Lowdown and Lush Page 13

  “You’re not her, Mike. You’re never going to be her,” he answers softly, looking up at me with such sadness in his eyes that my fucking chest cracks open just a fraction.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “No,” he concedes. “I don’t. But I do know this. Even after all those painful years, I would have married her all over again. I wouldn’t undo any of it, son.”

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I scoff.

  “No, I’m not. I wouldn’t take any of it back. Not even that night.”

  My heart beats faster, and I feel a rush of nausea as memories come sliding into my consciousness.

  “I wouldn’t take any of it back because it got me you.”

  I can’t breathe, and my legs and arms are cramping.

  “I love you that much, Mike. I wouldn’t want a life without you. Ever. No matter what.”

  “I have to go,” I blurt out.

  He looks at me, that sadness still oozing from his face. “It’s okay,” he tells me. “But you need to know that there’s someone else out there—maybe even this Jenny girl—who will love you just as much as I do. Someone who will take the risk of who you are. That’s what love is, and you have just as much right to it as anyone else.”

  I’m halfway to the front door before I remember to say something back.

  “I’ll call you later, Dad. From the studio.”

  He nods and gives me a small smile. “You do that. I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Jenny

  IT’S FRIDAY, and JR is in Portland. I haven’t seen him yet, but he’s texted and Tammy and Walsh have invited us over for dinner tonight. I’m struggling with what I know I should do and what I really want to do. I want to go to Michael, throw myself on his big, hard chest, and beg him to love me back. Because, yes, I think this must be love. And it’s the pits.

  But what Tammy and Mel are both telling me I have to do is give JR a chance. And I have been. JR and I have been on half a dozen dates. We’ve shared some goodnight kisses and talked on the phone lots of times. He’s a great guy. A nice guy, a good guy, the kind of guy my parents would love for me to be with. A guy my parents would take me back for. But not the guy I want.

  I sit on the sofa at Studio B, quietly strumming my guitar and waiting for Michael to get here, these thoughts tumbling through my head. I need to concentrate on the music, the reason I’m here, but I can’t. All I can see, think, or feel is Michael, and I’m wondering, not for the first time, if it was a huge mistake to come here after all.

  Like a magnet drawn to its polar opposite, I can feel it when he enters the room even though he’s nearly silent when he does it. I stop plucking the guitar strings and sit with my head down, listening to the thrumming that’s inside me instead—that insistent thump, thump, thump that picks up pace and grows louder each time Michael is within a block of me. I feel like a set of drums that only he can play, sitting useless and awkward until he walks in, magic in his hands, and brings me to life again.

  I hear his breath as he leans down near my ear.

  “Good morning, Sunshine.”

  I lift my head to look into his eyes, resisting the urge to reach up and push one of his unruly, dark curls off his forehead. He doesn’t pull back as much as he should and we’re there, face to face, our breath fanning across each other’s cheeks.

  I try to remember that I need to say something, but I’m not sure what I can tell him that won’t come out sounding a whole lot like, “Please.”

  “Hi,” I finally manage.

  He stands straight before walking around the end of the sofa and sitting down by me. Not too close, but not far enough either.

  “You been here long?” he asks as he takes the guitar from my hands and plucks the strings.

  “About thirty minutes. I just wanted to think about the chorus on the third song a bit before we started it.”

  He plays an old Eric Clapton song, “Wonderful Tonight,” and I feel my heart melt into a sticky puddle inside my chest.

  “Sorry. I should have been here sooner,” he says, not really looking at me.

  “It’s fine. You said nine. It’s only eight forty-five right now anyway. How’s your dad?

  He keeps playing the song and I can hear the words even though no one’s singing them right now.

  “He’s, um… Well, physically he’s fine, but I’m not so sure about the rest.”

  “Is he depressed? I’ve heard that happens a lot to cardiac patients…” My voice trails off as I realize I sound like either a nerd who studies medical journals for fun or a stalker whose been reading up on his dad’s condition. It’s the second one, in case that wasn’t obvious.

