by Laura Carter
‘Dad?’ she called, moving inside the dated terrace. ‘Jimmy?’
By habit, she flicked through the mail she picked up from the floor to make sure there was nothing Jimmy wasn’t on top of. She ran her finger along the stair rail, checking for dust as she kicked off her sandshoes and headed along the hallway toward the kitchen, dipping her head into the lounge – no sign of Jimmy – and the dining room – no sign of Jimmy.
The kitchen had been in worse shape. The countertops were cluttered with things that hadn’t been put away – a loaf of bread, a chopping board and knife, a block of cheese. Dishes were scattered around the sink, unwashed.
Instinctively, she started to run the hot tap and fill the sink with soapy water. Admittedly, she had seen the place in a shoddier state than this. The superficial mess aside, the place seemed clean enough and the walls looked like they had enjoyed a refresh of pale yellow paint.
The toilet chain flushed upstairs, then Jimmy appeared in his usual attire – stonewash jeans and a lumberjack-style shirt.
‘You don’t have to clean those,’ he said, putting away the food items from the side. ‘I thought we could have coffee in the yard, since the weather’s good for it.’
Coffee. Just the mention of it made that sickly feeling come back. ‘I’m off coffee but I’ll take tea.’
Jimmy set about making tea as Andrea finished up the dishes and they settled into the small yard, sitting around an old rickety table and chairs.
‘New parasol?’ Andrea asked, noting the replacement for the rusty green and white striped version that had adorned the table for the last decade.
‘The old one wouldn’t open so it left me no choice.’
Andrea smiled behind her cup of tea. Jimmy hated parting with things. He was a stickler for habits, just like Sofia. Which, incidentally, was the reason she had made the trip out to her dad.
‘So, you’re working back at the studio,’ Andrea said, moving directly to the point of her visit.
‘I’m helping out, yeah. It’s not like I had much of a choice,’ Jimmy said.
Andrea scoffed. ‘Great, let’s start with a dig about me moving to XM Music Group, huh?’ Would he ever let it drop?
Jimmy scratched his head and visibly lowered his shoulders from around his ears, making Andrea realise that she, too, had been uptight. ‘Let’s not fight, Andi.’
‘Then let’s not make smart remarks at each other, Dad.’
‘Deal. It was a shot and I apologise for it.’
Andrea nodded her acceptance. ‘So Jay is what, drinking, taking drugs, both?’
‘I think both. You know what Sofia is like, she won’t badmouth him. I take what she says, add a multiplier and think I’ll come close to the truth. What I do know is that they’re in a bad way. Jay is definitely back to drinking and god knows what else.’
‘And the bruise on her eye?’
Jimmy shrugged. ‘She says it was an accident, cleaning up milk or suchlike.’
‘She told me the same story. Do you believe it?’
Jimmy sipped his coffee and squinted as he raised his face to the direction of the sun. ‘Whether I do or don’t, I could believe that he’d hurt her. He’s a piece of work, whether he’s drinking or not. The way he speaks to my girl…’
And it came to her, tumbling like black thunder clouds rolling down a hill, her being a little girl stuck at the bottom, waiting to be hit. Guilt.
Sofia was her little sister. The one person she was supposed to protect and she’d walked out on her and Sanfia Records to go to XM Music Group. It had been as much about giving Jay and Sofia a shot at making things work between them as an advancement of Andrea’s career, but had she done the right thing? Was a chance to work what Sofia had really needed, or had she needed to see that Jay was a manipulative leech, whether he was on a bender or not?
‘I tried to tell her a thousand times, Dad. He was bad news when she first met him and I told her that. I told her before she got married but she thought I was… jealous.’ She scoffed. ‘Sofia wants the fairy tale – the career, the husband, kids. If Jay is her fairy tale, it’s her choice. She’s stubborn as an ox.’
No, she couldn’t keep feeling guilty about her move. If she had her way, Andrea would still be producing, even if that meant for less money. The reality was, Sofia wanted to fend for herself. She wanted to build a life with Jay, start a family. And Andrea and Jay just couldn’t get along. She left Sanfia Records to give them a chance at being happy and to salvage her relationship with her sister. Not that anyone else, Jimmy included, saw the move in that way.
