“GOT YOUR HANDS FULL, I SEE,” SAID THE OTHER PERSON WITH A HINT OF LAUGHTER.
KYLE DIDN’T ANSWER, OR IF HE DID, SHE DIDN’T HEAR.
* * * * *
KYLE STAYED UP LATE, PARTLY TO BE SURE SHE DIDN’T TRAIPSE UP TO THE ROOF AGAIN IN HER INEBRIATED CONDITION, AND PARTLY BECAUSE HE WAS TOO WROUGHT UP TO SLEEP. HE KNEW HE HAD TO LEAVE. HE COULD THINK OF EASIER WAYS TO EARN MONEY THAN HAULING INSANE CELLISTS DOWN FROM ROOFTOPS IN THE MIDDLE OF ELECTRICAL STORMS, AND HE DIDN’T NEED THE DRAMA OF HER OBVIOUSLY FAR-REACHING PROBLEMS.
STILL, A PART OF HIM REGRETTED GIVING UP ON HER SO QUICKLY. HE’D WEATHERED SOME REAL STORMS IN LIFE WITH THE HELP OF FRIENDS, BUT CARESSA SEEMED TO HAVE NO FRIENDS TO HELP HER, ASIDE FROM A BUSINESS-MINDED AUNT AND A TOUR MANAGER WHO COULDN’T EVEN BE BOTHERED TO COME ON THE ACTUAL TOUR. AND AN “ASSISTANT”—HIM—HIRED TO WRANGLE HER LIKE SOME TEMPERAMENTAL ANIMAL. NO WONDER THE PRODIGY RATTLED HER CAGE.
BUT HE COULDN’T ENDURE ANOTHER ROOFTOP INCIDENT. HE WOULD NEVER FORGET THE SIGHT OF HER RUSHING TO THE EDGE OF THE ROOF, FOR NO OTHER REASON THAN TO YANK HIS CHAIN. HER NEEDS WERE BEYOND HIS CAPABILITIES. WHICH WAS SAYING SOMETHING, SINCE JEREMY GRAY HAD BEEN ONE HELL OF A MESSED-UP MOTHERFUCKER.
STILL, JEREMY GRAY HAD BASIC CONTROL OF HIMSELF WHEN IT CAME DOWN TO IT. CARESSA GALLO DID NOT. PART OF HIM CONSIDERED PHONING HIS OLD BOSS FOR HIS ALWAYS-STRAIGHTFORWARD ADVICE. SHE’S EVEN MORE FUCKED UP THAN YOU, JEREMY. YES, I’M SERIOUS. BUT THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT HER… SHOULD I STAY OR SHOULD I GO? DAMN, THERE WAS SOMETHING ABOUT HER. PROBABLY THE MOST IMPORTANT REASON OF ALL TO LEAVE.
So he knocked on Denise Gallo’s door the next morning to tender his resignation. She was understandably angry.
“YOU SIGNED A CONTRACT!” THE WOMAN BLUSTERED. SHE WAS KEEPING HER VOICE DOWN, BUT SURELY CARESSA KNEW WHAT HE AND HER AUNT WERE DISCUSSING. “I TOLD YOU WE PREFERRED NOT TO SHUTTLE PEOPLE IN AND OUT. CARESSA NEEDS CONSISTENCY. PREDICTABILITY. I TOLD YOU SHE WAS HIGH-STRUNG—”
“HIGH-STRUNG? SHE’S A MANIAC, AND I WOULD HAVE GUESSED AN ALCOHOLIC TOO, EXCEPT THAT ALCOHOLICS DON’T GET DRUNK ON TWO GLASSES OF WINE.”
“LAST NIGHT WAS UNFORTUNATE. CARESSA HAS NEVER DONE WELL WITH WINE.”
“THEN WHY DO YOU LET HER DRINK IT?”
“SHE’S A GROWN WOMAN, MR. WINCHELL.”
“GROWN WOMAN IS PUSHING IT. I’VE SEEN THREE-YEAR-OLDS WHO WERE MORE IN CONTROL OF THEMSELVES.”
