Only a few people milled about in this hushed space. Everyone seemed to bee-line it for the booze room. No one lingered near her dad, artfully pickled in formaldehyde.
Gia turned her head toward the bar.
Marco, Dante, and Kennedy stood watching her. Keys and Heat were standing near a couple of women, oblivious of anything but their own needs.
Dante and Kennedy nodded their encouragement.
Marco gave her a thumbs up, his eyes bright and sincere.
He looked so serious in his encouragement of her, it made her chuckle. She returned the gesture, trying hard to resist the feelings stirring in her chest. I’m falling for you, Brutus. Falling hard. And, she continued, turning toward the task at hand, the sooner I get this over, the sooner I can show you how I feel in a full body, rock and roll encounter. Nearby rooms be damned. You’re coming to my room.
Her mouth grew dry as she stepped toward the casket. She paused at the memorial, before completing her quest. Lots of photos of Carol and Dr. Jake Swain, noted psychologist, lay on the white linen covered table. They looked like the socialites they aimed to be, grinning from her dad’s boat zipping along Lake Tahoe, and posing in front of a lodge at the Heavenly Mountain Ski resort, skies propped by their sides. Her lips did this rigid roll and press maneuver as judgment filled her mouth.
She picked up one of the Polaroid photos, hiding under a shot of Carol and dear, old dad. She stared at her ten-year-old baby sis, on all fours, with her head on the grass, a big, silly grin on her face. Barbie and Ken dolls lay on the grass near her head. It’s one of the pictures I took. I figured Dad threw all my photos in the fireplace. She and her sister used to play in the backyard all day. They built rivers with the hose, and castles and villages with dirt, sticks, and weeds. They raced around with their cocker spaniel, Mitzie.
They had a whole set of Barbie dolls, including two Kens, three Barbies, and a Midge. Gia made the two Kens a gay couple. She decided Midge was in a band and wanted to break up the two Kens and turn them straight. Living close to San Francisco left her with a heavy influence from the gay culture. Plus, they had a couple gay neighbors who told her funny stories all the time.
Her sister Shauna took one of the Kens and insisted he marry the Barbie, only she named the Barbie “Susy Golightly.”
“It sounds happier; don’t you think?” Shauna had said to Gia. “It sounds like someone who deserves happiness.” Shauna had a “happily ever after” kind of heart. Gia seemed to be born with rebellion and a silver spoon etched with the phrase “fuck this shit” on the handle shoved into her mouth.
She sifted through the photos and found another one she recognized, buried in the pile. She looked at the photo of her mom, her dad, Shauna, and her, at her high school graduation. Her mom gave her dad a grim side-eye. Her dad had pasted on his “I’m the man” smile. He and her mom stood next to one another as if they were strangers. Gia stood stiff and angry, dressed in a purple gown, clutching her diploma in one hand. Her other arm wrapped around her sister, pulling her protectively into her side. That was the last time I saw her until I killed her. I knew there would be no one left to look out for her, once I hit the road. She took the photo of her sister, and the family shot and shoved them in her pants pocket. You don’t deserve them, she said to her father’s corpse.
Someone stepped beside her.
Gia looked up to see an older woman, dressed in a black skirt and gray top. She looked to be in her fifties and appeared to be kind. Her gray hair hung in ringlets around her face, which was scored with time’s lines.
“You must be Jake’s oldest, Gia,” the woman said, smiling warmly.
“Yeah, how could you tell?” Gia said, all bluff and tough.
“Your father showed me photos of you. He had a collection of you on tour, playing drums, on the cover of Rolling Stones...things like that.” She smiled.
“You’re kidding me, right?” Gia’s stomach lurched. She resisted the urge to poke her finger into her ear in an attempt to clean out whatever blocked her hearing.
“No, I’m not. I think in the end he knew he’d wronged you and your sister.”
“What do you know about us?” Gia asked, arching an eyebrow. She crossed her arms over her chest, imaging herself to look like her bad-ass rocker chick persona.
