by Deana Birch
“It sucks for Sam,” said Jake. “Sometimes he feels like he’s a hired hand and not a part of the band.”
The complex was quiet. The other tenants either out or sleeping, the sole light on was mine. It was a warm night, so I sat down next to the pool and put my feet in to feel the refreshing water.
“Maybe you could cowrite something with him.” I swished my feet in the cool water and hunched my shoulders.
Jake kicked off his shoes and sat next to me.
“I thought about it. Maybe I can try next week, but I have such a methodical system. I’m afraid it may turn into me writing and Sam watching.”
“Because you’re a bulldozer.”
“Take it back or I will throw you in this pool.”
“If you throw me in this pool, I will walk from here to the door completely naked,” I said.
He shook his head and rolled his eyes.
“It got weird with the money, huh?” His face scrunched.
“Yeah. I hope it doesn’t drive a wedge between you and Sam. I was getting used to having a girlfriend my own age.” I stood up and wiped my wet feet on my legs.
“I’ll do the dishes,” said Jake. “I just need a minute.” He stayed by the pool, and I walked toward my front door.
“I’m gonna put the leftovers away,” I called back to him.
“Don’t you dare send any of the lemon thing over to Fern. I’m having it for breakfast.”
He smiled over to me, but the weight of his thoughts kept his smile from reaching his eyes.
21
Burning Bridges
* * *
JAKE
I patted the spot next to me on the bed, searching for my girl. When I only found her cool pillow, I opened my eyes to the empty room. I listened for any sign of her, but only heard the small buzz of silence. With the bright sun beaming through the window, I knew. That little shit was outside. I bet myself a hundred bucks she was topless. I found my trunks in the bathroom, put them on, and brushed my teeth. The foreign monster in my belly gurgled his unease. I spat the foam into the sink. She had to be kidding me. Richie was probably whacking off to the view of her behind his drapes. Not to mention those three idiots from across the courtyard.
I stomped out the door and my lips flattened at the sight of her. Topless, eyes closed, earphones in, dog by her side. Literally anyone could pass by and get a look at her boobs. Boobs that should be only for me. I marched over and stood next to her with my hands on my waist. Archie eagerly wagged his tail but stayed where he was. I cleared my throat. She opened her eyes, pushed up on her elbows, and pushed pause on her phone.
“You’re not gonna give me an inch on this?” I toggled my finger above her nipples.
“Morning!” She grinned.
“You’re killing me.”
“Time to flip anyway. Will you do my back?” She handed me the cream next to her, spun around onto her stomach, and faced the pool.
I snatched the sunscreen and applied it to her back, voicing my disapproval with mumbled groans. I tossed the lotion back to the ground and dove into the water. Archie belly flopped after me; it was nearly impossible to swim without him now. When I came up for air, he paddled over to me.
“She’s making me crazy, buddy.” I grabbed his face and scratched his wet cheeks. “She wants to show everyone her teetaas!”
“No one is here!” she protested from the chair.
“What are we going to do with her, Arch? Huh? What are we going to do?” I caught her smiling and pulled the dog’s muzzle to my ear. “Archie! That’s shocking!” I kissed his wet nose. “Besides, I’m pretty sure she’d like that.”
She rolled her eyes before closing them and turning her head to the side. I found the tennis ball and played a fake keep away with the dog. He got tired and possessive and eventually took his ball out of the pool and lay down to gnaw at it. I swam some laps; the pool was just big enough to accommodate. When I finished, Louana threw me a towel and I lay down in the chair next to her.
“What do you want to do today?” I asked.
“Not much. Be with you. I should probably do some laundry.”
“Do you mind if I write a bit?”
“Not at all.” She smiled, her eyes bright.
Was she proud of me?
“Do you want some breakfast? I could make an omelet.”
She brought her hand to her mouth in fake drama. “You, cooking for me? How can I refuse?”
I was back fifteen minutes later with two plates and forks and a huge piece of her lemon tart already in my stomach. She turned around and sat up, little boobs fully on display.
“Seriously!” Fucking, seriously.
She pulled on a dress and came over to the table where I had set down our breakfast.
“Louana, literally anyone can see you.”
“No one is here.” She motioned to the empty courtyard. “I’ve never seen anyone out on a Sunday morning.”
“How would you even know? Your eyes are closed, and you have your headphones in.”
“I thought you liked it when I didn’t wear a bra.”
“I do.”
“Well, which is it then?” She tilted her chin.
“I like it when you don’t wear a bra but you’re covered, like now.” What was unclear about her not showing her tits to the neighbors?
“So you want me covered?”
“Yes. No.”
Infuriating.
“Great eggs,” she said after a bite.
“Don’t change the subject. When you don’t wear a bra under your dresses, it’s fucking hot. But I don’t want anyone else drooling over you naked.”
She put down her fork. “They’re just breasts, Jake.”
“No, they’re not. They’re yours. And I don’t want people ogling them; I want them all to myself. The idea of sharing your body makes me crazy.”
She shook her head and finished her plate. With her mouth closed, her tongue moved over her teeth before she asked, “Is it a deal breaker?”
