KYLE STOOD BESIDE HER AS SHE CHECKED OUT. THE SHOP GIRLS HAD FINALLY FALLEN SILENT, DECIDING AT LAST, SHE SUPPOSED, THAT HE REALLY WASN’T AVAILABLE. SHE WONDERED WHAT HE THOUGHT OF THE THINGS SHE’D PICKED OUT. SHE WANTED TO LOOK OVER AND ASK, BUT THEN AGAIN, SHE WASN’T BUYING IT FOR HIM. HE WAS RIGHT, SHE MADE A LOT OF MONEY. SHE SHOULD HAVE UNDERWEAR SHE LIKED, AND IF HE DIDN’T LIKE WHAT SHE CHOSE, HE COULD GO FUCK HIMSELF. SHE’D TOLD HIM SHE WASN’T GOING TO GET ALL SENTIMENTAL OVER HIM AND SHE MEANT IT.
SHE PAID FOR THE SETS WITH THE DEBIT CARD DENISE HAD GIVEN HER A COUPLE YEARS AGO, THAT SHE ONLY USED NOW AND AGAIN FOR ONLINE PURCHASES AND QUICK TRIPS OUT FOR FOOD. GOD, SHE HAD PLENTY OF MONEY SAVED UP FROM CONCERTS AND ROYALTIES. SHE WAS PAYING HIS SALARY, WASN’T SHE?
“I like the things you got,” he said as he fell into step beside her back out on the sidewalk.
“I didn’t think you even noticed what I got, you were so busy chatting up those girls.”
“They were chatting me up.”
“I’m sure you’re constantly wrestling with that problem.”
“WHY SO GROUCHY, DARLING?”
CARESSA ROLLED HER EYES. HE WAS HEADED FOR ANOTHER STORE, AN UPSCALE WOMEN’S CLOTHING BOUTIQUE.
“KYLE!”
“COME ON. I JUST WANT TO HELP YOU. DRESS YOU UP A LITTLE. DO YOU REALLY LIKE THOSE CLOTHES YOU WEAR? YOU’RE SO SPIRITED, SO TALENTED. WHY ARE YOUR CLOTHES SO…BLAND AND LIFELESS?”
“THAT’S HOW CONCERT MUSICIANS DRESS.”
“SAYS WHO?” HE WAS PULLING HER PAST COUNTERS FULL OF ARTISAN JEWELRY AND POTTERY TO RACKS OF VARIOUSLY TEXTURED SWEATERS AND JACKETS, TOPS AND BLOUSES. “WHO MADE THE RULE THAT THAT’S HOW CONCERT MUSICIANS HAVE TO DRESS? I GUESS YOU COULD WEAR WHATEVER THE HELL YOU WANTED AS LONG AS YOUR FINGERS ARE THE ONES PLAYING THE NOTES.”
“IT DOESN’T WORK THAT WAY. THERE ARE CONVENTIONS OF DRESS—”
“I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT WHAT YOU WEAR ONSTAGE. I’M TALKING ABOUT YOU GETTING A SENSE OF STYLE AND BEING HAPPY WITH THE WAY YOU LOOK.”
“I AM HAPPY WITH THE WAY I LOOK.”
“THEN WHY DO YOU HIDE YOURSELF UNDER LAYERS OF GRAY AND BLACK?”
“BECAUSE, UNLIKE YOU, I DON’T WANT TO BE STARED AT.”
HE MADE AN IMPATIENT SOUND AND STARTED BROWSING THROUGH LUSH CARDIGANS AND EMBELLISHED TANK TOPS. “THIS STORE REMINDS ME OF YOU. VERY IMPRESSIVE AND GREAT QUALITY, BUT COMPLETELY CRAZY UNDERNEATH.” HE HELD UP A SHIRT WITH ASYMMETRICAL GATHERS AND AN UNFINISHED, BEADED NECKLINE.
