Deepest Blues

by Heidi Hutchinson

  “And that is a secret we will all take to the grave.” Brady smiled wide and Clarke was reminded of his attractiveness. He was a terrible flirt, but an amazing friend. He was going to make some girl very happy someday. As soon as he grew up a little bit.

  She shook her head, going for her shoes by the front door. “I'm off... like a bikini top at Coachella.”

  ***

  When Clarke got to work she was pleasantly surprised to find the new girl already waiting for her.

  “Lia?” Clarke asked on her approach.

  Lia gave her a thin-lipped smile of assent. Her black hair was cut into an attractive modified pixie, striking against her pale skin, more than likely dyed. But whose hair in California wasn't? Clarke's eyes flicked down to Lia's vintage tee and she grinned.

  “I, also, am a fan of the Clash.” She swore she saw a little of Lia's hard suspicion fade from her eyes.

  After unlocking the doors and letting them both in, Clarke asked Lia what she knew already and what Shane had her working on. Greta hadn't lied, the girl was heads above the other two hires, who were little more than glorified sales clerks.

  She and Lia had the store set to open twenty minutes ahead of schedule and Lia automatically began setting up a new display. Clarke pulled a heavy box around to her feet, slid her knife—a Spyderco Tenacious—out of the back pocket of her cargo pants, and sliced the box open.

  “You carry a knife?” Lia asked.

  Clarke looked up, her hair falling into her eyes. She blew most of it away and tried to read Lia's face.

  “Yeah.”

  They stared at each other for a couple more lengthy seconds. Then Lia lifted her chin slightly, reached down under her pant leg and produced an elegant switchblade.

  Clarke smirked appreciatively. “Nice.”

  Lia's lips twitched with an almost-smile and the two women finished opening the remaining boxes. If two people could bond faster with fewer words, Clarke had no idea. But the rest of the morning was cake.

  Getting back into the groove wasn't anything too hard. A week off meant Clarke had more paperwork than she cared to actually do, but that didn't mean she wouldn't do it.

  “I have to finish this,” she said, shuffling the stacks around on her desk. “Can you run the floor for a bit?”

  “Yes, I can,” Lia responded smoothly, and Clarke felt instantly relieved. Competency in the workplace was so refreshing.

  Too often, young adults wanted to work in a kick-ass environment where their boss was a living legend and the perks were many. Shane had a reputation for being a fair and easygoing boss. Who wouldn't want all of those things? But hanging out at a cool place wasn't the same thing as working there. The reason the business was thriving was because it was under constant critical supervision.

  Clarke frowned as she sorted through the stacks of memos, messages, and inventory slips.

  “Shane has been making that face all week,” Lia said with soft concern in the doorway.

  “Yeah, there's...” She dug through the pile to find the newest memo from New York.

  Lia moved closer and looked over her shoulder as Clarke rubbed her forehead with her finger tips.

  Attention Matthews:

  Trippy hasn't delivered yet this week and stock is running low. Please advise.

  “I take a few days off and everything falls apart,” Clarke muttered to herself. She felt Lia's cool gaze slide over her features and then back to the memo.

  “Why didn't the jag just call me?” Clarke picked up the phone on her desk and dialed Byron's number in the New York office. Lia didn't even pretend not to eavesdrop.

  “Byron, it's Clarke. What the hell, dude?” She sighed with his response and ran her hand through her hair. “Well, did you try calling them?” Lia snorted and Clarke cracked her a smile.

  “Yes, call them. Then get back to me.” She hung up the phone and shook her head.

  ***

  Mike rested his head against the glass of the passenger side window in the small rental that was speeding down the interstate.

  It was time to head north and reconvene with their fearless leader. It was supposed to be some kind of writing and planning retreat for the next album. Luke chose Tahoe because Lenny was back in full-fledged training mode. She didn't think she'd be ready to win anything at the X-Games this year, but she wanted to be a visible presence. Let everyone know she was back.

