by Clea Simon
“Hi, Amy.” The regular receptionist must have been closing up. “Theda again. I need to make a dental appointment.” I remembered my earlier query about the cat-food bag. “And is Rachel still around? I left a message for her earlier, too, with one of the volunteers. Do you know if she got it?” During the moment of silence, while Amy looked, Musetta began to knead. I was glad I’d trimmed her front claws as she worked first one and then the other paw deep into my thighs. “She did? Damn! Sorry.” I must have missed the dew claw. “And she’s not taking calls now?” I must have flinched, because Musetta prepared for a leap right toward my coffee mug. “Oh, hell. Well, don’t let me keep you. But when you come in tomorrow, would you let me know when the next available appointment is, please? And tell her I called, okay?” I hung up in time to catch the mug, but the papers it had balanced on went flying onto the floor.
Having had her fill of loving, my cat now wanted to play. “Go, kitty!” I tossed a ball of aluminum foil and saw her leap for it, her white mittens grabbing at the air. “Go long!” Her feet slipped and scampered as she dodged and jumped, making me work to keep up. “One more, okay?” How out of shape could she be? I was out of breath before she stopped, mid-chase, to wash one white boot.
That’s when I noticed the answering machine.
“Theda?” It was Bill, finally. “I got your message. I’ve been meaning to call. Yeah.” There was a pause so long that I checked to make sure the machine was still running. “I’d like to talk. Try me at the club?”
***
I checked the clock—nearly six. Beginning of the busy time over at Bill’s. He’d have no time for a call, but if I dropped by, maybe we’d be able to chat. And so, despite her protesting “meh,” I dislodged Musetta from my lap and headed for the door.
“Going over to the Stand?” As I locked my front door, I heard Reed descending the stairs above me.
“Yes.” It was a relief to say, and he smiled back. “And you?”
“I’ve got a gig in Watertown. There’s a bistro thinks I’ll lend the dinner hour some class.” He raised his eyebrows. “But I’ll come to the club later.” He paused at the base of the stairs. “Welcome back.”
“Thanks.” Had the entire world known of our fight? It didn’t matter, my step was light as I headed down the street. Pizza or no, that was my only question. That tuna roll-up had been awfully small, and a shared slice behind the bar would be cozy, an edible peace offering. I didn’t mind being the one to offer the metaphorical olive branch. With pepperoni.
But if I didn’t bring food, and Bill could sneak away for an hour after the rush and before the music, well, we might be able to have a more intimate meal. Or whatever. That thought, as well as the nip in the air, made up my mind, and I dug my hands in my coat pockets as I trotted directly to Bill’s Last Stand.
“Hey, Theda!” The heavy door was pulled open for me by a familiar face.
“Hey.” I ought to know the name. Good looking, shaggy blond hair, and a jaw like chiseled granite. Played guitar—bass? no guitar—in a new garage band. “Peter.”
“Piers.” He smiled and held out a hand big enough for a bassist. “I guess I didn’t make that much of an impression.” I’d written up some news about his band in a scene round-up a few weeks back. We’d talked about doing a column.
“No, it’s me. Crazy day and not enough sleep.” I slipped past him, but he remained by the door. Was Bill employing a bouncer now?
“No sweat.” He nodded toward the rear. “Bill’s in back.”
The long, narrow front room was full enough to make my heavy coat uncomfortable, and I slipped it off as I threaded my way through the crowd. “The back” either meant the music room, which had probably once been the private part of this ancient bar; the tiny backstage dressing room beyond; or the cluttered storage area-slash-office off that. If Bill was setting up already, maybe he would have time for a break.
“Hey, stranger.” I purposely cast my voice low, not angry, not whiney, as I stepped through to the music room. “How’ve you been?” But if I expected to find my sweetheart alone, assembling mike stands, I was mistaken. The music room was empty.
“Hey, Theda!” A voice called from the backstage area. Francesca, looking a little flushed, was just getting to her feet. Behind her, I saw Bill, kneeling on the floor.
“Uh, hi.” I walked over to the smaller room.
Francesca seemed to be blocking me. “Bill?”
