Love in B Minor

by Elodie Nowodazkij

  As soon as we pull over, Jen shows up. She looks bewildered. It’s not in the way she walks because she still looks like she owns the room. And I’m sure anyone else who saw her right now would think she has it all together, but I know better. She’s playing with her hair, and her mouth is pursed into a thin line. She hugs her friend Alisha. And I open the passenger door. She slides in and her hands shake slightly as she puts them on her knees.

  “Did you see the article?”

  “They got my number. I don’t know how, but they got my number.” She swallows her tears. “I was fine, you know, death threats and stuff but whatever. People are going to be haters, right?” Her shoulders now tremble the same way as her hands, and she pulls out her cell phone.

  Her voice drops to a whisper. “Look what they wrote, how can someone write something like this?”

  Ur r such an aful personn. Y let ur sister dy.

  The anger that was simmering below the surface is boiling and I punch the seat in front of me, wrap my arm around her and pull her close to me. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “I don’t understand. Attacking me is one thing, but talking about my sister?” She sniffles and buries her head into my shoulder, taking a deep breath like she’s trying to regain control. “I need to call my parents, I need to tell them what’s going on so they don’t hear about it from someone else.”

  But her phone rings before she can dial the number. “Do you know this number?” I ask her and she shakes her head. “I don’t know that many people in France, and that’s a French number.” I send it to voice mail and turn off her cell. “We’ll get you a new number. Why don’t you use my cell to call your parents?”

  She nods and sits further away from me as she dials. “Mom?” Her voice is firmer, like she wants to pretend she’s okay even though she’s clearly shaken. Who wouldn’t be?

  “I’m okay. Yes, I’m sorry. I should have called you and let you know I got the part. I’m so sorry.”

  She listens to whatever her mom is saying and then she closes her eyes. “Yes, Dad. I’m sure. No, I don’t want to go home. I’m doing this. It’s going to help me, and the company, and Dad, Mia wouldn’t want me to give up. She wouldn’t want me to give up,” she repeats and this time I believe she’s calmer. As if thinking about her sister is giving her new strength. I touch her knee and when she hangs up, she puts her hand on mine, interlinking our fingers. It calms me too.

  “What did they say?”

  “Someone got their home number too. We’re not even listed. They received phone calls early this morning and they’ve been trying to reach me, but I turned off my phone until I finished rehearsing. I didn’t realize how mean people can be.” She forces her lips into a smile that looks so sad, I want to envelop into my arms again. “And I used to be a mean girl.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When my sister got diagnosed, I had…issues. And I don’t know, I turned myself into a mean girl to protect myself. Kids used to say the meanest things to me when I first started at the School of Performing Arts, and I decided to turn the tables on them.”

  “Attack before you get hit?”

  “Pretty much. But it got to be a bit too much—I took my role a bit too much to heart. I got better though.”

  “Are you really sure you want to go through with this?”

  “I am. I need to change my number but it has to calm down, right?”

  “I’m sure it will. The thing is that people got so angry when we stopped playing after Benji died, Olivia and I split up, we canceled concert after concert. At the beginning, fans were understanding, but then it got a bit crazy. We were losing our audience. This is our comeback, so the scrutiny is intense.’

  “Did Grégoire talk to that blogger lady earlier than planned? I don’t understand.”

  “Apparently, someone else leaked it.” And I glance at her. She’s leaning against the seat. Her hair is all over the place. She didn’t do it.

  “Why?” She sounds genuinely surprised. “I don’t get it. Why leak it?”

  “People like to have good relationships with influential bloggers or journalists—it gives them a sense of importance or it helps them sabotage others.”

  “Wow, that sounds like fun. Not.” She shakes her head and takes her hand away from mine. “I need to go and take a shower before the meeting, I need to go back home and grab other clothes in case the shooting director already wants me to dance.”

  “Your place might be crowded. Do you have more clothes in your bag?”

  “I have the clothes I went into the school with this morning: baggy pants and a sweater.”

  “Those baggy pants look good on you.” I try to joke but it falls flat when she keeps on staring ahead. “Why don’t you come back to my place, take a shower and then we’ll head out to the studio. Today is all about reading the script and about Olivia and I singing that song together to see if it still fits what the director had in mind.”

  “I don’t want to bother you.”

  “Are you kidding me? You won’t bother me at all.” And then because I want to see a smile in her eyes again. Because I want to make sure she understands I’m there for her. And because I want to believe we might stand a chance in the future, I say, “We’re friends after all, right?”

  When a smile forms on her lips, I’m tempted to cradle her face in my hands and taste her mouth again, but instead I only offer my hand. She stares at it for a second before linking our fingers together again.

  “Right.”

  “Take us to the Eiffel apartment,” I tell Matthieu, our driver.

  “We’ll be there in ten minutes,” he replies. Drivers are always so discreet you almost forget they’re there, but for a second I look at him from the mirror.

  Everyone becomes suspicious when you don’t know where the possible leaks come from.

