by Mae, Amelia
He doesn’t say anything. He’s pretty invested in whatever it is he’s drawing.
“What about you?” I wonder. “Same questions.”
“Hmm,” he muses, “I don’t quite know that I have a favorite color. But, I guess blue. If I have to pick. My favorite food is pizza. I could probably live on it. In fact, I’m pretty sure I have.”
“You used to deliver pizzas, didn’t you?” I ask, though I clearly remember him talking about this.
“I did. You remember that.”
I shrug like I don’t remember everything he tells me.
“It’s funny to think that the kid that delivered your pizza all those years ago grew into a famous rock star,” I laugh.
“Maybe not. I was a pretty shitty delivery guy.”
“How so?”
“I told you I had a girlfriend at the time, and we’d kind of use the time to drive around and fuck in my car,” he admits. “Pizza was always late. And cold.”
I smirk. Sounds about right for him.
“Middle name?” I ask, wanting to change the subject away from Dylan and other women.
“Augustus.”
“Really? That’s not what I would have expected.”
“What did you think it would be?”
“I don’t know,” I reply. “Something less formal. Augustus is a name for old-fashioned aristocrats.”
“Is it?” he asks, amused. “Well, what would you pick for a middle name if you could choose one for yourself?”
“Easy one. Kathleen,” I tell him.
“And you pick on my middle name for being old-fashioned.”
“It was my grandmother’s name.”
“I rest my case.”
“Well, I never said anything was wrong with being old-fashioned,” I argue.
I wait for Dylan to come up with a snarky retort, but his eyes are on the sketchbook and he’s working the pencil furiously.
“I didn’t know you drew.”
“I don’t,” he says.
“What are you drawing then?”
“You.”
I tighten my grip on the bedsheet, suddenly conscious of being totally naked underneath it. Dylan eases my fingers from the fabric and drags it down to my waist. I shiver as the cool morning air hits my bare body. I cover my breasts with my hands.
“Ugh, modeling is hard,” I groan, trying to joke my way out of this situation.
“Yeah,” he says, “it’s harder than people think.”
“You just feel so exposed.”
Dylan nods and takes my hands in his. He kisses my palms and places them down by my sides, leaving me as exposed as I feel in the raw light of the morning. I know I must be scarlet red right now.
“Fuck, this is mortifying,” I cringe.
He stops drawing.
“You really don’t see it, do you?” he asks.
“See what?”
He puts down the sketchpad and lies down next to me on the bed.
“If it were anyone else, I’d swear you were fishing for compliments,” he whispers, leaning in close enough to kiss me. “But you truly don’t see how beautiful you are.”
I want to tell him that that sounds like a cheesy line from a rom-com, but he says it with such sincerity that I keep my mouth shut. He kisses me.
“We’re never getting out of this bed, are we?”
“You have a problem with that?” he asks.
I shake my head no.
18
Jane
Eventually, Dylan has to go meet the band and their manager for a meeting. I’m not working, so I spend the rest of the afternoon checking emails, drinking heart-stopping amounts of coffee, and working on the graphic novel.
I decide that Margot, my protagonist, should get accepted to art school. But I don’t know if I want that to be her fantasy taking over or if I should throw her a bone and make at least one aspect of her dream world be real.
Or maybe Margot should get her trip around the world? Maybe I should just go for broke like that?
A few hours later, I head downstairs to check my mail. It’s mostly credit card offers and supermarket circulars, but there is a letter from Miller and Westenberg Law Offices, which is the law firm that I contacted to handle my grandmother’s estate.
Kelvin’s older sister is a lawyer, and she’s helped me try and fight my mother on this matter. But I’m pretty sure I’ve exhausted all my legal options, so I have no idea what this letter could possibly be regarding.
I tear it open and read past the Dear Ms. Dooley and the greetings until I get to the heart of the matter. Could it be? Am I finally going to get my inheritance?
Several new documents have been brought to our attention…
Long story short, the court is ruling in my favor.
I head to the bar, letter in hand, to find Kelvin and make sure I’m reading this right and I’m not just going insane and seeing what I want to see.
Kelvin takes a photo of the letter and forwards it along to his sister for confirmation. I sip my cider as we anxiously wait for a reply.
“Whoa, I can’t believe it,” Kelvin says happily. “What are you going to do with the money?”
“I want to give some to their church, of course. You know, something in their memory.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Yeah,” I say, “and then I’m thinking about finishing my degree.”
“Are you?”
“There’s enough to where I can pay my tuition and not have to work.”
“Where would you go?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I could go anywhere. Best art school that’ll take me, I guess.”
I start dreaming of the possibilities. New York, maybe. Rhode Island School of Design. Maybe that school in Savannah, Georgia.
“Or you could, you know, start coloring in that map,” Kelvin suggests.
“I don’t know.”
Now that travel is suddenly about to be possible, the idea kind of scares me.
“Galavant through Europe and Asia with a certain blonde rock singer, perhaps?”
I laugh. I like Dylan a lot, but I’m certainly not ready to commit to traveling with him.
