Full Tilt Duet Box Set

by Emma Scott

  Phil and Jimmy exchanged a look I didn’t like, and then Jimmy whispered in my ear. “A lawsuit would be really bad right now, kitten. Our label doesn’t have the deep pockets of a Sony or Interscope.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze. “You’d be doing us all a big favor if you put Phil Miller in a really good mood.”

  My head turned toward him slowly. “And how, exactly, would you like me to do that, Jimmy?”

  He leaned back a little, laughing. “What’s with the blue steel glare? Just…have a few drinks with him. Maybe a dance or two. See what happens.”

  “See what happens.”

  Suddenly, sitting in that booth, surrounded by people in a crowded club, I felt utterly alone. If Jonah were here he’d break Jimmy’s nose and Phil’s grabby fingers. That’s what would happen.

  But he wasn’t here. I had to stand up for myself.

  I didn’t punch Jimmy in the nose—I didn’t want to hurt my own hand that I needed to play guitar and write songs. Instead, I grabbed Jimmy’s gin and tonic and tossed it in his face. The others at the table ceased their shouty conversations and went silent under the pulsing music, staring at us, or—in the case of the guys from the opening act—laughing.

  Jimmy pulled out a handkerchief. Small ice cubes and gin glittered on the lapels of his coat. “That was a little hasty, kitten…”

  “It was overdue,” I said, and shouldered my small purse. I climbed onto my chair, my boot heels digging sharp furrows in the upholstery, and then onto the table. Glass toppled and spilled as I picked my way across.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I’m quitting, what’s it look like I’m doing?” I hopped off the table and landed without breaking an ankle, which would have put a serious damper on my exit, and strode out of the club. Voices shouted after me, Lola the loudest, but I kept going without looking back.

  I left the club and hailed a taxi. The ride to the hotel felt like ages, minutes ticking by, more time spent out of touch with Jonah. Not a word in nine days, or even a text. My muted phone lit up with texts galore from Lola, from Jimmy, and then phone calls from both. I ignored all of them.

  In my suite, with the door shut and locked, I sat on the bed, my heart pounding. Phone in hand, I looked to the purple glass bottle on my nightstand. It now held a few ounces of my favorite perfume.

  I inhaled as my finger picked out Jonah’s number, but my finger hovered over the call button. It was two in the morning on a Friday.

  He might still be at work. He might not be able to talk. I could text instead.

  What if he was doing better now? Maybe he’d moved on, gotten back to his schedule, focused and on-track without me to distract him.

  Maybe he meant what he said about it being better if I didn’t contact him again?

  My gaze returned to the perfume bottle—a tiny little blob of glass, but it had been my talisman of strength and will power these last nine days. I had to tell Jonah I quit the band, but I’d give him an out: a text was easy to ignore, and if he did, I wouldn’t send another.

  I quit the band. I hope you are well. <3 Kacey

  I hit send before I could rethink the heart emoji. I watched as the text’s status read ‘delivered’ then ‘read.’ No little rolling dots of an answering text came in.

  “Okay. That’s fine,” I said, my voice shaking, and then I let out a startled cry as my phone lit up with Jonah’s number.

  “Hi,” I said, blinking through the strange and sudden tears in my eyes.

  “Are you okay?” His deep voice full of concern and—I was sure of it—happiness.

  “I am. I’m really good. I did it. I quit the band. Just now. Tonight. Jimmy tried to pimp me out to the Pony Club guy—”

  “He what?”

  “—but I threw a drink in his face. For real. It felt amazing.”

  “Good for you,” Jonah said, but I could hear the anger coloring his words.

  “So now I might be ruined for life, or I might’ve gotten out by the skin of my teeth. I don’t know yet, but I know it was the right thing. I can feel it. And I wouldn’t have had the strength to do it if not for you.”

  “No,” he said. “You would’ve gotten there. I knew you had it in you.”

  A teary laugh burst out of me. “I didn’t.”

  “I’m really happy for you, Kacey,” Jonah said quietly, and I thought I could imagine him standing outside his limo, waiting for a fare, his back turned on the world so he could talk to me. And he was smiling.

  “Me too,” I said. “But now I’m a homeless vagrant bag lady.” I drew in a breath as tears filled my eyes again, pushed up on a tide of emotion I could hardly contain. “Got any hot real estate tips?”

  Jonah said nothing for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was thick and gruff. “I hear Las Vegas is nice this time of year.”

  My hand flew to my heart, and I needed a second before I could manage a whispery reply. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “I was hoping you’d ask.”

  “I’m still scared I’m going to fail you like Audrey did.”