  CHAPTER 30 – JEN

  His apartment looks the same and oh so different. Every turn reminds me of that night we spent together. The counter against which he kissed me. The oven where he baked the cookies. The way I licked the dough from his fingers.

  That shower might need to be cold. It’s funny how my mind tries so hard to focus on something other than the pain I feel deep in my chest.

  I still can’t believe someone would bring Mia into the mix.

  Lucas hands me a towel and his eyes darken, his mouth opens slightly and he rubs the back of his neck. His voice sounds gruffer when he speaks again. “There…I’ll be waiting. I texted Grégoire that we’ll be a tad late but that we’ll be there as soon as possible.”

  I know he’s feeling it too, the pull between us, the air crackling, full of delicious tension. For a split second, I’m tempted to forget everything, to use him to forget everything, to drop my towel and throw myself into his arms. By the look of him, he wouldn’t push me away.

  But it’s not fair. Not fair to him and not fair to me. I can’t keep on repeating the mistakes of my past. That’s what my therapist told me once, that I needed to break the cycle. And yes, I still stumbled along the way, but I want to believe that I’m out of the darker path.

  “Thank you.” I turn away and hurry into the bathroom. There’s something intimate about showering in a guy’s place. Like we’re an item, like it’s our life, like we want to spend as much time together as possible.

  His bathroom is super clean—and I may or may not carefully take his cologne bottle and sniff it. It’s him. I’m tempted to find a piece of paper I could spray it on and keep with me, but clearly that’s the crushing part of my brain talking. Because that’s not what friends do. Friends don’t think about opening the door and asking their friend to come join them in the shower.

  I turn on the shower, take off my clothes and wait until it’s at least a bit warm before stepping in. My mind turns and turns but it always comes back to two important facts: one, I should tell him about what I did, and soon; and two, I really really like him.

&
nbsp; CHAPTER 31 – LUCAS

  The sound of the water tempts me. If the water is running, she’s in the shower and if she’s in the shower, I could massage the tension away from her shoulders, I could kiss every inch of her skin. But I can’t just go and knock on the door and ask her if she needs help showering. That sounds way too cheesy, and she made it clear so many times that she only wants to be friends.

  So instead of giving in to my desires, I sit down at my computer and try to do some damage control. I haven’t been on social media since the band split up, but I still lurk from time to time. My last tweet was from January last year.

  Thanks everyone for the love and support. Need some time to regroup. Talk later.

  That tweet had so many notifications that I stopped checking.

  I clear my throat and cross my fingers Grégoire is not going to go via the deep end. He must have already told that woman about Olivia because the first tweets are coming in my feed. “Oh wow, the band is reuniting!”

  “Olivia and Lucas Forever.”

  “Fuck Olivia.”

  Fuck that Jen girl.”

  People really tend to forget themselves behind a screen. I crack my knuckles and type. “New song. New video. It’s going to be awesome.” No hashtag because I can’t think of any, but I do tag Olivia in it. Trying to leave Jen out of the spotlight as much as possible.

  And then I call Grégoire. “Jen needs a new number. Can someone take care of that?”

  “How is she doing?” And he actually sounds genuinely worried.

  “Like shit. People were attacking her from all sides.”

  “I’m almost at your door. Your driver said he dropped you off at your apartment, right?”

  “You don’t need to come here.”

  “Actually, I do. I talked with the director of her ballet company, and both of them came up with a great idea to promote both the new song and their company. Jen is much shrewder than I gave her credit for.”

  And my hands clam up, the same old doubts come crashing back. “What do you mean, she came up with a new idea?”

  “Let’s talk once I’m there.”

  I totally forgot to tell Grégoire about what I put up on Twitter and how I want to try to drive the narrative. My eyes dart back to the bathroom door. The water has stopped. Why would Jen talk about a possible marketing idea with her ballet company first? Why didn’t she come to me?

  Everyone has an agenda. Everyone is always looking for something more. Olivia’s words come back to haunt me. After I confronted her about sharing those pictures of us, about giving an interview about Benji, about the fake engagement, she looked up at me, her eyes full of tears. And that’s what she told me. Then, she said, “And you’re looking for someone who is not me. That’s why I left the band. I thought maybe you’d chase after me. But you didn’t.”

  “I never used you!”

  “Of course you did. We used each other and that’s why we’re so broken now. I’m sorry for everything. I really am. But I’m not the only one to blame.”

  Was she right?

  Did I use her in some way?

  I loved her. I did. I never betrayed her the way she did with me. I could have forgiven the engagement story if she had come clean with it. Our trip to Corsica two weeks after Benji died was supposed to get us back on track; it was our last chance to save a relationship that had felt like it was way past its expiration date. I had lingering doubts about her and Benji. I didn’t want to believe the gossip magazines, but she lied so many times.

  And if I’m a hundred percent honest with myself, I still had doubts nothing happened between her and Benji while I was giving interviews in the UK for several weeks.

  Jen opens the door from the bathroom, her hair in a knot above her head. She’s back in her sweatpants and sweater from the School of Performing Arts. She looks so fragile yet so strong. And with her I have a feeling I’ve never really had with Olivia. With her, I feel like we could support one another, lean on each other. That there wouldn’t only be one taking and the other giving.

