“Well, you like me, don’t you?” Her voice became high-pitched. “I mean, isn’t that enough?”
“I do like you.” James nodded. “But…”
“But?”
Her persistence put him in an awkward position. James squeezed his eyes shut, as the memories he had with Olivia returned to his mind. In an instant, his heart was flooded with a sea of emotions. Unable to utter a single word, he felt the tears surging up in his eyes.
“There’s someone else, isn’t there?” Helen’s broken voice tore the silence, as she circled her left arm around his neck.
“There was.” He corrected her.
“Is that why you…” She faltered once again. “Make your guitar cry?”
James nodded assent. His hand was starting to shake, as she stroked the back of his neck.
“I’ve been listening to you for years. In the summer, I just go out on my back porch and enjoy the show. There’s so much emotion, so much pain … Sometimes, I even pull over outside your cabin, just to get a better look at you,” she confessed, her tender voice a low, almost inaudible whisper, as a tear streamed down her cheek.
“I’m flattered.” James admitted, slowly opening his eyes. “B…”
“Don’t say ‘but’ again…” She slightly raised her tone, her lips quivering as she squeezed his hand in her palm. “Let me help you.”
“You can’t, girl,” he sighed out as he shook his head, gazing down deep into her teary, reddened eyes. “No one can.”
“It breaks my heart to see you like that.” Helen’s hot whisper sent shivers down his spine, as two tears spilled from his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I must get going.”
James had barely finished his sentence, when she let go of his hand. Before he knew it, Helen had wrapped her right arm around his neck as well. She tilted her head up and pressed her lips against his mouth. Stunned to stillness, James tasted her moist, salty lips, but, he was too vulnerable to resist her. Putting his hands on her waist, he pulled her closer and kissed her back, while feeling her warm breath on his skin. Helen’s hands crept around his neck, holding him tight, as their kiss grew in intensity. Her hot, passionate sighs gave him the chills, as her fiery kiss soothed his shattered heart. James entwined his hands around her lower back and trapped her lower lip between his own lips. Kissing it softly, he leaned back and opened his eyes, the vapors from his breath clouding his vision.
“Goodnight, girl…” he whispered, as her lips continued to tremble. Unwilling to wait for a response, he removed his hands from her, turned around and left the cold terrace, still feeling a little dizzy from her intense kiss.
“She has a crush? Judging by her kiss, it’s a lot more than that. But it doesn’t matter, Helen. We can’t be together. I’m sorry. I can’t give you what you seek.”
27
The numerous hanging candle chandeliers in “Le Coucou” restaurant cast a mellow glow on the glasses. The romantic ambience in the French restaurant in Soho had impressed Michelle as well as the board members. For James though, the total absence of any media representatives in and around the establishment was far more significant. He couldn’t stand nosey reporters. Being seen with an artist like Michelle would invite too many uncomfortable questions and speculations. The last thing he needed was the media snooping around in his life.
Michelle did not resemble, at all, the loud, provocative girl who had been drawing all kinds of wrong attention to herself. On the contrary, her conversations were quiet and her red, ankle-long dress revealed little. She appeared to value the fact that she had just signed a contract with a very prestigious record company, and kept repeating to James that she was willing to put the past behind her. However, she still did not convince him. Michelle had caused a mess less than 24 hours earlier.
“People don’t change overnight. I doubt they even change at all. Not for the better, anyway. Oh, what the hell… Let’s just have dinner and go home.”
Less than fifteen minutes into their dinner, James noticed somebody painfully familiar: the man, who had bribed Olivia, was sitting at a table down the row of tables and to the right, accompanied by a middle-aged woman and another couple. Regretting his decision to go out, he poked Rick in the ribs with his elbow.
“Two o’clock.” He said, casting a razor-sharp glance at the man in question. “Isn’t that the guy from the video?”
