Juliet yells as I listen in, walking down the hallway.
“—out of his fucking mind?” she yells.
“It’s me,” I say. “Dave.”
Silence. Then, “You.” Her tone scares me. “Are you insane? What exactly do you expect me to tell this other band I just booked twelve hours ago?”
Meg follows me into the lounge and sits next to me on the couch, cringing and indicating to Juliet. I shrug and grimace. Then to Juliet, I say, “I understand. There were extenuating circumstances.”
“I heard. Still. You gave up the slot, Dave. I can’t take it away from someone at this point.”
That would be a dick thing to do to another band. “Can we split the set? Three songs each?”
She huffs. “It’s more than that. I had programs remade and signs and press releases. You fucked me over by backing out, and now you’re trying to do it again.”
“I can help you with the print stuff.” I make the offer but have no idea how to print a program.
Meg waves her fingers. “Let me talk to her.”
“Hold on,” I say, and hand Meg the phone.
She takes a deep breath then puts the phone to her ear. “Hey Juliet!”
Juliet is yelling. I can’t make out the words but I can hear the volume.
“I know,” Meg says. “You’re right.” Then, “He’s a complete moron.”
I turn my palms up and whisper. “What the fuck?”
Meg pushes me as she listens. “Well, what if I told you I could ask my dad’s people to reprint everything?”
I smile. Meg to the rescue!
“I know I shouldn’t have to, but you should see him, Juliet. He’s all cute and has twinkly eyes. Remember when he sang for us in the lounge?”
I beam, and she rolls her eyes and then gives me the finger.
“Okay. You will? Yes! I’ll call my dad’s assistant right now. Okay. I will. Thanks! You’re doing the right thing. Frank was a big fan of The Randoms, don’t forget.”
Was that just last summer when he’d come to the Beach Bum to hear us play? I touch Meg’s arm and mouth a thank you.
She waves me away. “Yeah, I miss him too. This is a nice thing you’re doing to honor his memory.”
I rest my head on the back of the couch and wait for her to finish. When she hangs up, the mood has changed. Frank’s memory does that to everyone who knew him.
She sighs. “Juliet said you can do three songs. She also said she hates you, and I think I agree. No disappearing for you now though. You have to help me with her programs. You have five minutes to go tell Tuck what you need to tell him, and then you’re mine. Got it?”
I’d rather have used an hour to practice and an hour to find something to wear. But Meg’s right. I can’t abandon her when she’s going out of her way for the guys and me. “Got it.”
Tuck’s in room one hanging with Chase and Ben when I return. I tell him to get the guys dressed and ready. No tuxes—no time for that—but they have to look nice and bring their instruments. I tell him to go with our original playlist of covers.
He raises his eyebrows. “But what about your new songs?”
I shake my head. “No time to practice. We’ll do three songs and mention we have originals, and hopefully we’ll blow them away enough that they’ll ask for a demo.”
Tuck shrugs. “It’s better than nothing. I’ll call the guys.”
He grunts a goodbye to the basement guys as I offer Chase his phone back. “Your girlfriend ripped me a new one, but she’s pretty amazing.”
“She is.” He smiles as he takes his phone.
“And yours,” I say to Ben. “I think I love her.”
“Well, get in line, Charming. Everyone does.”
When I rejoin Meg in room three, she’s on her phone with her dad’s assistant. She holds it away from her ear and whispers, “Don’t say I never did anything for you, Second Floor Dave.”
I love all that Meg is doing for me and the band, but I’d give it all up, everything, if Maggie would return my damn calls. Grabbing her arm, I ask, “Can you get your roommate to give me another chance?”
She shakes her head and pouts. “Sorry. You’re on your own for that one.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket again, and my shoulders drop when there’s nothing from Maggie. I press every button on the damn device, hoping there’s something, anything from her. I want to throw the fucking thing against the wall when I realize there isn’t. I fucked up. Big time. And now I need to figure out how to fix it.