“I was his therapist in the last few years of his life,” the woman stated. “He told me how he...” She paused, choosing her words. “How he mistreated you. There’s no other word for it. I’m Margaret Brown, by the way.” She held out her hand.
Mistreated? Is that what we’re calling it? I can think of better words, like abused, destroyed... Gia gave Margaret’s hand a quick, perfunctory shake. “Guess you know my name already. So he...he...sorry, I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this. The great Jake Swain had a therapist?”
“Yes. He needed to sort through the mistakes he felt he’d made.”
“He felt he made? What about ‘made in spades?’“ Gia said, her gut tight from hearing all the PC therapy terminology.
The therapist lifted her eyebrows briefly and then continued. “After your sister died...well, he was crushed. It started his time of reckoning.”
Margaret’s eyes softened.
Reckoning?
“Wow,” Gia said, both for this new revelation and the therapist’s use of words to describe her father’s atrocities. “Just wow. Why the hell wouldn’t he share that with me? I’ve had the same phone number for years. It wouldn’t erase the scars but, damn...” Her mouth did that same roll and press thing. “He had so much time to apologize. I might not have been able to hear it but...damn,” she said again. She ran her hand through her short locks. “I used to dream of him apologizing to me, you know? We’d have this serious conversation, and he’d tell me how proud he was of me and how very sorry he was to have hurt Shauna and me, and...” Tears pooled in her eyes. She closed her mouth, realizing she’d spilled secrets to a stranger.
“I know,” Margaret said. “Those scars run deep. I urged him to share with you, I really did. I think he wanted to but...” Her shoulder rose and fell.
“Margaret!” a woman called.
Margaret turned to see who interrupted them. “Oh, hello, Joan. How are you? I need to talk to you. Hold on. Don’t go anywhere.” She faced Gia. “I’m sorry, but I really must excuse myself.”
“Sure thing,” Gia said, thinking, business as usual with the dead guy in the room. “Uh...thanks for telling me how he...wanted to apologize.” She could barely believe it.
“Any time,” Margaret said, the same warm smile crossing her face.
Gia figured it to be her therapy smile. She smiled wanly and turned to face the last deed she had to do until she could exit—deal with her father.
Slowly, she traipsed toward the casket, her footsteps sounding like bass drum beats. She stared down at the body: him in zombie-like repose; her face no doubt matching his. The funeral parlor had added touches of makeup to his face, to the point of making him look like a porcelain doll. She glared at the lifeless blob of flesh. No sign of her father rested within. This...this shell merely represented what he sort of looked like.
She chewed on her lower lip, considering Marco’s suggestion to speak from her heart. Her hands rested on the edge of the coffin. Several phrases rolled through her mind, begging to be selected. Finally, she chose a path of phrases.
She looked right and left to make sure no one else listened. Relief washed through her to see she stood alone like she’d been granted a private viewing. Her gaze rested on his face. She extended a fingertip and gingerly touched his cheek.
“Ew,” she whispered. “Lifeless and cool.” She clutched the rim of the casket again. “You’re an idiot, you know that? You could have told me you fucked up in the father department.” She glanced around the room again to make sure no one had entered. “You had a million chances. You could have told me six months ago when I flew out to see you. Instead, you talked about Carol and told me I needed to buy
a car.” She let out a deep sigh. “I don’t forgive you. Not yet. Maybe not ever. If you say you tried to make amends, so be it. Better luck next time. On my end, I’m going to work really, really hard to not want to blow-torch your face when I think of you.” An unexpected chuckle flew from her lips. “Okay, okay, strike that. Let’s let bygones be bygones, what do you say. And may we never meet again. And if we do, by God the first thing out of your lips better be how sorry you are for everything you did—every blow, every lecture, every shouting match, every strike of the belt.”
A tremendous weight fell from her shoulders. She began to shake, as if her soul shook free long-held emotion “And...if there’s such a thing as reincarnation...let’s not be born into the same family unit, okay? If we do, I swear to God I’m going to be sober. If I’m sorry for anything, it’s that I couldn’t face you without numbing myself first.” Her eyes did another quick dart and scan. “And, uh...amen or whatever you’re supposed to say. Find peace somewhere. Make amends. Bah da dum,” she added, fingering a small drum riff.