“Shit.” Rick hummed. “Yeah, that’s him alright. Keep it together, man. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Do we have a name?” James asked, gripping the table cloth.
“Walter Parish. He’s their vice president.” Rick replied. “Be cool.”
“I’m just waiting for the right moment.” James maintained, sensing a light touch on his right shoulder.
“How’s my songwriter doing?” Michelle said, smiling up at him. “Is he having fun yet?”
“Not really.” James murmured, unwilling to face her, watching as Parish stole glances at a voluptuous, brunette waitress. “I’m just waiting for the night to be over.”
“Always blunt,” she remarked, squeezing him lightly. “Listen, I’ve been thinking about what happened over at my uncle’s house. You were right. I had the wrong attitude.”
“It’s not about me being right, Michelle,” James waved his hand in front of his face. “You can’t accuse all men and then sing love songs.”
“Anyway, I promise to be a good girl from now on,” she stated. “No more twerking crap, no more twitter, no more craziness.”
“That’s good to hear,” James spoke, noticing the brunette waitress heading towards a narrow, somewhat dark hallway across from his table. The overhead sign read:
“Employee Restroom”
At that moment, Parish got up from his seat, turned around and started towards that same hallway.
“Bad mistake,” James thought to himself.
“Excuse me,” he said, rising to his imposing, 6’3” stature.
“Got a soft tooth for waitresses, you little prick? You’re going to pay for this…”
Despite his fuming rage, James had to be smart. A possible confrontation with the man – who had masterminded the entire chain of events to try and destroy him – in a public place could only get him into trouble.
He heard two voices become louder, as he got closer to the bathroom. James pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and stopped, just a few inches away from the doorframe and then snuck a peek. The waitress was trying to open the bathroom door. Parish was right behind her. The aging executive reached his arm around and groped the young woman.
“Get your hands off me!” She cried, flipping around to face him.
“Come on…” Parish smirked. “Five hundred bucks for a blowjob. What do you say?”
“Clear out.” James grumbled, tensing his jaw, as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.
“Now, who the fuck are you?” Parish groaned as he turned to face him, the terrified waitress took the opportunity to brush past him.
James did not speak. He took a big step closer to Parish, clenching his fists. Abruptly throwing his right arm, he rotated it in mid-air and laid a thundering punch in Parish’s eye, sending him ten feet across the narrow hallway. He landed hard on his back, banging the back of his head against the floor, groaning in pain. James rushed towards him and dropped to his knees beside him, blood pounding through his veins.
“Let me jog your memory.” He snarled, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, as Parish struggled to focus on his face. “Olivia Ralston. You paid her $50,000 to sleep with me.”
“Jimmy X.” Parish laughed, as his wound oozed with blood: “small world.”
“Why, you motherfucker?” James’ voice rumbled like thunder, as he shook him violently. “Why did you do that?”
“Orders, kid.” Parish spoke in his gravelly voice.
“Orders?!” James yelled, narrowing his eyes at him: “orders from whom?”
“Her.” Parish spoke in a faint
tone. “You can punch me all night. I’m not giving you her name.”
James removed his right hand from Parish’s collar. The next jab to the jaw rocked his head back. Before he could open his mouth again though, a faint smile formed on the middle-aged man’s face.
“I’m more afraid of her,” he whispered. “You’re going down for this.”
“Oh, yeah?” James grabbed him by the throat once more. “Go ahead. Sue me. Let’s see what your wife thinks when I send her a picture of you groping that girl.”
“Shit!” Rick cried, stepping into the hallway. “What the hell are you doing? Let him go!”
“This is not over,” James snarled, leaning over the battered man. He got no response. Loosening his grip on Parish’s collar, he rose and stormed out, sensing his heart ready to burst out of his chest.
“More riddles… more questions. I’m losing my mind here. Who is she? Why does she scare the crap out of him? Why did she try to hurt me?”
Just when he was about to leave the hallway, James felt Rick’s thick hand on his wrist.