‘Yeah, well, she married him and she’s loyal to the bone,’ Jimmy said.
She’s loyal. ‘God, you’re incredible. You see nothing but her, do you? She did marry him, Dad, and she is loyal.’ Andrea stood, anger making her legs lively. ‘But, you know, maybe she’s loyal to a drunk because she never had to see what living with one is like. How… How soul-destroying it is to see your own father stumbling home, fumbling with his keys in the lock, bouncing off walls, bringing women home to screw them in the lounge. Maybe she doesn’t know because she was kept locked in her bedroom, in a crib or wrapped in a duvet, with the sound of her mom’s music playing her to sleep through the stereo.
‘I have done everything my whole life for her and for you, yet you throw the one thing in my face that you don’t like. Yes, I left Sanfia. Yes, I’ve left my sister with a drunk. But he was an asshole with or without the drink and she wants to be there. She chose that life.’
Feeling her eyes sting, Andrea walked to the bottom of the yard, where she instantly felt shitty about calling out her dad on those years after their mom died. He got sober, for them, that was what she had to remember. In his shoes, if she had lost the love of her life, how would she have reacted? She didn’t know and she would never let herself be in that position to find out.
She sensed Jimmy come up behind her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
She took a breath. ‘Me too.’
Both facing each other they said more in the way they looked at each other than either of them could say in words. He was her father. He had done his best in a shitty situation.
‘I don’t know how to help her if she won’t leave him, Dad.’
‘Nor do I. Thing is, the sicker he gets, the more Sofia will feel an obligation to stay with him.’
Andrea thought about that statement and the truth of it. Their mom had died slowly, with Jimmy by her side, caring for her. Those were the things Sofia committed to her memory, not the long months that followed the funeral, or the turbulent years that followed their move north.
‘We have to help him,’ Jimmy said. ‘We’ll help get him clean.’
Reluctantly, Andrea agreed. ‘But if he’s clean again, she’ll stay. He’ll continue battering down her confidence, changing her and trying to make her change the business. It’ll be like rinse and repeat.’ What Sofia needed was a real out. A real split. A clean break.
‘I got clean and stayed clean,’ Jimmy said.
‘You had two girls at home and you were never a shitty person to begin with, Dad. You just… had it tough for a while.’
‘I really am sorry for everything I put onto you, Andi.’
She wanted to say that it was fine but the words wouldn’t come. ‘Why don’t you talk to Jay? Man-to-man, from someone who…’
‘Has walked a mile in those shoes? It’s okay, it’s true. I think maybe you’re right and I’ll try it. I don’t think he’s in a frame of mind to listen but I’ll try it.’
‘Sofia could do with a break from him. Maybe she could see what life would be like otherwise. Maybe that’s a good thing, maybe not, but it would give her some perspective either way. I know of some clinics that aren’t crazy expensive. If you can get him to agree, and I doubt whether you can, I’ll look into it. If insurance doesn’t cover it…’
Jimmy held up a hand to stop her. ‘If insurance doesn’t cover it, I’ll find a way.’
&nb
sp; Though she had every intention of revisiting that conversation if, or when, the time came, for now, she understood that Jimmy needed to wear the situation himself.
* * *
By the time she sat back down on the train to return to the city, Andrea felt drained. They had a plan now. Stage one was up to Jimmy. If anyone could reason with an alcoholic, it was a recovering alcoholic. Stage two was on her and if she had a chance of making it work, it was when Jay was in recovery. For now, she would keep it to herself. Ultimately, she could free Sofia once and for all. With near certainty, she would cause a rift between her and her sister that might never be resolved.
She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes, just for a moment, and she saw her mom. Her long brown waves of hair. Her fiercely green eyes. The hippie dresses and cowboy boots she used to wear. The way she would sing Andrea to sleep, stroking her temple. The memory was like a blanket wrapping around her, warming her, comforting her, making her feel as if she wasn’t alone.