  Michael looks at me with an eyebrow raised but doesn’t address my faux pas. “Yeah, the doctors told me that, but surprisingly, he’s not depressed at all from what I can tell. Maybe a little frustrated at having his favorite foods taken away, but all in all, he’s cheerful. A little too cheerful really.”

  He seems agitated as he discusses it, and I can’t help but wonder what he means. But I don’t ask and he changes the subject quickly.

  “Are you ready to go through the first three with me?” he asks, referring to the songs we’re going to record today.

  “I think so. Is the engineer coming?”

  “Yeah. Sonny’ll be here in just a few minutes. He’s great. Worked on As Lush As It Gets for us, and he’s doing some of Joss’s solo stuff too.”

  “Well, then, I guess I’m in good hands.”

  “Sunshine,” he smirks as he stands and walks to the door. “You’re always in good hands with me.”

  I roll my eyes just as the sound engineer, Sonny, walks in and shakes Michael’s hand. Once all the introductions are made, we get down to business.

  I’ve never recorded my music before other than on my iPhone to listen to myself when I’m practicing. As we settle in the recording booth, with headphones on and microphones set up, I’m nervous.

  As if sensing my anxiety, Michael comes and stands in front of me, gently taking off the headphones and letting them wrap around my neck. He puts his big hands on my shoulders and squeezes. My heart beats harder and louder, my breath coming in short huffs.

  “Hey,” he says so softly it’s almost a whisper. “Don’t worry about the equipment or Sonny in the booth. This is just you and me playing together like we have a hundred times, and if any of it is worth recording, Sonny will do that. If not, no big deal. We have as much time as you need and we can do as many takes as necessary until we come up with the perfect sound.”

  I breathe deeply, feeling like I haven’t taken in any oxygen in a few minutes. “Okay. Just you and me playing music, huh?”

  “Yep. Sunshine and Michael. That’s all.”

  I nod. “Let’s do it then.”

  “That’s my girl,” he says as he gives a thumbs-up to Sonny through the glass.

  What I wouldn’t give to actually be Michael’s girl, I think as I place the headphones back over my ears and give myself over to the music.

  MICHAEL IS caressing my leg, his warm, rough hand making every nerve ending on my body stand up and cheer. His hand creeps up, his finger sliding underneath the hem of my shorts. I sigh and wiggle, wanting him to go higher, farther, faster. I arch into his touch, my nipples tightening and my breasts aching to have hands on them—his hands.

  “Sunshine.” His deep voice rumbles through me and I moan. “It’s time to wake up.”

  I feel his thumb brush across my bottom lip and I open to him, taking him into my mouth. I run my tongue across the fleshy pad, which tastes salty and faintly metallic from the guitar strings he’s been strumming.

  I hear his intake of breath before he says, “Jesus.” His palm cups my cheek and then he’s leaning down. His scruff brushes against my face as I hear him rasp out, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

  Somewhere in another part of my mind, I know this isn’t real, somehow shouldn’t be happening, but right now, I don’t ca
re. I keep my eyes closed because I don’t want to discover that it’s all a dream. I reach for him, letting my hands travel the length of his corded forearms, then up past his bulging biceps and around his broad shoulders.

  His breath is coming hard and fast, and I turn my head, trading his thumb against me for his mouth. His lips are hot and slick, and I can taste the Coke he was drinking earlier on them.

  “More,” I gasp out as he squeezes my thigh.

  His lips float across mine, and before I know it, his hand has dug into my hair and his tongue is in my mouth. I press my leg against his hip that’s resting next to me on the sofa. I still haven’t opened my eyes, too afraid to see that look again—the look he gave me the night he took my virginity.

  But I feel him. On my skin, around my heart, inside my soul. I feel his breath and his touch and his heartbeat. I feel his anguish and his pent-up frustrations, and I feel his fear. Then it’s all burned away by the desire, the raw, animal desire, that courses through both of us. His kiss is searing, setting my whole core on fire. It’s primal, the way he makes me feel, and as his hand moves around to stroke the petal-soft skin on the inside of my thigh, I move against him with a moan that sounds desperate and wild.