“Damn it, man!” He gasped. “I said ‘be cool’!”
“That was cool.” James said, looking down at him over his left shoulder, his chest rising up and down. “I could have beaten him a lot worse.”
“What did he say?” Too upset to answer his question, James ran his hand through his hair, exhaling hard.
“I don’t know, Rick.” He shrugged. “I’m done speculating.”
28
Amazingly, Helen did not bother James at all for the rest of the weekend. He expected her to at least show up on his doorstep and talk things through with him, but she did no such thing. He even went to her supermarket looking for her, but did not find her there. Her mother was in her stead and her father was at a nearby cafe with his friends. Since he had left Dwights retirement party early and in a hurry, he had the opportunity to thank them both that he did not let go to waste.
On Monday morning, he had the grim task of returning to New York City. His heart sank at the thought that he would have to stay there for at least a week, but he had no choice. If he wanted to write some quality lyrics for Michelle’s new CD, he had to hear more stories from her past. The one he had at his disposal just not enough.
Thankfully, it seemed she did want to improve her image; she did not look at all like the last time they met. Michelle wore a red sweat suit, not one of her signature tiny outfits in which she had met with him on the day of their first meeting. Relief flashed in his eyes; at last, she seemed to be taking this seriously. Impressing him even further, she asked him to play the piano, eager to demonstrate her singing skills.
“Alright,” James cracked his knuckles. “I suggest you do something easy, for starters.”
“Au contraire mon ami,” Michelle said, a smug smile on her face as she positioned herself behind the microphone. “How about I do some Adele?”
“Adele?!” James gave a snort of derision. “Are you sure you can pull any of her songs off?”
“Watch me.” She assumed a stiff tone. “Play ‘Hello’, Mr. Farrell”
“You got it.” He couldn’t help but smile to himself. This particular song was considered difficult; even top performers could not reach all the octave ranges; plus, more importantly, few to none of them could match Adele’s feeling. As James would soon discover though, Michelle had every reason to be confident. Her voice was full of emotion, presence and conviction. As a matter of fact, he was so stunned by her performance that he kept stealing glances at her, just to catch a glimpse of the passion, written all over her face. The melodic sound of the powerful ballad, mixed with Michelle’s deep, raspy voice echoed back off the walls of the massive mansion, sending his heart in a flurry of wild beats…
Hello, it's me I was wondering if after all these years you'd like to meet To go over everything They say that time's supposed to heal ya But I ain't done much healing Hello, can you hear me? I'm in California dreaming about who we used to be When we were younger and free I've forgotten how it felt before the world fell at our feet There's such a difference between us And a million miles Hello from the other side I must have called a thousand times To tell you I'm sorry for everything that I've done But when I call you never seem to be home Hello from the outside At least I can say that I've tried To tell you I'm sorry for breaking your heart But it don't matter. It clearly doesn't tear you apart anymore Hello, how are you? It's so typical of me to talk about myself. I'm sorry I hope that you're well Did you ever make it out of that town where nothing ever happened? And it's no secret that the both of us Are running out of time So hello from the other side I must have called a thousand times To tell you I'm sorry for everything that I've done But when I call you never seem to be home Hello from the outside At least I can say that I've tried To tell you I'm sorry for breaking your heart But it don't matter. It clearly doesn't tear you apart anymore Anymore Hello from the other side I must have called a thousand times To tell you I'm sorry for everything that I've done But when I call you never seem to be home Hello from the outside At least I can say that I've tried To tell you I'm sorry for breaking your heart But it don't matter. It clearly doesn't tear you apart anymore
James’ long, slender fingers flew over the keys one last time, before he looked up at her. At a total loss for words, he preferred to take his hands off the piano and applaud, nodding appraisingly.
“Thank you.” Michelle said, a polite smile on her face, as she bowed down.
“Great job,” he cheered, his eyes glinting with excitement. “I never thought you could do this. I’m glad you proved me wrong.”