“NO. WELL…” SHE SIDLED OVER TO A NEARBY TABLE OF FILMY BLOUSES. GOD, SHE LOVED RUCHING. LITTLE BOWS, NOTHING GARISH… BUTTONS. SHE LOVED BUTTONS THAT WERE UNUSUAL. SHE REALLY LOVED ITTY BITTY BUTTONS. AND TEXTURES…
BY THE TIME SHE LEFT, KYLE HAD A FISTFUL OF BAGS IN BOTH HANDS, AND CARESSA WAS FEELING BUOYANT AND BEAUTIFUL. WHY NOT HAVE FUN DRESSING IN HER OWN STYLE WHEN SHE WASN’T PERFORMING? THE BLACK WAS GETTING OLD. SHE’D BOUGHT TOPS IN RUST RED AND RUM PINK, JACKETS IN GREEN PAISLEY AND AQUA BLUE. SHE’D BOUGHT SWEATERS WITH SHORT SLEEVES AND PEDAL PUSHER SHORTS IN PLAID. SHE’D BOUGHT A WHITE TANK TOP WITH SILVER AND YELLOW BOWS ALL OVER IT. DENISE WOULD HATE IT, BUT CARESSA LOVED IT.
“WE SHOULD GET BACK,” SAID KYLE. “WE’LL SAVE SHOES FOR ANOTHER DAY.”
CARESSA LAUGHED AND FELT AN ALMOST INSANE URGE TO SKIP ALONG BESIDE HIM. FOR A FEW HOURS SHE’D FORGOTTEN ALL ABOUT SAINT-SAËNS AND CONCERT REVIEWS. SHE’D FELT LIKE A NORMAL PERSON, OUT AND ABOUT LIVING LIFE FOR ONCE. SHE’D BOUGHT A BUNCH OF CLOTHES SHE LIKED AND ENJOYED THE FRESH AIR AND SUNSHINE. SHE HADN’T HEARD ANY MUSIC BUT THE SOUND OF KYLE’S LAUGHTER AND WHISPERED ENCOURAGEMENTS IN HER EAR.
* * * * *
HE LEFT HER AT THE SUITE TO REST BEFORE THE CONCERT AND HEADED OFF TO THE HOTEL GYM WITH THE NEWSPAPERS FROM THE TABLE STUFFED IN THE BOTTOM OF HIS BAG. AFTER HE WORKED OUT, HE SAT IN THE SAUNA AND FLIPPED TO THE ARTS SECTIONS TO READ OVER THE REVIEWS. DENISE WAS RIGHT. THEY WEREN’T EXACTLY CONDEMNING HER WORK, BUT NOT CONGRATULATING HER EITHER. ALL THREE REVIEWERS BROUGHT HER AGE INTO THINGS. WHILE CARESSA GALLO HAS GROWN UP BEFORE OUR EYES, HER PERFORMANCES STILL SMACK OF IMMATURITY. KYLE FELT A STRONG URGE TO SMACK THE REVIEWER. SHE WAS TWENTY FUCKING YEARS OLD, NOT EXACTLY A SEASONED ADULT YET.
He folded the papers and set them aside in disgust. When he’d taken this job, he hadn’t bargained on any of this. He didn’t know how to help her. When Jeremy had gotten bad reviews, it had always been reviews of the movie as a whole, not him personally. In this case, Kyle couldn’t see how Caressa wouldn’t feel personally attacked.
Damn it. He wanted to protect her, shelter her somehow, but he couldn’t. He wanted to stand behind her on stage and glower at the audience, daring them to think any less of her for missed notes or botched phrasing. He didn’t even know what the fuck phrasing was, but he was sure Caressa did it more beautifully than ninety-nine percent of the master cellists in the world. He showered and returned to the room in a snit, to find Caressa in a similarly touchy mood.
“YOU READ THEM ANYWAY,” HE ACCUSED.
“DENISE ALWAYS BUYS ME MY OWN COPIES.”
“DAMN IT. I TOLD YOU NOT TO READ THEM.” HE COULD SEE HER SEARCHING HER BRAIN FOR SOME CHILDISH RETORT. HE HELD UP HIS HAND. “DON’T. JUST DON’T SAY ANYTHING.”
“I DON’T WANT TO. GET OUT OF MY ROOM.”
“THEY WERE WRONG, YOU KNOW. IT’S JUST THEIR OPINION.”