“He’s not coming out.” Bill seemed to be talking to the floor. “Sorry.”
“Bill!” Francesca’s rising tone finally caused him to turn around.
“Theda.” He stood, slowly, still a little creaky as he unfolded his long legs. “You know Francesca, right?”
“Yeah.” I’m not the jealous type, but none of this was making sense. Why wasn’t Francesca letting me pass? “Is something going on?”
Bill shot Francesca a look, and she moved aside. “I’ll get the treats.”
We were silent until she’d left the room. “It’s a cat, Theda,” Bill said, finally. “Francesca brought over one of Violet’s recent acquisitions. I think she wanted to adopt him, but he wasn’t really friendly. She thought he’d do well here, keep some of the rodents at bay. But something, maybe the noise, has spooked him. He’s gotten himself wedged behind these boxes here and I’m not sure what to do.”
A club cat? Maybe a feral? Well, I knew weird bookstore cats aplenty. “May I be introduced?” Bill smiled, and I felt a rush of warmth as he reached out to me. “Please. Theda? Meet Ellis. Ellis, Theda Krakow.”
I knelt where Bill had been a moment before, but all I saw were two yellow eyes. Someone was not happy.
“Ellis like the writer? Or, no, Marsalis, right?”
“I’m not sure.” With an audible crack from his knee, Bill lowered himself to my side. “He came with that name, it’s a good masculine name for a big former tom, and I figured it had a sibilant, so he’d hear it, right?”
“Yeah. ‘The naming of cats is a serious matter…’” I drew out the “s” and, sure enough, a round black face turned up toward me, sleek and curious. “How long has he been here?”
“Since yesterday. Francesca called me this morning, asking me to check on him. I gather there was some trouble at Violet’s?”
“Yeah, there was.” I turned back to the cat and began drumming my fingers on the wooden floor. The rhythmic sound caught the cat’s attention, but I really did it for an excuse to turn away. “Funny, I tried to reach you this morning, too.”
“Yeah, well, things have been weird.” I looked over at him. He collapsed back on his butt and I, too, turned to sit. But not before taking a quick look over my shoulder. Francesca had made herself scarce. “I needed to think about things before we talked. It’s been hard.”
I nodded, my throat tight.
“I was really hurt, Theda. I mean, it seems like every time we are on the verge of getting closer, you pull away. With the club, with all this,” he gestured at the room around us, “I thought out of everybody, you’d be supportive. You’d be there for me.” Like he had been for me. He didn’t have to say it.
“Bill, I’m sorry. I—”
“No.” He held up one of his big broad hands, and I noticed that he’d stopped biting his nails. “It’s a big change. Everything—our timetables, who we are, when we can be together—it all got mixed up.”
“I want to unmix it.” I didn’t realize until just then how much that was true. I loved this man, and I wanted to work it out.
“Do you?” That crooked smile broke my heart.
“Yeah.” I swallowed. “I didn’t realize how territorial I was, or how much my ego was tied up with being the rocker. You know,” I tried a smile. “The ‘hip’ one. But I miss you, and I’m willing to share.” I meant it as a joke.
“Are you?” He leaned forward. I waited for the kiss, but he kept talking. “Are you sure you can deal with this? Cause sometimes, Theda, I wonder if you’re always going to back aw
ay when I get closer. I wonder if you really want me in your life.”
I took his hand in both of mine. “I do, Bill. I’m a work in progress, I know that. But I’ve missed you. I want to keep trying, Bill. I do.” Just then I felt the softness of fur. Ellis, an enormous black cat, had emerged while we were talking and was now brushing up against me.
“Well, I guess you still have the touch.” Bill freed his hand and reached over to pet the big cat. In response, Ellis craned his large head up, pushing it into Bill’s palm and I saw a slight dab of white on his chest. “You got this guy out of hiding, and you found me in my den, too.” I reached over to stroke the sleek black back, and Bill put his hand over mine. “I’d say this has another life in it, don’t you think?”
I smiled my answer, tears smarting in my eyes, and this time he did kiss me. Between us, the big black cat started to purr.
