by Dylan Allen
But they know what I stand for. I want to elevate the discussion of beauty beyond the fleeting and unimportant conversations focused on the way we look. I want to give people a reason to speak lovingly about themselves. And to find a way to share that however they can.
“You should, you’d rich,” he scolds me.
“Maybe one day,” I say noncommittally.
“My son might be coming to visit this weekend, I’d love to show him some of your stuff,” he says cheerfully and my heart pulls in sadness at the hope in his eyes.
“That would be amazing. But are you sure you want to spend part of your time with him looking at my little paintings?”
His dark eyes lose a bit of the sparkle, and he hums his disapproval.
“They’re not little, Beth. I wish I was famous so I could get some television cameras to come and show the world something good about humanity. You’re the best of it, my girl.”
I flush at the praise, it’s the kind he’s heaped on me since we met.
“So are you, Joe. And I can’t wait to meet your kid, I’ve got a good feeling about this trip,” I say and he smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“He’s going to love you, you’ll see.”
I wish he’d love you. I wink and say,“Well he better, since you and I are a package deal.”
“That’s right,” he grins.
Porsha works a lot. So I was always alone, at first anyway. I met him outside our building. A cab was dropping him off and I rushed to help him when I saw him struggling to get out.
He had a cast from his ankle to the middle of his thigh and crutches. I helped him into the building and he explained he’d just had a knee replacement surgery. It broke my heart to see him coming home all alone after something like that. I started checking on him a couple times a day.
When he complained about the grocery delivery service getting his order wrong, I took his list with me next time I went.
Somewhere between that and now, we became each other’s family. It was like we scented the loneliness in each other. Mine was by choice, his…I couldn’t tell exactly. He’s divorced and his wife and kid lived in Delaware. He’s talked about the kid coming to visit every weekend since I’ve known him, but it’s never happened.
He’s not quite old enough to be my father, but he hasn’t let that stop him from stepping into that role. He takes care of me because he can’t take care of his own kid.
I press a kiss to his one of his smooth dark brown cheeks.
“Okay, I gotta go, or I’ll be late,” I say and turn to hustle up the stairs before he can stop me again.
“The guys who sings that song you love, they made a video. Dropped it as a surprise - part of their tour announcement. They were on good morning America today and I caught it.”
My swallow is audible and I clear my throat to disguise that it’s a because I’m nervous. I haven’t told Joe about Carter. I can’t. I don’t think he’d understand.
“Blue Clover…saw them on Good Day New York just now. That lead singer looks a lot like that one man you’re always sketching,” he says knowingly.
I turn and start back up the stairs. “Hmmm, that’s a coincidence. But I know the song you mean. I do love it I didn’t know there was a video,” I say with a casual smile.
“The video is real interesting…” he drawls and leans against the doorframe of his apartment, a knowing smile on his face. I ignore it.
Porsha teased me about Carter in front of him last week. He hasn’t asked, but he’s been dropping hints like this ever since.
I keep pretending not to notice. Telling Porsha had been good in some ways, but in others…it had been the reliving of a painful past I was desperate to leave behind.
Not that I have much of a choice. He’s gotten on with his life. He’s famous. Like…really famous. He’s been linked to a few women, but I try my best to ignore that news and have resigned myself to wishing him well from afar.
And talking about this with Joe..holds zero appeal for me.
“Okay, I really gotta go. I’ll catch you later,” I call over my shoulder and run up the stairs as fast as my feet will carry me.
I didn’t really forget about the video going live today.
I couldn’t. Blue Clover is my secret obsession. I listen to that song on repeat all day at work. I watch all their interviews and I’ve been watching the YouTube highlights from their release tour.
He’s why I’m rushing today. I watched the clock all day, counting down the seconds until I could come home. I wanted to be alone the first time I watched it. Just in case I needed to cry or scream… or any other overreaction that I wouldn’t want anyone else to see.
I shoulder open the door of our apartment and even though I’m in a rush, I take a second to savor the slightly irrational swell of pride that I feel every time I come home.
It’s beautiful - with big windows that let in light all day long. I slip my shoes off before I step off the mat at our front door and drop them on the small rack I bought just last week. The newly renovated with honey blonde laminate wood floors are warm from the sun’s attention and still smell of the lemon cleaner I mix myself. Because I don’t pay rent or spend time with the man who does, cleaning is how I contribute. I love knowing that the sparkle in those windows wouldn’t be as brilliant if I didn’t put it there.
“Porsha?” I’m pretty sure she not home, but I listen for sounds from her bedroom and the bathroom we share before I walk any further.
She’s got an on again, off again “friend” with benefits who sometimes stays over. He’s walked out of the bathroom stark naked more than – to our mutual mortification. So, I’ve learned to give him fair warning when he’s not alone - for both of our sakes.
I drop my keys and the bag of groceries onto the stone countertop that more than pulls its weight by serving as as our dining table, cooking prep space, and Porsha’s desk. When I finally close my bedroom door, my heart is beating out of my chest.
I walk over to my bed, pull my phone out of my backpack and sit down.
