by Weston, Dani
“Didn’t you say you were seeing a new guy?” Kaitlin blurted, as though sensing an argument on the horizon. If only she knew the new guy was the last thing I wanted to talk about.
“Nah. I mean, the sex was good. But--.”
“But there’s actually more than that?” Kaitlin said, and we all giggled in our sodas and moved the conversation on to other things.
4.
That Saturday night, a restored Mustang pulled up to the Delta Gamma house. I wouldn’t have noticed had I not been sitting in front of my bedroom window, cramming for an exam on Monday. The driver didn’t get out of the car right away, but I saw the outline of him.
Kevin.
No, Jimmy.
Shit.
I closed my laptop and bit my lip. I could hide in my room until he got the hint. I could met him at the door and tell his lying ass to piss off.
Or, I could do what I actually wanted to do and greet the man who made my skin sing, ignoring that he held my musical future in his capable hands.
I decided a combo of those things was the best possible action. He rang the doorbell and I raced to it, only because I didn’t want anyone else to open it. Diya, sitting nearby, raised her eyebrows but didn’t say anything. After a count of ten, I opened the door, slowly. Looked him up and down like he was the last thing I wanted to see on the doorstep.
He wore fitted black jeans, a gray t-shirt and a leather jacket. A few brushed chrome chains circled his wrist. I could pretend I didn’t want him until the cows came home, but my body betrayed me, coming to life at the sight of him. Stupid body. He looked me up and down, his eyes alighting with appreciation. I wasn’t sure what, exactly, he was seeing, since I was dressed for comfy study time, not for going out.
“I hope your schedule is clear,” he said.
“Sorry. Busy.” I pressed my finger to the side of my mouth. “And wasn’t that…two weeks ago? The dimension of time must take on a whole new meaning for someone like you.”
“Some talentless hack who gets by on nothing but his hard body?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m glad you like my body.”
My hand gripped the door. “That’s not what I said.”
“You said as much that night. And more. And…less. At least, less that was coherent.”
“And I recall you saying you’d call.”
He looked down and rubbed a finger over his ear. I glared. No way. He could not do that. That move was too adorable for someone in as much trouble as he was. I would not let myself soften just because his affectations were cute.
“I got held up with some stuff. But I’m here now.”
“And you think I’ll just drop my life whenever you come calling? Whenever you snap your fingers? I’m busy.”
His eyes swept over my ratty yoga pants, my fluffy pink socks, and the long sleeve jersey with the hole just to the left of my belly button.
“Yeah, you look like you’re having a good time.”
My feathers were more than ruffled, they were ready to stage an attack.
“I’m sorry we can’t all spend our weekends partying and pimping for the gossip mags. Some of us have real work to do. Some of us have plans. Some of us have brains.”
I wasn’t entirely sure where that last statement came from. His assumption that I would drop everything for him? I was so not that kind of woman. Still…I knew he’d never gone to college, there wouldn’t have been time in his busy music career for that…so what? He made more in a year than I’d make in a lifetime. The words hit a tender spot, though, because his eyes took on a hard edge and his nostrils flared. He stepped into the DG house, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his skin.
“I am sorry I couldn’t make it in your time, princess. But I’m here now. And yeah, there are other places I could be. But I’m not. My life is a little bit insane right now. This is the best I could do. Maybe that’s not good enough for you, but it’s all I have to give. Take it or leave it.”
That stare of his was mesmerizing. Intense. The kind people use when they’re telling the truth. Except, with Jimmy—Kevin—whatever the fuck his name was, I was a terrible judge of the truth. The only thing I knew for sure was that I wanted him again. Was that really his best, and did he really want to give it to me? Desire flared to life with him standing so close to me. My glance dropped to his hand, pressed against the door just over mine. God, I’d liked it on my body. What did I have to lose, other than a little pride?
I clenched my jaw, then released it. “You’re going to have to wait. Even princesses don’t just sit around all perky and pretty, waiting for their prince to decide it’s time to show.”
That slow smile appeared again. My knees went weak. “I’ll wait for you. Long as it takes.”
I disappeared into my bedroom. Too late, I realized I hadn’t told Jimmy he could come in or take a seat or anything. So much for my southern hospitality.
“Diya, could you do me a favor? There’s this…guy at the door. Could you hang out with him for a few minutes until I get dressed?”
Diya shrugged and marked her page in her book. “Sure.”
She headed into the front room and I went berserk, flinging half the contents of my closet onto my floor, slapping a satisfactory layer of makeup on my study-tired face, and trying to get my hair under some kind of control. It was getting too long. Needed a trim.
When I reentered the living room, Diya and Jimmy were sitting on one of the couches, making small talk. My roommate caught my eye and raised an eyebrow slightly, and immediately I knew she knew who Jimmy was. But that was the single indication she made that there was anything out of the ordinary going on. Only Diya could look so nonchalant when speaking to someone so famous.
“You are gorgeous,” Jimmy said, before I could get a word in. I knew I looked good in my yellow satin crop top, black cigarette pants and strappy heels. My full hair was pulled back on one side with a red flower clip our old DG president, Katie, had lent me once. I’d forgotten I had it until tonight.
