He let out an exasperated sigh. “I have something for you.” He dropped something into my hand. “I believe this belongs to you.”
I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw Grams’s diamond earring. I was so shocked that I was at a loss for words.
“You said you lost it. I figured it came off when you fell, so I went back to the Plaza to look for it. It was under a bush at the top of the terrace.”
Unable to speak, I balanced my crutches against the wall and wrapped my arms around his neck. I couldn’t even imagine how long it must have taken him to find it.
“Thank you, so much,” I choked out. “You don’t know how much this means to me.” He hugged me back, squeezing me tightly and burying his face in my hair.
Chapter 13
I was surprised to find Chris waiting for me outside the front doors of the studio on Monday morning. He handed me a coffee. “Tall, skinny, sugar-free vanilla mocha. I hope I remembered that right.”
“Good morning! That’s perfect, thank you!” I took a sip. The warm, chocolaty-vanilla concoction was the perfect way to start my day. It only made it better that it had come from him. “Mmmm, it’s fabulous. What did I do to deserve this?”
He pulled the door open for me. “Just thought you’d enjoy it.”
Could a man be any more wonderful?
“Feeling better?” I asked when we were inside.
“Much better, thanks. I spent most of the weekend in bed.” His voice sounded a lot stronger. “How are you? Do anything fun?”
“Not really. I hung out with Molly while Emily worked. But look! No more crutches.” I swung my arms out to my sides. “The swelling in my leg went down, so I’m back in the boot.”
He gave a stiff smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s great. Hey, I have to get to rehearsal in a few minutes, but I wanted to ask you something first.”
“Alright, shoot.”
He ran his forefinger back and forth across his bottom lip. The act was extremely distracting. “I was hoping that, if you had Friday night free, maybe we could go get some dinner.”
I stalled. “Friday…” Of course, I had absolutely nothing planned, and even if I did I would have canceled it, but I didn’t want to come across as too eager. But then again, whatever happened to my resolution of keeping a distance? The internal struggle was agonizing.
“It’s just dinner,” he urged. His smile was annoyingly persuasive. “But if you’ve got other plans or something.”
“Dinner, huh? Well I guess we have to eat, right?”
“So it’s a yes, then?”
“Sure.” I knew I’d be kicking myself for this later.
***
“What’s up with you?” Emily asked. “You’re in an awfully good mood.”
She was getting dressed for work, and I hovered in her doorway, grinning like a fool. “Chris asked me to have dinner with him on Friday.”
She looked up from her buttons. “I thought you weren’t interested in Chris.”
“I’m not. Well, not really.” Just totally, utterly, head-over-heels. I shook my head to quiet the unsolicited comment from my inner voice.
She cocked an eyebrow. “Sure, whatever you say, Allie. Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. He’s going to pick me up.”
“What are you planning to wear?”
“I haven’t even thought about it yet.” That was the truth, and I worried as I did a mental inventory of my closet. “I’m wide open for ideas.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of everything.” She pulled on her sneakers and grabbed her purse. “Can’t chat now, I’m going to be late for work, but I’m so excited for you!”
My mind was working a mile a minute when Superstardom came on. One performer after another took the stage, but I only half-watched. My mind was on other things, like what I was going to wear on Friday night.
I jumped when Molly squealed. “Chris!” She bounced up and down on the couch and pointed at the TV.
The song was Never Gonna Be Alone by Nickleback. The lights were dim, and old black and white film clips showed in the background. Some of the scenes I recognized, Casablanca, Meet Me in St. Louis, but most of them were from movies I’d never seen.
White lights swirled as couples danced around the stage, embracing each other lovingly, reinforcing the theme of the song. Chris’s voice was strong yet sincere, and the performance was mind-blowing.
The camera zoomed in on one lucky fan in the front row. Chris reached out and touched her outstretched fingers as he sang. The girl broke out in tears and mouthed, “I love you, Chris.” He winked at her before letting go of her hand.