“THEY WEREN’T WRONG!”
“STOP WITH THE YELLING THING, CARESSA. IT DOESN’T INTIMIDATE ME AND IT JUST MAKES YOU SOUND LIKE A CRAZY WOMAN.”
“MAYBE I AM A CRAZY WOMAN,” SHE SNAPPED. “ALL I KNOW IS THAT I SCREWED UP YESTERDAY AND IT WAS ALL YOUR FAULT.”
“SOMEHOW I DOUBT THAT.”
“YOU AND YOUR FUCKING SEDUCTION AND—”
“WAIT. SEDUCTION? SEX GOES BOTH WAYS, SUGAR. I DON’T REMEMBER YOU RESISTING OR SAYING NO.”
“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO PLAY WITH YOU…DOING THIS STUFF TO ME? I NEED TO CONCENTRATE ON MUSIC, NOT FUCKING AND SHOPPING AND WHATEVER THE HELL ELSE YOU WANT TO DO AT ANY GIVEN MOMENT. YOU’RE TOO…DISRUPTIVE!”
“FINE, I’LL LEAVE YOU ALONE THEN.”
“I WOULD APPRECIATE THAT.”
“YOU PROBABLY WOULDN’T HAVE ENJOYED ALL THE THINGS I HAD PLANNED FOR YOU TONIGHT ANYWAY,” HE ADDED CASUALLY, STUDYING ONE OF HIS NAILS.
“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?”
“NOTHING. IF YOU WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE, I’LL LEAVE YOU ALONE. I THOUGHT YOU LIKED OUR TIME TOGETHER SO FAR. BUT WHATEVER. YOU NEED TO BE READY TO LEAVE FOR THE THEATER AT SIX-THIRTY.”
HE TURNED HIS BACK ON HER AND LEFT. A RISK. HE PRAYED SHE WOULDN’T RUN BACK UP TO THE ROOFTOP, OR STAGE SOME OTHER SIMILARLY DRAMATIC SCENE. BUT SHE DID NOTHING, AND AT SIX-THIRTY SHE CAME OUT OF HER ROOM IN HER ARMOR OF BLACK SILK AND SMOOTHED-BACK HAIR. AT THE THEATER SHE MARCHED OUT ON STAGE AS IF TO DO BATTLE, AND FROM THE LOOK ON DENISE’S FACE, THIS TIME CARESSA PREVAILED. KYLE TRIED TO FEEL HAPPY FOR HER, BUT DISGRUNTLEMENT REIGNED.
THE NEXT THREE DAYS PASSED IN A TENSE STANDOFF. KYLE DID EVERYTHING HE’D AGREED TO DO AS HER ASSISTANT, BUT THAT WAS THE EXTENT OF THEIR INTERACTIONS—IN REALITY ANYWAY. IN HIS MIND, KYLE INTERACTED WITH HER UNTIL CARESSA COULD BARELY WALK. HE FUCKED HER, TIED HER UP, GAGGED HER, TEASED AND TORMENTED HER. HE MADE HER MOAN, AND WHEN SHE FOUGHT HIM HE HELD HER DOWN AND FUCKED HER HARDER.
IF SHE WAS HAVING SIMILAR THOUGHTS, SHE HID THEM WELL. THEY GOT ON A PLANE TO PORTLAND AND CARESSA SAT ALONE WITH HER CELLO CASE IN THE TWO-ACROSS SEAT. DENISE GLANCED OVER AT HER AND THEN BACK AT KYLE.
“IT’S PROBABLY BETTER THIS WAY.”
“MM.” KYLE THOUGHT FOR THE HUNDREDTH TIME THAT HE SHOULD RESIGN AND LET THE CONSTANT TEMPTATION THAT DOGGED HIM FALL INTO SOMEONE ELSE’S HANDS. BUT HE WASN’T CAPABLE OF WALKING AWAY FROM HER, NOT NOW. “WHATEVER MAKES HER HAPPY, I GUESS,” HE SAID, ONLY BECAUSE DENISE SEEMED TO BE WAITING FOR SOME ANSWER FROM HIM.