“Have fun,” Diya said, calmly, closing the door behind us after we’d stepped out into the night.
Jimmy’s fingertips touched my lower back, leading me gently to his car. My brain swirled with questions—who was he? When would he admit he’d lied about his name? Why had he come, after learning who I was? Why was I even going with him right now?—but my spine settled into his touch comfortably. Traitorous body.
Jimmy Keats opened the passenger door and I slid in. He closed it behind me. In the moment of silence that penetrated my thoughts while Jimmy walked around to his side, anger took over, once again.
I faced him, after he closed his door and opened my mouth. But he beat me to it.
“You lied to me,” he said, coolly.
“Excuse me? You lied to me,” I countered. “I never said I was someone I’m not. But you told me your name was Kevin. So who are you really, Kevin Jimmy Keats from World Wonder? Do you even know how it feels to have been lied to by someone who…who…”
He raised his eyebrows at me. “Who what?”
My cheeks flushed and I looked straight ahead, folding my arms over my chest. He knew what I meant. The intimacies we’d shared.
“You lied,” I repeated.
He put his keys in the ignition and started the car. We pulled away from the Delta Gamma house. It was at least a mile in the rearview mirror before he spoke again.
“My name is Kevin James Keats. My father’s name was Kevin, too. So my whole life, I was Jimmy. I don’t tell many people my real name, even though it’s out there, if someone really wanted to find it.” He licked his lips. “It’s interesting that you didn’t go searching for the truth.”
I looked out the window as we passed a rainbow of L.A.’s lights. I knew lots of celebrities had stage names. I’d just never thought to check on Kevin’s It was probably front and center on his Wikipedia page.
Kevin sighed. “Sometimes, it’s better for me to be Kevin. When people re
cognize me, when they treat me differently.”
“Like a celebrity? Which you are. Shit. The things I said to you.”
Kevin shifted gears. “I liked what you said to me. It’s how I knew you saw me as a human being, first.”
“You’re not a human being. You’re Jimmy fucking Keats. You’re an icon, a poster, an object of desire.” I faced him again and watched the muscles in his jaw work as he processed my words. “But more than all of that, you hold the power over my band.”
“Yeah. You’re right.” His voice wasn’t defeated or even angry. It was frustrated. “I’m all those things. But let’s try this. For tonight, how about we close the door on all of that and just be two people. Nothing else. No baggage, no connection.”
“Just the sex?” I asked, sarcastically.
“Is there something wrong with that?” His eyes swept over me and where they looked, they left a trail of heat. He changed gears again. I wanted those arms around me.
I was a modern, desirous woman. I’d liked what he did to me that night after Filth, and I wanted to see what else he could do. So what?
“No expectations. No complications. No expecting phone calls or dates. Nope, nothing wrong with that.”
He made an unintelligible sound in the back of his throat and looked from the road to me. He seemed to want to say something, but as he read the desire in my eyes, he shook his head, seeming to change his mind. “Fine. We’ll do it like that. If that’s what you want.”
“It is. So what next?”
“First, we’ll go back to my place. Get a bite to eat. Then, we talk.”
I pulled a disbelieving face. “Talk?”
He licked his lips. “Oh, that’s right. ‘Just the sex’ doesn’t require talk, does it? Well, I hope you won’t mind if I try to get to know you a little bit. As some questions. I prefer at least some intimacy with sex, even if you don’t.”
It felt like being slapped to hear his assess my behavior like that. I sucked in a breath, but swallowed my next words, not bothering to ask him what kinds of questions. I was ruining this date before it had begun. Even so, I was allowed to have a healthy sexuality, in whatever way I chose. But then I saw the way he was trying to hold back a laugh and switched gears. He was teasing.
“I’m not like that, what you’re thinking. Not completely,” I joked. “We can talk. A little.”
I sat back. Invited him in. Looked at him through heavily lidded eyes. Told him yes with my body language.
Yes, I wanted those broad hands of his all over my body. Yes, I wanted his musical voice whispering naughty things to me. Yes, I wanted to submit to every way he could make me feel good.
“A little?”
I laughed. “Yeah. As long as you have interesting things to say.”
“I’ll work hard to not bore you.” He grinned.
L.A.’s lights were a blur through the tinted windows as we climbed the road to his house. But with the delightful lightness in my body and the thrill of anticipation keeping me alert to every minute detail, they might have been stars in a clear country sky. Jimmy Keats put his hand on my knee and left it there. He looked up and down my legs, followed the curves of my body to my face. Caught and held my gaze, with that sexy seriousness I’d seen on album covers.
Even when he did, finally, smile, putting me more and more at ease, he exuded maturity and power uncommon for his young age. He was sure of himself in a way most men my age weren’t, yet.
“What am I supposed to call you?”
He thought for a moment. “Kevin. Anything wrong with that?”
I would call him anything he wanted, as long as he kept looking at me that way. “Nothing wrong with that at all,” I said. “Kevin.”
“Good. We’ll be at the house soon.”
