Half an hour later she called. “Have you got all those black shirts in line?”
“Yeah,” he laughed. “Got something to ask you.”
“Okay. Now you’ve got me worried; you’re asking me if you can ask me something.”
Jake laughed again. “Pathetic huh.”
“You said it.”
“My mum has asked you to dinner tonight.”
There was silence and then Rielle said, “Me?”
“Yeah.”
“She knows about me, about us?”
“She knows you’re a singer and you’re in the show and we’ve been hanging out.” Rielle groaned and Jake felt embarrassed like he was still a teenager asking a girl home to meet his family for the first time. “She does not know about sex acts in hotel rooms or public gymnasiums. She will never see our porn tape. I’m sad to say I destroyed it.”
Rielle laughed. “God, Jake. I don’t do people’s mothers.”
An unexpected sense of disappointment played catch with his embarrassment. “Hey, that’s cool. I’ll see you back at the hotel later tonight. I’ll bring you some of Mum’s famous dessert.”
Jake ended the call, slid his phone back into the pocket of his jeans and looked about for somewhere to channel the irrational frustration he felt. It was such a dumb idea thinking Rie would want to meet his family, even dumber—the dumbest—to tell his mum she was in his life. Now he was in for the inquisition; the who, the when, the how, the what, and he deserved it. He was not cut out for casual romances with rock stars. Dickhead. Suddenly the idea of a home cooked meal felt like a trial instead of a pleasure.
Rand was doodling notes on a paper napkin and ignoring his ringing phone when Rielle rejoined him. They were waiting for Harry to set up for an interview segment.
“Something new?” She peered at his scratching.
He made a distracted, “Mmm,” and Rielle knew she’d need to be on fire before she got his attention.
In a saggy couch, in a draughty corridor outside a TV studio, using his thigh as a desk, Rand was in the zone. Whatever he was thinking was going to become a new creation. Not necessarily right this moment, but sometime soon. It might be a fragment of lyrics, a bass line, a riff, but somewhere in his head he was hearing music and it was consuming him.
Rielle eased down beside him, though she could’ve danced naked in front of him with an elephant and a brass band and he wouldn’t have noticed. How long had it been since she’d heard music like that—a year, more? Once she’d been the prolific one, always hearing something, always collecting pieces of music and strings of words. Now that part of her brain was silent, a black cavern of nothing. Now she only heard other people’s music.
Both Rand and Jonas assured her it was a temporary thing. That she had an innate talent and needed to be patient and trust the music was in her. But if it was, it was expert in the hide and seek business, tucked away some place she couldn’t find. And she’d looked and looked, trying all manner of tricks from exhausting gym sessions to long walks, to books and movies, and soaks in bubble baths by candlelight. She missed it, missed the sense of being in the pull of a creative energy that came unbidden from some unexplained font of cleverness.
For a while after the music stopped, it had been a relief, like a holiday from the nagging rattle of sounds and senses in her head demanding attention. But now it was as though her oldest friend had moved away and not left a forwarding address.
What if it was gone forever? She shuddered. She knew getting uptight wasn’t going to help, and it would be harder still to be creative if her body was busy manufacturing tension, like it had been since she agreed to the tour. She made an effort to breathe more deeply, stretched her neck and wriggled her toes.
Better to think about something else. Like Jake—how he’d looked when he stripped her of all her disguises; awestruck, like she’d honoured him, when all she’d done was try to show him why she needed to hide her face. And when she’d told him there’d be no children, he looked like he wanted to throw himself off the balcony for having raised the issue. She imagined he’d probably looked similarly distressed when she turned down his dinner invitation, but what was he thinking? Dinner with his parents? It’s not like she was his girlfriend or they were ever going to see each other again after this next week. The best thing that could happen to Jake was for this thing between them to end clean. The trip to the gym, that’d been all about showing him a good time after the rank ugliness she’d put him through and she’d do whatever she could to make him feel special before she left, to show him she cared for him. Well, almost anything.
She watched Rand rifle through his satchel, come up with a notebook and continue scribbling and scratching, a look of intense concentration on his face. He’d told her earlier he wanted Harry joining them on the rest of the tour, possibly with another film crew. He’d been excited about it. Rand had his music and his romance. That had to be the nasty feeling in her stomach. Not hunger, breakfast wasn’t that long ago and it was too early for lunch, but jealousy—yeah that was it.
Rand was in the right place and she wasn’t—that must be it, because the only other reason for feeling semi-crippling nausea was thinking about Jake and about how hard it was going to be not to see him again, not to have him tease her, back her, stand up to her and love her in a way she’d never been loved. Because he did love her, with his heart on his sleeve, out there in the open, pumping away, where she could poke and prod and crush it.
God, how stupid she was to get so deep with him—it was supposed to be a distraction. Why was it she was sitting here thinking it would be fun to meet his parents, see who he resembled, and have a home cooked meal? How the fuck had she let him get so close, get under her skin and become the main game?
“You couldn’t bloody sit still could you?” said Rand, surprising her out of her state of introspection.
“Am I disturbing the creative genius at work?”
“Ah no, but you’re definitely disturbed. What gives?”