“EVERYTHING I DO IS FOR CARESSA’S HAPPINESS,” SHE REPLIED IN AN UNCTUOUS TONE.
“DO YOU REALLY TH
INK SHE’S HAPPY?”
“IN HER OWN WAY SHE IS. THIS IS WHAT SHE LIVES FOR. IT’S NOT ALWAYS EASY FOR HER, BUT SHE WOULDN’T HAVE IT ANY OTHER WAY.”
“ARE YOU SURE OF THAT?”
“SHE PUT THE MUSIC AHEAD OF YOU, DIDN’T SHE?” SHE DIDN’T SAY IT CRUELLY, BUT KYLE GOT THE MESSAGE LOUD AND CLEAR. DENISE SHIFTED AND CLASPED HER HANDS IN HER LAP. “PLEASE, WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T TRY TO MAKE HER CHOOSE. YOU’LL END UP WITH MORE OF A MESS THAN YOU CAN MANAGE.”
“I would never ask her to choose.”
“Not in so many words, I’m sure. But she’s already conflicted.”
“Why does it have to be either-or? Why can’t she have a relationship with me and still do her music too? This unhealthy obsession—”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand that she’s living half a life, and the half is all music. I took her to the mall and she was walking around like Alice in Wonderland. She’s twenty years old. What does your life look like when you’re twenty and you’ve never even hung out at a mall? What has she ever done that normal kids do?”
“She’s not a kid.”
“Not now. But five years ago she was. What was she doing five years ago?”
Denise bit her lip and didn’t answer.
“Let me guess. Practicing her cello, appearing at concerts, and poring over reviews.”
“Yes. And that’s exactly what she wanted to be doing.”
“How do you know? What else has she ever been allowed to do?”
“It’s not a matter of ‘allowing’! She does all of this by choice.”
Kyle stopped, glancing over at Caressa. She could see they were arguing, and quickly looked away. “By choice. Yes, that’s what I hear,” Kyle said in a lower voice. “But it seems like only one choice is allowed. What if she chooses to be with me? What if she chooses a real life instead of this musical bubble she’s living in?”
Denise looked over at him, her deep brown eyes sincere and resolute. “If she chooses, she chooses. You are not listening to my words. You do not make her choose. It must be her choice. You understand?”
“I would never force her to choose,” he grumbled, sitting back in his seat. But part of him knew that’s what he was already doing. Poking, peeling away the protective layer that kept her focused and productive. He wanted to show her the wide world she’d forsaken to become a musical virtuosa. But was he doing it for her—or for him?
It was just a short flight and soon they were preparing the cabin for landing. He looked over at Caressa and saw her fingers curled around the handle of her cello case. He wanted to be holding that hand. He wanted to make her happy, make her laugh in that same giddy way she’d laughed at the mall that day. There was no malice in it, no desire to ruin her, just a desire to help her discover things, and yes, perhaps woo her a little bit.
But more and more he realized that Caressa was already involved in a primary relationship—a dysfunctional one. Caressa was inextricably entangled with a horsehair bow, a glossy wooden body and four quivering strings.
Chapter Six:
Instrument
Caressa lay awake in the dark tossing and turning, unable to find peace. Tonight’s concert had actually been the best so far. They’d traveled to a three-night appearance in Portland and on to Seattle for another three days. Caressa had always loved Seattle for some reason. Perhaps because it always rained in Seattle. Kyle had made a joke about Caressa not going up on the roof on the way home from the last night’s show, when rain had lashed the windows of the car and lightning had lit up the gorgeous planes of his face. She hadn’t found the joke particularly funny. That night hadn’t been a joke to her, when she’d first stared at his chest, at his fingers. When she’d first had to admit that something moved her besides music.
The shows were going fine, but she felt like shit. She’d thrown up a wall between them and he aggravated her by stubbornly staying on his side. He still managed everything, kept her on schedule, made sure she had room service and dry cleaning. He got her to interviews and appointments. He hauled her cello on and off planes and through hotel lobbies, up and down elevators. He never once bumped it or banged it into the wall.
He never touched her either.