“What a comeback!” yelled Eddie after Chris had finished. “Don’t get me wrong, last week was very good, but this performance was on a completely different level. By far the best of the night.”
Chris beamed. People in the audience stood, waving poster-sized portraits of Chris’s face.
He was really doing it, really making a name for himself, and I was thrilled to death for him. I was so excited that I couldn’t wait to tell him, so I grabbed my cell and sent a text:
That was brilliant! I absolutely loved it!
I was sure he would be too busy to get the message anytime soon, if my stupid phone even let it go through, so I was surprised when my phone buzzed not two minutes later.
Thx! U get a new phone?
I laughed out loud and typed:
Nope. It just decided to work. It must like you tonight.
He responded with:
Lucky me! Wanna stop by 4 the farewell party? We can celebrate.
There was no denying that I wanted to. I really wanted to. It was probably a good thing I was already pinned down. I was so hyped up there was no telling what I was capable of doing if Chris were around.
Sorry, got Molly
He didn’t respond, so I wasn’t sure if that last message went through or not.
***
The rest of the week couldn’t pass by quickly enough. I was excited to go out with Chris, although I wasn’t entirely sure if it was an actual date or just two people having dinner. I was also frustrated with myself. Despite my best efforts at keeping my feelings checked, a big part of me hoped for a romantic evening. Why was I no longer satisfied with the idea of just being friends?
Emily was digging through my wardrobe by the time I got home Friday. Half the contents of my closet were strewn out across my bed. In one hand she held a hanger with a black skirt, and in the other, a pair of jeans. Several camis were draped across her forearm, and a green shirt was slung over her shoulder. A look of intense concentration covered her face.
“Okay, I think I’ve got it,” she said when I walked in and frowned at the mess. She dumped her handful of clothes on my bed and held up a pair of dark, boot-cut denim jeans with an emerald colored baby doll blouse. “What do you think?”
“It’s pretty.” I fingered the light fabric of the shirt and was sure I’d never seen it before. “Where did it come from?”
She grinned. “I found it yesterday. It was on a sales rack outside of Macys. I thought it would be perfect.”
“Aww thanks.” I gave her a quick hug and held the shirt in front of my figure, turning before the mirror. The color looked nice against my fair skin. “That was really sweet of you.”
“Hey, no problem. I’m not all that charitable though. It’s a medium, so it should fit us both.”
I laughed at her resourcefulness.
After getting dressed I put in a pair of sparkly earrings and picked up my silver charm bracelet. Mom had given it to me on my sixteenth birthday, along with other charms throughout the years to celebrate special occasions- birthdays, holidays, graduation- that sort of stuff. There were a lot of memories on that delicate little chain. I toyed with the charms and swallowed a wave of bittersweet emotion as I clasped it to my wrist.
It was six-thirty, and Chris wasn’t due until seven. I stared at the disaster in my room. It
looked like my closet had exploded. Emily was watching the news, and Molly was quiet, so I slipped in my earbuds and turned on my mp3 player. Journey’s Open Arms was playing. It was Mom’s favorite song, one that always brought on a rush of tender feelings, and I sang along as I folded and put away the shirts that were scattered across the bed.
I turned around to grab a skirt hanging from my bedpost and saw Chris leaning in the doorway. He had his arms folded across his chest and looked like he’d been standing there awhile. He was really grinning.
I dropped the skirt, yanked out the earbuds, and felt the blood rise in my cheeks.
He clapped as he stepped into my room. “Wow! That was impressive.”
I squeezed my eyes tightly, trying to hide my embarrassment. “We can’t all be Superstars.”
He looked around my room. It was still a disaster. I had barely put a dent in the pile of clothes. “No really, that was…” he looked to the ceiling as he searched for the right word. “Something. Really something.”
I pursed my lips. “You’re early.”
