazed into his light brown eyes. “I’m here because you mean everything to me. I haven’t stopped thinking about you. I’ll stop all shenanigans for you, I swear. They don’t mean anything now that you’re in my life.”
“I was in your life, Liam. Not anymore.” I yanked my hands out of his.
His eyebrows drooped at the corners. “Don’t say that, please.”
“Liam, you don’t understand,” I said. “I can’t cope with what I saw. I’m not built for it. How do I know it won’t happen again? I can’t always be looking over my shoulder, worried that someone prettier, sexier, with bigger boobs is going to come along to tempt you. I can’t do it.” My eyes squeezed shut, pressing out tears I hadn’t even known were brimming.
“I suspected I loved you before I ruined everything. I know it now. Without a doubt. I know we just met, but in just a few days, I felt a connection I’ve never felt in my life. I know we can make it together. You’re everything I’ve always wanted.”
No, it wasn’t possible. We were overtaken by emotions, infatuation. That was all. It felt like love, but it wasn’t. I would always be contending with other women and his lifestyle, the very subculture that had built him. A way of life that paid his bills. Who was I to come along and turn him into a good boy, betraying every fan who adored him for the wild man he was?