I stared back.
“No,” I said.
Oh, she wanted to negotiate. Fine by me. I had a list of things I was dying for.
“Then you lose,” she said through a cheeky smile.
“Oh, no no no no. No you don’t. If you’re going to keep driving me insane by showing your tits to every UPS guy who delivers on Hollywood Boulevard, I’m getting something in return.”
She pursed her lips. “First of all, I’m pretty sure UPS doesn’t deliver on Sundays. And secondly, I’m not walking up and down the street. But fine; I’ll bite. What do you want in return for me to continue to do with my body as I please?”
“Butt beads.”
She blinked hard. “That was a conspicuously quick answer.”
I did my best to hide my grin.
“For you or for me?” She narrowed one eye. “I need more clarification.” She was trying to throw me, but it wouldn’t work.
“You,” I said. “Then maybe me.”
“Will you stop being Grumpy McPouty Pants when I sunbathe topless?”
“Probably not.”
“Fine. Deal.”
“Ha! Ha!” I hopped up, clapped my hands, and rubbed them together like an evil scientist in a cartoon. “My plan worked.”
“Did it?” She cocked her head to the side. “Or did my plan work?”
“No. My plan worked.”
“Riiiight.” She nodded slowly. “Your plan worked. Good job, baby.” Her hand reached out and patted my knee.
If she was trying to convince me this was all her idea, I wasn’t buying it. But wait; was she saying she wanted more of that kind of play? Had I missed some hints somewhere?
“No, it was my plan,” I said. “Don’t try to use your voodoo witchcraft on me.”
“What?” She lifted her hand to her heart. “I would never. You’re right—it was your plan that worked. Absolutely. So well played, Jake.”
“Watch your back, Arch,” I said. He looked u
p at me and his head flopped to one side. I stacked the plates and mumbled my disbelief all the way back into the apartment. I did the dishes, showered, and went back to the piano.
My plan. Me upping the ass play was all my idea. No doubt.
A little later, when she came in to use the bathroom, I broke. I couldn’t get anything done.
“It was totally my plan,” I huffed as I put on my Vans.
“I knoooow.” Her voice was still false.
I rubbed the sides of my face in frustration. “Can I borrow your car?”
“Sure. Why?”
“I’m going to buy those fucking beads.”
“Right now?” She lifted her dress overhead and dropped it to the floor, then stepped out of her bikini bottoms and walked over to me. “Before you can inspect my tan lines?” She sat down in my lap. “What a shame.”
But despite her efforts, I didn’t bite. “You’re an evil sex witch.”
“Ouch.” She let out an airy laugh.
“Where are your keys?” I lifted her off and sat her on the bench. I grabbed my baseball hat from the top of the piano and put it on. Her bag sat by the door, and I went over and rummaged through it.
“You’re really going now?”
Bingo. Keys in hand.
“Ah ha!” I jingled them in her direction, my eyes bulging.
“You’re seriously leaving?”
“Game on, baby.” I could feel my eyes widen, and I spun around and reached for the doorknob. The door slammed behind me, leaving her naked on the bench and perhaps pondering my sanity.
Finding sex toys in Los Angeles on a Sunday afternoon was no problem at all. But I asked questions and followed the advice of the salesclerk. Knowing Louana was willing to take our intimate life one step further was exciting, and I had to resist buying tons of toys for fear of overwhelming her.
On the drive back, I calmed down and calculated my plan of torture through pleasure. When I opened the door, she looked up from her reader on the couch.
I lobbed her keys back into her open bag on the floor.
“I don’t believe you, you know,” I said.
“Okay.” She lifted a shoulder.
“Stop it! You’re making me crazy.”
“I love making you crazy. It’s better than Netflix.”
I stared her down and licked my lips. A sack full of ways to make her crazy in hand, I walked over to her, pulled her to her feet, hoisted her over my shoulder, and declared, “You’re in for it now, woman.”
I smacked her firm ass and hauled her into the bedroom.
⸎
“I’m not sure how much I’ll see you this week,” I said as we were climbing into bed for the night. “It could get pretty intense.”
“I actually have a pretty busy workweek too.” She squinted down to the covers then found my eyes. “You all set for your brand-new car tomorrow?”
“Yeah, but I’m nervous about driving it to the studio. Maybe I’ll park it across the street.”
She nuzzled her ass into me and I pushed back with my hips. Her hand reached for mine, and we threaded our fingers together.
“’Night.”
“’Night, baby.” I kissed the back of her head.
“Fait de beaux rêves.”
“What does that mean?”
“Sweet dreams,” she translated.
“What dream could be sweeter than this?”
⸎
I sipped my coffee on the leather couch in the recording studio. Shane sat next to me, and John and Sam swiveled in rolling chairs on the other side of the low table. The massive mixing board, with all its buttons and faders, lurked behind them and in front of the glass window to the live room. A label guy in a suit burst in, followed by some dude who was supposed to be our producer, and our trusted engineer, Ronnie Lynx.
“This feels like an arranged marriage,” John complained, and his mouth turned down like he’d just smelled something foul.
