Playing For Keeps

by Weston, Dani

  The breeze picked up as we caught our breath. Kevin lowered me slowly. I was grateful for that, because our franticness made my muscles sore. But I wouldn’t have had it any other way. The sex was good: hungry and fierce, just the way I wanted it that night.

  We gathered our clothes, awkwardly tripping over each other as we searched for bra and boxers.

  “Oh, I think that’s my shirt,” I said, noticing my tee tucked under his arm. I passed his jeans to him. “And here’s your pants…”

  “Right.” He gave an embarrassed little laugh and released my shirt, then spotted his and reached down for it. Getting dressed again had nothing of the swift easiness about it that getting undressed did. We exchanged furtive glances under lashes. I swallowed the bubble of manic laughter in my throat. It was just too funny, how nervous we both were right now.

  Kevin looked around for his belt. I pointed to a dark corner of the lower wall. “Right, thanks.”

  “You’re not from L.A., are you?” I finally said.

  Kevin shook his head. “How’d you know?”

  “I can hear it in your accent. Sounds a lot like where I’m from.”

  “And where are you from?”

  “New Orleans.” He pulled his shirt over his head. I already missed those tight abs.

  “Hey, yeah, I grew up just north of there.” He grinned and my knees went weak again. “It’s nice to run into someone from home. I mean, not run into…not exactly like that…just…”

  “I know what you mean.” He ran his hand over his hair, ducking his face away, and I laughed. He was so smooth in the club and now, here, he was completely human. Adorably so.

  We walked back to the elevator, and he kept his palm over my lower back. I liked the gentle touch and the sweetness of coming down from our fierce high. When we stepped out of the building onto the plaza, I hitched my thumb over my shoulder.

  “I go that way so…”

  Kevin raised an eyebrow. “So? Can’t I even take you out for something? Coffee? A milkshake? I still have to convince you that there’s to come.”

  I laughed. “Ulterior motive, huh?”

  He kissed my nose. The moment stole my breath away. It felt, strangely, more intimate than the entire act of sex on the roof. A moment stripped of rushing hormones. Something simple. I could feel a blush rising in my cheeks.

  “My only motive was to be with you,” he said. “To make you feel good.”

  “Mission succeeded,” I said.

  “I want to make you feel good again. I’m out of town this weekend on business, but can I see you after that?”

  I took a step backwards, swinging my bag a little, my hips a little. “Maybe. If I get all my homework done. And I don’t forget about you.”

  “You won’t.” He closed the distance I’d created between us and tipped my chin up with his fingertips. Another kiss, planted sweetly in the center of my lips. “Two weeks. Saturday night. Clear your calendar. I have plans for us.”

  “I’ll call and let you know.”

  He reached into his pocket for a receipt. I fished a pen out of my bag and wrote on the back of it, smiling when I flipped the receipt over and saw it was for a set of guitar strings. A musician. I handed my number to him, waved and walked away.

  3.

  Diya Salvatore, my roommate at Delta Gamma, woke me by sticking her face in mine and chirping, “Rise and shine, Buttercake!”

  I blinked at the morning light streaming through our window. “Buttercake?”

  “Sugar Muffin?” she volleyed.

  “How about nothing food related. Or, even better, how about no nicknames and definitely no waking me up before I’m ready.” I rolled over so I was facing the wall, but Diya yanked the covers off my body. I moaned.

  “Blame my parents for raising me in a restaurant for the food names.”

  “Who do I blame for the wake-up call?”

  “Yourself,” she said, simply. “Remember before you left last night?” She cleared her throat, lowering her voice as though I had some kind of deep, man’s timbre. “Do not let me miss my classes, Diya. This year is important!”

  I grabbed a pillow and tossed it at her head. She laughed.

  “You’re right. I’m up.” I pushed myself into a sitting position and rubbed my eyes. “What time is it, anyway?”

  Diya ducked out of our room, but her voice trailed back to me. “Seven. Enough time for a healthy breakfast.”

  “Bitch!” I hollered after her. My first class didn’t start until nine. I flung my body back on my mattress as her laughter reached me from down the hall. Then I lazed in bed, a little smile playing over my lips.

