by Mae, Amelia
I nod. He’s probably right about that.
“And lastly, you guys really are a team. Each of you has a strength that you lend to the group. You feed off of each other’s energy.”
“I just…”
“Dylan, if any of the four of you had a shot at a solo career, it’d be you,” he admits.
“Good. I want to give it a try.”
“But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
He folds his arms over his chest. He looks like he means it.
“Just one night,” I say, “to see how it goes.”
Christian just stares at me.
“Come on. It doesn’t have to be a huge stadium or anything. The Anonymous Bar would be fine. Or Devil’s Playground,” I goad.
“You’re really determined to do this, aren’t you?” he asks.
I nod.
“And you’re prepared for the rest of your band to hate you for it?”
“I don’t love it,” I tell him honestly, “but…”
“Fine, I’ll make it happen,” he says, sighing, “It’s your funeral.”
I get back to my apartment and start making up a set list. I need to go through Say Yes’s song catalogue and choose what I want to perform. It’s rough because some of our band’s more recent hits, like Spin the Bottle or Hey, Darlin’ weren’t written by me.
Therefore, they can’t go in my solo show.
I’m also going to have to find some backing musicians, unless I want to go acoustic. Most people don’t know that I play guitar. I’m not nearly as good as Jack, but I can hold my own. I can totally do this on stage.
I find my Gibson and take it out of the case, tuning it as best I can and start fiddling with the intro to Her Name in Stars. I sing the first verse, then the second.
Throughout the years, I’ve played this song with so many different intentions behind it. I’ve played it as though I missed the feisty bartender I slept with that night. I’ve played it as though I was looking back on a memory fondly. I’ve played it as though I desperately wanted her back.
But as I finish singing the last few lines, I realize that I’m playing this song like I’ll never see her again.
Fuck, I miss Jane. I’m aching to see her. I have to find out how badly I fucked things up.
I pull out my phone and type out a text message.
Dylan: I’m so sorry, Jane. Can you ever forgive me?
But I don’t send it.
Instead, I type a far more cowardly message. To Kelvin.
Dylan: Is Jane still mad at me?
Kelvin takes a minute to respond.
Kelvin: Shouldn’t you be asking Jane that herself?
Dylan: Yes, but I’m a chicken. Please. If I ask her to have dinner with me tonight, do you think she’ll say yes?
Kelvin: Dylan, she’s angry and confused. Talking about her abandonment issues is a one-way ticket to the dog house with Jane. Trust me.
Dylan: Fuck.
Kelvin: But I happen to know the one thing that Jane will never, ever say no to.
Dylan: Tell me.
Kelvin: If you let me borrow your car to take your cousin on a date.
Dylan: You’re killing me.
Dylan: But… fine. Tell me.
I start to think about all the things that I know Jane likes. Ice cream. Rom-coms. Those places where you paint ceramic plates. I can do that.
Kelvin: The Chateau Marmont.
Dylan: The hotel? Seriously?
Kelvin: Dead serious. She’s always liked the building. Says it looks like a castle. And she’s from Ireland. She knows what castles look like.
Dylan: I’ve stayed there. It’s nice, but kind of over-rated.
Kelvin: Don’t ruin this for her. She says it reminds her of old Hollywood and she’s been obsessed with it since she moved to L.A.
Dylan: Okay. Take Jane to dinner at the Chateau Marmont.
Kelvin: Dylan, it’s a hotel. Get a room for fuck’s sake.
I laugh. And make a reservation.
23
Jane
“Why do I have to wear the green dress?” I ask Kelvin, as we look through my closet. “Dylan’s taking me to dinner. It’s probably going to be tacos or something. I don’t want to be overdressed.”
“You won’t be.”
“How do you know?”
“Just trust me,” he says.
Kelvin opens my underwear drawer and finds a strapless bra. I should be disturbed at him rooting through my lingerie, but as most of my underwear is, well… blah, it hardly matters. That is until he finds a lacy little thong.
“Hey, put that down,” I order.
“No,” he says, “put it on. And the bra. And the dress.”
There’s no use fighting Kelvin when he’s like this. We generally don’t do the stereotypical ‘gay man constantly giving fashion advice to his female friend’ thing. But sometimes Kelvin tells me what to wear, and I just do it.
“You’re not just going for tacos tonight, Jane.”
“What, then?” I ask, “Where is he taking me? You know something. What do you know?”
“Just put on the dress, straighten your hair, and trust me.”
I glare at Kelvin. I don’t like it when people tell me to trust them.
About a half an our later, my doorbell rings, and I open it to see Dylan Cotter standing in front of me. In a suit.
It takes me a minute to fully process Dylan in a suit. He’s slicked his hair back, and he’s trimmed his scruff, which makes him look all the more like a tattooed-up rocker trying to look like a gentleman.
He looks like the type of guy who shouldn’t be wearing a suit, and that makes him even hotter because I want to get him out of it.
“You, um… you look really good,” I finally force myself to say.
“You look beautiful,” he says smoothly.