We made introductions, but Shane snarled at the producer, and Sam avoided all eye contact. The tension rose four more notches when the producer spoke:
“I have a bunch of songs I’d like to play you guys so we can get a jumping-off point.”
“Here’s my jumping-off point.” John flipped the producer off. “We don’t want any of your shitty songs on our next album. Right, Murphy?”
“Yup,” said Shane.
Fuck. Those two had already decided to fire the producer. A little heads-up to me and Sam would have been nice. The label guy’s face froze. Sam stayed quiet and Ronnie spun around to the mixing board to press random buttons. I was so fucking jealous of those buttons.
“Don’t you at least want to hear what we have before you suggest something else?” I asked the producer. I tried to play nice for everyone, but my loyalty was obviously to the band.
“Look,” the producer said. “The guys at Edging said you didn’t have anything. So I came prepared,” he shot a dirty look at John, “with my shitty songs.”
“The whole fucking point was to come in here to write, not to start recording an album today,” Shane spat at the label douche.
“Anyway, Shane and I have the beginnings of a song; we just need to flesh it out,” John said.
“Jake, you have that song you played me Saturday.” Sam hunched his shoulders and lifted his brow.
“Is it ready?” the label guy asked.
“I need to teach everybody their parts,” I said, in full on doubt of my abilities.
“Well, let’s go do that.” John taunted the producer and stood up. “Come on.”
We followed him into the live room, where our instruments waited. Sam already knew the bassline, and I showed John my idea for the melody on his guitar. They fiddled through the song together, and Shane and I went to the piano.
By our lunch break, we’d all learned all the parts and everybody was on board. Almost everybody. After we ate, the producer leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.
“I was thinking about the melody…” he said.
“I was thinking the melody is fucking perfect, but I don’t have to sing it,” John said, turning to Shane. “What do you think?”
“I also think it’s perfect,” he replied. “Nice work, Riley.”
It was hard to tell if they meant it or were just being dicks to the producer. Either way, he spun back around to the board and mumbled something only he could hear.
We spent the afternoon tightening up the parts, and Phil came in at some point to check on us. We had pizza in the conference room for dinner, and Phil shooed away Ronnie and the producer. The label guy had abandoned ship after his free lunch.
“You two better start fucking playing nice,” Phil scolded Shane and John.
“He’s a fucking douchebag and his music sucks.” John ran his hand across the fresh vine of ink on his forearm.
“I listened to the last album he did,” Shane said. “It’s too polished. I fucking hate the sound he gave the last band he worked with.” He stared Phil down.
“I don’t want to see you guys burning bridges on day fucking one,” said Phil.
“What the fuck is up with the label anyway? I thought we were going to come in here and write.” I flipped up my palms and looked around.
“At least have the courtesy and respect to listen to his suggestions,” Phil said. “He’s been producing longer than you’ve been playing.”
“That doesn’t make him good. It just makes him old.” Sam tapped the table and stood to leave.
John and Shane grinned their approval to Sam, and the trio exited the conference room together.
“That your new jeep out there?” Phil asked.
Great. A lecture after a lecture.
“You know it is.”
“For a drummer, your timing is shit. Can I at least count on you to play nice with that guy?”
“Shane and John already hate him. Sam’s taken their side. There’s no point.”
I left Phil groaning at the table and
went back to the studio. Ronnie and the producer had left, and Sam was strapping his messenger bag over his shoulder.
“I’m out of here. See you fuckers in the morning.” Sam kissed his middle finger, then pointed it in our direction.
“You wanna stay and go through your other songs?” John asked me as he turned from side to side in the chair behind the console.
“Yeah, sure.” I reached into my back pocket for my phone and sent a text to Louana saying I would be late.
“You guys mind if I stay?” asked Shane. “I want to put lyrics to the tune John wrote so we have another full song to play douche hole in the morning.”
The three of us worked until our eyes were bloodshot and half open. I drove back to Hollywood on an empty freeway and walked through the silent courtyard to Louana’s place. Her place, not mine. I tossed my keys onto the top of the piano and went to the kitchen. In the fridge, I found some kind of chicken salad, and I ate it directly out of its plastic container with a fork. I leaned against the counter and clenched my jaw. It was only day one, and already the pressure and tension were skyscraper high. At least I had this. At least I had her.
In bed, I pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. She mumbled something and pushed into me harder. My ears popped as I relaxed and melted into her.
22
Revelation
* * *
LOUANA
I made a roasted pepper and feta quiche and put it in the oven after changing my clothes and walking Archie. While it was baking, I did my best version of Jake’s mom’s chocolate cake, based on what he had told me. The dressing for the green salad only took a minute, and I dumped the pre-washed lettuce on top with some sprinkled seeds. I told Fern to come and eat at my place so I could watch the cake while it baked.
We sat down across from each other and Archie lay down next to Fern’s chair.
“I think we may need to find Archie a permanent dog walker,” I said.
Jake would definitely not be able to pick up my slack in the next few weeks. In fact, the only times I’d seen him that week were when I kissed him goodbye every morning. But I didn’t need a conversation to understand his stress.