“IT’S NOT MY JOB TO CONTROL HER. THAT’S WHAT I HIRED YOU FOR.”
“SHE NEEDS PSYCHIATRIC HELP, WHICH I’M NOT LICENSED TO PROVIDE!”
DENISE SHOOK HER HEAD, RUBBING HER NECK IN FRUSTRATION. “SHE DOES NOT NEED PSYCHIATRIC HELP. SHE NEEDS LIMITS AND STRUCTURE… SHE’S JUST… SHE GETS FRUSTRATED SOMETIMES. ISN’T THAT UNDERSTANDABLE?” SHE GLANCED AT KYLE, THEN AWAY, FROWNING. “I MEAN, MAYBE IF YOU WERE TO…TURN ON THE CHARM, SO TO SPEAK?”
“I’M SORRY. WHAT EXACTLY DO YOU MEAN BY ‘TURN ON THE CHARM’?”
SHE FLUSHED A LITTLE AROUND THE EARS, AND CLEARED HER THROAT. “I DON’T MEAN TO BE INDELICATE, BUT…”
“YES, LET’S BE INDELICATE. WHAT EXACTLY ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? ARE YOU SUGGESTING THAT I ROMANCE HER AS A SYSTEM OF CONTROL? IS THAT SERIOUSLY WHAT YOU’RE SUGGESTING?”
NOW MS. GALLO WENT ON THE DEFENSIVE, BLUSTERING AND REDDENING. “NO! I MEAN… WELL, SHE’S A LOVELY GIRL, MR. WINCHELL. SHE CAN BE QUITE CHARMING WHEN…”
KYLE CROSSED HIS ARMS OVER HIS CHEST, FLOORED BY THE SUDDEN CLARITY OF THE SITUATION HE FOUND HIMSELF IN. “WHEN SHE’S GETTING SOME MASCULINE ATTENTION? IS THAT WHAT YOU MEAN TO SAY? AND I DON’T REALLY SEE THIS ‘CHARMING’ SIDE OF HER YOU KEEP ALLUDING TO. MAYBE IF I WORE LESS CLOTHES.”
“YOU’RE MAKING THIS SOUND MUCH MORE SORDID THAN IT ACTUALLY IS.”
“I’M SURE THAT’S NOT POSSIBLE. WHY DIDN’T YOU JUST ADVERTISE FOR A GIGOLO IF THAT’S WHAT YOU WANTED?”
“MR. WINCHELL, YOU’RE OVERREACTING.”
“JUST ANSWER ONE THING FOR ME. DID YOU HIRE ME WITH THIS INTENT ALL ALONG?”
“NO—I MEAN, I CONSIDERED—I LOOKED FOR A GOOD FIT. FOR SOMEONE I THOUGHT SHE MIGHT GET ALONG WITH. CARESSA IS… MR. WINCHELL, YOU MUST UNDERSTAND, SHE IS NOT LIKE OTHER WOMEN. I JUST WANT TO HELP HER. I’LL DO ANYTHING FOR MY NIECE.”
“YES, BUT I WON’T. I’VE BEEN THERE, DONE THAT. ‘I’LL DO ANYTHING’ ALWAYS ENDS BADLY. I LEARNED THAT THE HARD WAY.”
“DON’T GET ANGRY. YOU HAVE TO UNDERSTAND THAT MY MAIN GOAL IS TO KEEP CARESSA HAPPY.”
“YOUR MAIN GOAL IS TO KEEP CARESSA PLAYING HER CELLO SO YOU CAN BASK IN HER SPOTLIGHT AND KEEP THE MONEY ROLLING IN.”
“HOW DARE YOU SUGGEST SUCH A THING? CARESSA PLAYS THE CELLO BECAUSE SHE LOVES IT. I WOULDN’T EXPECT A NON-MUSICIAN LIKE YOU TO UNDERSTAND. IF YOU SAW HER PLAY—”
“I’M NOT GOING TO SEE HER PLAY. I THINK IT’S BEST IF I LEAVE THIS MORNING.”
