Deepest Blues

by Heidi Hutchinson

  Mike rolled to his side and paused before swinging his legs to the floor and following his young friend outside. Paul was staring out over the black night, chest pressed to the stone railing, smoke swirling around his face. Mike copied his stance and lit a fresh cigarette. They stood in silence for several minutes.

  “What did you guys fight about this time?” Paul asked.

  Mike swallowed. “She thinks I'm in love with someone else.” Paul grunted. He considered whether or not to share his confession. “The thing is... what if I am?”

  It was an idea he'd been turning over in his head, unsure of what would happen if he followed it. Paul took a slow drag, but otherwise seemed disinterested.

  “What makes you think you might be?” Paul finally asked.

  Mike shrugged. “If I loved Ilsa—truly loved her—why do I imagine what it would be like to be loved by someone else?”

  “Maybe you're just a selfish asshole,” Paul replied.

  Mike agreed with that assessment.

  More time passed, Paul lit another cigarette.

  “Clarke's first name is actually Lauren. My parents named her after Lauren Bacall, they named me after Paul Newman.” Paul sighed and scratched his cheek. “She loves those old movies. Knows everything about them. Sometimes I suspect she's never really dated because she's waiting for Humphrey Bogart to arrive and turn her world upside down.”

  It was things like this that Mike would have a hard time with later. These were the words that he hung on, stored away for later. When he was lonely and trying to sleep, the idea of Clarke watching his favorite movies would keep him awake a little bit longer. He'd wonder what it would be like to have that with someone. A love so epic that it broke all the rules. To feel so deeply for another person that loving them was the only thing you could think about.

  “I could turn her world upside down,” Mike whispered.

  Paul faced him, leaning his side on the railing. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She's not a secondary character, Mike. My sister is leading lady material. She's not someone's back burner or afterthought. If you treat her like that, you'll lose her.”

  “That sounds suspiciously like you're giving me your blessing.” Mike grinned.

  Paul chuckled. “We'll see.”

  ***

  Brady Samson had been called a lot of things. Over-privileged, spoiled, pig-headed. He had never been called an idiot.

  Something was up with Clarke.

  She'd arrived to the New Year's Eve bonfire at their beach house—Lia's beach house—looking like herself. She plastered on her smile, greeted everyone normally, even gave Steve the obligatory hard time. But she was off. Her natural flow was... stuck. Like a wave that kept breaking too early. She was trying to reach shore, but she kept losing her momentum. Like something under the surface was snagging her to a jarring halt.

  The rock stars showed up, and Clarke retreated to the beach. She stuck close to the waves, wandering along the beach. Brady kept an eye on her from a distance. It's what he did. She had always been around because of Paul, and when Paul was gone, they all kept an eye on her. They tried to be unobtrusive in their pulse-checking—Clarke was very private—but they never let her drift too far before reeling her back in.

  She tugged her loose-knit sweater around her even as one side dropped off her shoulder. Her gaze was unseeing as she stared out across the moonlit water. After a few minutes, she stepped to the side and further out of the light of the bonfire.

  Brady's eyes shifted to Mike. He was standing in between Sway and Harrison, and Sway was talking to him in a way that made Brady suspect maybe he was purposefully keeping Mike occupied.

  Yeah, something had changed there. The last time Brady saw Mike with Clarke, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. Now? Now he was nodding mutely at whatever Sway was saying and scrolling through his phone. Texting.

  People started to pair off for the midnight kiss that was rapidly approaching. Brady shoved his hands in his pockets and trudged up to the house. Reaching the wraparound porch, he followed his gut and it led him to her.

  Clarke was sitting with her back braced on the arm rest, her legs folded to her chest, chin resting on her knees, eyes pointed to the sea.

  Lost. She looked completely and utterly lost.

  Brady sat down beside her on the swing. Her eyes flicked to him briefly before resuming their faraway stare.

  “Aren't you supposed to be kissing the drummer in about five minutes?” he asked quietly.

  “We're just friends, Brady,” she responded with a sigh.

  “Friends kiss sometimes,” he said. He watched her eyes close slowly.

  “Okay, I'll drop it,” he said in understanding. He reached over to hold her hand, and they sat together in silence.

  A few minutes later, fireworks began to explode in brilliant colors over the water. Loud cheers and well wishes drifted up to them from the bonfire. Brady pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it softly.

  “Happy New Year, Clarke.”

  “Happy New Year,” she whispered.

  ***

  Mike sat on the balcony of the condo spinning and tapping his phone on his knee and repeating the spin again. He had just shot Clarke a text, but it had gone unanswered. Sometimes that happened, but it seemed to be happening more and more frequently of late. Of course, she was at work all the time now. They had been very busy all week long. At least, that's what he'd heard from Harrison and Sway, who had been through there every day this week.

  Mike had been busy too. Mostly catching up with Ilsa and then the dance of having to keep that a secret. He knew he should probably feel guilty about not letting Sway and Harrison know, but they would tell Luke and Blake, and then there would be a definite overreaction. Ilsa was still fresh into recovery and he knew how it would look to them, they would never understand why this was a big deal for him.

  His phone chirped and he slid the notification over to read her response.