  And the band needed to get plans for the new album underway. Their indefinite hiatus had only lasted a couple of weeks.

  Blake and Lucy had decided to join them at the last minute, as had Shane and Greta, so Luke moved everything to Squaw Valley. Sway was the only one who wouldn't be there, he was on tour with a band he had idolized since he was a teenager. Harrison, Shane and Greta had flown up a couple days ago, Mike following after finishing up the EP. Which is why Luke had picked him up at the airport in Reno and was driving him to The Village in Olympic Valley. He imagined Lenny and Shane were feeling right at home.

  Mike wasn't.

  The location was unimportant to Mike. So were most of the people attending. He filtered through these details like someone would sort through a stack of CDs they were alphabetizing. Putting things in order, staying on task, but not really invested in the events.

  That was because his head was still in Huntington Beach.

  “You feeling okay, man? Was your flight hard?” Luke asked from the driver's seat.

  “Yeah,” Mike mumbled, tracing a pattern into the fog that was filming on the window where the heat from his head rested. He realized he hadn't actually answered the question and he huffed out a sigh. “I'm fine. The flight was fine.” He straightened in his seat again and looked forward. “How far to the Village?”

  “Another half hour,” Luke answered, his head turning every few seconds to look at Mike. “Harrison said the EP turned out great.”

  “Yeah.” Mike cracked a smile as he thought about the way Clarke's face had lit up when he'd handed her her own copy to keep a few days ago.

  “For being part of the production team.” He'd grinned and shoved his hands in his pockets to discourage her from hugging him. Even though he'd wanted to hug her. She must not have taken that particular etiquette class because she had launched herself at him, latching her arms around his neck.

  “Thank you,” she'd whispered in his ear.

  “Don't mention it,” he'd responded in kind. Somehow his hands had come out of his pockets and nearly wrapped around her smaller frame twice. Her familiar shape and scent pressed against him from toes to chest. He'd taken a deep breath and she'd released him, taking a step back.

  “Sorry, I got excited,” she'd apologized with a half-smile.

  “Friends are allowed to hug, Slim.” He'd tucked a lock of hair behind one of her ears.

  “Right,” she'd nodded.

  “Right.”

  “Right, what?” Luke brought Mike back to the present.

  Mike blinked slowly. Whoops, he was talking to himself again. “Nothing, I was just... thinking of something.”

  “I'd say,” Luke agreed.

  Mike rested his elbow on the arm rest and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. He tried to focus his thoughts on what he was doing this weekend. He was taking a break, reconnecting with his band. His family. They were going to be going over the new album and tour ideas.

  With Lucy on board as a legitimate act and her new album releasing next year, they had a lot of irons in the fire. She'd be opening for them and Mike was the leader of her band. He still had to hire the rest of the touring band to go with them. The tour itself would be exhausting for Mike since he'd be playing two full sets in a row.

  They had toyed with the idea of Lucy opening for someone else, but then Mike would be on the road for over a year with no break in sight. Luke had put the kibosh on that idea. Probably worried that Mike would get burned out and resort to old habits of coping. So combining tours seemed like the logical choice.

  They still had t
ime to prepare for it, too. They had an entire album to plan first. Mike had a plethora of things to choose from to start talking to Luke about.

  “I met a girl.”

  “O-kay,” Luke replied slowly, letting that sink in.

  “But the timing is all wrong.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, she's amazing.” Mike pictured her golden tinted hair and her wild blue-green eyes with just the right amount of brown to look like an exotic beachfront. He smiled. “She's funny. Like, really dark humor.”

  Luke adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “That's your weak spot,” he agreed.

  Mike ran his hand through his hair and then leaned back onto the headrest. “But she's been though a certain amount of trauma already. And I know some of the players in it. She doesn't know I know. Honestly, the whole thing is so screwed up, it's unreal.”

  They drove on in silence for several minutes. Mike let his thoughts return to the last week with Clarke before he had to leave.