His grin only widened. “Emily let me in. Are you ready? Or do you need more time to rehearse?” He gestured at my purple mp3 player. “I could give you some pointers.” A sexy smile played on his lips. “We could even call it a private lesson. It wouldn’t cost you too much.” He held his hands up and laughed when I rolled my eyes. “I’m just kidding! You ready to go?”
We said goodbye to Emily and Molly and stepped into the elevator. The atmosphere changed as soon as the doors closed, electricity charging the air. I peeked up and caught him looking at me.
“You look nice,” he said. “Is your ankle all healed?” He glanced at my feet. I was wearing black leather flats- two of them.
“It’s better, thanks. I still have my boot but decided it didn’t exactly compliment my outfit.”
He looked at me and smiled, but his posture was stiff as he leaned against the back of the elevator. His forefinger stroked his lower lip.
I bit down on the inside of mine.
The elevator seemed to be taking longer than usual to get to the ground floor. I focused on my breathing. In…out. In…out. His cologne filled my nostrils, a spicy, masculine scent. “You smell really good.” Did I just say that out loud?
He snickered. “I’m glad you think so.”
The doors pulled open, and I darted out. I sucked in a lungful of the crisp air, trying to clear away the lusty thoughts that filled my mind.
“Over here,” he motioned for me to follow him to the side of the building.
I stopped short when I saw a sleek, black motorcycle. “Wow.”
He stood beside it and ran a finger across the smooth leather seat. “What do you think?”
“It’s beautiful, really.” I eyed him skeptically. “And you plan on driving this tonight?” I reached out to touch the handlebar, but pulled back, afraid it might tip over.
He laughed and handed me a helmet. “Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. It doesn’t bite.”
“I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before.” The idea was thrilling and frightening at the same time.
“All the more fun. Come on,” he urged as he climbed on. “Don’t you trust me?”
He wasn’t the one I didn’t trust.
I took an uneasy breath. Glad I’d worn pants, I mounted the bike and wrapped my arms around his waist. He brought the engine to a thunderous roar, and I squeezed him tightly and leaned in a little closer, pushing my chest against his back. With my eyes squeezed shut, he pulled away from the building and accelerated down the street.
At first I was anxious, but the chilly air felt refreshing as it rushed against my skin. Soon enough, I found the whole experience exhilarating. It was total freedom- like I was flying. Every once in a while he reached back and gave my leg a reassuring pat. I grinned the whole way, enjoying the ride, but loving even more that it offered me an excuse to be so close to Chris.
He drove to Bucktown, a neighborhood north of the city, and brought the machine to a stop in front of a flat-fronted brick building. He slid into a parking spot, cut the engine, and helped me down.
I took off the helmet and shook out my hair. “That was amazing!”
He looked pleased and reached for my hand. “Told you it would be fun. Ever been here?”
There was a green door at the bottom of a narrow stairwell. A sign hanging above the entrance identified the place as Gigi’s. “No. I had no idea it was even here. How did you find it?”
“I’ve got connections,” he said with a lop-sided grin. “It’s a fairly new place. The food is supposed to be sensational.”
Several parties of people waited outside on the sidewalk, but Chris led me inside and gave the hostess his name. She offered a friendly smile and escorted us to a private table. Chris ordered a bottle of Pinot Grigio. “Unless you’d rather have something else,” he offered before the hostess left.
“I’m sure it will be great.” The only thing I knew about wine was that some were red and others were white. And apparently, sometimes they sparkled.
The lights in the restaurant were dim. Soft Italian music played in the background. Candlelight flickered off the dozen or so tables, and I opened the menu and glanced through the selection.
“What are you going to get?” I peeked at him from across the table. As always, he looked great. He was wearing brown cargo pants and an orange button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the middle of his forearms. His black leather jacket hung on the back of the chair.
He tapped his thumb on his chin as he looked at the menu. “I think I’ll go with the lasagna. You?”
