I Can Love You

by Mackenzie Joy

  Leaning forward, Claudia looked into Tara’s eyes and asked, “Isn’t there something else out there you crave? Music can’t mean everything to you?”

  Tara glanced nervously at the live studio audience. She hated the feeling of being ambushed. She didn’t know whether to lash out or scrunch up, hoping to become invisible magically. That was her problem. She had the backbone to demand whatever she needed to give her fans what they wanted and never to accept a less than perfect show. However, guerrilla tactics such as the one she was enduring aroused painful memories and made her long to disappear.

  Amid the curious faces in the audience, Tara spotted her assistant, Sydney, who was signaling her to take deep breaths. She closed her eyes briefly and then turned and looked directly at Claudia. “Of course, there is always something out there each of us wants, but I’m more than content with what I already have.”

  Disappointed she had failed to wring more out of her guest. Claudia looked into the camera and smoothly wrapped up the segment. “That’s all the time we have for today. I want to thank Tara for stopping by.” As closing music played, Claudia reminded viewers to visit the show’s website for tickets to a taping and support Tara’s latest single.

  As soon as the camera lights were off, Tara stood up. Claudia waited anxiously beside her to talk off-camera. Tara unclipped her microphone but ignored the host and signaled for Sydney to come to her.

  “Please call for the car now. I’m ready to go,” Tara said. “I also need you to get my belongings from the dressing room. I’ll change later.”

  “Already taken care of,” Sydney quietly replied. The two then dashed toward a stage exit. Sydney was a godsend, especially when she read Tara’s mind and fulfilled her request before voiced. Sydney would often dismiss the notion, attributing her gift to a warm southern upbringing. Tara hoped one day to be as at ease with herself again as Sydney learned to be after her share of painful experiences.

  “It’s cool, Syd. I got her.”

  Tara and Sydney looked up to see Quinton in a reworked designer tracksuit minus the priceless jewelry he always wore during appearances standing with one of his bodyguards, one who somehow was much taller than Quinton, beside him. Dark shades covered eyes Tara knew matched the tiredness in his voice.

  “Quinton? What are you doing here?” Tara asked on her approach. She walked into the arms he held open just for her.

  He nodded ahead toward the set she just vacated and took her hand in his to lead the way outside. “Thought I’d take a break from the session to give my girl some love. You good?”

  Claudia called out to Tara when she was just a few feet from making her escape. She turned and faced the host with a glacial glare. “Yes, Claudia?”

  “Oh. Q! Hi, had I known you’re here on set, we could’ve worked you in with Tara. It’s so nice to meet you.” The host extended a hand to shake his. He ignored it, tugging at Tara’s hand and moving them one step closer to the exit, not giving Claudia anything more than a polite nod. For a man who makes his love for women known every chance given, the snub was telling. Claudia redirected her focus back to Tara. “Thank you again for appearing on my show. I hope you’ll come back again.”

  Tara smiled and nodded, reminding herself not to provide any grist for the gossip mill. Claudia had failed to dig up something negative on her, but Tara was well aware of the game the host had played, and, like it or not, she had to follow the rules. That was one of the first lessons Timothy Russell had taught his three daughters. The media can make you or break you. To this day, Tara felt compelled to treat everyone with courtesy and respect, no matter how brightly her star shone or how hard the others tried to further their careers at her expense. So she extended her hand to Claudia. “No, thank you. It was my pleasure. I’m sorry for rushing off, but I’m running late for my next engagement.”

  Tara and Quinton stepped outside and heard screams and yells for the both of them from fans who waited to attend the afternoon taping of the show. Both of their security teams surrounded the couple as Quinton led Tara to a waiting car.

  Quinton took over for the driver, opening the door for Tara, helping her climb inside.

  He held up a finger to tell their people to wait outside, and he hopped in the SUV to join her, closing the door so they’d have privacy. “That shit Claudia pulled was foul. Don’t book with her again.”

  “Oh, besides being my producer, you’re also managing me?” Tara teased. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to tell me twice. You didn’t come down here to say that, did you?”

  “The show is live, Blue. You know I was watching.”

