The Beat Match

by Kelly Siskind

  She locked her door, double checking she still had her purse and wallet, then answered her phone. “Hey, Herbert.”

  “…Who’s Herbert?”

  “The eighty-year-old, constipated man on the other end of this line.”

  He laughed, a deep sound that made her limbs feel loose. “Well, this old man needs a favor. You have a minute to talk?”

  She paused on her apartment stairs, paranoia clamping her fingers around her phone. Wes had agreed to her loan easily. So easily he could have had an ulterior motive. He wasn’t the favor-asking sort. He was a planner who mostly relied on himself. “What, pray tell, might this favor be?”

  “I need you to bunny sit.”

  She scanned the walls for a clue to decipher the odd request. All she saw was flaking white paint, a ripped Honda-for-sale flyer, and a bunch of skid marks. “Is ‘bunny sit’ code for some weird new-age meditation because you’ve spent thousands on a life coach who’s promised to teach you the art of having fun, but you’ve realized he’s a quack who looks like a bunny and you need someone to distract him while you escape? Or, oh—is it some kind of kinky sex thing?”

  She almost swallowed her tongue. She and Wes didn’t joke about sex. Innuendo wasn’t part of their repartee. Even worse was the sharp clench of her thighs at a sudden image: Wes hovering over her, one of his large hands braced by her head, the other…

  Nope. She shook her head, unnerved. Weston was like a brother. An annoying one at that. Her steamy Falcon dreams had usurped her mind.

  A strangled cough rattled through the line. “I’m talking about an actual rabbit, Squirrel. I need you to watch it for me.”

  “What’s a rabbit-squirrel? If you’ve been experimenting on animals in some secret underground laboratory in your offices, I’ll have no choice but to send out a bat signal and come down on your ass. You know my stance on animal testing.”

  The line was dead silent, but she pictured him cursing or banging his head on a wall. A better visual than him dragging his hand up…ugh. She blinked repeatedly.

  “I have a rabbit,” he said, the fact absurd enough to focus her uncooperative brain. “A bunny rabbit that needs watching. His name is Felix. Your name is Squirrel.”

  “My name isn’t Squirrel, Herbert.”

  “Oh my god. You’re impossible.”

  “Or amazing. I’d go with option two.”

  Again with that deep laugh. “I don’t know why I bother with you.”

  Pleased with Wes’s annoyance, and their quick detour away from innuendo land, she continued outside and slipped on sunglasses as the sun hit her face. “You bother because I’m the only one who doesn’t kiss your designer behind. And why exactly do you have a bunny?”

  “It’s a neighbor’s. He’s heading out of town for a couple of days and asked me to look after it, but I have a last-minute meeting tonight. A dinner with an investor that will go late.”

  “But you hate pets.”

  “It’s a one-time favor.”

  “So leave the rabbit-squirrel at home. Unless you’re worried he’ll chew through the cage with his mutant teeth and tear apart your pristine condo.” She hoofed it down the sidewalk, dodging pedestrians, the summer breeze ruffling her lace skirt. Exhaust mingled with the smell of street meat, followed by a whiff of curry, then a blast of cinnamon goodness. The city streets were a life-sized scratch-and-sniff book.

  “As amusing as you are,” Wes said, “that’s not the problem. This rabbit has abandonment issues. He was rescued from an abusive home and can’t be left alone.”

  “Abandonment issues.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “And he can’t be left alone?”

  “Did you accidentally stab yourself in the ear while scrapbooking?”

  “No, but I might slip and stab you next time you’re over.” Or more likely add another page to her Weston Aldrich scrapbook. This favor was getting more bizarre by the second. “So what do you do with Felix during the day?”

  “He comes to the office with me and stays with Marjory.”

  Oh, man, this was too good. “Do you walk your rabbit-squirrel on a leash during your lunch break? Feed your new baby at your desk?”

  “I’m going out,” he said, a growl to his voice. “I need you to take Felix for the night. In case you misunderstood, your answer should be a simple yes.”