“Thank you.”
He has a bouquet of flowers in his hand. They’re pretty. Lillies, I think. He offers them to me, and I stare at them, stunned, for too long before I realize that I’m supposed to take them and maybe find some water for them or something.
“You all right, Jane?” he asks. “They’re flowers. Not a bomb.”
“Yes. They’re lovely. Let me find a vase.”
Knowing full well that I don’t own a vase, I rummage through my kitchen cupboard for the tallest, sturdiest glass I have and fill it with water.
“It’s not the home they deserve, but it’s the best I have,” I tell him.
I set them on my little kitchen table. They’re bright and colorful and add some life to the space. Dylan looks at me with an eyebrow raised.
“What?” I wonder.
“Has no one ever brought you flowers before?”
I try to shrug it off. No. No one has. But I really don’t want to make tonight about that.
“Where are we going?” I ask, searching for my purse.
“It’s a surprise.”
“I hate surprises, Dylan.”
“You’ll like this one. Trust me.”
I want to grimace or groan, but I can’t. Because I do trust Dylan. More than I should, probably.
Wherever we’re going takes a while to get there, but Dylan is driving his flashy black car while wearing his sharp, black suit looking like sex on a stick. And I’m wearing my favorite, and only, dress. And heels.
And I’m riding through Hollywood feeling very… important.
“What are you thinking about?” Dylan asks.
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. You’ve got a big smile on your face.”
“So?”
“You’re definitely thinking about something,” he goads. “Come on.”
“Fine. I was thinking… no I can’t. It’s so cheesy,” I back track. “You’re going to laugh at me.”
“I promise you I won’t.”
I look out the window at all of the lights and all of the people. The neon signs from the theaters and the clubs.
“I was th
inking… being here with you all dressed up and headed somewhere in the famous parts of Los Angeles… I don’t know. It feels kind of glamorous,” I admit.
I feel myself blushing. What a ridiculous, childish thing to say. Fuck, I may as well have told him that I enjoy playing dress up and make believe.
“I just feel important,” I say quickly, hoping this part of the conversation will die right here.
“You are important, Jane.”
“No, you’re important,” I tell him. “You’re a famous rock star and you belong in this world.”
“What world?”
“This…” I gesture around me at our nice clothes and the fancy car. “The glamorous world,” I explain.
“Jane, a couple days ago, you, Dean and Kelvin pried my drunk ass off a barstool and carried me home. Did I belong in the glamour world then?”
“I don’t know. We did carry you to a pretty fancy apartment.”
He laughs.
“And if we hadn’t done that, some gossip rag would have cared enough to report about it. You would have made the celebrity section the next morning,” I continue, “and if that doesn’t establish your importance, I don’t know what would.”
“Hm…”
I mean it as a joke, but I don’t think it lands.
Silence takes over as we keep driving.
Pretty soon, we’re on Sunset.
Then I see it.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “How did you know?”
“Kelvin.”
He pulls off Sunset onto the smaller street leading us to the famous Chateau Marmont. My eyes go wide.
I’m really here.
I straighten my dress and smooth my hair. I find some lip gloss in my purse and apply a little before getting out of the car. Dylan watches me get ready as he hands the keys to the valet.
“This is really important to you, isn’t it?” he asks, curiously. “I thought Kelvin was exaggerating.”
“It’s silly…”
“Jane, stop saying that that the things you like and want are silly or cheesy,” he insists. “This is important to you, so it matters.”
“Right,” I start again, “When I first moved out here with Alastair, he had a meeting with some company nearby, and I went with him. I spent quite a while just wandering around this part of Sunset when I saw this hotel. Now, forgive me, I was young and still kind of in my fairytale phase, but in my mind, this place was everything.”
Dylan looks at the building, but I don’t think he sees it the way I do.
“In my eyes, this was where you went when you made it,” I tell him. “You get dressed up and you check in here and you just look out your balcony and…”
Maybe I’m gushing.
“Have you ever been here?” I ask.
“Yes,” he answers, “but I have a feeling I’m going to like it a lot more this time. I think I need to see this through your eyes.”
We’re seated in the dining room and a waiter approaches. I order a champagne cocktail and Dylan orders a brand of Scotch I don’t recognize.
“Cheers,” I say, drink in hand.
He smiles. “Cheers.”And we clink glasses.
We order appetizers, then dinner. Dylan even humors me and orders a fancy cheese course that I love and he indulges. He tells me a few more stories about life on the road with a rock band and the adventures that he and the guys have had over the past few years.
“It’s all kind of different now, though,” he says. “Now that most of the band is coupled up. It used to feel like the four of us against the world. Now it’s like everyone’s kind of playing for themselves.”
“Is it really, though?” I wonder. “You don’t see it like you’ve just acquired a bigger team?”
Dylan sighs, but thinks about it.
“Yeah, I guess I could try to see it that way. But when Ian announced that he and Cora were starting a family and that everything would get delayed a year on account of them, I couldn’t help feeling like the team was getting pulled apart a little.”