She bounced her boot heel on the carpeted floor. “Nothing.”
Rand sighed. “That’s why I love talking to you. You’re a font of information.”
“I’m all right if that’s what you want to know—after, you know.”
He looked up and studied her face. “I can see that. Whatever you did to get yourself together was a good thing. No more ‘if only’, Rie. It’s time.”
She would’ve protested but fucking hell, it was enough for Rand. He didn’t need to know it wasn’t over for her. Would never be over for her. He deserved a normal life without carrying her baggage as well. So she nodded. And she figured he trusted that about as far as he trusted Jonas was doing well in rehab. And she sat by Rand while he worked and she thought about how it felt to talk about the accident with Jake. How it felt to show him why her real self was no good. She felt scoured clean from the inside out, as though a fresh start was possible for a person like her.
“Was it Jake?”
Rand was watching her. “Was what Jake?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “You need your music back, Rie. If you won’t keep Jake, you need to get your music back. God knows maybe he can help you with that too.”
She looked away.
“Ah hell, Rie. He’s good for you, why can’t you see that? I bet you’re treating him like shit and good guy that he is, he keeps backing up for more, hoping you’ll change.”
“Ah—”
Rand cut her off. “Yeah I know—it’s like a religion with you. People don’t change. And you know what’s funny about that? You don’t believe in religion.”
Rand went back to scribbling and Rielle sat still but her gut rioted. “He invited me to have dinner with his family tonight.”
“Cool,” said Rand mid-scribble.
“Not cool.”
He looked up. “Why, because it’s someone’s family?” He glared at her. “Shit Rie, you can’t do that one thing for him after what he’s done for you?”
“Now you’re being wilfully stupid. He’s in love with you and the whole frigging crew knows it. You know it too.”
Her face felt hot. “So what, I didn’t ask for that? What am I supposed to do with that?” The nausea in her gut roared.
“Listen to it.”
“What does that mean?” She looked down the corridor. If she didn’t get out of this conversation she might throw up.
Rand caught her chin in his hand. “Stop making it so complicated.” She stilled and blinked her distress at him. She was not going to cry. She was not going to make this his problem. “Listen to your heart and quit talking yourself out of the best thing that’s happened to you in a long while.”
“But I’m no good for him.” She would take Jake’s goodness and poison it with her blackness. She would trash his honesty with her need to live her lies. Rand head-butted her lightly. “You don’t think he doesn’t already know what an insecure bitch you can be? But he keeps showing up doesn’t he?”
“Until one day he won’t.”
Rand released her and Harry appeared out of a doorway along the corridor and gave them a wave. They were ready in the studio. Rand waved back and stuffed his notebook and the scribbled on napkin into his satchel.
“True.” He stood. “But then you could do something about that if you weren’t so pig-headed.”
“What can I do about it? This is who I am, how I am. The only way I can face what I did.”
Rand held his hand out to her. “You could change.”
41. Family
Jake tossed the keys to Bonne from one hand to the other while he listened to Glen give a last update for the day. The set build was on schedule and they’d be ready for a sound check and a rehearsal tomorrow. When his phone rang he expected it to be Mum checking up on his arrival time, asking him to bring a forgotten item, milk or peppercorns or a certain brand of ice cream he’d have to visit at least three different supermarkets to find, so without looking at the screen he said, “What did you forget?”
“My manners.”
“Rie!” What was it about her voice alone that made colours look brighter, could change his weather both to sunshine and raging storm?
“Do you think your mum would mind if I accepted her invitation after all?”
He laughed, this was chocolate flavoured sunshine. Who gives a toss what Mum thinks. “I think she’d be delighted. Are you still at the studio? I’ll pick you up.”
“Are you sure you want to do this? I’m not really meet the parents material.”
“It’s been so long since I’ve had anyone home for dinner, let alone a girl, I’m pretty sure Mum’s beginning to think I’m gay.” He was trying to imagine Rie at the family dinner table. He was succeeding in imagining her in the gym, in his arms, in the rest of his life.
“You’re not, are you?”
Caught out not listening. “Not what?”
“Gay.”
Jake shook his head, growled. “You hate me don’t you?”
She laughed. “You’re pathetic. Come and get me, Jake. I promise I’ll be on my best behaviour tonight.”
“Yeah, that’s what’s worrying me. I’ve seen your best behaviour and it includes punching people, drinking too much, being entirely too sexy and seducing members of your road crew.”
“Just one roadie.”
“Better be. I’ll see you in fifteen.”
Jake couldn’t wipe the grin off his face when he helped Rielle off Bonne outside his family home.
Coming straight from the studio, she was dressed to shock in skin-tight pants that were shredded up the outside of her legs from ankle to hip and a strapless corset. Her hair was wild and her makeup was extra heavy, done for television lighting, so even more exaggerated than normal.
Judging by the slack jawed look on the face of the neighbour, who was hosing the front lawn and an unnecessary swath of footpath, they made an unusual scene in the quiet suburban street.
“There goes the neighbourhood,” she said.
He pulled her in close, hands on her butt. “Let’s give them something to complain about.”
