Face The Music

by Andrea K. Robbins

  He put his arm around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head. “I thought we’d just order room service tonight, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure, whatever.”

  Once in his room, I pulled off my sweater and took a seat at his small table. He handed me a menu, and I glanced through the selection, but nothing caught my eye. I didn’t have much of an appetite. Without saying a word, I closed it and looked at the clock. I didn’t realize Chris was watching me.

  “Everything okay? You’re awfully quiet.” His dark eyes studied my face.

  “I’m fine. Just tired, I guess. I’m not used to having all this free time.” I offered him a weak smile. “I think I need to take up a new hobby or something.”

  He stood behind me and pressed his strong fingers into the muscles of my upper back.

  “You’re tense.”

  I gave a sarcastic laugh. “Aren’t I always?”

  “Not like this,” he said, kneading with small, circular motions. I leaned my head forward and let my hair fall in my face. With a deep breath, I tried to relax as he massaged away the stress.

  The muscles responded to his touch, loosening as he worked up and down my spine. My agitation from the conversation with Mr. Doveland eased. The tension all but melted away.

  He seemed to notice the difference. “Better?” I could hear the smile in his voice.

  I raised my head, but my body felt like jelly, and it took a few seconds before I regained my center of balance. The stresses of the day were temporarily forgotten. I felt much better. “You’re good.”

  He went to the TV and messed around with some cables, but I remained at the table, my eyes following his every move. The way his shirt clung to his arms and chest as he stretched was entrancing. It was too much.

  “What?” he said, watching me gawk at him.

  “I think you’re a little too hot for that shirt. Why don’t you take it off?”

  He all but dropped the controller, gave me a surprised look, and sat down on the edge of the couch. “I will if you will.” The corners of his mouth rose up into a challenging grin.

  I stood, pulled my shirt up over my head, and shook out my hair as I walked over to him. “Fair enough.”

  He reached out to touch my bare belly, but I tackled him, shoving his shoulders and pushing him back into the couch cushions. Within seconds, he flipped me around and had me pinned. He sat on top of me and held my wrists up over my head. I was so content that I didn’t even fight back.

  “You shouldn’t start things you can’t finish,” he teased. “What were you thinking?”

  “Who says I can’t finish?” I had every intention of finishing. But first I had to pee. “Let me up.”

  He climbed off me, and I got up and went to the bathroom. When I came out, I wore nothing but a smile. “You still have pants on,” I observed from the doorway.

  He raised an eyebrow and let out a low whistle, but wasted no time getting undressed. He followed me into the bedroom.

  We stood, facing each other, at the foot of the bed. “I’m glad you came over,” he said, running his fingertips up and down my arms.

  I laughed. “I bet you are!”

  He cocked his head as he looked at me. “Really, I am. Even without all this. I like spending time with you.”

  “I like spending time with you, too,” I said. I wrapped my hand around the back of his neck and pulled him to me. Our lips met. His tongue pushed against mine, and I opened my mouth wider, letting him in. He moaned and pressed harder against me.

  When we came up for air, I whispered, “I like this, too.”

  I felt him smile against me. “I’m so glad.”

  I let all my worries fade with the intimacy of Chris's touch. He was soft and gentle, always taking his time and never rushing me. When we finished, I showered and put on one of his big t-shirts. He patted the spot next to him on the couch. “Ready to play?” he asked.

  “I thought we just did.”

  He gave me a cock-eyed look. “What’s gotten into you tonight?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess you make me feel good.”

  “I like making you feel good.”

  We played an alien-invasion game for a little while, and after saving the planet from total annihilation, we went back to the bedroom to watch TV. I sat back and snuggled against one of his large pillows, watching as he flipped though the channels. He settled on some brainless horror flick.

  The movie was gory, and I quickly bored of its predictable plot. Rolling over onto my stomach, I admired the cross that was tattooed on his left bicep. It was black with curvy designs that swirled out from the center. He looked down at me as I traced my fingertip along its shape.