She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter. The music mattered. She kept her mind on music all day without a problem. The better she played, the better she felt. She practiced and felt the concerto that was once her enemy becoming more like a friend. New aspects of the work opened up and she embraced them, sometimes in the hot chaos of a performance and sometimes as she sat quietly eating or resting. She was actually fine until she turned out the lights at night and remembered the feel of him holding her down, pressing into her. Her body betrayed her will, and wouldn’t let her forget.
She finally gave up on sleep and threw off the sheets, sitting up and hugging her knees to her chest. She’d moved the bed against the wall because she knew he was on the other side of it, and now she leaned against it as if he might feel her in the next room and know she needed him. Needed him? God, did she really need him? She had a handle on the concerto finally, and she was getting into the rhythm of life on tour.
He certainly didn’t need her. Everywhere they went, women gawked at him. A lot of them openly made passes. Ugh. He might have a woman with him right now, in the hotel room next to hers. She pressed her ear against the coolness of the wall but she heard nothing.
Well, she couldn’t just sit in the room and stew. Tomorrow was a traveling day, so she could stay up late if she wanted to. She got dressed and put on a little lipstick and grabbed her key to go downstairs. She’d go hang in the bar, do some people-watching. Maybe try to buy a drink without ID. She looked a little older with her hair pulled back.
AS SHE LEFT, SHE CAUGHT THE DOOR SO IT WOULDN’T SLAM. IF KYLE WAS IN THERE FUCKING SOME LUCKY WOMAN, GOD FORBID SHE WOULD DISTURB HIM. MAYBE HE WAS SLEEPING. SHE THOUGHT JUST A MOMENT OF KNOCKING ON THE DOOR. AFTER THE ROOFTOP INCIDENT HE’D TOLD HER TO ALWAYS KEEP HIM ADVISED OF HER WHEREABOUTS, BUT IT WASN’T LIKE SHE WAS LEAVING THE HOTEL. SHE SHRUGGED AND CONTINUED DOWN THE HALL.
THE BAR WAS LIKE EVERY OTHER HOTEL BAR SHE’D EVER BEEN IN. SLICK AND YET DEPRESSINGLY STERILE. DARK AND A LITTLE SMOKY. NOT VERY CROWDED, WHICH SCREWED THE PEOPLE-WATCHING IDEA. SHE SAT AT A TABLE NEAR THE DOOR, GLANCING AROUND AND GATHERING UP HER COURAGE TO TRY TO FINAGLE A DRINK FROM THE BARTENDER. SHE WAS ALMOST TWENTY-ONE ANYWAY. MAYBE SHE SHOULD JUST SHOW THE GUY HER ID AND HOPE HE’D SPOT HER A FEW WEEKS. JUST AS SHE DECIDED TO TRY IT HER PROBLEM WAS SOLVED, BECAUSE A BUSINESSMAN APPEARED AT HER ELBOW WITH TWO BEERS IN HIS HAND.
“HELLO. LONELY?”
CARESSA LOOKED AT HIM, NOT SURE WHAT TO RESPOND. YES, I’M LONELY. NO, NOT FOR YOU. NOT THAT HE WASN’T ATTRACTIVE IN A RICH BUSINESSMAN KIND OF WAY. HE WAS PRETTY SHORT AND NOT CLASSICALLY HANDSOME, BUT HE EXUDED SUCCESS AND POWER. HE WAS PROBABLY SOME CORPORATE HIGHER-UP ON A BUSINESS TRIP. WHEN SHE DIDN’T ANSWER, HE HELD OUT ONE OF THE BEERS, A QUESTION IN HIS EYES.
After a moment, she took it. “Thanks.”
“Can I sit down?”
“Sure.”
He sat beside her, not crowding her. He didn’t seem to be too drunk or sloppy. “So, are you lonely?” she asked, turning his question back on him.
He laughed. “Not really. Just bored. I’ve been in a hundred of these hotel bars. Hundreds of hotel rooms. They get old.”
CARESSA LOOKED DOWN AT THE BEER BOTTLE. IT WAS SOME BRAND SHE’D NEVER HEARD OF, PROBABLY SOME EXPENSIVE IMPORT. SHE TOOK A TENTATIVE SIP. “YEAH, I KNOW.”