  “Was I that bad?”

  “Never babe. You, as always, were wonderful. You navigated around the B.S. like a G.” He moved to give her a quick kiss on the forehead and opened the door to leave. Looking over his shoulder as he stepped down, Quinton added, “I need to get back to the lab.”

  “You should be heading home to bed.”

  Quinton swiped a hand down his haggard face and released a strong exhale. “Too many loose ends on this track that I need to tie up first.”

  “One of these days I will get you to try yoga with me. Take some time to restore your soul.”

  He laughed, letting his hand fall on top of her knee and gave it a light squeeze. “Now that you’re taking time off, you think you’re a guru at it. After what happened when you dragged me to the bicycle class, I think I’ll pass babe.”

  “It was a spin class, and you loved it.”

  Quinton gave his shoulder a slight shrug. “Maybe,” he said with a wink before leaning in to give her another kiss — this time on her cheek. “I’ll hit you up later. Be safe out there.”

  “I will,” Tara said with a wave before leaning back in her seat as her team moved to get inside.

  “What was that all about?” Sydney asked once everyone settled in.

  Tara shrugged and watched Quinton sign a few autographs before getting into the car in front of them and driving away.

  * * *

  Mats of many colors covered the floor with little space for anyone else to join the early morning class. Music played softly as those around Tara stretched and prepared for yoga.

  Tara sat with her legs folded and stretched her tight muscles, hoping to rid herself of the same thoughts that had her tossing and turning all night.

  “Don’t forget to grab blocks if you need them,” their instructor announced as she moved around the room greeting attendees and welcoming the newcomers.

  Tara didn’t get the same greeting as everyone. She did get slight smiles. Knowing, poised ones as if saying ‘I know who you are, but I’ll let you enjoy your space today.’ A feeling she would appreciate any other time but looking around as others spent the few minutes before class chatting with old and new friends, the isolation left her empty while alone with her thoughts.

  She closed her eyes, placed a hand on her knee and the other hand flat on the mat behind her. Tara twisted her body to its side and held it for an extended period before repeating in the opposite direction.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw someone joining her in the space beside her, letting out a big oomph sound as he dropped to the ground to take his place on a mat.

  “Quinton?” She restrained herself from jumping up to hug him out of respect for the instructor who started speaking to the group.

  He yawned into his fist and stretched his sweatpants covered legs in front of him. “I want food after this, and you’re treating.”

  In a hushed whisper, Tara grinned and said, “Sure. We have to make it quick. I fly out to Arizona today.”

  “That’s right. More Zen crap, but why there?”

  “Sydney suggested I visit this place. It’s a resort that specializes in health and wellness. It sounds divine. The best part about it is that they ensure my privacy while I’m there. I heard great things about it. Just waking to the beauty surrounding the place is worth the trip. You ever see the red rocks of Sedona?”

  “Sp
eaking of rocks.” Their instructor Dottie’s hovering nearby silencing them. The younger woman with dark glossy hair slicked back in a ponytail glanced between Tara and Quinton while shaking a clear plastic container with polished stones. Her eyes lingered on Quinton as she held out the box of smooth, dark rocks. “For those of you who are new, I brought consent stones.” She held one of them up for all to see. “If you’re okay with me offering additional assistance, correcting your form, place a stone on the corner of your mat. It tells me you’re okay with me touching you and offer consent. If you change your mind, just move your stone out of the way or tuck it under your mat.”

  Tara heard the clunky sound of rocks banging against each other and saw Quinton grabbing a handful.

  “I just adore your boyfriend.” Dottie grinned and moved on to offer stones to the other students while Quinton marked the perimeter of his mat.

  “She said one.”

  “Taking my shot at earning some extra credit.”

  “We’re not being graded.”

  Class began, and a hush sound from one of their fellow students stopped the bickering. Everyone around her started to move in sync, leaving Tara’s upright body poking out above the group. Tara looked at Quinton, who was mimicking Dottie’s movement and swiped her hand toward his mat, sending Quinton’s smooth dark stones into the aisle. “Next time I ask you to join me for yoga, do me a favor and keep your ass at home.”