I don’t know why I’m dragging this out, I’ve been waiting for this all day. But I know there will only be one first time that I get to see his first music video and I’m bursting with so many emotions.
Pride, mainly. Because the whole world is singing his song - our song, and it’s glorious.
My hands shake as I open my YouTube app and type in Blue Clover - Between Now and Heartbreak.
The thudding of my heart has turned into a drumbeat that reverberates through my entire body and my thumb trembles in time to it before it finally lands on the play button.
The video starts and my heart shoots off in my chest like a rocket.
It’s me…or at least a girl who looks like me - dancing in a black bathing suit, short hair, port wine stain and all - in front of a huge bonfire. The backdrop is a diamond crusted midnight sky that’s cloaks and shadows the girl as she dances by herself.
And then, a man who looks like Carter walks to her, reaching out as he approaches. Just before he gets to her, it starts to rain. Instead of running home like we did that night, they stay and dance.
The rain soaks them, but they don’t seem to notice. The move together, forehead to forehead, nose to nose as the music plays.
“Can I dance with you?
Cause they’re playing our song.
And baby, in my arms, is where you belong.
The perfect night, I lost my heart.
To the girl who gave me paradise.”
I can’t look away. It’s like watching my life play and not being able to take part.
He hugs her, and I ache from the absence of his arms.
They kiss, and my lips throb.
The scene goes dark in the middle of their kiss and I feel the loss of the visual keenly. But before I can mourn the loss, a new scene comes into focus, filling the screen with light.
It’s his band on stage in an open air arena with an audience that the dark has turned into a a rolli
ng sea of lighted phone screens
Blue Clover is spelling-binding. - all of them so different looking, but perfectly matched - in energy, talent, and passion and sex appeal. When you see them like this, it’s not hard to understand why they’re such a phenomenon.
And Carter is their gravitational center.
The spotlight shines down on him. He’s sitting at his signature blue piano. His tall, lean body moves like it’s an extension of it. He’s wearing a bomber jacket zipped up, jeans and the same adidas sneakers he wore every day of the three months we spent together. His hair is shorter now, dark curls clinging to his forehead.
His eyes are closed as he sings about love and heartbreak, forever and loss, always and never, and I can’t take my eyes off him.
He’s the star that shines brighter than all of the others in a sky full of light - the one that lights my path. The one that I am drawn to.
When the drum solo starts, he hops up from the piano and unzips his jacket. He whips it off and the crowd goes wild.
Their singing is louder than the band’s and Carter’s body moves like it’s synced to the wave of their excitement.
He dances with his eyes closed, his body, long, powerfully built, is lithe and loose. The blue t-shirt he’s wearing goes from dry to sweaty in a matter of seconds.
As the other instruments join the drums, he spins his jacket in the air over his head and then sends it flying into the audience, their screams are wild with elation and my tears have dried and I’m laughing as I watch the joy on his face as he grabs his mic and starts singing, “You’re a dream I never want to end. A love I’ll never forget.”
He sits back down, pounding the piano through the end of the song, singing with his head thrown back, his entire body covered in sweat, the veins in his neck strain as he pledges that he’ll take every chance for the love he’ll never stop needing.
I watch the whole thing twice, singing along - every word a reminder that what we had was real. The summer I spent with him inspired this music.
I hear strangers singing on the train, and in the aisle of my local grocery store. I’m hopelessly caught up in the world I’ve created in my mind. In it, we’re together.
My alarm, the one I set before I came home goes off and I put my phone down, drained and energized at the same time and start to get ready for my first day at my new job. I strip and I know it’s wrong, but when my hands skim the sensitive spots on my body, I imagine they’re Carter’s.
I don’t know what it means that all I’ve done with the time I’ve had on my own is fall deeper into a cycle of longing followed by shame.
I slather lotion on my shower damp skin, I brush the thin silver bangles on my wrist and remind myself that in the three months since I left Winsome, I’ve found so much to be proud of.
These bracelets are the symbols of my emancipation. They’re the only non-essential purchase I’ve let myself make. On the last day of every month that I’ve lived my own terms, I add another one to my wrist.
When I get to twelve, I’m going to do something really special to celebrate. Maybe, another tattoo.
I run my fingers over the one on my ribs “Between Now and Always, I will Love him.”
I got it on the first anniversary of my Year One - the birthday that Carter bestowed on me.
I was desperate with pain and longing and I just wanted to be with him. I spent the whole day praying he’d call and knowing he wouldn’t. When Dina called, I asked her if she could drive me to Austin, she hadn’t asked why. She’d just come.
My heart squeezes at the thought of Dina. She’s the only person I’ve called. She hasn’t answered her phone. She hasn’t returned my calls. I check her Facebook every once in a while and see her posting pictures of whatever she’s eating so, I know she’s alive.
I know leaving the way I did without saying goodbye was callous and I guess that’s why she’s mad at me. I hope she’ll forgive me one day and call me back.
I’ve only talked to Phil once, on Cameron’s birthday two months ago. He didn’t ask where I was. All he said was, “Having fun? Living free?” And I responded with a simple “yes.”