  “Not when I have plans tonight.” She was thankful he’d loaned her cash, but missing Falcon’s performance wasn’t up for discussion. And going out wasn’t only about cornering the elusive DJ. No matter how much time had passed, the anniversary of Leo’s death always flattened her. Not just the date. The lead-up, knowing it was approaching, a premonition of heartbreak ahead. Staying home alone, with or without a mentally disturbed bunny, wouldn’t do her any favors.

  “You’ll have to cancel your plans,” Wes said, reprising his role as Captain Ego. Like his life was more important than everyone else’s.

  Her carefree walk turned into an angry march. “I can’t.”

  “You have to.”

  “Ask Marjory to rabbit-squirrel sit tonight. I can’t do it.”

  “She’s busy.”

  “Find someone else.” She stepped off the sidewalk without looking. A car horn blasted, and her breath caught as the car zipped past. She’d almost been creamed by a Porsche, thanks to Weston’s irrational demands. “I wasn’t put on this planet to serve you.”

  A rough grunt sounded. “I didn’t question you when you asked to borrow money. I helped, because that’s what we do for each other. We help when it’s needed. You don’t waitress on Thursdays, so whatever plans you have, they can be rearranged. Marjory’s at the office until six p.m. I expect you to pick Felix up from her before then.”

  The bastard hung up.

  Annie couldn’t remember walking the last ten blocks to her lesson. She couldn’t recall stomping up the stairs to Julio’s apartment or jabbing his entry buzzer. Her head felt like a comic book filled with thought bubbles and expletives, all written in shouty-caps, with not-so-creative insults like you’re such an asshole, even the assholes are jealous.

  She was going to have a blast on Weston’s next scrapbook page. She could turn him into a baby with a pacifier and diapers. Add a bonnet on his too-big head. Yeah, that would take the edge off her fury while she babysat Felix the rabbit-squirrel.

  “Did someone piss in your coffee?” Julio Suárez had his apartment door open, one pierced eyebrow raised. Three piercings decorated his face; eleven dangled off his ears. He had blue hair, a tattooed neck, and a natural curl to his lip that should be intimidating, but he was the one stepping back warily.

  She probably looked as lethal as she felt. “In a manner of speaking.” She inhaled deeply, then released her breath in a rush. Wes may have ruined her night, but he couldn’t ruin her DJ lesson. The one he’d unknowingly paid for.

  “Bring on the beats,” she said, channeling her irritation into concentration.

  Today’s lesson was about phrasing. Choosing the optimal place to seamlessly mix one song into another by recognizing the beginning and end of a phrase: a drum fill, a new instrument introduced, breakdowns, buildups. Technology had simplified DJing. An entire mix could be displayed on a laptop, lining up songs to cut in perfectly. Paint-by-numbers style of mixing. Julio believed in teaching old school methods first, technology second.

  Annie was all over it.

  “How does that sound to you?” Julio asked as he played back a recording of her mix.

  “It’s crap.” Clunky and embarrassing.

  “Not crap, but it’s messy. Tell me why.”

  It had been crap. If Leo were here, he’d wail and pretend he’d blown an eardrum. But Leo wasn’t here. He hadn’t been here for a long time. Twelve years, three hundred, and sixty days, to be exact. She had five days left to think about that approaching anniversary: Wes walking into the shelter she’d called home, his face bone white, tears leaking out of his eyes. Her excruciating wail.
Five days left, then another year gone, another one beginning, and she couldn’t dance those memories away tonight, thanks to Weston Aldrich.

  She swallowed roughly and replayed the recording, listened for the beats. “The phrasing in the second track is slightly ahead of the first. I started the second song too early.”

  “Bingo.” Julio punctuated the word by beatboxing, his mouth an instrument of its own. “Your new track’s gotta hit on the first beat of the eight-bar phrase. Do it again.”

  She did. Three times before she nailed it, her sadness ebbing with the efforts. Julio didn’t have Falcon’s creative brilliance, but the man was a great teacher, and she wanted to understand the fundamentals, do more than push random buttons. She wanted to be the mistress of her music.

  Julio high-fived her and played a sick new tune. Elevator One. She bopped to the syncopated beats, closed her eyes as the vocals distorted slightly. The song had tons of layers, the power of it building in her chest, so much density to the sound. Fast. Full. Fresh. She smiled, letting herself be happy in this space Leo would have loved.