MS. GALLO MOVED TO BLOCK HIM AT THE DOOR, HER BLUSTER AND ANGER TRANSFORMING INTO DESPERATION. SHE PUT A HAND ON KYLE’S ARM.
“MR. WINCHELL, PLEASE. CARESSA NEEDS COMPANIONSHIP. SHE NEEDS STRUCTURE. I’VE TRIED HIRING WOMEN, GIRLS HER AGE. I’VE TRIED FINDING HER FRIENDS. I’VE TRIED PSYCHOLOGISTS AND PSYCHIATRISTS. I’VE TRIED MEDICATION, BUT IT INTERFERES WITH HER PLAYING AND THAT HURT HER MOST OF ALL. I’VE TRIED EVERYTHING.”
“HAVE YOU TRIED LETTING HER MAKE HER OWN FRIENDS AND LIVE HER OWN LIFE?”
MS. GALLO WAS SILENT A MOMENT, THEN LET OUT A LONG, DEFEATED SIGH. “I REALLY THOUGHT YOU MIGHT UNDERSTAND.”
“I’M SORRY TO DISAPPOINT YOU, BUT I’M AFRAID THIS ASSIGNMENT IS NOT GOING TO WORK OUT FOR ME.” KYLE OPENED THE DOOR AND LEFT, RESISTING THE URGE TO SLAM IT BEHIND HIM. HE WAS BARELY A FEW STEPS AWAY WHEN MS. GALLO OPENED IT AGAIN.
“KYLE. PLEASE. IF YOU LEAVE, WHO ELSE WILL HELP HER?”
“I DON’T KNOW AND I DON’T CARE,” HE SAID OVER HIS SHOULDER. “I JUST KNOW IT WON’T BE ME.”
CHAPTER THREE:
CONNECTION
KYLE THREW HIS SUITCASES ON THE BED, TRYING TO MASTER HIS TEMPER. IT WAS HAPPENING ALL OVER AGAIN. THE OBNOXIOUS BULLDOZING OF PERSONAL LINES. DO THIS, DO THAT. THERE MUST BE SOMETHING ABOUT HIM THAT SCREAMED FOR EXPLOITATION. HE REMEMBERED THE FIRST TIME JEREMY GRAY HAD CALLED HIM INTO HIS BEDROOM. THREE GIRLS ON THE BED, FAKE BOOBS THRUSTING AND RED LIPS PANTING. HE’D BEEN TWENTY-ONE AT THE TIME AND HE DIDN’T THINK TWICE. HE DIDN’T THINK TWICE FOR MANY YEARS, THROUGH COUNTLESS THREESOMES AND FOURSOMES AND MORESOMES AS JEREMY’S “ASSISTANT”. HE’D ENJOYED THEM ALL IMMENSELY, UNTIL HE LOOKED IN THE MIRROR THE NEXT MORNING.
No more. Those days were over for him.
Kyle focused on packing, emptying his drawers with methodical precision. He had a particular way he liked to pack. He liked control and organization. Yes, he was good at creating structure. Denise certainly had him pegged. And damn, it’s not like he hadn’t imagined whipping Caressa into shape, gorgeous mess that she was. Denise wanted him to “charm” her into submission. Kyle would have employed other methods. Her uptight aunt would have been up in arms.
But whatever. The sooner he put the Caressa chapter behind him, the better. His days of self-sacrifice were over. He was looking out for Kyle now, who was almost a year sober and tired of other people’s insanity. He lined up his shirts beside his boxers in the smaller suitcase, then turned to the closet to get his suits. He sensed her there before he turned at her soft knock. She was just out of bed, looking tired and rumpled in a tee shirt and sleep pants. She took in the suitcases, then looked back at him, pushing her hair from her eyes.
“I’m leaving,” he said.
She was silent a moment, just standing there in the door. “I’m sorry, Kyle. I didn’t think I made you that angry.”
“Really? Hm. Interesting perspective.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
“You don’t want me here anyway, right?” he snapped. “The ‘policeman’? When I’m gone you can do what you want.”
Kyle was folding his shirts carefully into his
suitcase, even more agitated now that she was near him. She came over and sat on the edge of the bed, well away from him, as if she read his dangerous mood.