Chapter 29
Maggie
On the two-and-a-half hour ride from Delaware to NJU, I listen to the ten voicemails from Dave. The first one is casual and frantic. “Listen. I’m not the father. This probably doesn’t make sense, but I totally take back my breakup.” I have to pull over to listen to it twice. Surprisingly, it doesn’t make me feel any better. I don’t have the urge to jump into his arms and forget everything.
As I listen to the messages, I sense him becoming more serious as his volume lowers and his overall tone changes. By the last one, he must get the hint I’m not interested.
He sighs. “I understand, Maggie. You don’t want to give me another chance. I know I’ve ruined things. I shouldn’t have said no when you offered to help. I should have believed in us. I’m sorry I didn’t, and I don’t know what I can say to make you understand what I was thinking. But know this. I was only trying to do what was right.”
I get it. I do. He didn’t want to burden me with his problems.
Then he says, “I couldn’t let you give up Olympia for me. Not when I thought I was becoming a father. Not for anything. You have to go, Maggie.”
Even though I want to tell Dave that I didn’t give up on Olympia because of him, I don’t call him back. What’s done is done, and maybe I do need a break from boys who try to run my life and make decisions for me.
Done.
Done with romance. Done with dating and guys.
Done.
By the time I get back to the dorm, I’m a half hour late for the gala and wearing sweats. I walk into the basement of Sheridan with my dress in a garment bag, slung over my shoulder.
Thinking everyone’s gone, I walk to room three and put my key in the door.
Muffled voices in room four stop me from going inside.
“I know how hard this is for you.” Pooja’s voice is loud, but calm. “Mrs. O’Leary will be there and she’ll want to see you. You haven’t talked to her in so long.”
Rocco’s had a rough time dealing with Frank’s death. The fact that it was Pooja’s ex who killed him hasn’t helped matters. Still, Rocco and Pooja never fight. None of us has ever witnessed anything more than flirty bickering. I move closer to the door, curious.
I hear the low tones of Rocco’s voice but can’t make out the words. Then Pooja says, “It’s not right anymore. I need to do this. For you. You have to trust me.”
More Rocco murmuring.
“I love you too, but if I’m going to learn to trust myself again, I have to trust this. We can’t be together anymore. We need to heal—”
I hold my hand over my mouth. They’re breaking up?
Rocco murmurs something indecipherable. I lean closer.
“I don’t want to lose you either, but you’re not getting any better. I’m falling apart. We can’t be together as a couple if we don’t have it together separately.”
Murmurs.
Her volume rises. “It’s not bullshit, Roc. You used to have such faith, and you believed in my gift as much as I did. It’s one of the things I love about you.”
I shake my head and realize I’m being a total creepo eavesdropper. I step back from the door as it flings open.
Pooja’s wearing a long, curve hugging lime green dress that contrasts with her dark skin and hair. It swoops over one shoulder and under the other with a row of glittery sequins. She’s an absolute goddess.
Her tense face softens when she sees me. “Oh hey, Maggie.”
I give a weak wave. “Um, hi.”
Rocco appears behind her wearing his tux, his long dark hair pushed back away from his face. My lord. He’s a hot giant. If I saw him on the street, I’d expect him to flex and rip through the suit like The Hulk. “Patrinski, are you just getting back?”
I nod, embarrassed that I eavesdropped on their exchange.
He looks at Pooja, a mask of sadness in his dark eyes. “We’ll talk more later?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know what else I can say.”
He leans down and kisses her cheek. We watch him walk down the hallway. In a flash, he stops and punches the wall. Pooja and I jump. He grunts and continues pushing the doorway to the staircase open so hard that it hits the wall behind it, and we jump again.
Her eyes water as she looks to me.
I touch her arm. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She shakes her head. “He can’t see. He can’t see that he’ll never get over Frank as long as he’s with me.” A tear falls down her cheek.
“But you guys are so good together. Like you’re made to be together.”
“Frank’s death changed that. We have a lot of love still, but I can see, Maggie. The colors. They’re not the same. It breaks my heart and letting Rocco go is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I love him enough to let him go and let him heal. Maybe someday, if….”