  They didn't hang out everyday anymore, but he'd still called or texted her to check in. She'd been so busy with work that she hadn't semed to mind, or maybe she didn't notice that it was taking all of Mike's efforts to stay away from her. Because truly, all day long his head would try to come up with a viable reason for him to go and see her at work. Or stop by her house when he knew she'd be home. But nothing about either of those actions said “go slow.” Especially not, wait-two-years-for-me slow.

  “And she likes old movies. I don't mean she likes the idea of old movies because she's a chick and she thinks they're romantic and old-fashioned. I mean, she knows as much about them as I do—maybe more. She was named after Lauren Bacall for Pete's sake.”

  Luke made a clicking noise in the back of his throat and then he cleared it.

  “Go ahead and say it,” Mike grumbled, waving is hand out in front of him.

  “How much of your interest in this girl has to do with your emulation of Humphrey Bogart?” Luke asked seriously.

  “Right?!” Mike exclaimed. “That's what I keep thinking about, too. I mean, I totally lost it when Ilsa walked into my life. Like, really lost my ever loving mind with that girl. I was convinced we were meant-to-be based on her name.” Mike closed his eyes and flexed his hands into fists on his legs. “You should have had me committed way back then.”

  Luke chuckled. “Tell me about the new girl.”

  Mike let out a painful breath. It physically hurt to be this conflicted.

  He avoided Luke's directive. “You know me. I get too deep too fast. I'm an addict. I'll always be an addict. I have to be careful what books I read, what shows I watch, shit like that. I take things so deep inside of me that they become a part of me and I feel like I can't function without it. I was just as addicted to Ilsa as I was any of the smack or booze. I needed her in order to feel like a person.”

  Silence.

  Mike liked that Luke wasn't the lecturing type. He listened, he processed, then he would make his call when it was necessary.

  “So I promised myself, during recovery, that I would be clean for five years before I would even try a new relationship.” Mike pressed his lips together tightly for a moment before continuing. “The recommendation is three years. But I know myself well enough to know that's not long enough to know if I've made it. Before I can commit to someone else, 'cause that's what love is, a complete commitment, I have to know I can commit to sobriety.” He sighed heavily. “That's my most important relationship in my life. If I can't keep that simple promise, how can offer her anything of value?”

  The car filled with silence again and Mike let his thoughts return to the girl who was getting further away with each mile. Maybe he wouldn't go back to Huntington Beach. She'd be better off with him out of the way. The temptation was too great for him. He couldn't let her become some kind of a trigger. That wasn't fair to her.

  He'd already given her the CD. He had her number. They could stay in contact, but he wasn't going to hold her to anything. If she found someone in the next two years, then he'd be happy for her. And if in two years, she was still available and still interested...

  “You wanna know what I think?” Luke asked. Mike had nearly forgotten he was there, he was so lost in his melancholy.

  “Go for it.” He waved a dispassionate hand in the air.

  “I think it's possible you're being too hard on yourself. Could it be that you're over-thinking this whole thing? Maybe this girl is good for you and you guys should just go slow to see what happens. I mean, it's not like you're talking about forever. I don't see why you can't hang out and see what happens. Just my opinion.”

  “Yeah.”

  But Luke had his perfect woman in his bed every night. Lenny was his one and only. Mike was trying to restart a heart that hadn't beaten properly in years. It was so damaged he had no idea if it was sending him correct signals or excelling in misdirection.

  ***

  “Clarke, I have some bad news.”

  Clarke heard Brady's deep voice rumble across the floor and she jerked her head up from the display that she was working on with Lia.

  “I really don't have time right now, Brady.” Clarke shook her head, hoping he'd pick up on the fact that she was busy. No such luck.

  He stopped in front of her and slid his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “That house we had lined up for us to move into kinda sorta fell through.”

