Broken Lullabies

by Nicole Simone

  The phone line went dead. I tossed the phone onto the blanket, about ready to kill someone. My mother was the master of getting under my skin. Camille appeared in my line of vision. If I had to face the vultures, I wanted her to be by my side. It was risky, not to mention a huge step in our undefined relationship, but if anybody could make this trip tolerable, it would be her. Also, it would be fun to show Camille the first venue I played a gig in, as well as Spanky’s Diner, which had the best pancakes on the east coast.

  “Hey,” she said. “How’s your mom?”

  “She wants me to come home this Saturday for a going away party. My older sister is moving to India.”

  Camille eyes went wide. “Wow, that’s big.”

  “Yea, and guess what?”

  “What?”

  “You’re going to the party with me.

  My heart thundered. I glanced around, certain that an atom bomb had fallen from the sky. Rock stars with commitment issues didn’t bring you home to meet the parents.

  My expression must have matched my insides because he tugged me down to the blanket. “Breathe.”

  I followed his orders, inhaling and exhaling until my pulse slowed. His thumb swiped soothingly across both of my wrists.

  “I don’t like to be taken off guard,” I mumbled.

  His lips tipped into a grin. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have posed it like that. Can I try again?” Off my nod, he cleared his throat and spoke. “Camille, will you please accompany me to my sister’s going away party?”

  Looking into his eyes, the grey had dissipated to a light blue. I wanted to find out whether he inherited his strange eye color from his mother or father and hear the story about how he got the scar near his hairline. I wanted to know every minor detail there was to know about Matthew, which propelled my answer.

  “Yes, I’ll go with you,” I said.

  He raised his plastic cup, beaming from ear to ear. “I’ll drink to that.”

  I clinked my cup against his. “Cheers.” After taking a sip, a thought occurred to me. “Is your mom aware that I’ll be there? I don’t want to impose.”

  “I invited you.”

  That was code for “no.”

  “I don’t care if you invited me. I don’t want to walk into your home and be the surprise that nobody ordered.”

  He held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, your wish is my command, but be prepared for an onslaught of questions.”

  “Questions I can handle. Questioning stares, I cannot.”

  “If anybody is staring at you, it’s because they won’t have a clue how I landed a woman as hot and smart as you.”

  Matthew’s compliment sent a heady blush to redden my cheeks. Before him, my complexion stayed a normal pasty white. Now, it looked as if somebody had taken a colored marker to my face 24/7. He was the king of charm.

  Matthew took the cup from my hands and set it on the ground. My brows threaded together. “What are you doing?”

  Instead of answering, he showed me. Matthew brushed his lips against mine as gentle as butterfly wings. At this point, I wanted more than above-the-clothes fondling. I wanted to feel his thick hardness slide inside me, which wouldn’t happen in the middle of the Conservatory. We needed to get to a bed or anywhere that had four walls with nobody around. Matthew dipped his mouth to the side of my neck where he placed wet, hot kisses, ending below my ear. A throaty moan ripped free as he moved on to my earlobe. His teeth nibbled the sensitive flesh.

  “Matthew.” My voice was coated with raw need. “Unless you plan on fucking me in broad daylight, you need to stop.”

  His pleasurable actions ceased. Pulling back, Matthew’s eyes were molten silver as he practically undressed me with his gaze. “I would if we didn’t have the agreement.”

  All I had to do was give him the green light and I would be naked underneath him. Yet it would be foolish of me to assume that it would be anything more than a one-night stand with Matthew. He was a rock star who I’m sure has slept with plenty of women. Why would he start settling down now? I had to keep a steady head on my shoulders to prevent the onslaught of hurt that was coming when this week ended.

  Matthew stroked the line between my brows. “You’re an overanalyzer to a fault.”

  “Since I was a child.”

  Settling into a cross-legged position, he patted the spot next to him. “Let’s eat. I’m starving and we don’t want all this delicious food to go to waste.”