She turned to see Dante and Kennedy, standing in the doorway. “Your turn,” she said to them.
“You okay?” Dante said as she stepped toward the pair.
“Never been better,” she said, her arms trembling. “As for you,” she said to Marco, hanging back behind Kennedy. “You’re coming with me, right now.” She seized the collar of his shirt and dragged him out of the Larkspur club, uttering, “I might have to fuck you hard in the limo before I have my way with you all night long in the hotel.”
He laughed.
“As long as you’re not the only one having their way. I’ve got some ideas, too.” As they exited the club, he said, “I take it you got closure?”
“More or less,” she said. “But enough talk about me and my mental state. Let’s get down to business in a physical kind of way.”
“What, exactly, do you have in mind?” Marco said, with a seductive grin on his face.
“Show and tell, baby. And it’s show time.”
Chapter 20
From what Gia could see through the tinted windows of the limo, a crowd of fans assaulted Dante in the tree-lined parking lot the minute he stepped from the club housing her father’s funeral.
“Oops. Play time’s over.” She rolled from Marco’s lap, letting him slide from her slick, happy core. Wow,” she said, breathless. “Good thing we were fast. Told you I wanted to fuck your brains out.”
“Big wow,” Marco said. “Damn, that was hot.” He quickly zipped up his fly. “And I might need my brains. Where are they?” He shook his head like a big, goofy dog and rolled his eyes. “Feels kinda empty in here.”
Gia made a sound like a volcano spewing magma and spread her hands in the air. “Gone, baby, gone.”
Then, she snatched her pants from the floor of the vehicle and hurriedly slipped them over her hips. She barely had a chance to zip them when the door of the vehicle opened, held by the driver.
Kennedy climbed in first. “Is there no respect for the dead?” she said, clearly exasperated. “I saw people eying him inside. When we got outside...”
“This happened,” Dante said, waving his hand toward the clamoring fans being pushed back by the driver, as he climbed in behind her. “Man, I hate this part of fame.”
The driver closed the door before a love-crazed fan slipped inside.
“Better that you deal with it than me,” Gia said. “I hate it more.”
“Agreed,” Kennedy said.
“Says the tiger whisperer who appeared on television last week,” Gia said.
“If it’s for a cause, I’ll do anything. The tigers need protection,” Kennedy said.
Gia waited for Keys and Heat to blast through the doors. “Where are the boys? Let me guess. They hooked up with a couple mourners.”
“Bingo,” Dante said, settling beside his wife. He banged his hand against the dark partition between them and the driver.
Fans pressed against the windows, trying to peer in.
“Magic Mouth!” one of them cried. “I need you.”
“Not if I get to him first,” another screamed. “He’ll never want you.”
“Whoa, look at the wild eyes on those two,” Gia remarked. She slung her leg over Marco’s thigh, feeling successful and sated in their “one beast with two backs” quest. Until we get back to the hotel room, that is.
The big black sedan holding them glided away from the crowd.
Dante eyed her, head cocked, and eyes narrowed. His gaze slid to Marco.
“This again?” Gia said. “Honestly, D, you’re like a brother, mother, and father all rolled into one.”
Kennedy laughed. “She’s right, you know, baby. You’re pretty protective of your flock.”
Dante put his arm behind her shoulders. “Well, since Keys and Heat are a lost cause, I need to protect the ones left.” He nuzzled her hair.
Gia chuckled, feeling happier than she’d ever felt in her life. I’m sober. I’ve got my band buddy back. I’ve attained a slice of closure with my father. And this guy... She let her gaze slide toward Marco. A sneaky smile formed on her face when she saw his seductive expression. Her eyebrows lifted.
He nodded.
They both laughed.
Dante shook his head and whispered something to Kennedy.
“It’s worse than whatever you said to her,” Gia said, thinking, I’m in love with him.