  He smirked as he got into the tabletop position with hands and knees on the mat. “I love when you get jealous,” he said in a whisper and winked.

  * * *

  Quinton’s body laid sprawled out with his back on the mat. He didn’t care that he looked like a brown, overgrown starfish in a sea of bodies doing the same in the dim room. The vibe he felt was chill, and he was soaking in every minute of it.

  “That’s right. Just let yourself appreciate where you are right now if there’s a little one at home leave them there. Don’t bring them into your sanctuary right now.” Dottie’s soft voice almost lulled him into sleep until her touch stirred him into a state of awareness that he was not in bed where he could rest comfortably. He felt her oiled fingers rub his temples and trace around his forehead before she raised from behind him, leaving the scent of tea tree oil and jasmine behind.

  “This is your time. Your moment. Don’t let anyone else invade your space or your happiness.” Tara’s loud sigh broke into the silence that followed Dottie’s words. “I’ve never seen you this tense before. Focus on your breathing and see if that helps.”

  “I’m fine,” Tara muttered, and Quinton heard Dottie’s light footsteps walk away.

  “She’s only trying to help, Blue.”

  Twenty minutes later, they were sitting inside one of Tara’s favorite breakfast spots, and Tara’s mood remained the same. Quinton smiled at their server before handing him both his and Tara’s menus after ordering.

  He rocked his leg so that their knees bumped under the table and grinned at Tara.

  Tara scowled. “What?”

  “You’re for real mad. She knows I’m taken and was fooling around.”

  Her face shuttered as she set down the glass of water. “You talking about your weak ass flirt game? I’m not thinking that. And you aren’t taken. At least not by me.”

  Quinton accepted the glass of orange juice when the server returned and took a nice long gulp before setting it down. “Who’s stealing your thoughts today?” he asked her. He watched a myriad of emotions cross her haunted face, and the storm in her eyes got darker. Quinton leaned against the table and looked into them, seeing the dark gray closing in around its normal brighter blue. “I haven’t seen you like this since.”

  “Since when?”

  “Never mind.”

  “When?”

  “Your dad’s funeral.”

  Tara’s shoulders drooped at the mention of her loss. “Just a lot on my mind. Finish what you were working on?”

  He stretched in his seat and studied her a little longer. “What’s wrong, babe? You’re miserable.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Blue. You know I hate that shit.”

  “No one’s lying. I’m just. I-I-I’m ready for this break. Can’t you tell I need it?” Her laugh forced. Strained. “Fine. Claudia suggested that even in having everything, there’s no way I can be happy.”

  “And you’re letting her get to you?”

  “She was right. Something is missing.”

  Quinton reached across the table and took her hand in his. With a wink, he said, “That thing you’re missing in your life is me.”

  Tara’s laughter was the perfect melody in his ears. “I can’t with you.”

  “You can, but you won’t.”

  His phone rang on the tabletop, and he looked down to see someone from the studio was calling. “Give me a minute,” Quinton said when standing to step away from the table and touching his finger to the device in his ear.

  “This is Q.”

  “Hi, umm, Mr. Ellis.” The voice on the other end was foreign to him.

  “Who is this?”

  The male caller stuttered and sputtered his response. “This is George. I’m one of the new interns. Wes wanted me to call to tell you that he encountered a problem with the tracks you laid down from last night’s session.”

  “What do you mean there’s a problem?” Quinton stood in the center of an aisle blocking traffic from coming or going with a stance that steered anyone from asking him to move.

  “I’m not sure, sir. H-he’s trying to fix it now.”

  “I’m on the way.” Quinton tapped the pod in his ear and apologized when an older woman approached the area he occupied. “Excuse me,” he said, stepping aside before offering his help as she moved toward the door.

  He returned to Tara a few minutes later but did not take his seat. “I gotta go.”

  “Everything okay?”

  He pulled a few bills out of his pocket and placed them on the table. “It better be by the time I get there. We’ll talk later.”

  Quinton bent down and pressed his lips to the top of her head. He straightened and walked out the door, turning his focus to the one problem he had more control over fixing.