I guess I don’t see it that way.
“You don’t think Ian’s being selfish?” he asks.
“I don’t think Ian and Cora need your permission to start a family,” I answer.
“Of course they don’t need my permission, but it would be nice if they consulted the rest of the band first.”
“To what? Ask you, Jack, and Shawn if it was okay if they procreated?” I ask, astounded that he doesn’t seem to hear the difference.
Dylan swallows the last of his Scotch.
“I get it,” he says finally. “It is selfish of me.”
I nod, but don’t say anything. No use rubbing his nose in it.
“But I’m worried,” he continues. “I just wonder if this is the beginning of the end for Say Yes.”
“Why would it be?” I ask. “You just push everything back a year.”
“But… what if Aya or Nikki gets pregnant? What if the next album doesn’t do as well and no one wants to see us play anymore? What if we’re not as popular a year from now?” he asks, rhetorically.
“Well,” I start, “I don’t have an answer for that. I guess you’ll just have to have a little faith.”
The waiter comes by again and asks if we want another drink. Dylan looks at me for an answer.
“One more,” I tell the server, “but cut me off after this.”
“Enough band drama,” Dylan announces, once we have our last round of drinks. “Kelvin said that you have some big news.”
“I do. It’s taken all this time to finally prove that my grandparents left their estate and everything to me and not to my mother and stepfather, but some new documents surfaced,” I tell him. “Long story short, I’m finally getting my inheritance from my grandmother.”
“Jane, that’s amazing. Oh my God, I’m so happy for you.”
“Yeah. It hasn’t quite sank in yet.”
“So what are you going to do with it?” he asks. “Finish art school?”
“Actually, I’ve decided that art school will always be there,” I say, repeating Kelvin’s advice. “I’m going on my trip.”
Dylan breaks into a wide smile and it makes me kind of melt inside. I’m still nervous, but I know I’ve made the right decision.
I go through the checklist of the cities that I want to visit and everything I want to see while there. It’s a long list and before I know it, the restaurant is starting to close down for the night.
“Oh my, I’ve talked your ear off tonight,” I say, laughing. “Have you been to any of my cities?”
That’s right. I’m calling them my cities. Because they’re on my list.
“Some of them,” he answers, “but only to play a show or two, and then head straight back to the US. I’ve always wanted to travel, and I think that was half the reason I was looking forward to an overseas tour.”
“I can’t believe you haven’t traveled that much.”
“Well, I’ve been all over the US and Canada,” he says. “That’s not nothing.”
“Of course not.”
“We usually do a few months at a time, then take a break,” he says. “It’s pretty taxing.”
“I imagine so.”
“But, honestly, I’m always itching to start touring again,” he says. “I actually kind of dread the breaks. Especially now.”
“Why?”
“Well it used to be that I just didn’t like to stay in one place for too long. But now it’s more that everyone in the band has someone to come home to but me.”
I want to offer to Dylan that he can come home to me, but it’s too soon, and it would be too weird to even make a joke like that at this point.
But it does make me think about the future. I’m going to leave for my trip come the new year. Will Dylan and I date, or whatever this is, until I leave? Will he wait for me? What happens when Say Yes goes back on tour?
Hell. What happens tomorrow?
The waiter comes by with the check, and Dyl
an hands over his credit card before I can even offer to pay some of it.
“I got you a present,” he says.
“Really? You couldn’t just stop at flowers and dinner?” I ask. “Wait. I was joking. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.”
He just chuckles and pulls a card out of his wallet and hands it to me.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a key, Jane,” he teases.
“Yes. I see that. But what is it for?”
“It’s to one of the Premier suites here,” he says. “It’s yours for the night.”
My eyes widen. “You’re not staying?” I ask.
“Only if I’m invited,” he asks. “The room is yours until check out tomorrow. You can do anything you like. Jump on the bed. Order champagne and strawberries at three in the morning.”
“Invite a famous rock star upstairs for…”
“For what?’
“Um… a sleepover?”
“Come on, I know you weren’t going to say sleepover,” he taunts me.
“Movie night?” I ask, playing along.
“So I’m guessing I’m invited upstairs then, huh?”
I shrug like I’m considering it. “Well, I’d hate to have you get all dressed up just to send you home.”
“I did put on a suit just for you.”
We get up from the table and head toward the elevator. The private elevator for our suite.
The whole journey to our suite is private walkways and overlooks.
I image if you had enough money, you’d never have to interact with another human being again.
“You look nice in it,” I whisper, leaning a little closer to Dylan.
“I’m not big on suits. But I like the way you look at me in it.”
I have a feeling we’re both thinking the same thing. I like the way you look out of it too.
The elevator opens, and we step inside. The doors close.
“Come here,” Dylan whispers, pulling me to him.
His hands on my waist and mine on his chest, he leans in and kisses me. It a playful, gentle kiss, not like most of the time when he’s kissed me, and it’s hurried and frenzied and we’re groping each other and tearing at clothes.
He kisses me like we’ve got all the time in the world. And I guess we do. For now.