Her voice trails off. I can’t imagine letting someone go so unselfishly.
Then I think of Dave. That’s what he was trying to do, even though he didn’t have the same gifts as Pooja. He loved me enough to let me go. Still, we were just starting out. Rocco and Pooja seemed more solid than any couple on the floor.
Now we’re both tearing up.
“Are you okay?” Pooja asks.
I shrug. “Not really. I feel bad for you and Roc.”
“It hurts, but it’s for the best. I had to be honest with him and myself.” She wipes the tear from my cheek. “We heard about Dave and Amber.”
I take my phone out of my pocket and hold it up. “Yeah, well, I have about a hundred voicemails from him. Turns out he’s not the daddy after all.”
“Oh,” Pooja says flatly. “That’s good, right?”
I frown at the phone as another text dings from him. “Yeah, I guess.”
“You’re not dressed for the gala.” Pooja’s dark eyes, made-up green to match her dress, look me up and down.
I run my hand over my messy hair. “The last thing I feel like doing is dressing up and socializing. Maybe I’ll skip. Hide in my room for a while.”
Pooja moves closer. Her eyes laser into mine. “How could you?”
“What?” I ask. “Juliet will get over it.”
She huffs and grabs my arm, marching me a few yards down the hallway. “Look up.”
I ignore her direction and look at her instead. So angry and beautiful. She yanks my hair.
“Ow!” I yell, jerking away.
“Look. Up.”
With closed eyes, I turn my face to the ceiling, knowing what’s there. It’s the portrait of Frank that Chase had painted after the shooting. I remember my dream—Frank smiling at me as he walked up the beach, dripping from the ocean. He always had a smile. I shouldn’t be afraid to see him.
I open my eyes, and there he is, barely. Chase had painted him with a light touch, beiges, whites, silvers. Even Frank’s bright red hair somehow looks muted and less severe on the ceiling.
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Do you think this is easy for me? It’s my fault he’s gone. It’s my history that ended him. But he deserves to be remembered. Tonight is about remembering him, not wallowing in self-pity. Believe me, if it was the night for that, I’d be in my bed with my head under the covers.”
Maybe I am being an ass. Tonight is about remembering Frank and the way he was—fun, dynamic, and bright. It’s not about me and Dave, Amber and her baby, or even Rocco and Pooja.
She grabs my arm again. “Go put that dress on and fix yourself up. You have ten minutes. I’m getting us a car.”
* * *
A half hour later, Pooja and I walk into the campus convention center’s ballroom on the far north end of the NJU campus. Bobby pins from my quickie updo stab my head and my foot still hurts in my high sandals from the glass cut the night before. I put my fingers on my head and loosen the style which grants me a little relief.
Before we step into the ballroom, I look down at the dress I wore to prom last spring to make sure everything is in place. The hot pink lace overlay provides ample coverage, but teases at the skimpy, satin liner underneath. It’s short, but not too short. Sexy, but not too sexy. Sweet, but not too sweet. Pooja’s borrowed clutch is silver and matches my strappy shoes. The only thing inside is my phone, some cash, and Dave’s wooden beads.
Pooja catches me examining myself. “You look beautiful. I love that dress.”
“Me too. I’m happy I fit in it after all the ice cream you girls have been feeding me.”
Pooja smiles and locks her arm through mine. Rocco joins us, the vein in his neck pushes against the tight collar of his tux. Dark circles line his eyes. “You both look amazing.”
He looks at Pooja, who presses her lips together. I’m afraid she’ll cry. He says, “Thank you for making me come” and then kisses her cheek. Her lips turn into a sad grin, and she excuses herself, walking back into the hallway.
He tries to walk after her, but I take his hand to stop him. “Let her go. Give her a minute.”
He stops and looks back at me. “I don’t know what to do.”
I wrap my arms around him. “I’m sorry. For everything. She has her reasons.”
He pulls away and looks to the door again. “I’m trying to respect that. But I love her so much.”