  Clarke: I can't today. Too busy. Maybe tomorrow.

  Mike got the inkling that she was avoiding him. It needled at his conscience, digging in and confusing him. She had disappeared during the New Year's celebration and he didn't find her for the rest of the night. Brady told him that she had gone home because she wasn't feeling well. It still stuck sore for Mike.

  Clarke was the only one he had shared his excitement with over Ilsa. And now he hadn't been able to talk to her about it any further.

  He heaved out a sigh and tapped out another text to her.

  Mike: I miss you. It feels like you're avoiding me and I hate that.

  Several more minutes passed and he was just about ready to get up and go find something else to do today when he got a reply.

  Clarke: I miss you too. Let's have lunch tomorrow. Meet you at the cafe.

  Mike smiled. Okay, he could live with that. As long as she was still speaking to him, everything would be okay.

  His phone chirped again but this was a new sender.

  Ilsa: I need a ride to North Hollywood for a meeting. Can you?

  Mike tapped out his affirmative and went to change into a fresh shirt.

  ***

  “Will you wait here in the car? It should just be a minute.” Ilsa was already swinging one long slim leg out of the car as she spoke.

  “You got it,” Mike answered as he flipped on the radio to fill the empty space.

  The ride up had been filled with conversations and questions. Ilsa had asked him a lot about being sober and how that had changed his life. She was curious, in a good way, how she could apply some of his lessons to her own life. He had tried to tell her that every person's journey was individual and she would have to learn her own lessons.

  They talked about her new relationship with Marcus. He was a gallery owner in San Diego, but lived in Huntington Beach. They had been together for a few months. She liked him, and he treated her well.

  Mike rubbed his eyes with the heels of both hand
s. He was more tired than he realized. He hadn't felt that tired when he left his place, but now he felt exhausted. Maybe that was because he'd had to access so many different memories and then try to explain them so Ilsa could understand.

  He wasn't even sure what her meeting was for, something to do with her agency. Her rock-bottom had come two months ago when she'd blacked out on a catwalk and strutted right off the end. Her agency had threatened to drop her unless she entered treatment. So she had enrolled in an outpatient program in the Hills. Mike had heard of it, they did good work, but it wasn't something that would have worked for him. He was the type that had to be removed from society completely in order to really focus on the things that needed to be focused on.

  Ilsa's light feminine fragrance still lingered in the car and he couldn't help but enjoy it. She still wore the same perfume she always had. A flood of memories came along with it. Many of them involving her lips, arms and legs. Mike shook his head to break out of his reverie.

  He wanted to help Ilsa, not let his intentions get clouded by what he felt for her.

  Then she came strutting out the front door like only a practiced supermodel could do, and his breath hitched.

  The sun glinted around her hair, creating a halo effect, and he was transported back to the first day he saw her. They had met at an after party after some music awards show. She'd been there with a date. She left with Mike.

  Did he believe in love at first sight? Not until that moment, and that's exactly what he told her when he walked up to introduce himself.

  “We can go,” she said, breaking into his reminiscence, and he gave her a crooked smile. Her accent was almost nonexistent. Her English was so perfect, the first night they met he couldn't believe she was German. He'd made her prove it by saying something to him in her native tongue. And that was the moment he fell in love with her mouth.

  “I was just remembering the day we met.”

  She smiled shyly as she turned away to latch her seatbelt. He started the car and turned it around.

  “Remember that week we spent in Rio?” she asked softly.

  Mike chuckled. “Not most of it.” He remembered very little of their good times together. He knew they were there, but the place where those memories were stored was too chemically damaged to really tap into. He glanced at her and she was tapping her chin with finger. He grabbed her hand and laced it together with his own. “Why did you bring up Rio?”

  “I was so scared to just disappear for a week. But I could never resist when you proposed an adventure. I suppose that feeling has remained... I just went in and quit. I hadn't really decided to do that until I went in there. I was supposed to be looking over new proposals, but... knowing you were waiting for me in the car really pushed me to finally do it.”

  Mike squeezed her hand, unsure with how to feel about that. That was a huge, life-changing decision. It caused his stomach to pitch.

  “Have you been surfing at all? You always wanted to try that,” she said, changing the subject, and he decided to let her. Besides, this one meant he would be able to talk about Clarke.

  “Yeah, actually, I've connected with a group of pretty cool people out here. Do you remember Paul Matthews?”

  Her pretty face scrunched with a frown as she tried to place the name.

  “He was my drum tech when we were in Europe. He, uh... he hung out with us a few times.” And was the catalyst for why they had eventually ended.

  Realization washed over her face, highlighting her best features. “Yes, Paul. What a sweetheart he was.”

  Mike nodded in agreement. “Well, his sister lives here and I've actually been seeing a lot of her.”

  Ilsa let go of his hand and shifted minutely in her seat so she could face him. “Seeing her...?”

  Mike licked his bottom lip and frowned. “Not like that, we're just friends.” This would have been the perfect time to tell Ilsa about his five-year plan. But he didn't. For reasons that he didn't fully want to admit to, he kept that to himself. “But she's sweet like Paul, you'd really like her. She's actually the only one who knows about you.”