I glanced at the menu once more. “Gorgonzola Chicken Alfredo.”
We sat there for a few minutes, awkwardly silent, when the manager and a waitress came over. “You’re Chris Knots, aren’t you?” squealed the girl. She didn’t look a day over seventeen.
“I’m so sorry to bother you,” said the manager, “but could we trouble you for a quick picture and an autograph? It would be an absolute honor to add you to our wall.” He gestured to the wall behind us. A dozen or so frames hung there, each displaying a familiar face. Oprah Winfrey, Steve Carell, a couple of hockey players whose faces I recognized, and several others.
“It’s no trouble.” Chris flashed a bright white smile for the photo. He then autographed the bottom of a picture matting. A night to remember. Yours, Chris Knots.
The manager thanked Chris for his time, and the girl giggled.
“Does that happen everywhere you go?” I asked after the commotion had settled.
An older couple sitting at a table near ours smiled at him. He waved. “Not quite everywhere, but it does happen a lot.”
I leaned in closer and looked at him seriously. “What’s it like, being famous?”
He narrowed his eyes. “You really want me to answer that?”
“Of course. What’s it like?”
He ran a hand over his bald head. “You have to know exactly who you are. It’s been a challenge, you know? I’ve had to do a lot of soul searching to figure out what’s most important. I have to be careful to not offend, yet still be able to abide by my own values.” He paused and looked at me. “Don’t get me wrong; I don’t mind being popular. It certainly has its advantages.”
“Such as?”
He smirked and picked up his glass of wine. “Well, I can get reservations anywhere on a moment’s notice, and I don’t have to wait to get in.
I thought about all the people on the sidewalk outside and how we had instantly been seated.
“It’s kind of a double-edged sword, though,” he continued. “I really have to work at preserving my image while living by my own truth.”
I was impressed at his insight. I propped my elbows on the table, rested my chin in my hands, and leaned in closer. This was fascinating. “So have you figured it all out then- what’s important to you, your values and truths?” I wondered how many girls would kill to be in my shoes right now, having a one-on-one w
ith Chris Knots.
He smiled. “Mostly. I’m still working out a few things.” He gazed at me from across the table, his head slightly tilted to one side. Candlelight flickered in his dark eyes.
The waitress brought our plates, but I didn’t touch my food. “Like?”
“Well, like you, for instance,” he said as he picked up his fork.
“Me? Why?”
He took a bite and chewed slowly. I waited impatiently for an answer. “Well, I’m still trying to figure out what makes you tick.”
Completely willing to divulge any information about myself, I put my hands in my lap and sat up with square shoulders. “Ask me anything.”
He thought for a few seconds before shaking his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure you out sooner or later. Aren’t you going to eat?”
I picked up my fork and twirled a noodle around it. I then asked him who his favorite singer was. It surprised me when he named Elvis Presley. “Why Elvis?” I asked, genuinely curious.
He looked up. “Why not Elvis? The man was a legend, a true inspiration to any contemporary musician.” I laughed at the picture that popped into my head- Chris dressed up in shiny blue tassels, thrusting his hips to the rhythm of Hound Dog.
“What’s funny?”
I bit down on my lower lip. “Nothing. I just didn’t take you for an Elvis fan.”
We looked at each other as the waitress filled our wine glasses. “So I have a question. How do you choose what song you’ll sing each week? Does someone pick it out for you? How do you know if it’s the right one?”
“That’s three questions.” He chuckled and took another bite. After swallowing he answered, “I choose my own songs. I can’t really tell you how I know, I just do. Something throughout the week usually inspires me.” He winked at me.
“Inspires you?” I repeated. “What inspires you?”
He shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “Why all the questions?”
“I don’t know, I guess I find you interesting. How many opportunities will I ever get to have a heart-to-heart with a real Superstar?”
He reached across the table, took my left wrist, and toyed with my bracelet. “This is nice.”
Face The Music Page 12