  By the end of the session, she felt rejuvenated. Until she saw a text on her phone.

  Wes: Felix will be waiting for you with Marjory. Don’t be late.

  Her blood returned to a deface-Weston-scrapbook boil.

  “Remind me not to get on your bad side,” Julio said.

  This from a dude with a tattooed neck. “I don’t have a bad side.” She was pleasant and fun. She got along with all her coworkers.

  “Tell that to the phone you’re glaring at. Your boyfriend forget your birthday or something?”

  “He is not my boyfriend. His name is Weston and he’s a royal pain in my ass.”

  “Casual hookup, then?”

  She tipped her head back and laughed with an exaggerated girly lilt, then pressed her hand to her chest as though she were an amused debutante. “If nuclear testing wipes out humankind and vampires take over the earth after battling an army of mangy werewolves, and we’re the only hope for repopulation, the answer would still be a resounding no.”

  Julio whistled a tune, something old-fashioned and sweet, completely out of character for him. “From my experience, women only do that die-motherfucker look when they’re emotionally or physically involved with a guy. Just sayin’.”

  Yeah, she was emotionally involved with Weston, all right. In a he-makes-me-irrationally-irate kind of way. That must be why her cheeks were scorching hot right now. It was a fury blush. Except that wasn’t completely fair.

  Wes was everywhere in her life—one helpful call away or demanding favors, cluelessly funding her dream or calling her Squirrel in his condescending tone. He was the good and bad in her day, the last link to her brother. Her momentary fantasies today had been ridiculously out of character. She’d just felt confused, addled. So many changes going on at once. She needed to focus on music. On the mysterious Falcon she’d no longer see tonight.

  Annie marched out of Julio’s apartment, his comment rattling around her head with each footfall. Emotionally or physically involved? With Weston Aldrich? Wes couldn’t be further from her type. Not that she had a type. But if she did, he wouldn’t be it.

  By the time she hopped off the subway at Wes’s office, she was grinding her teeth. Wes was as overbearing as his towering building. So much glass and steel reaching for the sky, marble walkways inside, new flower arrangements daily—shades of white, all stark and serene. She walked past an abstract painting that oozed wealth, the grotesquely simple kind with a white line drawn on black canvas, as though saying: we’re so powerful we pay millions for the mundane.

  If she didn’t know Wes loved to eat Cup Noodles soup on her couch, his silk tie tossed on the cushions, she’d think he was as rigid as every surface in here. But she’d seen him laugh until tears streamed from his eyes, thanks to her lip-syncing performances. When she was younger, he’d let her dress him for Halloween with fake blood and makeup, even dying his hair pink once. He often tried to talk to her about modern art and shoved stinky cheese in her face, telling her she needed to expand her horizons, but he also listened when she bitched about work or when she got excited about a clothing purchase or scrapbooking accomplishment.

  They didn’t talk about Leo, or the parents they’d lost. They teased, they joked, they got on each other’s last nerves, the messiness of their relationship making Julio’s comment even more farfetched. Yet, she couldn’t let it go.

  She’d been so vehement in her defensiveness. The type of quick retort rooted in denial. And it wasn’t just Julio’s chiding. With Wes’s constant meddling, she didn’t want to dissect the way he’d brushed against her breast in his car, how she’d felt it down to her toes, or untangle why she’d been blushing more when talking to him or about him. She couldn’t like him, like him. He was part of her foundation. The mortar to her bricks, and complicated feelings had the power to blast those supports to smithereens. Not that it mattered. She’d always been a charity case to Wes. A responsibility. He’d only ever see her as his late best friend’s little sister, a foster girl who used to live on the streets.

  She stepped off the elevator on his floor and, in her confused haze, slammed into the man himself.

  Weston steadied her, one hand on her lower back, the other on her shoulder. Instantly, her body awakened, melting and tensing at once. She leaned farther into him, and his fingers dug deeper into her hip. Neither of them moved for a prolonged second. Could he feel how quickly she was breathing? The shakiness of her hands? And why did he smell so good?