*
“The House,” as Kevin casually referred to it as we rolled up, as though it could be any four square walls in some forgotten place in the country, was a Tim Burton fairy tale come to life. The building clutched to the side of a hill like it had claws under its foundation. From there it swooped out like a bubble, all glass and primary-colored steel. The second and third floors twirled like the front end of Elvis’ 50’s hair and it all came to a point at the fenced in roof.
Kevin pulled up to a security box just off the main road. When the gate opened, it was like those scenes from movies where the new, beautiful world through the magic portal is slowly unveiled to the characters. We left behind dry, dusty southern California and entered a lush Mediterranean paradise. Tall trees with thick leaves bigger than my hands shaded the stone-paved drive from above. Red and orange and lavender flowers crowded either side, pushing slightly over their planting beds as though they wanted to take over the driveway. Beyond, I saw patches of thick grass amongst shrubs, circular herb gardens, and vine covered statues. I rolled down the window and heard water running over the sound of the car, but couldn’t see where it was coming from. The drive ended in a half-moon in front of the house.
“Do you do all your own gardening?” I asked.
Kevin’s laugh was a deep rumble in his chest. A real, normal person sound. I liked it.
“I am terrible with plants. When I was a kid, we did this project in class for Mother’s Day. Planted some kind of flower in a paper cup and left them on the windowsill to grow.”
“I did that, too! I think we planted pansies. My mom cried when I gave hers to her.”
“Mine should have, but not in a good way. After a month, every single person in my class had these pretty pink or purple plants to take to their Moms.” Kevin game me puppy dog eyes and my heart broke for what I knew was coming next. “Except me. I had…dirt. I don’t know if I underwatered them or overwatered them or, hell, dropped the seeds on the floor instead of in the cup. There was just nothing.”
“Aw, poor baby Kevin! That’s the saddest thing ever. And ever since then, you’ve hired someone to do your gardening.”
Kevin laughed. “Something like that.”
“What did you end up giving your mom for Mother’s Day?”
“I made her a book. Ten pieces of computer paper stapled together, with a crayon-drawn picture and poem on each page. It was terrible stuff. But she cried, so there you go.”
“That’s the sweetest.”
“Well, I never really drew after that, either. No way to ever live up to that masterpiece, you know?” While I laughed at his refusal to play with crayons ever again, he parked in front of the main entrance, cut the engine and got out. I waited for him to open my door, and he took my hand to help me out of his car.
Kevin keyed in the code to the front door and stepped aside for me to enter first. I tried to get a sense of Kevin’s personality as he led me down the hall and past a staircase that twisted to a lower level. His walls were painted creamy white and covered with art that I wanted to stop and ponder: photographs of landscapes with blurs in the distance, collages of paper and ink and some kind of thin metallic sheeting, paintings that almost looked like they depicted a person, if I turned my head a certain way. I wondered if he chose the art himself, or if it was the work of a designer.
I turned to Kevin and watched him fiddle with an assortment of switches on the wall. The lights dimmed, then went bright again. Music turned on, then off.
“Damn,” he muttered under his breath. And still, he struggled to find whichever switch he was looking for. My heart broke a little for him.
“How long have you lived here?”
“I bought the house two years ago.”
He bought it. There was so much more that wasn’t said in those words. How many months in two years he’d spent touring, having no control over his time. Sure, his life held a certain amount of glamour, but he didn’t even know what all the switches in his own house did. What was it like to not, truly, have a home? When the lights above us finally flared to life, I turned back to the art. No, Kevin wouldn’t have picked these out. Decorated his house. I bit my lip to keep back a surprising surge of emotion. Pity, may
be. How lonely was Kevin?
I cleared my throat. Another painting caught my eye. This one was in a frame that didn’t match the other, and it was hung slightly crookedly. Kevin came up behind me.
“Is this one of your crayon masterpieces?” I asked.
“That’s by Payton Smalls.”
My eyebrows lifted in surprise. “He’s another one of the World Wonder guys, right?”
“Yeah. This is what he does in his downtime.”
I studied the pen, ink and watercolor artwork more closely. It was a city street landscape in grays and browns. Slightly grimy, somewhat vintage. “Where is this?”
“London. He did this piece on our first world tour.”
“It’s really good.”
“I’ll pass along the compliment.” Kevin turned me away from the art to face him. “You are beautiful, tonight.” His voice was like fingers, slowly walking up my body. A delicious series of tremors followed, working their way from my toes to my shoulders. “I love that color on you.”
When I opened my mouth to thank Kevin, he raised his finger to my lips, the corners of his eyes scrunching playfully. I smiled, pushing down the laughter that bubbled up. After the unexpected sadness over Kevin’s life—despite him being wealthy, famous and adored—this, being playful, was welcome.
He threaded his fingers through mine and walked me down the hallway to a great room decorated, like the rest of the parts of the house I’d seen, in pristine, antiseptic, black and white. The room was defined by the floor to ceiling windows along an entire wall. I went up to the glass and looked out. Below, a rocky valley fell away, while ocean waves crashed against cliff rocks in the distance.