  “Hey… Can I talk to you?’ she asks and plops herself next to me on the couch. She smells like my shower gel.

  “Of course. Is it about what you and your director came up with to do more marketing?”

  She raises one eyebrow in the way I’ve learned she sometimes shows she’s confused. “What are you talking about?” She leans back and crosses her leg under her. She looks so at ease, so much like she belongs, and it’s hard to keep my thoughts straight.

  “Grégoire is coming over. He mentioned you and your director thought about a special event to help promote both your company and the new song.”

  “Ohhh…I didn’t suggest anything. My director apparently has some sources who told him what band was auditioning, and he had the idea that during the show we have next month, you come and play the piano while I dance.”

  The expression on her face remains open, like she’s telling the truth. “Okay,” I say slowly.

  “But there’s something else I need to tell you. And I need to tell it to you before Grégoire arrives.”

  “What?”

  “It’s about…” The doorbell rings but she puts her hand on my arm.

  “Please, you’ve got to listen to me. I don’t want you to hear about it from anyone else.”

  I ignore the doorbell; my entire attention is on her, on the way she bites her lip and on the way she looks so distressed I want to take her in my arms.

  “I…I had a problem with drugs.”

  My mouth opens but there’s no sound. I shake my head. The doorbell continues ringing and I stride to the door. “Grégoire, give us two minutes. Okay? Two minutes.”

  And I turn back to her. She squares her shoulders like she’s ready for a fight.

  CHAPTER 32 – JEN

  I wanted to wait until I saw my new therapist. I wanted to wait until I could make sense of all my feelings, but I can’t wait. Because if I wait, I might hurt him even more, and that’s not fair.

  He stares at me and for the first time, I can’t decipher his expression. “I used drugs,” I repeat and even though my voice is somewhat steady, my insides are shaking. I expect him to yell or to ask me to leave. Not to sit back down and to force himself to calm down, which I know he’s doing by the way he’s breathing in and out.

  “When?” His tone is even.

  The words are hard to come out, but they do. Slowly, painfully.

  His cell phone continues to ring, but Lucas ignores it. “Don’t worry about.” His voice is calm and almost soothing even though his face doesn’t reveal anything about his feelings.

  So I continue talking through the doorbell and the phone calls. Grégoire must be losing it. I tell Lucas about the shame and the tears, about the stay in the rehab center, about my therapy, about my coping mechanisms. I’m not hiding anything anymore.

  “Why did you tell me?”

  “I wanted to…I didn’t want you to find out from one of those gossip reporters or anyone else. I wanted to be the one to tell you.”

  “But why?”

  I struggle to answer. Because the reason I wanted to tell him myself is for him to really know me, to know the good and the bad, to make him understand that I trust him. And that I want him to trust me. Because I don’t want to hurt him in any way.

  “Why?” he asks again—his breath tickles my neck, and I didn’t even realize I had closed my eyes. When I open them, he’s closer to me. His hand reaches my face and he caresses it. “You could have made up something. You could have lied—saying it wasn’t true. That you were used.”

  I lean into his hand, letting his warmth spread through me. “Because…because I was scared to hurt you…if you found out any other way. And at first I was afraid to tell you because I was scared you would look at me differently.”

  “I understand everything about making mistakes. And learning from them. You made a mistake. You almost died. Yes, I would have
been pissed if you never told me about it, but I’m also pissed you felt like you had to hide it from me in the first place. Not pissed at you. At me.”

  And he sounds so much like that first night we spent together. And because I’ve been fighting my feelings for what seems like forever even though I’ve known him for such a short time, and because I feel a connection I’ve never felt before with someone, I lean in and kiss him.

  He seems surprised at first, but only for a second. “Finally,” he whispers and pulls me closer to him. His mouth is urgent, and passionate, and I want more. I want everything. I want him.

  Someone must have opened to Grégoire because there are loud knocks at Lucas’ door. He yells, “You better be dressed and ready to go!” He sounds pissed, but it might be more efficient if he didn’t sound pissed half of the time.

  “We need to tell him about all of this. Before more things are spread everywhere….”

  CHAPTER 33 - LUCAS

  Jen tenses at my words, and I want to find a way to reassure her it’s going to be okay, but I don’t know for sure. Benji’s death showed me the uncertainty of it all. The uncertainty about life and friendships and dreams.

  Grégoire knocks again and this time, I get up—after kissing Jen slightly on the cheek. It’s a reassuring kiss, but her smile is still tense.

  “What took you so long?” He barges in like he owns the place. Like he usually does. And then his eyes dance past me, land on Jen, who’s now sitting straight on the couch.

  “And here I thought you two could actually keep your hands off each other. It is a bad idea. A very bad idea.” He pauses and shakes his head in his ‘I think you’re losing it” way. He glares at me. “I did tell you that you two shouldn’t even think about starting whatever it is you’re starting. And if it’s a booty call you want, you can have that with pretty much anybody out there.”