***
We did get pizza, eventually, when someone in the first band offered to make a food run after sound check. I didn’t mind waiting. Maybe I had been away too long, but it seemed to me that everyone in the club was energized by our reunion. Reed certainly was, when he came by during the second set.
“So nice to see you here, Ms. Krakow.” Reed passed his sax case over the bar to Piers; the muscular doorman had taken over drinks duty after the dinner rush.
“And you as well, kind sir.” I was giddy with happiness. It wasn’t just Bill, I’d felt isolated. While he’d helped the headliner set up, I’d even poured my heart out to Piers. For a big guy, he was sensitive, and a good listener, and he kept my mug of Blue Moon full.
“I do my best.” Reed gave Piers his order, and the cute bartender set off down the bar to fetch Reed’s call brand rye.
“Making friends?” Reed raised an eyebrow. Ralph had shown up, too, and begun to sidle over, but when he saw Reed settle in he turned instead to a red-faced blonde.
“Feeling happy.” I raised my mug to Ralph, just as a gesture of friendship, but he was engrossed in the blonde. When she turned to greet a familiar face—Mona, that was it—with a big hug and a kiss, I couldn’t help but smile. Piers had returned by then, bringing himself a soda and the two of us clinked glasses. Bill waved from the music room. The headliner would be going on soon, and Reed and I made our way toward the back.
“See you soon.” I slid a five across the bar. Nobody charged me here, but Piers was working. Besides, I’d enjoyed talking with him.
“Hey, stranger.” Bill wrapped an arm around me as I passed through the doorway, drawing me back to him. “Thought I might lose you out there.”
“Yeah, right.” I was feeling the booze, but I was sure he was joking. “Speaking of—we’ve been MIA for too long. Bunny and Cal want us to come over.”
“Not dinner—”
I cut Bill off. “No, they know that you’re still here every night. Maybe by the summer.” I didn’t think it likely my sweetheart would ever take a night off, but I wasn’t in the mood to argue. “Bunny was talking brunch. Sunday, maybe?” I tilted my head back to look up at Bill, but he was busy watching the stage.
“Sounds good.” He wasn’t listening. The band hadn’t started yet. Was he concerned about something I couldn’t see?
“Cal will make those killer banana pancakes.” I didn’t care if he was paying attention. I was feeling good, envisioning our renewed domestic bliss. “Maybe we can go back to your place after, curl up with the papers.”
“Uh huh.” He was definitely watching something. “Wait, did you say Sunday?” I nodded. “Sorry, Theda. Can’t do it. I promised Francesca I’d do some strategy session with her. Start planning for the big benefit.”
“What?” Suddenly those large drafts seemed like a bad idea. Had I missed something? But Bill was gone, up toward the stage where the singer was struggling with a recalcitrant mike.
“Francesca.” I’d noticed her hovering, but hadn’t thought anything of it. “You’ve already planned the benefit for Vi?” I asked, leaving out my bigger question: why are you getting together over brunch to discuss it?
“The fund-raiser? Oh, yeah.” She was staring at the stage. With Bill’s help, the band got going, swinging into a Brazilian groove. The singer’s warm voice joined the mix, easing over the Portuguese lyrics like she was enjoying something delicious. She was eye-catching, but my gaze turned back to Francesca. Did she know the singer, or was she looking at Bill? “Vi’s really worried.” She turned toward me, her dark eyes huge and, I had to admit, very pretty. The swirl of the music seemed to fit her. Exotic, lyrical. Even her voice had fallen into the rhythm, matching the singer’s cadences. “You know she needs to replace everything that was donated. With a shelter, you’re not just taking care of individual animals, you’re watching over an entire animal population. It’s just too great a risk to keep everything. So I asked Bill if we could have it here.”
“But here? This is a jazz club.” That second beer had definitely been a mistake. “And, besides, the room is too small.”
She was shaking her head. “It’s a music club, and Violet’s cool with the idea of some of us doing acoustic sets. Maybe between the bands. Besides, the bigger places in town are all booked, like, months ahead of time. And the fact that we know Bill just makes everything easier.”