  “What do you mean by 'kinda sorta'?” Clarke asked, feeling her mouth twist in displeasure. She had really been looking forward to getting those loud boys out of her house. Especially now, because with Greta gone—gallivanting up north with Shane and a snowboard—she had no buffer.

  “I mean Steve hit on the neighbor lady and her husband hit him in the face.”

  “Seriously?!” Clarke snapped. That was so Steve!

  “And the house belonged to his brother, so...” Brady let his words trail off and Clarke could see him rethinking his choice to break the news to her himself.

  “I have a place you can stay.”

  Brady's eyes flicked over to Lia, who had been watching in undisguised curiosity.

  “No, Lia, you don't want them to move in with you. They're like stray animals, feed them once and they never leave,” Clarke warned her seriously. She liked Lia. If Lia had to go to jail because she smothered Steve to death in his sleep, then Clarke would have to train a whole new person. Not a fun thought.

  “No, really. I have a huge house on the beach with seven bedrooms and I live all by myself. I could use the company,” Lia persisted.

  Brady's raised his eyebrows at her offer. “You barely know us.”

  She shrugged her tiny shoulders. “So we'll get to know each other better. You need a place to live and I need roommates. This is far more ideal than putting an ad on Craigslist.”

  She had a point there.

  “You're sure? 'Cause I'm not gonna pass it up if you're serious. You really want to live with four dudes?”

  “Four?!” Clarke exclaimed, and Brady slid his eyes to her.

  “Yeah, Kip forgot to renew his lease.”

  Clarke rolled her eyes. “Why does that not surprise me?”

  Brady looked back to Lia, who had slipped her phone out of her back pocket. “Give me your number and I'll text you the address.”

  Brady rattled off his number and his phone buzzed with the new text message. Lia went to the employee break room and returned with a key.

  “The place is pretty empty, so feel free to put your stuff wherever. My room is upstairs, the rest are available.”

  Brady said his thanks before exiting.

  “I hope you know what you're getting into,” Clarke sighed, shaking her head.

  Lia gave a tiny laugh that gave Clarke chills, but she didn't respond. Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe living with Lia would teach those beach bums better manners.

  She could only hope.

  Clarke resumed her task, humming to herself. She'd been listening to
Mike and Harrison's EP nonstop since Mike had dropped it off for her right before he left town. It was beautiful. Every song triggering a memory of the time she had spent getting to know him better.

  “You're smiling again,” Lia interrupted her thoughts.

  “Am I?” Clarke asked, not looking up as she straightened the mannequin’s pants.

  “Yep.”

  ***

  “Anything to eat, man?”

  Mike looked up from his hunched over position on the floor of the hotel lobby. He frowned at Blake, who was standing over him.

  “No, I'm good. Thanks,” he replied, took a deep breath and bent over the paper again.

  His hand was trying to cramp up, but he pushed through it, scribbling furiously. Someone sat down in the couch nearby. The lobby was mostly empty. He had picked this spot because of the view out the windows just ahead of him and the smell of the muffins in the hospitality room to his right.

  The purpose of the trip was to plan the next album. Well, he hadn't been able to stop writing since he got there. Luke kept bringing him coffee and fresh paper. Blake was in charge of nourishment. The girls kept checking on him and telling him to get some sleep.

  But he was on a roll.

  In the zone.

  Completely wrapped up in the words.

  He'd finish one, hand it off to Luke, who would find the melody on his guitar. That's how it had been for them in the early days as well. They fed off of each other's intensity. Sometimes Luke would just be messing around with a sound or a riff and Mike would write a whole new stanza.

  He'd written far too many for one album. Some of these he'd save for himself. Some he'd try to pass onto Lucy. The band would have the ultimate vote of what got to stay and what had to go.

  His creativity had been spiked by his conflict. He was drunk on his restlessness. He hated it as much as he loved it.

  He closed his eyes and saw swirls of turquoise.

  This was not good.

  He was obsessing.

  Obsession—very easily in his case—could turn into addiction.

  Was it okay to be addicted to someone who made you feel clean?