  * * *

  Safely within the confines of her hired car, Tara stared out the window after a few last-minute stops before her flight. As the limousine cruised along Fifth Avenue, she reflected on Claudia’s provocative question the day before. It was not the first time someone questioned her happiness.

  What makes my life appear so incomplete to strangers?

  “I need to go home,” Tara blurted.

  Sydney looked up from her iPad. The sudden movement caused the random wooden beads on her long individual braids to click together, sounding like a mini-marathon of runners in stiletto heels. Sydney’s fair complexion paled, and her amber eyes dulled, hearing of yet another schedule adjustment after just getting the last change finalized. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

  “Change of plans,” Tara replied with finality. “I need to go home.”

  Sydney called the pilot of Tara’s private jet, informing him the singer wanted to go home rather than to the next scheduled stop on her three-month itinerary, a spa in Sedona, Arizona.

  “No, Sydney. I want to go home.”

  “The apartment?” her assistant asked. Tara usually called her multi-million-dollar estate in Los Angeles home and the apartment in New York, her getaway place. Sydney frowned, causing her eyes to wrinkle between her brows.

  “No, I need to go home . . . to San Antonio.”

  Tara’s two lead security guards took to their cell phones to notify the security detail traveling in the vehicle in front of them. But Tara motioned for them to hold off and then clarified her instructions. “I’m going home. Everyone else, except Sydney, should head back to L.A. I may need you, Syd. I hope you don’t mind coming with me.”

  Her employees just stared at her. Grim, short for The Grim Rea
per, who was head of security, voiced his objection. “I’m sorry, Miss Tara, but some of us must go with you. It’s for your safety.”

  “Grim, I’m just going home. I’m a big girl, and I can handle it. Go and enjoy your vacation. You have earned it. Sydney, please arrange return flights to L.A. for everyone.” Tara said nothing more from the moment Sydney arranged for the singer to return to her birthplace to the moment the jet took off for San Antonio, leaving the New York City skyline behind.

  * * *

  Knots gripped Tara’s stomach as soon as her jet touched down on the landing strip, and she was still tense when she reached the eatery on the famous San Antonio Riverwalk. The aroma of flautas, tamales, enchiladas, tortilla soup, and frijoles blended with cilantro, chilies and peppers greeted Tara as she approached the riverside entrance of La Familia, the Russell family’s Mexican restaurant. Watching a family seated along the river nearby sharing two of her favorite desserts reminded her she was home. The sweetness of honey oozing from sugary sweet sopapillas and the loving memory of their mother’s flan recipe relaxed Tara.

  Tara, cloaked in an old hooded sweatshirt with her hair tucked inside it hidden from onlookers and dark glasses, faced the San Antonio River, located a few feet from the restaurant’s outside dining area, and watched a tour barge guide point out many of the surrounding attractions. Except to attend her father’s funeral two months ago, she had not been home for a long time. The trip back in September barely allowed her time to grieve and say her last farewell to Timothy Russell. She had to return to a sold-out world tour. A stop during the tour a year before had given little time to spend with family.

  Tara loved her family, even though she felt it was unreciprocated. Today, regrets had Tara wishing she had canceled that particular overseas leg as soon as she had received word of her father’s cancer, which had spread over the summer. She would have treasured those last few weeks with him, despite all their conflicts.

  The sun had descended. The brightly colored lights from the restaurants and shops along the Riverwalk seemed to welcome Tara back. After years of being in front of stage lights, these were the ones she needed the most right now. She headed for a pedestrian bridge spanning the river and stopped midway to buy herself time before going inside La Familia to face her sisters. Looking down on the dark water below, Tara thought about the last time she and her sisters were allowed to be children. Tara could almost taste the freshly squeezed lemonade her Aunt Rita would make for the adolescent girls on hot, sticky summer nights. She could still hear the rhythmic beats of Tejano music or the mariachi bands who often played at the restaurant enticing the girls to sing and dance along. Tara laughed, recalling she didn’t even understand most of the lyrics she belted out in Spanish until she was older and learned the language while traveling abroad.