‘The next stop will be Penn Station,’ she driver announced over the tannoy, interrupting her thoughts.
She was back on a dirty train, alone. On the fringe of making a rift between her and her sister even bigger, having dredged up the past with her father, she and her best friend in the world barely tolerating each other, having slept with her other friend’s dad for six months. For so long, she had tried to be all the things to all the people who needed her, and now, she had managed to shatter every relationship that mattered she found herself wondering…
* * *
‘What’s the point? If I’m not the mother-cum-big-sister. If I’m not the best friend who pays over the odds for a PA to help her out. If I’m not the friend who isn’t romping with your father and tries to rationalise your crazy thoughts. If I’m not the daughter who just sucks it up and I’m no longer the award-winning producer because I’m sitting behind a desk looking over financial statements. Then who the hell am I?’
Tommy’s lips turned up as he popped the ring on a club soda and set the can down on the countertop in front of Andrea, where she was sitting perched on a stool, with Rocky ‘the rock star’ at her feet.
‘What are you smiling at?’ she asked.
‘The fact you’re a hot mess,’ he said, his voice decorated in good humour and somehow enough to make Andrea smile too.
‘Gee, thanks. Aren’t I glad I turned up at your door? The sympathetic ear.’
Tommy took up a stool on the opposite side of his kitchen island. His hair was dishevelled, he was dressed in a plain black T-shirt and ripped jeans and he had nothing on his feet. He looked perfectly normal and perfectly edible.
‘I am,’ he said. ‘It’s nice to know that other people get lost sometimes, selfishly. How do you think I got here, taking some time off the road, going back to grass roots and pouring it all out into lyrics? Sometimes, being all things to all people is exhausting. It’s too easy to forget who we really are.’
Andrea turned her can on the worktop. ‘You know what terrifies me more than any of it?’
‘That without being all those things, you don’t actually know who you really are?’
She shifted her attention from the can to Tommy, wondering if he had spoken those words or if she had. She watched his pupils slowly dilate and her gaze dropped to his lips, the lips that kissed her so well.
‘So, you really don’t drink in daylight hours,’ she said, distracting herself from the urge to cross the island between them and fall into his arms, get lost in him, lose herself and her mind, the way he could make her do.
‘No. Not any more.’ He stood up and busied himself opening cupboards and the refrigerator. Suddenly, Andrea wondered what on earth she had been thinking coming here. Why had she called him from the train station after three weeks of avoiding his calls?
She stood. ‘I’m sorry, Tommy, I shouldn’t have come here like this. You don’t want to listen to me whine about my life. I’m not even one to moan, usually. I don’t know why I—’
‘Would you just sit your ass down and stop fretting about everything?’ He stared at her until she took her seat back on the stool. ‘I think I have everything to make a club sandwich. Are you in?’
‘Yeah, I’m in,’ she said, her mouth breaking into a smile as he turned his back to her and started pressing random buttons on the oven. ‘Need any help there, sparky?’
‘It’s an oven. How hard can it be?’ He continued to press buttons, turning lights on and off.
Andrea moved to his side and turned on the grill. ‘I assume it’s for chicken?’
His eyes narrowed and he rolled his chiselled jaw. ‘Smart ass.’
They made two impeccable club sandwiches, side-by-side, then ate them at the kitchen worktop, talking about where in the world had the craziest fans – Japan – and which was Tommy’s best-ever gig – the Super Bowl. They talked about NFL and Tom Brady’s retirement. About the Yankees and the last ball game they had been to. They talked about everything and nothing of consequence and it was the best time Andrea had had in a while. No burdens. No arguments. No pressures.
After lunch, they went to Tommy’s music room – a spare bedroom he had sound-proofed – that played host to no less than seven guitars on stands and a baby grand piano.
She noticed sheets of paper strewn across a side table, scribbled with words and a pen sitting on top of them. ‘Are you in the middle of something?’ she asked.