“If you go, she’ll just hire another one.”
Kyle paused in his packing and fixed her with a look. “Yeah, well. Poor guy. Whoever he is.”
Caressa looked down at her hands. “Am I that terrible?”
“You tell me. You’re clinging to a pole in the middle of a lightning storm one moment, and embarrassing me at dinner the next. Now you turn on the innocent, apologetic act as if that makes everything better. You’re rude and you—you don’t even brush your fucking hair.”
She ran a hand through the wild curls springing like a halo around her head. “It’s too curly to brush.”
“Maybe try some conditioner. I dunno. Whatever. I wish you the best, but I’m leaving.”
“And I never even got that spanking,” she said in a voice laced with sarcasm. So much for the angelic act.
Kyle snorted and returned to packing. “Get out.”
“Look, I just drank too much! And that thing on the roof— It’s not— I didn’t—”
“Get out, Caressa. Please.”
She pursed her lips and got up off the bed, heading to the door, but then she stopped and looked back at him. “I wish you wouldn’t go. I’m really sorry. I really wish—”
He spun on her. “You know what I wish? I hear a lot of talking from you, from your slick Aunt Denise, but I don’t feel like I’m getting a lot of honesty. Or reality. So what I really wish is that you would just stop talking, or else say something that sounded like truth to me.”
“I wish you would kiss me.”
She said it so quickly, it couldn’t have been premeditated. She flushed, stammering. “I—I mean…last night I did. I was just…thinking about that.”
Kyle stared, considering his options. He could turn and continue packing, ignoring her comment. He could give her a fucking piece of his mind. Or he could kiss the damn brat and get it over with.
No. Trouble. Big trouble. He schooled his face to nonchalance and tried to sound pedantic.
“Caressa, that would be such a bad idea.”
“YOU WANTED HONESTY.” SHE DUG HER TOE INTO THE CARPET AS HE RETURNED TO PACKING. “IT WOULD HELP ME.”
HE SIGHED, TURNING FROM THE LUGGAGE AGAIN. “HELP YOU HOW?”
“I DON’T KNOW. IT WOULD MAKE ME FEEL BETTER MAYBE.”
“FEEL BETTER? YOU’RE LIKE, THIS SUPER TALENTED MUSICIAN. YOU’RE PLAYING, WHAT, THIRTY VENUES THIS SUMMER? MOST OF THEM ALREADY SOLD OUT? I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE.”
“WHAT DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND? I’M NOT HAPPY!”
“SO QUIT! DO SOMETHING ELSE THAT MAKES YOU HAPPY.”
“I CAN’T.”
“JESUS CHRIST, THIS IS RIDICULOUS.” HE TURNED TO PACKING AGAIN, JAMMING TEES NEXT TO NEATLY ROLLED-UP JEANS. “SERIOUSLY, GROW UP AND GET A LIFE ALREADY. YOU CAN’T LET YOUR AUNT PIMP YOU OUT IF YOU’RE THIS UNHAPPY. BE AN ADULT, PUT YOUR FOOT DOWN. SAY, ‘I’M DONE, AUNT DENISE. SAYONARA’. YOU’RE ACTING LIKE THIS PETULANT CHILD, OVER THIS FALSE PRISON YOU’VE COMPLETELY FABRICATED IN YOUR MIND. JUST QUIT IF YOU’RE UNHAPPY.”
“I CAN’T QUIT!” HER VOICE QUAVERED, ALMOST BROKE. “I DON’T WANT TO QUIT, BUT IT’S HARD TO KEEP GOING. I’M STUCK AND I CAN’T… I CAN’T…” HER HANDS MADE HELPLESS GRASPING MOTIONS. “I WANT TO DO IT, I WANT TO PLAY, BUT I CAN’T EVER BE GOOD ENOUGH. I’M CHASING THIS IDEAL THAT I CAN’T MEET, AND I JUST NEED… I NEED TO—”
“GO UP ON THE ROOF AND MAKE ME THINK YOU’RE GOING TO FLING YOURSELF OFF?”