HE LOOKED SURPRISED, OR PERHAPS AMUSED. “AREN’T YOU A LITTLE YOUNG TO BE JADED BY TRAVEL?”
SHE SHRUGGED, MADE NERVOUS BY THE WAY HE SCRUTINIZED HER. SHE HATED THE TASTE OF THE BEER, BUT SHE DIDN’T WANT TO BE RUDE AND NOT DRINK IT. SHE TOOK ANOTHER MINISCULE SIP AND LET THE BITTER LIQUID SIT ON HER TONGUE. “I TRAVEL FOR A LIVING,” SHE FINALLY SAID.
“DOING WHAT?”
CARESSA HESITATED. HOW MUCH SHOU
LD SHE TELL HIM ABOUT HERSELF? HE WAS A COMPLETE STRANGER. HER EYES DARTED AROUND THE ROOM. IT’S NOT LIKE SHE WASN’T SAFE HERE. IT’S NOT LIKE HE COULD MAKE HER DO ANYTHING SHE DIDN’T WANT TO DO, NO MATTER HOW RICH AND ASSERTIVE HE SEEMED. SHE INCHED AWAY FROM HIM A LITTLE AND SMILED, TOYING WITH THE NECK OF HER BEER BOTTLE. “I’M A MUSICIAN,” SHE SAID. “I PLAY WITH VARIOUS ORCHESTRAS. I’M TOURING RIGHT NOW.”
“AH.” HE LOOKED DULY IMPRESSED. “WHAT INSTRUMENT DO YOU PLAY?”
“CELLO.”
“I USED TO PLAY A LITTLE SAX BACK IN THE DAY.” HE SMILED RUEFULLY. “I DIDN’T KEEP UP WITH IT. DOUBT I COULD PLAY A NOTE NOW.”
“REALLY? MUSIC IS LIKE BIKE-RIDING. YOU NEVER FORGET.”
“MAYBE. MY NAME’S MICHAEL, BY THE WAY.”
“HI, MICHAEL. I’M CARESSA.”
HE SHOOK HER HAND WITH A WARM, FIRM GRIP. SHE THOUGHT HE SHOOK IT A LITTLE TOO LONG. “CARESSA. THAT’S DIFFERENT. SO I TAKE IT YOU’RE NOT A SEATTLEITE.”
“NO. I’M A NEW YORKER.”
“I’M FROM TORONTO.” SHE WATCHED HIM TAKE A DEEP DRINK OF HIS BEER AND TIPPED HER BOTTLE BACK TOO. HE WAS OLD ENOUGH TO BE HER FATHER. SHE GOT THE FEELING HE LIKED THAT. SHE TURNED A LITTLE FROM HIS INTENT GAZE, AND THEN NOTICED A TALL, DARK-HAIRED MAN SITTING AT THE FAR END OF THE BAR. HIS FACE LIFTED AND ALL-TOO-FAMILIAR EYES LATCHED ON TO HERS. SHE QUICKLY LOWERED THE BEER BOTTLE FROM HER LIPS, BUT HE WAS ALREADY UP.
“UM…” WAS ALL SHE MANAGED TO GET OUT BEFORE HE ARRIVED AT THE TABLE.
“MAKING NEW FRIENDS?” KYLE BIT OUT.
“EXCUSE ME?” MICHAEL’S VOICE BRISTLED.
KYLE PUSHED HER BEER BACK TO HIS SIDE OF THE TABLE. “YEAH, SHE’S NOT OLD ENOUGH TO BE DRINKING THAT. AND REALLY NOT OLD ENOUGH FOR A BUSINESS-TRIP HOOKUP EITHER. IF YOU’LL EXCUSE US,” HE DRAWLED, PULLING CARESSA FROM HER CHAIR AND LEADING HER TOWARD THE DOOR.
“LET GO OF ME.” SHE PULLED HER ARM AWAY, TOO EMBARRASSED TO LOOK BACK AND SEE WHAT MICHAEL WAS MAKING OF THIS.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING DOWN HERE?” HE ASKED.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING DOWN HERE?” SHE SHOT BACK.
Caressa’s Knees Page 8