Just then, the band amped up the volume, saving me from having to reply. “We know Bill?” I was mulling that one over, as our Bill returned from stage side. “That cable’s shot and the spares seem to have gone missing. I’ve got to ask Reed to pick up some new ones.” With a smile, he went in search of his dapper partner, leaving me feeling vaguely sick and wondering just what had happened while I’d been gone.
Chapter Six
My headache the next morning came from more than the beer. I’d wanted our first night back together to be perfect, but I was enough of a realist that I knew to defend my turf, too. So despite my rapidly sinking mood, I’d hung around till closing, chatting with Reed and Piers, and trying not to shoot daggers at Francesca’s slim back. I don’t like feeling jealous. Love is about connection, not competition. But I also knew I’d been away for a while. Maybe too long, and I had some lost ground to make up, none of which makes the best setting for a romantic interlude. Bill and I, our chemistry was good. And I like to think that we had more between us, too. So by the time we fell asleep, we were both warm and happy, and Musetta completed the picture—jumping onto the foot of the bed with a thud. But the next morning, as I let the shower beat down on my head, all the night’s worries came back in force.
“Bill? Honey?” I’d needed the time to think, but as I reached for a towel, I couldn’t help a pang of disappointment. There had been a time when he’d have joined me. “You want to grab some breakfast?” No way was I going to sound desperate.
“I’m making coffee.” The whirr of the grinder cut off any more, and by the time I emerged, toweling my hair, the aroma spoke for itself. “I can stay for a cup.” He gave me a quick peck. “But then I’ve got to run.” The shower curtain scraped back, the water started, and with a sigh I walked into the bedroom to get dressed.
“What are you up to today?” At least he had the grace to ask, fifteen minutes later, as he reached for his own mug. I’d buried my face in the paper to hide my mood.
“I told Violet I’d help her track down the source of that bad cat food.” Bill made a noise, either curiosity or the coffee was too hot. “Didn’t you hear?”
“Just that there had been trouble. What happened? Are the cats okay?”
“They’re fine.” As if to stress the point, Musetta chose that moment to leap from the floor to the table via my lap. Coffee slopped over the Living section. “Oh, great.” I mopped up the spill with the proffered paper towel, and Bill reached to top off my mug. “Thanks.” I tried to sound gracious as I caught him up on the possible poisoning and Violet’s impending financial crisis.
“That explains a lot.” He looked thoughtful. “Francesca seemed really intent on scheduling the benefit as soon as possible,
but I must have missed the back story.”
That was my opening, but I had to be careful. “So, is Francesca helping out a lot? She and Piers are close, right?” It was a shot in the dark, intended to distract. Bill wasn’t buying it.
“If they are, she’s got reason to hate you after last night.” His grin took the sting out of his words. “You and my hunky bartender were getting pretty tight.” I started to protest, but he raised his free hand. “No, don’t say it. I was busy. You were happy. But to answer your other question. No, there’s nothing going on with Francesca. She’s just trying to establish herself on the scene. She lost her own cat not too long ago, too, and she’s still really broken up about it. I think she’s trying to keep busy.” He must have seen the relief that flooded my face. Pet loss was something I could sympathize with. “She probably doesn’t want to go home to an empty apartment. You understand.”
“Definitely.” I put down my mug and walked around the table to wrap my arms around my sweet man. “And I think you’re a good guy for keeping her distracted. Not to mention offering the club to help Violet out. I’m proud to know you.”
“The pleasure is mine,” he said, before kissing me back, as I tried to put the pretty dark-haired Francesca out of my mind.
***
Once Bill had taken off, the day looked strangely empty. I had made that promise to Violet, sure, and I had phone calls to return. But my apartment seemed lonely and dull suddenly, rather than cozy. Wednesday, hump day. Even Musetta had made herself scarce and when I found her, napping on top of the file cabinet by my computer, she dismissed me with a sleepy glance. “Neh.” And that was that.
Nothing for it but to hit the phones—or leave the house. But the bright clear day outside still looked too cold to be officially spring, and I hadn’t made a go of freelancing by shirking work. Grabbing the receipts I’d taken from the shelter yesterday, I plopped onto the sofa and reached for the phone.