He’d made good on his promise and has yet to call me. I figure no news is good news. But, I’m antsy and anxious to know what, if anything, he’s learned about my father and Duke.
I follow Fiona on social media and so I know Cameron’s doing great.
Duke was cut loose by my father and his after the debacle at our wedding. His family’s social media accounts don’t mention him. All mentions of his name were removed, without ceremony, from the Wolfe Construction website. I have no idea where he’s living.
I play Between Now and Heartbreak on repeat while I get dressed and even though I’m putting on the black uniform they issued this morning, I feel like the most special person in the world when I hurry down the steps and hear a woman walk by singing “A girl with stars in her eyes and fire in her blood.”
It’s after one o’clock in the morning when I leave the event I worked and I’m checking my account balance before I order my Uber.
Home by Phillip Phillips starts to play suddenly and my backpack starts to vibrate.
It’s the ringtone I assigned to Phil’s number.
His “I’ll only call in case of emergency,“ replays like an incantation in my head.
Panic makes me clumsy when I dig to the bottom of my backpack for the phone. I drop it twice before I finally manage to pull it out. I sit, afraid my legs won’t support me and hit the green accept button.
Road noise - the loud rumble of tires turning fast on asphalt fills my ear.
“Phil, what’s wrong? “I ask without waiting for him to speak,
“I found the will. It’s all a lie. The money is yours, it’s all yours. The whole fucking thing was a lie.” The anguish in his voice is scathing. I don’t understand what he’s talking about or who he’s angry with.
“What was a lie?” I ask. Fear creeps into my heart before he even answers.
“I mean, the day you turned twenty-one, you became the richest woman in Texas,” he says distraught.
“Me? How?” I gasp.
“The myth about the Wolfe brothers is a lie his father started. It wasn’t eight brothers. It was seven brothers and one sister. She started Wolfe construction by herself. She made this family rich. And then, they tried to steal it from her by hiring someone to pretend to love her. She almost married him, but found out the plan. She disinherited him, and wrote that will. That money can’t be inherited by any who’s not a woman and who marries before she’s 21. Or dies before she’s 25. Either of those things happen, and the money stays in the family coffers for the use of the business. You’re the first daughter in the four generations of Wolfe women who hasn’t married before 21.”
I stop in my tracks.
“Phil…what does that mean?”
He’s silent, and for a full minute the only reason I know he’s there is the road noise that fills the silence.
“Don’t even think about coming back here. Not until you hear he’s dead or in jail. I mean it. The only way he can get that money is to hurt you. Lay low. I love you.” And then, he hangs up.
Uninvited and Troubled.
CARTER
“I’m going to take this on the balcony,” I call over my shoulder to Giselle and head outside without waiting for her to respond.
I slip my ear buds in and answer Phil’s FaceTime call.
“Hey man.”
“You look like shit,” he quips and then yawns.
“You don’t look so hot yourself,” I shoot back.
“I’ve been on my feet at the restaurant since 5 am, what’s your excuse?” he runs a hand over his face.
“Uh- record promo tour. Three months of nonstop traveling. We just got back to New York last night.”
I don’t add that a nightmare showed up on my doorstep two hours ago.
I sigh and drop into one of the lounge chairs I keep on my balcony.
&nb
sp; It’s frigid, but after the hour I spent with Giselle, it’s a relief to have an excuse to put some space between us.
“Last night? Shit you must be tired. Saw your video today though. Amazing. World tour, huh?”
“Yup. We’re excited, but I’ve got a lot of shit to deal with between now and then.”
“Well, I’m about to add to your list, I need a favor.”
I stifle a groan and nod, “Shoot.”
“I think the only way we’re going to find out what we need to know is to go see Susan Kendicott.”
My heart stops for a second and I let out a low groan.
“No way, man. I can’t do that,” I say.
“Carter, it’s the only way,” Phil’s voice is flat but his eyes are full of conviction. He’s been working to uncover he what calls “skeletons” in Drew Wolfe’s closet. We talk once a week, and last week he found something that seemed promising.
“It can’t be the only way. What about the fraud and stuff you found?” I push back.
“It’s not enough. The shareholders will circle the wagons around him.”
“They can’t shield him if he’s been embezzling money. It’s a crime, if you have proof, they’ll have to arrest him.” I insist.
He lets out an exasperated snort.
“Carter, men like him…unless they pull a Madoff sized heist, they don’t go to jail. And if they do, it’s a Club Fed where they live like they’re on vacation, pay a fine, and then come home. In six months, he’ll be free, be pissed and out for blood. The only way to neutralize him is to take him down with something he can’t get away with. My sisters won’t be safe from him until that happens.”
My stomach knots. Phil isn’t sure where Beth is and he doesn’t seem worried. He says she knows how to reach if she needs him.
I wish I could say the same. I check all of my mailboxes these days. I know she said she wanted to be on her own for a while, but it’s been six months since she left Winsome and she hasn’t been in touch once.
What if she never gets in touch again? I shake that nightmare thought away and focus back on what Phil is saying.