  Appreciation bloomed inside my chest as my shoulders relaxed. Matthew pushed me to the brink of my comfort zone but knew when to pull back. It was one of the many attributes I liked about him.

  Saturday came upon me faster than I could blink. Consumed with school, I hardly had any time to work on my screenplay, which was almost finished. True to habit though, it would mostly likely end up in the junk drawer along with discarded pens and take out menus. Matthew asked if he could read it. After tons of pestering, I agreed. It would be the first time anybody had read my work. I could handle criticism, but it was harder to swallow when you highly valued the critic’s opinion. However, that wasn’t what was making my stomach tumble with nerves. In less than six hours, Matthew’s family would surround me. I still hadn’t a clue if it was a smart move to attend but my heart was overruling my brain.

  Throwing my clothes into a carry-on, I zipped up the bag and looked around my room for anything else I needed. My curling iron. Matthew’s parents were going to meet me looking my absolute best and nothing less. Problem was I had left it at my parents’ house. Crap on a cracker. Clicking on my cell phone, the time read 1:00pm. My mom would be at her weekly Saturday luncheon with her girlfriends at the country club. They wore fancy hats and drank tea. It was mind-numbingly boring, hence the reason I always opted out of attending. Nonetheless, her routine worked in my favor. I could sneak over to my parents’ house on the way to the airport without her seeing me.

  Matthew texted that he was downstairs. I slid the curtain to the side and glanced out the window. A black town car sat idling at the curb. Amongst the trash littered streets and worn brick buildings, it stood out like a beacon of wealth. A gaggle of teenagers huddled in a group across the street stared at it as if it was their meal ticket. I’d better get down before the car got robbed of its hubcaps. Wheeling the suitcase to the door, I exited my apartment and locked it behind me.

  Matthew met me at the bottom of the elevator looking sexy with a capital “S” in a pair of dark washed jeans and a faded t-shirt that had the name of a band written on the front. His cologne wrapped around me as he bent in for a kiss.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he said against my lips.

  My heart leaped with unfathomable joy. “Hey.”

  Grabbing the suitcase handle, he escorted me to the car. I climbed inside and plopped my butt on the leather seat closest to the window. Once Matthew was situated next to me, I asked if we could make a pit stop.

  “Where to?” he questioned.

  “My parents’ house. I need to grab my curling iron.”

  “Does that mean I’m going to meet your parents as well?”

  A hint of fear could be detected in his voice. I suppressed a smile. “No. My mom is at a social event and my dad is playing golf. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried.” His tapping fingers told a different tale. Following my eyes, he curled his hands into fists. “Parents don’t like me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m a musician. I stand for everything that is wrong with the world.”

  “It’s not the 1950s anymore.”

  Arching an eyebrow, he threw me a pointed look. “Would YOUR parents approve of me?”

  Last month when I’d mentioned Matthew and lied about him being my boyfriend, they’d at first been apprehensive but had quickly come around. Also, based upon the numerous times my mom had asked to meet him, she would be nothing but friendly to Matthew. Nonetheless, due to my lie, they wouldn’t cross paths anytime soon if I could help it. I didn’t want him to
think that he drew the crazy-girl card and I’d declared us boyfriend and girlfriend without talking to him first.

  Matthew misunderstood my pause as a yes. “See! They wouldn’t.”

  “They would actually. As long as I’m happy, they’re happy.”

  “On a scale, one to ten, how happy are you?”

  “Ten.”

  The answer popped out of my mouth without thinking because it was the truth. I was saturated in sunshine and roses, which felt temporary as if the bubble would burst any minute. Those doubts faded though when Matthew pinned me in his sights.

  Squeezing my hand, a smile that could light up a small village painted his face. “I’m glad we are in agreement.”

  Situated in a planned community, Camille’s parents’ house was ten times bigger than I’d assumed it would be. With her oversized sweaters and run-down apartment, she didn’t scream “rich girl.” She led me up the brick paved pathway to the stately front door. Producing a hideaway key from the fake rock, she turned the lock and pushed it open. A gust of air conditioning hit me in the face. It was below forty-degrees outside, who were these people? Eskimos?