Kelvin’s phone dings with a text message. I don’t think I breathe the entire time he’s reading it.
“Thalia says it’s exactly what you think it is,” he says. “Kathleen and Joseph Dooley’s estate belongs to you, Jane. You’ll get the savings, the proceeds from the sale of the house… everything you were entitled to.”
Tears well up in my eyes.
“I… I can’t believe it.”
Kelvin throws his arms around me and picks me up.
“We should celebrate,” he announces. “After my shift. Let’s you and me and Dean go out to dinner.”
“And Dylan?” I ask.
Kelvin smirks. “Of course. We’ll double date.”
Yikes. Okay. A double date with Dylan. Like we’re a real couple.
“Text him. Now.”
“Okay, okay,” I say.
Jane: Want to go to dinner with Kelvin and Dean and me?
Jane: We’re celebrating something.
I don’t get a reply right away. He’s in a meeting, so I don’t expect to.
Kelvin opens another cider for me, and I take my time drinking it.
Another hour goes by and still no reply.
I try not to let it worry me.
19
Dylan
Christian holds meetings in his living room in his lofty West Hollywood apartment generally because he likes showing it off. I like it because I live nearby and can walk over without worrying about parking or anything like that. But I hate going to Christian’s place. Much like the man who lives there, it’s strange and a little sad.
The place looks like a museum of everything that someone would buy if they were trying to fake a sense of style and taste but were really just flashing money around. Slippery, uncomfortable black leather furniture, sterile white walls, and chrome
fixtures to make the place look futuristic.
And, of course, his piece d’ resistance, a large painting of a ‘tastefully’ nude woman. Who, of course, Christian claims to have slept with.
The model for the piece, of course. Not the painting itself. He made that crystal clear.
Over the years, the guys and I have grown accustomed to Christian’s fanciful style and grotesque taste in art. It’s become a running joke to see what hideous addition he’s made to the place.
Also, we’ve named the naked lady painting. Her name is Petunia.
Naturally, I arrive first. Christian’s new assistant, Julia, arrives with lunch, and I thank her as she hands me a large iced coffee.
“How’s Jane?” she asks.
“She’s doing well.”
“She’s a sweetheart, Dylan,” Julia tells me, “and I know she’s crazy about you.”
“I like her a lot too.”
“I mean, I know she was drunk and all, but she kept saying things like, I can’t believe I’m here, and all. Are you two serious?”
I shrug. “I don’t really know yet.”
“For what it’s worth, I like you two together,” she says. “It’s got to be refreshing to be with someone who is physically incapable of putting on a front.”
I laugh and nod. It is.
“Nikki and I had plans to go see My Hero play a secret show at the Anonymous Bar next week, but she ended up having to go somewhere with Jack that night. Do you think Jane would want to go with me?” Julia asks.
“Yeah,” I say, lighting up, “she probably would.”
I think of the “friends” that dumped Jane after her breakup. Julia’s a genuinely good person, and she’d never do that to someone. I give Julia her number happily.
“I’ll give her a call tonight,” she says.
The guys start trickling in. Ian first, then Jack and Shawn arrive together. Christian makes his way out from the bedroom and we all brace ourselves for the little, ‘I’m saying goodbye to last night’s random hookup’ act that usually follows. But he spares us this time.
“Have a seat, gentlemen, please,” Christian says. “And help yourselves.”
Julia does her thing and sets out lunch and we all thank her.
“So, everything look like it’s going according to plan for the next album. We’re going to release Love and Warfare as the first single and follow it up with Collision Course.”
As Christian continues to ramble about things we already know, I try to subtle check my phone.
There’s a message from Jane.
Jane: Want to go to dinner with Kelvin and Dean and me?
Jane: We’re celebrating something.
I’m dying to text her back and figure out what it is, but I can’t do it without drawing attention to myself.
“Excuse me, Dylan,” Christian says, irritated. “Is there somewhere you’d rather be?”
Yes.
“No. Of course not,” I reply, pocketing my phone.
“Now, I’ve discovered that if we shoot the video for the third single on location and use a compilation of concert footage and the behind-the-scenes stuff that you guys have used as bonus content on your albums, we can cut all kinds of costs,” he says.
The guys and I don’t react. Not to sound like a dick, but I don’t really worry about the cost of the tour. That’s the accountant’s job.
“And it means that we can hit the road at the beginning of September,” Christian concludes.
“Nice,” I tell him.
“And it means that we can talk about an international tour come next June,” Christian adds. “You can take some time off and then play festivals in Europe and Asia over the summer.”
“Wow,” I say, surprised. “And we’re headlining? Not sharing the bill or anything?”
“Well,” he answers, “you’ll have a few opening acts of course, but those will be determined by the city and who’s available. But top billing goes to Say Yes.”
I look to the guys for their reaction. Shawn is smiling ear to fucking ear. Jack’s lips are pursed, but turned up, and he looks… amused. But, for Jack, that’s as close to enthusiasm that you’re going to get.