“NO! JESUS. CAN’T YOU JUST STAY? PLEASE.”
KYLE SCOWLED AND SHUT HIS SUITCASE, HEADING BACK TO THE CLOSET FOR HIS SHOES.
“I’M SORRY, BUT NO. I VALUE MY SANITY TOO MUCH.”
HE RETURNED TO THE BED, GLANCING OVER, BUT SHE WAS GONE. GOOD. WHAT A NUTCASE. HER AND AUNT DENISE AND PAUL THE TOUR MANAGER COULD ALL FUCK THEMSELVES. HE STARTED ARRANGING THE SHOES IN THE LARGER SUITCASE, TRYING NOT TO THINK ABOUT HER WORDS, OR THE WAY HER VOICE SOUNDED WHEN SHE SAID THEM. I’M STUCK… I CAN’T EVER BE GOOD ENOUGH… I JUST NEED…
He would need to call Walter. How the hell was he going to explain this situation? He would have to make up some kind of excuse for why he was leaving, or else tell him the bald truth. That Caressa was too much to take on, for all she was talented and beautiful. Someone would be happy to deal with her drama, it just wasn’t him. It wasn’t his problem.
He had finally convinced himself of that when he heard the first quiet strains of music from her room. He wasn’t a musician, but he recognized warm ups. He tried not to listen, sitting down to compose an email to Walter.
Walter,
This new assignment has not gone as planned. Having spent time with Denise Gallo and her niece, I’ve realized that I am actually not a very good fit for the requirements.
KYLE STOPPED TYPING AS THE METHODICAL SCALES HALTED IN THE OTHER ROOM. HE LISTENED FOR FOOTSTEPS, HOPING SHE WOULDN’T MAKE ANOTHER APPEARANCE. HE LOOKED OVER TO THE DOOR WHICH WAS STILL STANDING AJAR, BUT HEARD NO MOVEMENT.
NO, HE HEARD SOMETHING ELSE ENTIRELY. CARESSA GALLO BEGAN TO PLAY A SONG, AND KYLE LISTENED, HIS FINGERS POISED OVER HIS LAPTOP KEYBOARD. THE SONG WENT ON, AN ACHING, FURIOUS MELODY. HE HAD BEEN TOLD ABOUT HER VIRTUOSITY, READ HER FILE, SEEN THE WEALTH OF ACCOLADES AND PRESS ABOUT HER ONLINE, BUT NONE OF IT HAD PREPARED HIM FOR WHAT HE HEARD.
AGAINST HIS BETTER JUDGMENT, HE WENT CLOSER TO THE DOOR JUST TO LISTEN. HE DIDN’T KNOW THE PIECE SHE PLAYED, ONLY KNEW IT WAS EMOTIONAL. LONG STRAINS OF REVERBERATING SOUND CLASHED WITH SUDDEN CHANGES OF TONE AND TEMPO, THE NOTES SLOW AT TIMES, AND THEN SO FAST THAT HE COULDN’T BELIEVE ANY HUMAN COULD PLAY THEM.
HE PUSHED THE DOOR OPEN. SHE FACED THE WINDOW SO HER BACK WAS TO HIM, AND HER HAIR OBSCURED HER FINGERS ON THE CELLO STRINGS. HER LEGS CRADLED THE INSTRUMENT AND SHE LEANED OVER IT LIKE A LOVER. HE HAD A SUDDEN WISH TO SEE HER FACE, BUT HE COULDN’T HAVE GONE CLOSER AT THAT MOMENT, NOT WHILE SHE WAS PLAYING. SHE SEEMED UNAPPROACHABLE, MAJESTIC. UNTOUCHABLE.
SHE STOPPED ABRUPTLY AND TURNED TO HIM.
“WHAT?” THE GENIUS TRANSFORMED AGAIN INTO THE RUDE, CONFLICTED GIRL. “GET OUT. ISN’T THAT WHAT YOU SAID TO ME? I’M SAYING IT TO YOU NOW.” SHE STABBED HER BOW IN THE AIR, GESTURING. “GET OUT.”