  “Well, Kevin,” I said to the ceiling, recounting the way he touched me, filled me, pleasured me. “Will you actually call or will you leave me hanging?”

  I doubted I would hear from him again. That was okay, really. We both got out of last night what we wanted. I reached for my guitar, propped against the side of my bed, and strummed a few notes. “His name was Keeeevin…I met him at twelve eleeeeven…he fucked my brains out…raised his hotness clout…”

  I laughed again and dropped the guitar. It was probably a good thing I wasn’t writing any more music.

  *

  Bea met up with me for lunch. We unpacked our canvas bags on a sunny spot of grass, watching students go buy.

  “How’s sorority life?” she asked.

  I squinted at some spot in the distance. Bea and I had been friends since freshman year. We met during Rush Week, when we were both rushing for Delta Gamma, but a few weeks in, she decided the sorority life wasn’t for her. Too much to do, too many people around all the time, too expensive. I, on the other hand, loved my sorority life. My social calendar was full, my motivated personality thrived on the various responsibilities, and there was always a friend around to laugh with, cry with, or watch movies late into the night with. And when it all became a little much, I closed my door and buried myself in my books.

  “It’s good. Diya woke me up at 7 this morning.”

  “Harsh.”

  “I kind of asked her to. She made me breakfast, though. It was good.”

  “Worth waking up early for?”

  I took a bite of my apple and chewed. “Yeah. You’ve had her cooking. You know.”

  Bea unwrapped her sandwich. “I do know. Her cooking is one of the few things that makes me wish I’d not given up on Delta Gamma.”

  “I wish you hadn’t. You, me, Kaitlin causing all kinds of mayhem.”

  Bea laughed. “There is no way Kaitlin would have even started rushing. You know her.”

  “Yeah.” Bea and I had met Kaitlin at a music school open house, freshman year. I’d wanted to see if a music minor was for right for me and dragged Bea with me. Kaitlin had been alone. The three of us got matched with the same guide and each fell to the back of the group, where we proceeded to snark about a million random things, including the music school guide’s paisley bow tie. Bea and I giggled, but Kaitlin was…intense. Very serious about her music. She’d snorted when I told her Bea and I had met while rushing, but then her eyes lit up when we mentioned we wanted to start a band. I’ve always wanted to be in a band, she’d said, in a small voice. It was one of those moments of fate, when you find just the right friends at just the right time. Kaitlin had mellowed out since freshman year, and even had an appreciation for the friendships I had at Delta Gamma, but even now I knew she would never choose the sorority life for herself. “She is hilarious.”

  “I think even she would have made an exception for Diya’s cooking, though.”

  “That…and all the time you all could be spending with me, right?”

  “That, too.” She pulled a piece of sandwich off and popped it in her mouth. Then she tucked her dark brown hair behind her ear and caught my eye. “But I know another way we could hang out more.”

  “More than lunch dates and movie nights and beach weekends and studying all night with cocktails and tacos?”

  Bea ignored m
y sarcasm. “We could keep Ladies going.” I groaned and ate more apple. “Hear me out. I still think we should call Duncan. What’s to lose? Some random afternoon we wouldn’t be studying anyway? Besides, I have a decent voice, if you don’t want to sing lead anymore.”

  “Who sings lead vocals doesn’t matter. Girl bands are not my thing, Bea. I’m a real artist.”

  “You’re real stuck-up is what you are,” Bea muttered just loud enough for me to hear. I stuck my tongue out at her briefly before turning my attention back to my lunch. Bea picked at her nails. Shoved my shoulder, playfully.

  I sighed. “Okay, girl bands are real artists…but I’m an artist with a different style.”

  “So evolve.”

  “I can’t just change overnight! I mean, I’m sure I could play this style if I wanted to, but…this would be a big deal,” I said. The words were out of my mouth before I realized it was the wrong thing to say. Bea’s whole body perked up. “No, that’s not what I mean. Not a big deal in a good way. A big pain in the ass is more what I meant. We would need a new lead singer. Kaitlin and I can do three part harmony, but you know you can’t. Harmony is a big time girl band thing. And do we have time to audition someone new? I don’t. I’m already getting anxiety thinking about all my assignments this year. I just… I don’t know. Ladies In Waiting came to its inevitable conclusion, don’t you think?”