‘I was when you booty-called me earlier.’ He picked up a six-string acoustic and sat on a music stool. ‘It’s called, the only woman who ever walks out on me. Repeatedly.’
Andrea covered her mouth to stifle her chuckle but when he winked, she couldn’t hide her laugh. ‘I did not booty-call you.’
‘But you do leave me after you use my body for sex. Every time.’
She straddled the piano seat, facing him. ‘A girl’s gotta keep a guy on his toes.’
‘You certainly do that when I’m running after you.’
‘Why are you doing that?’
He started to strum. Andrea watched his fingers move over a D7 chord, a G, then A minor. A classic combination.
‘Why am I running after you?’ He shrugged and chuckled then sobered quickly. ‘Because having women fall at your feet, waiting for you to invite them to speak and when they do speak, having nothing to say except nonsense about how they can’t believe they’re screwing Tommy Dawson, gets old.’ He started to finger-pick a tune. ‘I say that knowing how arrogant it sounds.’
‘At least you know. That makes it semi-redeemable. I think referring to yourself in the third person was a real low point.’
‘Well…’ He slipped back to a four-beat strum. ‘I also, backhandedly, called you interesting and smart.’
He started to sing…
‘Let ’em talk ’bout what they think they see
Let ’em talk ’bout how they see us be
’Cause baby, we got nothin’ to prove
The world is yours and mine, you and me
We earned our scars and put in our time
Let ’em show, for everyone to see
Babe, I’m gonna love you anyway’
Then, as he continued to play, Andrea picked up a guitar and following his sequence, picking up his rhythm, she played in harmony as he continued to sing.
‘You should key change there,’ she said, ‘right after the second verse. Play it out and let the story sink in. Try this.’ She strummed a key-changing chord progression.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Tommy said, picking up again, improvising with a hum in place of lyrics. ‘I like it.’
They played and sang and wrote, lost in a bubble, where no one could reach them. All the while, Rocky the dog laid on the floor, listening. Andrea fell in love, with the idea of a home, with a dog, and a husband who didn’t want to take from her, who wanted to be a team. With the idea of making music for the rest of her life with a man she respected and admired.
And when she realised that, she hun
g her guitar back in its stand. Because things didn’t last. People didn’t stay. Love didn’t last. When it died, it hurt. It hurt so fucking much.
‘I should go.’ She pushed her hands into her pockets, suddenly not sure what to do with them. ‘I’ll see myself out. Thanks, ah, for today. I, ah, bye. Bye Rocky.’
She broke free of the music room and almost ran for the door of the apartment, stopping to pull on her shoes.
‘What are you so afraid of?’ Tommy’s voice was calm and controlled and too close behind her.
She turned to him. ‘Who said I was afraid?’
‘You did. Every time you leave. Every time you catch yourself smiling and force yourself to stop.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m not afraid. The fact is, Tommy, we… We have great sex but that’s… That’s all it is.’ She looked to her toes, feeling vulnerable, fragile. She hated it. ‘Look, you’re… you. And I’m… me.’
He stepped toward her, bringing a hand to her cheek. She felt the nubs of his fingers, warm from guitar strings. She felt the heat of his palm against her cheek.
Why had she come here? What had she been thinking when she made that call? Why was it that he was the one person she seemed to be able to be herself with, or at least have a shot at working out who herself really was?
She felt his lips press against her closed eyelids and she felt her body melting into his hold. ‘Stay,’ he whispered. ‘Stay now and wake up here tomorrow.’
His lips met hers – slowly, tentatively. ‘Stay,’ he said again.
‘I can’t.’
He kissed her again, kissing away her conviction. ‘Stay.’
‘I can’t.’
But his next kiss took away her fears.
She opened her eyes to find his bright blue irises full of strength, hope, heat. She took his lip between her teeth and tugged, then his hands were in her hair, gripping as he devoured her mouth with his, holding on as if he’d never let go.
Every reason she had not to be there, in that moment, in his arms, disappeared. All she wanted was to feel his skin against hers, for him to fill her, consume her.