  “What made you decide to have this done?”

  “Well, it’s a cross, so...”

  I gave him a playful pinch. “I can see that. Why did you do it?”

  “I don’t know. Why does anyone get tattooed?”

  “Which one was your first?”

  He twisted away from me, revealing a black and orange flaming guitar on the side of his torso. It was about the size of my hand. Beneath the picture were the words Dark Legends.

  “What’s the story with it?”

  “I was sixteen,” he began.

  “Sixteen! But, you can’t even legally…”

  He snickered and planted a chaste kiss on my forehead. “I lied about my age.”

  “Oh.” I wondered if it had anything to do with his ‘rough patch,’ but I decided not to bring it up.

  He grinned. “I was part of a band, and we all decided to get one. I played the guitar, so obviously…” his voice trailed off.

  “Yeah, I get it. What does ‘Dark Legends’ mean?”

  He looked away, as if considering whether or not to tell me. “That was the name of our band.”

  I sat up and laughed. “Really? Dark Legends? What kind of band was it?”

  He shrugged. “A metal band. We were kids. At the time it seemed brilliant.”

  I looked at the TV and recoiled in disgust when a man’s arm was chopped off. Blood spewed out in all directions, painting the sidewalk red.

  “Do you regret it?” I asked, returning my attention to his tattoos.

  “No, not at all. It’s a part of who I am.” He turned from the TV and studied my face, all traces of humor gone.

  “What?” I asked, suddenly worried. Mr. Doveland’s words echoed in my ears.

  “Are you ready to tell me yet?”

  “Tell you what?”

  “What’s got you so stressed out?”

  I turned to hide my expression. “I’m fine.”

  He reached out and swept my hair from my neck. Pressing his soft lips against my skin, he whispered, “Whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’ll be here.”

  I must have fallen asleep sometime during the movie. When I woke up, it was three in the morning, and I was drenched with sweat. Chris was next to me, his bare chest pressed against my side. His arm was wrapped around my belly, and one of his legs was looped around mine.

  I lay there for several minutes, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. Not wanting to wake him, I carefully squirmed out of bed. I slipped on my pants and shoes and tip-toed out the door, but was horrified to find the mob of reporters camped out on the sidewalk.

  “Allison Banks! Did you spend the night with Chris Knots?” they yelled, snapping pictures as I crawled into a cab. I closed my eyes and hung my head. This was not the image Chris needed. I was sure it would be all over the news by morning.

  I again considered Mr. Dovelands words. I know you’ll do the right thing.

  I knew exactly what he meant by ‘right’, I just wasn’t sure it was something I could do. Would my own selfishness keep Chris from reaching his full potential?

  Chapter 23

  My sleep was troubled. I was running, but I wasn’t exactly sure what from. All I knew was that it wouldn’t be good if I stopped and let them catch me.

  Everyt
hing outside was grey, and I ran through the empty streets, searching. I didn’t know where I was going or what I was looking for, only that I would be safe once I found it.

  I came to a building. It was drab against the already lifeless street, but as I got closer, I saw something, a mob of people, standing outside the doors. They jumped to their feet when they saw me.

  I ran towards them, not because I wanted to be with them, but because I needed to get inside. They pulled at me as I passed by, knocking me to the ground.

  Bright flashes blinded me. Piercing screams rang in my ears.

  I tore through them, fighting to break free, and ran inside. They followed me to the stairwell, chanting my name and flashing more pictures.

  Room 522, that’s where I needed to go. If I could make it, I’d be safe. I ran through the long halls, the mob closing in behind me.

  The door was open. I ran in and slammed it shut. The noise outside quieted.

  I turned around to take in my new surroundings. Everything was in color now. I was in a small, dank apartment littered with smelly take-out boxes and bottles of liquor. From the back room I could hear soft music. I felt my way down the hall and paused in the doorway of the bedroom.