  “No.”

  “Besides, you threw Duncan’s number away.”

  “I’ll call his assistant. It’s on the ACM website.”

  “Oh.”

  Bea began stuffing her half-eaten lunch back in her bag. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll get a voice coach. Will fit it into my schedule. Pay for it myself. All that. I’ll work fucking hard at it. I know you don’t think you have a lead’s voice, but…you really do, Court. It’s smoky and gritty and you didn’t even have to work for that. It’s good. Different. And if it’s too different, Kaitlin sings lead. We have options. You never know, I just might end up with the best voice, after all.” She shrugged. “What will it hurt to just try?”

  I dug an annoying piece of apple skin from between two of my teeth. I still wasn’t down for this idea, but Bea wouldn’t be put off the scent. If I said go for it, there was a good chance Duncan wouldn’t want us, anyway, and that meant ending Ladies In Waiting was more about fate—someone else closing the door—than about me simply saying no. It would get Bea off my back, but also make it so that she wasn’t blaming me for ending the band. And I didn’t want her to blame me. I didn’t want any tension in our friendship.

  “Okay, Bea. Get your coach. Do awesome. And call Duncan.”

  Bea squealed and grabbed me in a side hug. She leaped to her feet. “We have to make our own destinies, Court.” She waved and headed to her next class. I leaned back on my elbows and stared at her retreating back. Her step was more like a skip. A happy, little kid who just got a lollipop skip. I smiled, then sighed. Holy crap, I was going to miss her when this year was over.

  *

  I picked up my pencil and made one more notation on my music. It had been three weeks since Bea called Duncan Prospect and set a time for us to come in and play a private set for him and, surprisingly, my fingers were a little shaky. I played through the notes, forcing myself to be steady and, satisfied with the changes, stuffed my sheets into my folder and placed my guitar in its case. I flipped the locks and slid it across my bed while I contemplated my closet. Not much to think about, really. Mini-skirts and fitted tees had been my uniform since the day I picked up my guitar, ten years ago.

  “What do you want to do for lunch?” I asked Bea as I stepped out of my dirty clothes and into fresh ones. “Taco truck?”

  “Sounds good.”

  As I wrapped a line of black liner around my eyes, I peered at Bea’s reflection in the mirror. She hadn’t once asked me to come to the voice lessons she’d scheduled. Never brought it up again after the first time during lunch. And maybe that was the reason I decided to go to the audition. Bea could talk about everything under the moon until my head was pounding. When she didn’t say much, though, is when I knew she was being serious.

  I still wasn’t sure what all this meant for my future. Our futures. Probably nothing. Then again, if the stars aligned and Jimmy Keats liked our sound, it would become a whole different ball game. I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. So maybe, just maybe, I decided to go to the audition to make sure it didn’t happen.

  “Ready to go?” I grabbed my cell phone from my desk and tossed it into my slouchy, metallic silver bag. Bea zipped her boots back on and stood.

  “I’m weirdly nervous,” she said, tying her hair back with a filmy scarf. I turned back to my mirror to fluff the top of my hair evenly. I was nervous, too. But I wasn’t supposed to be, and I knew it would help Bea to at least pretend I was cool.

  “It’s no big deal,” I said.

  We walked to El Corazon, the food truck that parked a few blocks away, and ordered tacos to go. We ate them on our way to Bea’s apartment, licking juices from our fingers.

  “I am so glad you introduced me to that place,” I moaned, stuffing the last bite of a corn tortilla in my mouth.

  “It’s good. But hurry up, Kaitlin said she was going to meet us after work and she’s probably there already.”

  “How is life in the six pack this year?” Bea and Kaitlin lived in a three bedroom apartment with four other girls. The reality of high rent in L.A. They were packed in like sardines. Last year, there so many fights that Bea practically moved into my room at Delta Gamma. Even now, she spent a huge chunk of her time at the DG house, and I still couldn’t entirely understand why she quit rush in our freshman year. It’s not like things were quiet and calm at her place

  “Better, so far. But I’ve learned not to be there too often, and now that Kaitlin’s working at the coffee shop, she’s not there too much, either.”