  I arch into him as much as I can, and he drives his tongue into my mouth in a frenzy, licking, sucking, moaning into me. Then, as if some sort of universal force is conspiring against us, I hear a distant ringing noise. It gets louder, and I hear Michael breathe out, “Oh fuck!” as he moves away from me.

  I want him back, and I mutter, “Wait,” as I shift on the sofa, seeking his warmth and solid mass.

  But I feel nothing but the bad springs digging into my back. Then I hear Michael’s voice saying, “Yeah, hey. No, we’re just finishing up here.”

  I open my eyes to find Michael standing a few feet from the sofa, his back to me, one hand holding the phone and the other shoved in his pocket, his hand fisted in the denim.

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll tell her. Thanks, man. See you in a bit.”

  I sit up just as he ends the call. My body and my mind are spinning, so much desire and anxiety and hope funneling through me that I can’t capture any one emotion.

  Michael shoves the phone back in his pocket and I see the tension in his shoulders as he hesitates before turning to face me.

  “Hi,” I say, my voice quivering and my cheeks burning.

  “Um…” He scratches his head like he does when he’s nervous about something. “Hi. I uh… We… That wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m sorry. You fell asleep while I was doing those final run-throughs with Sonny, and when I went to wake you up… I swear I don’t normally take advantage of sleeping women, Jenny. Please forgive me.”

  He looks up at me now, his expression tortured, his eyes pleading. But he doesn’t need to beg my forgiveness. I might have thought I was dreaming when it started, but I knew what I was doing. I encouraged him. Because I wanted it to be real. And now, I can see the regret plastered all over his face again. Just like the night I tried to have sex with him. When will I get it through my stupid, naïve head? Michael might respond to me because I’m female, but he doesn’t want me. Not really. And he always regrets touching me.

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” I say with false brightness. “I was groggy. I thought you were JR.”

  The minute the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. The pain in his eyes is so deep and so complete that I know my knife has hit its mark better than I ever intended. Why? Why did I lash out like that? I stand, wrapping my arms around my middle.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

  “No,” he says firmly. “No, it’s fine. I understand, and don’t worry. I won’t say anything to him. It was a mistake. For both of us.” He gazes at me and I can see longing in his eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by a mask of indifference.

  “Who was on the phone?” I ask, trying to restore normalcy to the room.

  “Walsh,” he says, his voice rough and his eyes on the floor. “He, uh, wondered when we’d be coming for dinner. I guess Mel and Joss will be there too.”

  “Well, are you ready?”

  “Yeah. We’re all done here for today. Sonny will be back Monday and we can lay down another.”

  “Okay. Then I guess I’ll meet you at Walsh and Tammy’s?”

  “Yep. See you in a bit.”

  He walks out of the studio, leaving me alone and colder than I’ve ever been in my life.

  Mike

  WHEN I arrive at Walsh and Tammy’s, the party’s in full swing. I stopped off to make sure my dad had something healthy for dinner—and also to stall. Walsh was clear that JR would be here tonight and that, if I caused trouble, Tammy would throw my ass out with the garbage—her words, not Walsh’s. Pregnancy hasn’t made her any sweeter.

  I can hear noise from the backyard as I walk up Walsh’s front walk. Joss’s Jag is parked in the circular driveway along with Tammy’s Volvo SUV and Walsh’s pickup truck. He and I both gained a love of trucks in Texas. I’m driving my dad’s 2010 Ford Explorer. It’s a piece of crap, but it runs, and since he’s not using it, I’d feel stupid renting something while I’m here. I see a sleek, black BMW convertible in the drive as well. It has to be JR’s since Jenny’s been driving Tammy’s old Mercedes.

  The thought of the things he and Jenny might do in that BMW makes me ill.

  When she told me that she thought I was him today, I felt something inside me shrivel up and die. Does she really respond to him that way? Press her pretty body against his, breathing heavily, nipples hard, skin flushed? It gives me a semi just thinking about how she looked on that sofa in the studio. That it might have had nothing to do with me is the most humbling thing I’ve ever felt.