  Camille looked across at me. “My parents don’t like to be hot.”

  “No shit.”

  Laughing, she shut the door and padded over to a set of controls on the wall. A loud beep sounded followed by silence. “There. It’s off. Come on. My curler is in my bathroom.”

  Halfway up the winding staircase, a woman called Camille’s name. She stilled with a look of pure panic etched on her face.

  “Shit, she wasn’t supposed to be home.” She shoved me towards the upper landing. “I’ll meet you there.”

  My foot stayed firmly planted, much to Camille’s frustration. “What’s happening?” I asked.

  “Nothing. I’ll meet you in my bedroom. Go!”

  “Camille? There you are.”

  Both our heads swiveled. The woman who called Camille’s name stared up at us. They bore a startling resemblance - same nose, same emerald green eyes, and same rosebud lips. It was like getting a glimpse into what Camille would look like when she was older. Classically beautiful without a wrinkle in sight.

  “Hey, Mom,” Camille chirped. “I thought you would be at tea.”

  Mom. That explained the similarity but not the alarm radiating off of Camille in waves.

  Camille’s mom’s eyes remained locked on my face as she answered. “It got cancelled. Who’s your friend?”

  I jogged down the steps with my hand outstretched. She was an intimidating woman, but Camille’s reassurance in the car that she would like me tempered my nerves.

  “Hey,” I said. “I’m Matthew.”

  At my name, her expression grew as cold as a glacier. “Hello. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  Finally? Camille’s fingers dug into my shoulder, warning me not to speak. I ignored her signal and smiled. “You as well. I see where Camille gets her beauty.”

  “Thank you.”

  A questioning friction hung heavily in the air. I glanced back at Camille who was having a staring contest with her mother.

  Camille hooked her thumb toward the upstairs. “We just came by to grab my curling iron, but we are kind of in a rush.”

  “You can spare five minutes.” She posed it as a statement without any room for disagreement. “Henrietta made chocolate chip cookies.”

  “That’s sounds great, but…”

  Camille’s mom turned on her heels and strode out of the room, expecting us to follow. I saw where Camille had inherited her strong-willed spirit. Once her mom was out of earshot, I glanced back at Camille.

  “Explain,” I demanded in a low voice.

  She wrung her hands together as her face became awash with guilt. “I might have kind of sort of said you were my boyfriend and that you couldn’t meet them because you were busy,” she said in a rush.

  It seems as if I wasn’t the only one that had a secret. Unlike me though, Camille had an inherent goodness at her core. There had to be a reason behind her deception.

  “Why did you lie?”

  “Because they think I’m pathetic. That I don’t have a social life, blah blah…”

  “You don’t get to ‘blah blah.’ I need the details if I’m about to sit down with your mother and eat fucking cookies as if we are in a Norman Rockwell painting.”

  She rolled her eyes to the ceiling and exhaled a long breath. “My mother tries to set me up with the sons of all her friends…even my therapist’s. I got sick of it so I told her that we were dating to get her off my back. She invited you over for dinner a couple of weeks ago, but I said you couldn’t make it due to a work thing.”

  “You made me into an asshole.”

  “No,” Camille denied vehemently. “You’re a rock star. Rock stars are busy.”

  “Not busy enough to not meet their girlfriend’s parents.”

  “I didn’t want you to think I was crazy. We haven’t…” She gestured with her hands. “You know? Labeled anything.”

  My lips tipped upwards. “Camille, next time you make up a lie, inform me first so I don’t get blindsided.”

  Dejection flickered in her eyes and my heart squeezed. That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Camille wanted a label, which wouldn’t happen. Calling myself her boyfriend would be an injustice.

  “Are you guys coming?” Camille’s mom yelled.

  “One second!” Camille whipped her head back towards me and whispered. “Can you pretend for the next five minutes that you are my boyfriend? I don’t want to be stuck in the nut house or forced to do extra hours of therapy. Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

  It was the “please” that got me to bend. “Fine, but after this, no more lying.”