  “If it’s so hard for you all to get along, why live together?”

  “Because we all pay rent on time and honestly, that’s a big deal.” Bea’s boots clomped up the stairs to her front door. Before Bea had pulled out her keys, Kaitlin opened it.

  “Hey,” she said. “I just got here. Just have to finish my makeup and I’ll be ready to go.”

  I noticed Kaitlin had lined one eye perfectly with dark blue liner, but the other was a smudged mess. It shouldn’t have mattered. Doing makeup was hard sometimes. But I imagined Kaitlin standing in front of her bathroom mirror, her hands shaking with nerves, and suddenly I felt sick to my stomach.

  This audition was real, and it was big time.

  Kaitlin disappeared down the hallway and Bea and I sat on the living room couch. I pulled out my music notebook and a pencil. Bea started singing random lines from our songs. I tuned in, impressed by how well she was hitting her notes.

  Since Kaitlin was a music minor, she’d booked half an hour in a rehearsal room for us to practice in before our audition. I’d wanted to practice more than that in the past few weeks, but Bea had insisted that she needed to spend that time in voice lessons, instead. My pencil moved across my notebook listlessly. We weren’t as prepared as I wanted to be.

  Then again, we’d played together for a couple years. Other than Bea’s new back-up singer role, how much more prepared could we be?

  When Kaitlin appeared in the living room, I looked down at my notebook. The paper was covered with swirls and patterned boxes, all drawn with shaky lines. I tossed my things back in my bag and wiped my palms on my skirt.

  “Let’s go,” I told my bandmates.

  *

  Bea, Kaitlin, and I gathered in front of the black skyscraper and stared up, counting windows, trying to locate the twelfth floor. As though doing something mundane would calm our racing hearts.

  “This will be so much fun,” Bea squealed, doing her best to lighten the mood.

  I didn’t share her sentiment. Our half hour rehearsal had gone well. Better, actually, than I’d thought it would. Bea really had w
orked hard on her voice and we blended in a way we never had before. We’d even practiced a couple dance moves, in case Duncan needed to see that.

  Now, though, my hair was frizzing out in back and plastered to my forehead in front. So much for looking cool in front of whoever it was we were supposed to meet today. As fat raindrops began to fall from the sky, I pulled my leather jacket tighter around my frame, even though it wasn’t cold out. Even though I was sweating underneath it. Chill, Court. You don’t even want this all that much.

  Did I?

  Bea tucked a trailing wisp of hair behind her ear and cleared her throat for the zillionth time. She’d tucked a tiny vial of olive oil in her pocket, because she’d read somewhere that it lubricated the vocal chords and would make her singing better. I asked her for a sip and she held it out of my reach.

  “No way, Court. Your voice is sultry, like a 1940’s lounge singer. I didn’t know why you’d want to smooth that away.”

  “Maybe I wanted it for my hair.”

  Bea’s laugh was half-snort and, finally, our mood was lifted.

  “The one day it rains,” Kaitlin muttered, pressing on her head to test the staying power of the hairspray in her long, fat curls.

  We entered the building lobby and gave our names to the security guard standing behind the black desk taking up half the room. He checked our names against a list on a clipboard, then printed and passed badges to us. We clipped them on our tops and walked toward the elevators he pointed at. We rode to the twelfth floor in silence, nerves creating a thick tension in the elevator. Bea nibbled on her bottom lip and looked to us for assurance. When the elevator doors opened, a young guy with brown hair and a gray vest stood waiting for us. His eyes flicked over our name badges and he waved for us to follow him down the hallway with rolled eyes and an impatient sigh.

  “I know,” I told him. God, he wasn’t even as tall as me and his tan was obviously fake. “Sad, sad starlet wannabees.”

  “Whatever,” he said, ducking into a waiting room. “Wait here.” He indicated a row of chairs against the wall and disappeared behind a door.