Seeing a guy as big and strong as Rocco ache for love makes my heart hurt. “I know.”
His eyes find mine, and he holds my hands. “What about you? Do you want me to beat up Second Floor Dave for you? Because I’d love to hit something right now. Just say the word.”
I take a deep breath then let go of him. “No. Don’t bother. He’s a good guy, just not the right one for me.”
Is there a right one for me? Even if there is, I’m not sure I care anymore.
Chapter 30
Dave
Tommy, Bryce, Chip, Tucker, and I carry our instruments through the stage door into the backstage area of the ballroom. Soft dinner-type elevator music plays, guests laugh, and glassware clinks. I wonder if Maggie’s inside and if she’s looking for me. I’d met the band a few minutes ago, after Meg, Ben, and I picked up the new programs from her father’s assistant at the print shop in Jersey City. Meg tried to text Maggie, but she didn’t respond.
Once the equipment is where it needs to be, we hang outside, behind the building so Tucker can smoke. Tommy tosses something at me. I catch the material and hold it up. It’s a white shirt with buttons and a purple semi-wrinkled tie. He snickers. “I thought you should dress up.”
“I’ll take what I can get. Thanks.” I pull my T-shirt over my head, put the shirt on, and tuck it into my cargo shorts. I have no idea how to tie the tie, so I let it hang.
Chipper looks me over. “It’s a look.”
Tuck approaches, his cigarette dangling from his mouth. He lets it stick to his bottom lip as he looks me up and down. “You look dreamy, David.” He sucks the stick back into his mouth and inhales. I push the smoke away when he blows it in my face.
“You need to quit that shit.”
He laughs. “I’m nervous. I’ll quit tomorrow. Thanks for setting this back up for us.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
“You sure you don’t want to try your new songs?”
I shake my head. “We didn’t master them yet. Let’s just do the three we picked and let everyone have a good time. If we get the gig, we get it. If not, other opportunities will come up.”
“You’re right,” Bryce says. “Let’s just have some fun. For your fri
end Frank.”
We stand in a line, our backs against the building. “I remember him at the shore gigs. That red hair. Man, he’d get so drunk. Remember that time he hopped on stage with us?” Chip asks.
I laugh. “I saw him in a dream. He told me that music is my fuel and not to give it up. Said the same thing about Maggie.” He also told me to play my new songs, but I don’t tell the guys that. I’m still trying to muster up some of that “grit” he spoke of.
“You’re seeing ghosts now?” Tuck takes a drag and then throws his butt to the sidewalk. “You’re a mess. How about first we kick ass on stage, and then we go find your girl? She’s out there somewhere, right? Meg said she’s coming?”
“She is.” My heart quickens at the thought of talking to Maggie face to face instead of talking to her voicemail for the millionth time today. I try to stay focused on the guys as we talk about our set.
Soon, we go inside to set up our equipment. The jazz band, playing the dinner music for the guests, is seated on the ballroom floor. The stage is free for us to arrange our set up and plug in our instruments. We’re our own roadies. We’ve done it so many times we don’t need to talk. We all know our roles.
Juliet rearranged the program so we would be the first three songs, and the other band the last three. She had a few speakers lined up—including herself and Frank’s grandmother, if I recall from the millions of programs we printed—and then a presentation from the school.
While the guys set up, I creep downstage and sneak a peek through the heavy velvet curtain. Poppy from the basement is milling around. First semester, she and I had a Music Appreciation together. I look at the people she’s talking to and wonder if they are the industry execs she invited. My hands start to sweat at having a captive audience of professionals watching us perform. I’m not sure if we’ll ever get an opportunity like this again.
Juliet is hard to miss as she floats around the room in a long, red dress. Maggie was right when she advised her to go with red. She looks like a model, tall, dark, and gorgeous. I can see why she’s doing so well on television. Chase stands behind her, his hand on the small of her back, while she talks up President Hernandez and Rodrigo.
She Wants It All: Sheridan Hall Series, Book Three Page 27