  I skip the front door and walk around the side of the property, passing rows of raspberry and blackberry bushes as I make my way to the backyard. I turn the corner and stop for a moment, watching the scene in front of me with a sadness that is bone deep and soul crushing.

  Tammy, Walsh, Mel, Joss, Jenny, and JR are sitting at a large outdoor table on the flagstone patio. The huge wooden slab is covered in brightly colored ceramic dishes—platters of pasta, bowls of fruit and salad, different cheeses, breads, and sauces. Tammy’s from a good Italian family, and it looks like she’s gone all out tonight. It’s a beautiful table full of beautiful people. People with good hearts, whole minds, and pure souls. These aren’t my people, and as much as I wish they were, I know they never will be.

  But they are Jenny’s people, and I am so thankful that she has them.

  I watch as she laughs at something JR is whispering to her. Her face is glowing, her hair shining in the early evening sunset. She and JR look like a magazine ad. The kind of couple people write love songs about, watch movies to see, and read books to swoon over.

  I watch the scene, destroyed from the inside out, thinking that I should just leave. Let these people, who I love more than anything in the world, have their perfect lives and their shiny futures without me sullying them. But before I can move, I hear Walsh shouting, “Hey! Look who finally showed. Mike, man, get your ass over here.”

  I sigh and paste on a smile—at least I hope that’s what it looks like. “Hey, man. What’s for dinner?” I call out with a wave as I make my way up the steps onto the patio.

  Joss and Walsh stand up and give me half hugs.

  JR is a bit more reserved but stands and holds out his hand. “Good to see you, Mike. Hope your dad’s doing okay?”

  I sit down next to Walsh, who’s at the head of the table with Joss on his other side. “He’s getting better every day. Thanks.” I glance at Jenny, but she’s developed a sudden interest in whatever’s on her plate.

  “Help yourself to some food,” Tammy says, uncharacteristically polite. “My mom came over and cooked this afternoon, so we have to eat it all or she’ll be insulted.”

  “Well, you won’t catch me dissing Mama D’s Italian cooking.”

  I spend the next hour stuffing my face with raviol
i, seafood, salad, and bread. Sitting next to Walsh means that the wine bottle is at the other end of the table. Joss has his scotch, but I decide that the best thing I can do for everyone is to skip the drinking. Watching Jenny and JR is hard enough without being drunk.

  The four guys are charged with the lion’s share of the eating, so we comply by polishing off pretty much every bit of the food Tammy’s mom cooked. When we’re finally so stuffed that we’re all uncomfortable, Walsh lights up the outdoor fireplace and everyone moves over to the seating area. Jenny and JR sit next to one another on the sofa and he puts his arm around her, playing with the ends of her hair. She leans against his side, her face turned up to his as he talks.

  I choose not to sit, nursing my lemonade and trying to soak up some warmth from the fire to counteract the chill that’s settling in the marrow of my bones. She’s slipping away from me. I can feel it and see it, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.

  I’m so preoccupied that I don’t hear Joss sidle up next to me. “You doing okay?” he asks quietly.

  “Yeah,” I say, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “Just fine. Why?”

  He juts his chin toward the sofa. “Thought that might be hard to watch. That’s all.”

  I nod. “I’ll just have to get used to it, won’t I?” I snort. “Not like he’s going to let her go now he’s got his hooks in.”

  “It’s not about what he wants,” Joss says, taking a sip of his scotch. “It’s about what she wants. I’m sure she still wants you, and anyone looking at your face right now can see you still want her.”

  I breathe in, smelling the faint wood-smoke odor that spills from the fireplace along with the early fall scents of damp leaves and overripe fruit. I tear my eyes from Jenny’s beautiful profile, trying to school my features so I won’t be so obvious. I ought to thank Joss for letting me know about my uncontrollable transparency.

  “I’ll always want her, but you have to believe me that I’m staying away for her own good. You don’t know everything about my family, Joss. There are things—things that will affect me as time goes on. I don’t want Jenny to see those things. She deserves better than that. She deserves the best of everything. If JR can offer her that, then he’s who she should be with.”