“I’m not going to say ‘I told you so’, but yeah, I told you so.” She teased, pointing at him. “God, that song’s so powerful. It kind of reminds me of…” She paused, “him, if you know what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” James’ voice was bass-deep, with a hint of change behind it. “Alright, I have to ask. Couldn’t you have started your career by singing this kind of stuff? I mean, twerking, ‘smack my ass and pull my hair’? What the hell were you thinking?”
“The twerking bull was my agent’s idea.” Michelle explained with a hint of sadness in her voice. “When we first met, he looked me up and down and said: ‘Smoking! We have to take advantage of that body of yours!’ Did you expect me to sing anything meaningful while shaking my ass? I sure as hell didn’t.”
“Good point.” James commented. “Now, got any other stories you want to share with me or should I just keep playing?”
“I’d love it if you played some more.” She confessed, with a cunning smile on her face. “But there’s also a lot I need to get off my chest. About three years ago, I was at the movies with my two best friends, Alison and Tara. The movie ended at 10pm; I didn’t want to go home so early. I suggested we go to a dance club. They said ‘sure’. We went to this place in Soho. It was really great. We danced for hours. The bartender was really cute. He kept buying us drinks. We left in his car, but he was drunker than we were. We crashed into a fire hydrant. Tara had a concussion; I broke my left arm, but Alison…” Michelle sucked in a deep breath. “Alison’s body was ejected through the windshield. She slipped into a coma. We almost lost her.”
“Almost?” James squinted at her.
“Yeah, she woke up a week later.” Michelle replied. “That girl’s a fighter.”
“Female friendship then,” he said his tone friendly as he opened his notebook.
“Can I ask something for a change?” She teased, staring down at his hand.
“Go ahead.”
“Just how the hell do you do that?” Her question put a broad grin on his face. “I mean, writing about your own life is one thing. Many people do that, but writing about other people’s experiences? That’s got to be hard.”
“It’s a little bit trickier, sure.” He agreed, as her small hand came into view.
“May I?” She politely requested. James did not think twice. So far, she had been a perfect profe
ssional.
“Sure.” He uttered, handing her over his notebook. Michelle flipped through the pages, until she found the last poem he had written: The one about Olivia. In a matter of seconds, she opened her eyes wide. She read it over and over, casting rapt glances at him.
“I would kill to sing this,” she declared in her very emphatic voice as she tossed the notebook across the piano top. “It needs a chorus, but it’s just amazing.”
“Thanks for the kind words.” James’ voice dropped down an octave. “I’m not sure you should sing it, though.”
“Why?” Michelle shrugged.
“First of all, it’s about me.” He pointed to himself. “Second, her name is in the chorus I’ve been thinking about. A woman singing for a woman: it would be weird?”
“Not if we do a duet.” She raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smile on her face as she leaned over him.
“I’m not singing in public.” James spoke in a commanding tone. “I’ve never done that before and frankly? I think it’s a terrible idea.”
“What does the chorus say?” Michelle posed a question, disregarding his refusal.
“Olivia, my heart’s on fire, Olivia calls out my name, Olivia, my burning desire, Olivia, my dying flame.” Silence lingered in the air. She squeezed her lips, but, it didn’t take long for Michelle to express her admiration. She put her hands together, as James fixed his gaze on the piano keys.
“Wonderful.” She said with a grin. “Bear with me, will you? You sing her name, I sing the rest. How does that sound? And if we perform live, you’ll just sit at the piano, wear a hat and that’s it.”
“No cameras?” He looked up at her, intrigued by her proposal.
“Not on you, if that’s what you want.” Michelle sighed. “We’ll put the piano back stage, as far away from photographers as we can: deal?”
“I’ll think about it.” James muttered, as his gaze shot up to meet hers. “What about the music?”
Filthy Desires: A Romantic Suspense Collection Page 89