At the hotel a short ride later, Gia and Marco stood at the glass-walled corner of her vista suite room at Bay Night Tides, a boutique hotel in Sausalito. Dante and Kennedy had the penthouse suite, but this room afforded a spectacular view of San Francisco Bay, the city skyline, and bay islands, awash in an unbelievable sunset. A fire burned brightly in the fireplace, warming the space where two cozy couches sat facing one another, a coffee table in between. A huge soaking tub sat in a glass-enclosed room on the deck. Behind them awaited a massive, curtained bed. Below them, in the bay, a couple of paddle-boarders drifted by. In the distance, sailboats and powerboats made their way to destinations unknown.
“So this is how the rich and famous live,” Marco said, his arm around her shoulder.
“Pretty much. I’m afraid I haven’t been sober long enough to fully appreciate it,” Gia said. “This is the part where I’d order room service, consisting of top-shelf vodka or bourbon, and get myself good and wasted. That way, when the next day arrived, I’d be certain to not remember what I did or who I did it with.”
“But not tonight,” Marco said. He massaged her scalp with his fingertips.
“Hopefully, not ever again,” Gia said. “Don’t think I wasn’t tempted at Dad’s funeral, though. What a circus.”
“Yeah. You, hanging on the bar there, were dancing with the devil,” Marco said.
“But I didn’t drink his offerings,” she said. “I showed him.”
“You sure did.” Marco grew silent. After a time, he said, “Do you ever think the journey of your life was meant to land at a certain place?”
“What do you mean?” Gia said, staring at the skyline with wonder.
“I mean...” He swallowed and rubbed his jaw with his hand. “I loved my fiancée, a lot. But she was different than you. Quieter. I’m not sure I could have given her the life she wanted. I think she wanted a fairytale romance. I’m not a fairytale romance kind of guy. I love adventure. Travel. I like to drop into a new city and discover what makes that town tick. I like working with people who’ve checked out, given up...and help them find their way. Life a little rough around the edges appeals to me. I...” He took a long, deep breath and turned to face Gia.
The intensity in his eyes blew her away. She swallowed, too.
“Are you sure you want to say whatever it is you’re leading up to?” she asked, her legs as wobbly as a newborn lamb’s.
“I’m sure. I’m falling in love with you, Gia. That’s why I came to your door. I think...I know we’re meant to be together. It’s like I’ve been waiting for you and di
dn’t know it. And if I had to wait a thousand centuries, you’d be worth the wait. And I’d do it all over again.”
Gia stared at him, blinking. Finally, she said, “No one’s ever said anything even remotely close to that to me, Marco. I don’t feel particularly loveable.”
“You’re probably one of the most loveable people I know.” His penetrating eyes bore into her.
The words collided with the walls in her heart. “I...I don’t know what to say.”
A flash of worry crossed his face. “You could say...”
Her finger pressed into his lips, shushing him. “I could say I love you, too. But it scares the shit out of me. I loved my sister. With all my heart. I tried to protect her, to keep her safe. And, in the end, I let her down. She’s dead because of me. If something happened to you...”
She quickly quashed further thought by gnawing on her lip.
Marco placed his hands on either side of her face. “I’ve got you, girl,” he said, tenderly. “I’ve got you.”
He lowered his face to hers and kissed her softly.
The sweetness spilling through her soul nearly made her knees buckle. She could do rough, no problem. She could do it with sauce and bluster, swagger and heat. But this tender vulnerability, splitting her heart in two...I could become addicted to this...to him. Tears spilled along her cheeks. And then what if he leaves me?
Marco pulled back and said, “What’s going on, sweetheart? Are those good tears?”
“I think so. I...I do love you, Marco, Brutus, whoever you are,” she said, weeping and laughing at the same time.
“Then let’s celebrate. I know you like it rough and dirty. Sometimes I do, too. But sometimes,” Marco said, lifting Gia’s hands and lacing his fingers with hers. He backed her toward the king-size bed. “Sometimes, I like it soft, slow, and sweet.” He kissed her. “And hot.” He nibbled her neck, still backing her toward the cushy mattress. “And full of the tremendous love in my heart for you.”
A Twist of Love Page 13