  Chris was on the floor. His clothes were crumpled and stained, like he’d been wearing them for days. Wrinkles lined the corners of his empty, unfocused eyes as he strummed random chords on his guitar. Next to him was a half-empty bottle of whisky.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I heard myself ask.

  The music stopped as he looked up at me. “I gave it all up.”

  “What? What did you give up?”

  He picked up the bottle and took a long swig. A trail of whiskey dribbled down his chin, soaking into his shirt. “Everything.”

  BEEP BEEP! My alarm screeched in the background.

  I sat up and fought to catch my breath. The image of Chris, so lost and empty, was at the front of my thoughts.

  I tried to shake it off as I climbed out of bed and headed to the shower.

  I was rinsing the almond-scented shampoo from my hair when Emily pulled back the curtain. I jumped. “Hey!”

  She didn’t seem to care that I was completely naked. “Where were you last night?”

  I gave her an annoyed look and tugged on the curtain, pulling it closed. Working a thick, creamy conditioner through my tangles, I said, “Well gee, Mom, I was with Chris.” It would be public knowledge soon enough, no sense lying to my own sister.

  “All night? What time did you get home?”

  “Around three.” I rinsed out my hair and told her about my evening. “I fell asleep. Reporters caught me leaving.”

  She laughed.

  “It’s not funny. What will people say?”

  “I saw you on TV last night. I was watching Entertainment Daily, and they showed a clip of you and Chris going into the theater.”

  My frustrations got the best of me. “What am I supposed to do?” I turned the water off and wrapped myself in a towel.

  Emily followed me to my room. “Do about what?” she asked.

  I fell backwards on my bed and told her about my conversation with Mr. Doveland.

  “Wow,” she said. “That’s a lot of pressure.”

  “Yeah. And guess who else I talked to. Again.”

  She dropped down next to me and scowled. “Don’t tell me that asshole called you.”

  I nodded.

  “Why did you even answer? What did he want?”

  “He saw my picture in the papers and called to warn me about getting hurt.”

  She shook her head and groaned. “The irony.”

  “I know, right? Basically, he told me I’ve got my head buried in the sand. He’s convinced that Chris will just run out on me when the show’s over.”

  “Oh, for crap’s sake! Don’t even waste your time.”

  I propped myself up on my elbow and looked at her. “I just don’t know if I can do this, Em. This whole thing with Chris. Regardless of what Paul has to say about it, I can’t shake what Mr. Doveland said.”

  She frowned at me. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  She gave me a long look. “Don’t freak out. This isn’t about Chris, or even Paul for that matter. It’s about you and your fear of intimacy.”

  “No,” I shook my head. “It is not. This is about Chris, and what’s best for his career. This is not about me.”

  “Are you sure?” A sympathetic smile pulled at her lips. “Sure you’re just not scared of getting hurt?”

  “Why would I be afraid of getting hurt, Em?” My voice was heavy with sarcasm.

  She stood up and paced the room. “You can be so hard-headed! It makes perfect sense, don’t you see that? Gramps, Grams, Mom, and even Paul. With the exception of me and Molly, everyone you love ends up leaving you somehow.” She stopped and looked at me. “So you now won’t let anyone get close.”

  I held up my hand. “That’s ridiculous. What are you, a psychoanalyst now?” I was being rude, but I didn’t care.

  She looked hurt, but kept going. “Paul, this Doveland guy, they’re just offering you excuses, reasons to break it off with Chris. Don’t fall for it.”

  My phone rang. It was Chris. I looked at Emily as I answered it.

  “I was just wondering where you disappeared off to,” he said. “Last I knew, you were safely tucked away in my bed, but when I woke up this morning you were gone. What happened?”

  My anger faded at the sound of his voice. “Sorry,” I said to both him and my sister. Emily shook her head and left my room, pulling my door closed behind her. “I needed to get home. But, guess what? There were reporters outside the hotel. They caught me sneaking out.”