  Flummoxed, she laughed awkwardly and eased out of his hold. “You do an excellent impression of a brick wall.”

  “Your zoned out zombie routine isn’t half bad, either.” His eyes darted to her, then skipped across the floor. “I need to make my meeting, so I’ll see you later. Tomorrow. Thanks for watching Felix.” A surprising blush dusted his cheeks, and he didn’t move to go.

  For a second, she wondered if their contact had affected him, too. Then she remembered he’d been rushing to a meeting. He must have worked up a bit of a sweat hurrying from somewhere.

  “I didn’t have much choice in the animal rescue,” she said, internally chastising herself for her unacceptable reaction. “At least I’ll be able to put it on my résumé: Rabbit-Squirrel Sitter. I’ll be a shoo-in when I run for senate.”

  He smiled fully, his easy composure returned. “You’ll have my vote.”

  When the elevator doors closed behind Wes, she slouched and pinched her nose. What in the ever loving hell is wrong with me? It wasn’t just her mind anymore. Her body and sense of smell were betraying her, reacting to all things Wes. And why was she joking about his stupid rabbit? This favor was the last thing she wanted to do.

  She counted to five and slowly exhaled. There was no denying Weston’s curb appeal. He was like a Hamptons mansion, fun to look at but out of reach. For many reasons. And she’d been off lately, frustrated with her lack of dating and unrequited Falcon crush. This office was real and grounding, regular folks working their nine-to-fives, or more likely five-to-nines, the halls still buzzing with activity. So many people under Weston’s employ. She’d never asked him if that was overwhelming, so much responsibility on his shoulders. She should really ask him. Talking work and business would help her bury this weird new attraction.

  When she spotted a cage by Marjory’s desk, her irritation resurfaced and all she wanted was to spike Wes’s next Cup Noodles with habanero extract.

  Annie sauntered over to Marjory and eyed the white and gray bunny nibbling on hay. “Bet you never thought bunny sitting would be part of your job requirements.”

  Marjory swiveled on her chair and gestured to Weston’s closed door. “I never expected to work for a man whose diapers I changed.”

  “You changed Weston’s diapers?”

  “He never failed to pee on me.”

  Annie clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from cackling. “I’m sorry,” she said through her fingers
. “It’s not even the peeing. I’m picturing him in a mini Armani suit, wearing diapers underneath.” Even when she’d first met Weston, he’d shown up at the shelter in slacks and a dress shirt. Mr. Posh Begosh.

  “I often remind him I’ve seen him naked.” Marjory grinned. Her orange-red lipstick matched her curly hair, her pointed nose somehow matching her nasally voice—a voice that often reprimanded her boss.

  Annie had been wrong before, telling Wes she was the only one who didn’t kiss his designer behind. Marjory was part of the Annoy Wes Club. “He had some nerve asking me to watch this ridiculous rabbit,” Annie said. “He didn’t even care I had plans tonight. Just gave his demands, like he runs the world. He must think I have no life.”

  “You get under his skin, is all. Always have.”

  Something in Marjory’s tone made Annie feel exposed. She crossed her arms. “The feeling’s mutual.” Awareness of Wes was becoming a sliver under her skin, digging deeper, impossible to ignore.

  “I’d take the critter,” Marjory said, “but I’m hosting canasta at my house, and a couple of the women are allergic.”

  “No worries.” Annie blew a flyaway hair away from her face. “I owe him anyway.”

  “In that case, I need to run. And Annie?” Marjory’s brown eyes softened. “Be patient with him.”

  Annie watched Marjory gather her things, unsure if she was referring to Weston or Felix the rabbit-squirrel. Probably the rabbit, considering his separation anxiety.

  “You seem fine to me,” she told the bunny once they were on their own. He really did. Not stressed or panicked. She could take the little dude home and sneak out. Leave him in her room with the lights on. Weston would never know. But she would. He rarely asked her for favors, and she did owe him. For more than the cash he’d loaned her.

  “As I live and breathe.”

  Annie turned. Duncan was beaming at her, his bright teeth flashing. Some dentist somewhere had earned a few bucks straightening and whitening those suckers. “Fancy meeting you here,” she said, pleased to have a distraction from her frustrations.