Ian, however, looks stressed.
“What’s going on, man?” I ask.
“I can’t do it,” he sighs. “Cora’s pregnant.”
“Whoa,” Shawn says. “How far along?”
“About eight weeks.” Ian still looks like his mind is in a million places, but a smile finds its way to his face. “We’re really excited. But, I’m sorry guys, I’m not going to leave my pregnant wife for months on end.”
“Are you seriously saying that this is more important than the band?” I ask.
I immediately regret it. What an asshole thing to say.
“Yeah, Dylan,” Ian says flatly. “Are my wife and kid more important than a tour? Of course they are.”
“I’m sorry. That was…” I can’t even find the words to admonish myself for being so selfish. “Congratulations, man.”
Shawn hugs Ian, and Jack claps him on the back. I try to join in, but it’s not completely genuine.
Ian deserves to be happy. I know that he grew up without a dad and lost his mother and aunt in a car crash a few years ago. I know that he wants a family of his own.
But I can’t help thinking about what this means for me.
This is why I was going to be a solo act. Because I didn’t want to deal with three other people’s lives and needs getting in the way of success.
This is why I live across the country from my family. Because I want to live my life without being weighed down.
It’s selfish. I won’t deny that.
But it doesn’t make it any less true.
When the meeting wraps, the guys and I take Ian out for a celebratory drink at a bar down the road, and I try not to ask the questions I really want to ask. Will the tour go on without Ian? What happens if we postpone for a year? And, my most pressing one. Is this the beginning of the end for ‘Say Yes?’
Ian has to leave pretty quickly to take Cora to a doctor’s appointment. Jack makes his way out next and Shawn leaves pretty soon after, both returning home to their girlfriends. Fuck, it could be wedding bells again soon for either of these guys. Shawn is destined to be a dad someday. Jack has even said that it wasn’t out of the question for him.
I pull out my phone.
Jane: Want to go to dinner with Kelvin and Dean and me?
Jane: We’re celebrating something.
I sigh. I should stop being a selfish bastard and go see what Jane is celebrating. But I can’t make myself get up from this bar. I order another whiskey and text Jane.
Dylan: I’m sorry. I can’t tonight.
20
Jane
I don’t hear from Dylan all afternoon. Eventually, Kelvin and Dean get hungry, and I don’t want to appear like a woman who’d wait around all day for a man, so we go out to a dumpling place that Dean knew of that was near enough to Dylan’s apartment that he can join us when he’s through.
But as we drink our sake, or in my case, sweet plum wine, and the appetizers come, I start lose to faith in Dylan’s arrival. Then, as the first round of soup dumplings hit the table, I get a text message confirming that I’ll be the third wheel at dinner tonight.
I get up to use the restroom.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Kelvin asks. “This is a dinner in your honor, so you’ll bloody well sit through it.”
“I need to use the bathroom.”
“Oh. I thought you were planning an escape or something.”
“Just to the ladies’ room.”
“Good.”
I’ll admit that I consider making a swift, but polite, exit and letting Kelvin and Dean have the evening to themselves, but they’re right. This evening is about me, and I’m going to try to enjoy it.
Despite that, once I’m alone in the bathroom stall, I pull out my phone and reread that text over again. I thought Dyla
n and I were okay. But maybe I was wrong.
It’s hard to imagine that when Dylan told me that I was more beautiful than I realize, kissed the hell out of me, and we had hot, slow morning sex that he was trying to tell me that he didn’t want to see me anymore.
But maybe something happened that made him realize that I wasn’t worth the effort.
I swallow my anxiety and return to Dean and Kelvin. And my refilled glass of plum wine, which I drink quickly.
“So what are you going to do with your inheritance, Jane?” Dean asks.
“I’m not sure yet,” I answer. “I’m thinking about art school. I’ve started applications to six or seven programs. They could be interesting.”
I notice that I don’t say it with too much enthusiasm.
“Or…” Kelvin prods. Dean looks curious.
I decide that there’s no point not telling him about the trip.
“My grandmother always had this idea that you don’t learn art in school. You learn it from experience. She wanted me to travel and see the great art out there in person. Not in a textbook,” I explain.
“I kind of agree,” Dean says. “I mean, as a dancer, I know that I needed to learn a fair amount of technique. And that comes from a classroom. But when I decided that I wanted to study choreography, I had to go out into the world and be inspired by what I saw.”
Right. I’d almost forgotten that Dean was in the arts too.
“Your grandmother was an adventurous woman,” he adds.
I nod. She was.
“So you vote for the trip?” I ask.
“Yes,” he answers. “I’d go in a heartbeat.”
“That’s two votes for trip,” Kelvin adds.
“Where would you go first?” Dean wonders.
“Paris,” I answer quickly. “Then Spain, then Italy. Then Greece. Then Croatia. Then Morocco. Then Cairo.”
“Sounds like you’ve got this all pretty much planned out.”
“I do, actually,” I admit. “I’ve got my whole trip planned down to the day. It takes about four and a half months. Dozens of cities…”