  Looky here: Matthew Lee, the moral compass. What a joke. Nonetheless, deception was a slippery slope. I didn’t want Camille to tumble down it.

  “Deal,” she said.

  We walked into the dining room where Camille’s mom was sitting at the table, her hands folded neatly in her lap. A plate of cookies was arranged on a chipped china plate. The minor flaw was amplified amongst the perfection of the room. We took the seats opposite Camille’s mom where she regarded us with cool indifference.

  “Thanks for joining me. I’m sorry it’s not the dinner we planned on.”

  I slapped on my most charming grin. “If anybody should apologize, it’s me. My tour schedule is insane at the moment.”

  “Yes, well, we are all busy.”

  “Mom, organizing a charity event is different than catering to a thousand plus fans,” Camille said.

  “How would you know? You haven’t ever attended one.”

  “Because they are incredibly dull.”

  “Just like you think my weekly tea dates with my girlfriends are boring. You probably think my whole entire life is mundane, don’t you?”

  Mother and daughter shot daggers at each other across the table. This weekend was turning into a four-day extravaganza of family drama with more to come when we entered my childhood home. Whenever I visited, at least one out of three of my sisters cried, which usually created a domino effect.

  I shoved a cookie into my mouth. “These are delicious.”

  My compliment defused the ticking time bomb. Camille grabbed a cookie of her own and chewed silently while her mom’s features finally relaxed.

  “How did you two meet?” she asked.

  An innocent question with a complicated answer. “We met at Marlene’s wedding,” I replied.

  “Oh, that’s lovely. My husband and I met at a wedding as well.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Twenty-five years ago. We were just babies, but that was it for us. Six months after meeting, we got married.”

  “A whirlwind courtship,” Camille said dreamily.

  Glancing over at her, it became apparent that the girl I had fallen for was a romantic. That should have been clear when she told me that she wrote romantic comedies. However, I didn’t put much
stock into it. I figured all women on a certain level were romantics, but Camille wanted what her parents had. An everlasting love story that started with sizzling chemistry and a willingness to jump in with both feet. Camille and I had the chemistry part, but we were standing on a cliff’s edge, peering into the abyss -- death imminent.

  A restlessness to escape overrode my manners. “I’m afraid we have to take off. We are flying to the east coast and our plane leaves in less than two hours.”

  “Of course.” Camille’s mom scooted her chair back and got to her feet. “It was nice meeting you Matthew. I’m glad I finally got to meet the man my daughter hasn’t shut up about.”

  “Mom,” Camille bemoaned.

  She grinned, pleased at the embarrassment she has caused her daughter. “Once your schedule lightens up, we would love to have you over for dinner.”

  I swallowed the ironclad lump in my throat. “Sure. That would be great.”

  Sitting across from Camille’s mother pretending as if I was a standup guy almost unthreaded the seams of my charade. If I had to do it again, I wouldn’t be able to hold it together and my true persona would reveal itself.

  “You beautiful, confounding man,” I whispered.

  Matthew’s mouth gaped open, a dribble of drool formed in the corner of his lips. Somehow, even passed out drunk, he looked dead sexy. I shut my book and took advantage of the uninterrupted view. Matthew had seemed fine when he’d met my mom. He’d been polite, charming, and eventually chipped away at her resting bitch face to the kind woman she was underneath. To be fair, I hadn’t expected her to act like that toward Matthew. I honestly thought she would put on her upper class air and welcome him as if he was the president. Then once he’d left, express her disdain. It was how we did it in the Barker household.

  Matthew shifted, mumbling a string of sleep clogged words. He smelled as if he had dunked his head into a vat of scotch. I didn’t understand. As soon as we’d climbed into the town car to drive to the airport, Matthew changed into the Jekyll to his Hyde. His tone was short and his patience was even shorter. The rapid shift of his moods gave me whiplash. As someone who had her own hellhounds nipping at her heels, I recognized a broken man.