  Ilsa was quiet for a few seconds, which was a big deal for her. She reached up and touched his earlobe, then ran her finger down the line of his neck. It raised goose bumps on Mike's arms.

  “I would like to meet her. She sounds like she's important to you.”

  Mike cleared his throat, trying to ignore the familiar way she had just touched him and how he wanted her to do it again. “I should be able to arrange that. I think she'd like you, too.”

  Mike felt his chest tighten at the idea of both women in the same room, but he didn't know why. He needed to prove to himself—to both of them—that everything was on the up-and-up. He had nothing to hide. This would make it easier to break it to the rest of the guys that Ilsa was back. And if Mike could help it, she would be around a lot again.

  Besides, Clarke would want to meet Ilsa. Clarke was a nice person.

  ***

  Clarke looked at the clock on the wall and thought briefly that maybe she should start wearing a watch after all.

  It was about that time.

  She grabbed her purse from behind her desk and locked her office door.

  “I'm going to lunch, Lia. I should be back in about an hour,” she told her second-in-command.

  “Take your time,” Lia smiled tightly, but Clarke didn't address it. Lia always had something running in the background that none of them were ever completely aware of. As long as it didn't interfere with the business, Clarke wasn't worried about it.

  The walk to the cafe took longer than Clarke thought it should. Or maybe she was walking slower than normal. She wanted to see Mike. But then again, she didn't. Everything had changed now. Before, they'd had this wide-open future full of possibilities. Now... with the return of Ilsa, Clarke wasn't sure if she would fit into Mike's life at all. And that hurt.

  It reminded her of when she'd found out her cat Bogie had cancer. He'd still looked and behaved as healthy as ever, except for the large tumor that had started to grow on the side of his face. But Clarke had known there was a disease slowly eating away his little furry body. They could operate, and remove the tumor, but it would take half of his face. Clarke couldn't imagine that would help Bogie at all.

  The vet had sent them home with the understanding that it was up to Clarke to know when the time had come to put him down. “When his quality of life begins to suffer,” the vet said. So she did all she could to make his remaining moments on earth the best ones a cat had ever had. He'd had no idea what was coming, living in his happy cat world. But Clarke couldn't look at him without seeing the tumor growing larger on the side of his face, knowing that goodbye was sooner rather than later.

  That's what it felt like to look at Mike. He was happy, but Clarke saw the shadow that was looming over their newly blossomed friendship. It was only a matter of time before she would have to say goodbye. Everything from here on out was just a formality. A preparation. Making him comfortable, letting him know he was special. Until the moment came—and she would know it when it happened—to part with finality.

  She opened the door of the cafe and spotted him sitting at their usual table. He stood and pulled her into a hug. That was another indication that things were changing, he never greeted her with a hug. It was overkill. Subconsciously he had already recognized what was happening, and he was trying to compensate for the uncomfortable feelings that came along with seeing her.

  “So how's the business?” he asked as they took their seats.

  “Busy. Confusing.” Clarke shook her head and crossed her arms on top of the table. “Hoping that when Shane gets back, he'll figure out the things Lia and I have been struggling with.”

  “Where is that guy, anyway?” Mike asked.

  The waitress arrived and they both ordered their usual. She left, and Clarke answered his question.

  “If the rumors are true, then somewhere tropical, marrying my best friend on a beach.”
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  “Seriously?” Mike asked, his eyes wide.

  “Pretty sure,” Clarke nodded, taking a sip of her water. “If she doesn't show up here soon, I'm gonna launch a search party.”

  The food arrived and they lapsed into casual conversation. Mike talked about Ilsa, Clarke listened politely, all the while feeling the bile churn in her stomach.

  “It was all I could do not to say, 'Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.'” Mike chuckled and Clarke felt a tingle go up her spine.

  “Is it coincidence her name is Ilsa?” she asked flatly.

  Mike ran a hand through his hair and sat back in the booth. His pale blue eyes regarded her carefully before looking around at the few other patrons.

  “I didn't know her name when I first met her.”

  He was being dodgy. It was unlike him. Clarke acted like her plate was way more interesting than his answers.

  “But once you found out her name, I'm sure that cemented it in your mind.”

  “What are you trying to say, Slim?”

  Clarke blinked slowly and swallowed, not raising her eyes. “Not saying anything, just making an observation.”

  Silence. And not the kind they were used to having. This one was thick with a thousand things unsaid, but definitely implied.

  “You don't think it's kinda neat that her name happened to be Ilsa?” he finally asked.

  Clarke licked her lips, sat back, took a drink of her water. “Yeah, it's cool,” she conceded. His handsome face cracked a soft smile. “But I also think it's interesting that you seem to have a fascination with Bogie. You relate to his characters all too often and you weren't even interested in hanging out with me until you found out I was named after his third wife. While little things like that don't matter as singular events, all added together it looks a lot like escapism. Especially now that Ilsa has walked back into your life. It's like you keep trying to recreate some of the most classic story lines ever played out on film.”

  His smile faded somewhere in the middle of her observations. She remained calm, expressing her thoughts as reasonably as possible, knowing they might not be well received. But, dammit, someone had to point it out to him.