GET OUT. LISTEN TO HER. IT WOULD BE FOR THE BEST. “WERE YOU TELLING ME THE TRUTH?” THAT’S NOT GETTING OUT, IDIOT.
She turned her back on him and sliced the bow across the strings, eliciting a strange, discordant squeal.
“WERE YOU TELLING THE TRUTH?” HE ASKED AGAIN. “ABOUT FEELING LIKE YOU’RE NOT GOOD ENOUGH? ABOUT WANTING…WANTING ME TO KISS YOU?”
SHE WAS SILENT. SOMETHING IN HER HUNCHED, DEFEATED POSTURE KEPT HIM STANDING WHERE HE WAS AGAINST ALL HIS INNER INSTINCTS.
“I DON’T WANT TO TALK ANYMORE,” SHE SAID QUIETLY, AND STARTED TO PLAY AGAIN, THE SAME HAUNTING PIECE.
“WHAT’S THAT SONG YOU’RE PLAYING?” HE ASKED OVER THE MUSIC.
“MOERAN’S CELLO CONCERTO.”
“I’VE NEVER HEARD IT BEFORE.”
SHE FLEXED HER KNEE AND STOPPED PLAYING AGAIN WITH A SIGH. “NOT MANY HAVE. MOERAN NEVER GOT POPULAR. HE WAS AN ALCOHOLIC. A FAILURE. IN THE END HE WAS MOST FAMOUS FOR HIS ABILITY TO MEMORIZE TRAIN SCHEDULES.”
“OH, WELL, SEE? YOU’RE ALREADY WORLDS AHEAD OF HIM.”
SHE TURNED WITH SUCH A VIRULENT LOOK THAT HE BACKED UP A STEP. “IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH BEING AHEAD OF HIM. IT HAS TO DO WITH THE FACT THAT I UNDERSTAND EXACTLY WHY HE MEMORIZED TRAIN SCHEDULES. EXACTLY WHY.”
“If you hate it so much, why do you do it?”
“Get out.”
“Answer me. Explain it to me. If you can tell me anything that makes sense, I’ll kiss you.”
“Get out!”
He knew he was making her angry. He couldn’t stop. “What kind of help do you need? Is Aunt Denise drugging you and holding you here against your will? If you wan
t to memorize train schedules, why the hell don’t you put down your fucking cello and do it?”
She stood up, gripping her bow in her hand, and he braced, expecting her to throw it at him. Her gaze seared him. “Get out!” she screamed. “Get out! Get out of here!”
He watched her just a moment before he decided. He’d wanted truth, and he’d gotten it in all its raw glory. She was desperate. She was enslaved to a talent she couldn’t control. She was drowning and she didn’t have a life vest. He crossed to her and took her bow away, because he was afraid otherwise she would eviscerate him with it. He slid one hand in her ridiculously messy hair to hold her still for his kiss. The last coherent thought he had before he pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers was that, for being such a tangled wreck, her hair was amazingly lovely and soft.
* * * * *
There was no choosing, no thought. Nothing but the feel of his stubble against her chin, and the strength of his arm as he grasped her. He was pulling her hair with his other hand, the hand that had taken her bow away. She still held her cello, a fact she completely forgot until he released her to guide it to its side on the floor. He did it so carefully, while she tasted him on her lips and stood feeling shocked. Then he was back, kissing her again.
She knew it was only because he’d heard her play. People always changed when they heard her play, which was why she couldn’t “put down her fucking cello” as he’d exhorted her to do. Her music was the most wonderful thing about her. The only wonderful thing about her, she thought sometimes—but if it had won her this kiss, she didn’t care.
He kneaded her neck as his mouth slanted over hers. His lips were warm and strong. She tasted his anger and his longing, and answered it with her own furious lust. His hands were on her hips, sliding down to cup her ass. The kiss deepened and she felt his hard cock against her front. It’s not you he wants. Just the music.
She didn’t care. She wanted this, just this one thing from him. If he left her afterward, so be it. Her fingers fumbled at the front of his jeans, wanting to free him and touch him, curious to feel the manly shape and heat of him.
Caressa’s Knees Page 4