She laughed and pushed him away, but he was beaming proudly as if she was a brand new shiny toy he couldn’t wait to show off. Every chance he’d gotten on the drive over he’d touched her, putting his hand over hers, stroking her arm, leaning into her.
She took a deep breath and steeled herself. This was for Jake. No matter how hard it might be to play happy families for the evening, she was going to grin and bear it, and be that shiny new toy til her batteries ran out.
They heard the yelling before they got inside the front door. A male voice, raised in anger, cursing loudly, and a female voice shrill with indignation, and over the top of both the deep insistent bark of a fat chocolate coloured Labrador who threw himself at Jake full tilt.
Jake staggered back a pace, hunching down to roughhouse the dog; not dodging fast enough to avoid a slobbering lick to the jaw.
“Ugh Monty, down, down.” He grabbed the dog’s collar to prevent him launching himself at Rielle.
“They’re here, Mick,” said the female voice. Its owner appeared, red faced in the hallway. “Monty, outside,” she snapped, then, “Darling,” holding her arms out for a hug which Jake willingly obliged, lifting his mum off the ground in his enthusiasm.
“Mum—Trish, this is Arielle Mainline,” Jake said. He did a bad job of smothering the laughter inspired by Trish’s raised eyebrows and Rie immediately regretted not stopping by the hotel to change.
“I’m so glad you could come. Please don’t mind the dog, he won’t hurt you,” Trish said.
In the kitchen Jake’s dad tried to look like he hadn’t been electrocuted. When Rielle held out her hand saying, “Mr Reed, nice to meet you,” he just stared at her.
Jake said, “She won’t bite, Dad,” and Mick Reed blushed and stammered out a welcome, taking Rielle’s hand in both of his and pumping it up and down manically.
“Don’t mind my dad. He’s like the dog—wildly enthusiastic but he won’t hurt you.”
“Ah Jake,” said Mick. He turned away to open the fridge.
Jake pulled out a kitchen stool for Rielle. He turned to his mum. “What was all the yelling about?”
“Never mind that. Your father is an idiot.” Looking to Rielle, Trish said, “I hope you like roast chicken, Arielle.”
“You can call me Rielle or Rie.”
“But Arielle is such a lovely name. I’m sure your mother doesn’t want you shortening it.”
“No, she didn’t,” Rielle said softly, and she felt the comfort of Jake’s hand against her back.
“So, you’ll be Arielle to me then,” said Trish. “Dinner will be about half an hour. The three of you go out in the garden. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Rielle walked around the kitchen bench to stand beside Trish. If she had something to do, to contribute, maybe she could stop feeling like a she was Jake’s take-home science experiment.
“Oh no, not at all, you go with the boys.”
“I’d like to stay with you if you don’t mind?” She made a shooing motion to Jake.
He said, “Right Dad, we know when we’re not wanted,” and together with Mick and the dog, Jake went through the back door to the garden.
As soon as he was out of earshot she said, “I’d like to apologise for my appearance. I’m not dressed appropriately. I’ve come straight from a TV interview, but I could’ve changed. I wasn’t thinking. I don’t mean any disrespect.”
“Oh don’t worry, Arielle. I was concerned for a moment Mick might lose the power of speech, but he does seem to have pulled through.”
“Does Jake leave clothes here? M
aybe he has a shirt I could put on?”
“We can do better than that,” said Trish, a gleam in her eye. “Come with me.”
When the four of them converged in the dining room, Rielle caused another sensation. Jake’s dad was thoroughly flummoxed. He reached across the table and held his hand out, “Hi, I’m Mick. You must be a friend of Jake’s?”
“Ah, sorry Dad,” Jake laughed, “this is Rielle, remember from before? She’s dressed down now.”
Mick looked from Jake to Rielle and then to Trish. “I’ll be buggered.” He promptly sat at his place at the head of the table. “Sorry love, you look so different, I didn’t realise you were the same girl.”
Rielle laughed. She looked like deranged spawn of punk fairy and a depressed 1960s housewife in Jake’s sister’s dress, a floral number, with her hair up in a borrowed clip, but it was more appropriate for the family dinner table and almost worth it for the double-take Jake did when he saw her. It was another memory she could leave him.
“No problem, Mick. That was my disguise.”
“Like Supergirl,” said Mick and Rielle grinned at him. “I liked it though.”
“Dad!”
“Mick!”
“Well, I did like it. Of course that’s why you do it, isn’t it love? To give old blokes like me a bit of a thrill?”
Rielle blushed, thankful the heavy makeup would hide her embarrassment. “It’s part of my job.”
“She’s a musician, Dad,” said Jake with an edge on his voice. “Didn’t Mum tell you?”
“Your Mum thinks I don’t listen and I need a holiday.”
After that, Mick concentrated on carving the chicken and seeing to everyone’s drinks while Trish dished up roasted vegetables and warm bread rolls. Rielle couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat in a kitchen like this to a meal cooked with love. When Jake helped carry their plates to the kitchen, Mick said, “So what’s with the Supergirl outfit?”
“It’s more or less expected in the music industry, to stand out, to have an outrageous look.”
Getting Real Page 29