  He laughed. “So, we’ll give them something else to talk about. Who cares? It’s not their business, right?”

  I thought about it, but decided I didn’t share his indifference.

  “Allie?”

  “Yeah, right. Not their business,” I mumbled. The problem was that these people made their living by making it their business.

  “Want to go grab a cup of coffee? I could meet you at that little café by your building.”

  I looked down at the towel I was still wearing. “Okay. Give me a half hour?”

  I hung up and found Emily in the living room. “Sorry.”

  She shook her head. “All I’m saying is, don’t ruin a good thing. Chris is a great guy, and from what I’ve seen, he really cares for you.” She spoke slowly and softly. “He makes you happy. Don’t you want that?”

  I looked at my feet. “Of course I do.”

  I got dressed and went to the kitchen to grab my purse. One of Emily’s magazines was on the counter. On the cover was a picture of Chris.

  Who’s Chris’s Best Match? You Decide!

  Curious, I flipped to the article. It was a readers’ poll, and five square pictures were laid out across the page. I was surprised to see one of myself alongside Cynthia and three other knockouts. Sixty-eight percent of readers chose Cynthia. Less than two percent, one-point-eight, to be exact, picked me.

  I threw the magazine in the garbage and left.

  Chris was waiting for me and slid his arm around my shoulders as we went inside. “What’s wrong?” he asked once we sat down.

  “Nothing. I’m fine.” I shot him a fake smile, but he frowned.

  “Hmm. See the thing is, whenever you say you’re fine, you’re not. You were acting weird last night, too. What’s going on?”

  I started to say something when a group of giggly teenage girls skipped over to our table. “Chris Knots!!” They squealed. “You are so awesome!! We watch Superstardom every week just to see you.”

  He stood and gave them all a hug. “Thanks, it’s always great to meet fans.”

  One of the girls looked at me from over her shoulder. It was a snide, critical look.

  Suddenly, I felt as though everyone in the entire place was staring at us. Judging me. I studied the pattern on my coffee cup, li
stening to the happy chatter of the girls as Chris blessed them with his attention.

  “I am so sick of this,” I mumbled after they’d left.

  “Sick of what?”

  Was he completely ignorant to the fact that he had no privacy anymore?

  “Let’s go,” I said, grabbing my purse.

  He followed me out to the sidewalk.

  “I’m just tired of everyone looking at me, always analyzing me. Doesn’t it ever get old?”

  He looped his arm around mine. “It was hard to get used to at first, but now I hardly notice it.”

  “I don’t know that I want to get used to it.” I told him about the readers’ poll. “So basically, America thinks you and Cynthia would be a perfect match. And the vast minority approves of me.”

  He grunted and shook his head as we approached the playground. “Since when do you care what people think?”

  I sat down on a swing and looked at the ground. “I don’t. It’s just that I don’t want to wake up next to you, ten years from now, and realize that I was the dead weight that dragged down your career.”

  Shock spread across his features. “What are you talking about?”

  I didn’t say anything. I just looked at him. He sat on the swing next to me.

  “Allie, please trust me. It’ll get easier, I promise.” His eyes were insistent. “Don’t quit us because of them, not yet. Give it some time.”

  I slowly exhaled the breath I was holding. “I don’t want to ‘quit us’, but…”

  “Uh-uh. No buts.”

  He got off his swing and knelt before me, folding his arms across my lap. “I’m falling in love with you.”

  My heart did a flip-flop in my chest, and I had to tighten my grip on the chains to keep from floating away. For an entire second, I was perfectly happy, but reality quickly brought me back down when I heard a familiar clicking sound. A reporter stood across the street, flashing our picture.

  I drew in a jagged breath. “What happens at the end of the season?” I asked. “Whether or not you win, where does that leave us?”

  He lifted his head and looked at me. “Why stress out about it now? Let’s make it through the end of the show, and then we’ll see where we’re at. We can figure it out then. Just stick with me, okay?”