  “You won’t fail me,” he said. “You’re nothing like Audrey.”

  The intensity in his words struck me right in the heart and sent a tingle skimming over me. I wiped my tears, bolstered by his belief in me.

  “There’s no failing, anyway,” Jonah said. “You’ll be my friend and I’ll be yours, and we’ll take it day by day. Okay?”

  I nodded against the phone. “Day by day. Moment by moment. Okay,” I said, and heaved a breath. “I can do that.”

  “Me too,” he said. “My fare’s coming out. I have to go…”

  I felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from my shoulders, and whatever doubts I had about quitting the band were blown to ash.

  “I’ll see you soon, Jonah. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Kacey.”

  We do not remember days, we remember moments. –Cesare Pavese

  I was home. 212 Banks St, Apt. 2C, Las Vegas, Nevada.

  From my living room window, I had a view of Flamingo Avenue, and a few blocks beyond was the Strip. I could just see the red of Harrah’s enormous sign. I had one bedroom, one bath, a tiny kitchen and postage stamp balcony. It was all mine.

  And three blocks from Jonah’s place.

  I’d left the Rapid Confession tour four days earlier, with two suitcases of clothes, my acoustic guitar and a $30,000 settlement.

  Jimmy—with the inadvertent help of a very pissed off Jeannie—had been able to get me out of my contract. An executive at our label had a niece who could play guitar, and they booked her on a flight before the words “I quit” had left my mouth. The powers-that-be crunched some numbers and came up with $30,000. It was what was left after my advance was paid back, minus fees, damage costs to the Pony Club and projected royalties on tour sales so far.

  Jimmy said I was lucky to get anything, but I had a feeling I’d been robbed six ways from Tuesday, broken contract or not. Lola confirmed it. She called while I was hanging around my new place, waiting for my last piece of furniture—a couch—to arrive.

  “You got fucking ripped off,” she told me from Vancouver. “Thirty grand? Are you shitting me? Jimmy says we’re going to pull down at least a million each after this tour. Each.” I heard her exhale a draught from her cigarette. “I don’t know, Kace…”

  I felt a little pang at the ‘million each.’ I was human, after all. But mostly I just felt happy. “It’s all good, Lola. I got a new place and started a new job.”

  “You told me. Slinging cocktails at Caesar’s Palace? You honestly think being around free booze all night is going to be better for you than the band?”

  “Yeah, I do. I didn’t drink booze because it was there,” I said. “I drank because it made it easier to pretend.”

  “Pretend what?”

  I shrugged, and ran my fingers along the cheap tile. But it was my cheap tile on my kitchen counter. “Pretend that I was doing what I wanted to do. Being on my ow
n like this is better for me.”

  Lola hissed a sigh. “No one put a gun to your head to join the band.”

  “Lola,” I said firmly. “I love you. You’re my best friend. You saved my ass and I’ll never be able to repay you for that. If I’d kept going like I was, I would’ve wound up dead or in an extremely bad place. You know this.”

  Another sigh, this one softer. “Yeah, I know. So how about the simple fact this sucks because I miss you?”

  I smiled. “I miss you too. How’s the new chick?”

  “She’s okay. Jeannie doesn’t hate her. Yet.”

  “Give her time.”

  “How’s your new place? You didn’t go overboard with your huge fortune, did you? Thirty grand sounds like a lot but it’s going to go fast. Especially on a cocktail waitress’ salary.”

  “No kidding. I had to buy a car—used—and furnish my little place. They just opened an IKEA here last month. My apartment looks like a live advertisement.”

  I didn’t have the guts to tell her I also spent $5,000 on a top-of-the-line bed, currently en route—or possibly already delivered—to Jonah’s place. It could be adjusted to raise the head or foot so a person could sleep in any position they wanted. I couldn’t stand the idea of Jonah spending one more night in that goddamned recliner just to keep his chest elevated, and I knew he’d never buy a bed like this on his own.

  “So what happens next?” Lola asked. “You’re going to write your own songs again? Become a YouTube star? I’m not being facetious—you’re really talented, hon. This could be the start of something big.”

  “Thanks, Lo,” I said, my eye turning to the perfume bottle on the windowsill. I smiled. “I’m going to take it slow. See what happens.”

  A pause. “And how’s your friend? The guy with the heart condition?”

  “He’s fine. He and his brother have been coming over whenever they could to help me assemble the furniture.”

  The thought made my smile broaden. Jonah had taken his personal time between the hot shop and A-1 to help me, dragging Theo with him whenever his brother wasn’t working at Vegas Ink.

  Lola’s next words killed my smile. “Your friend, Jonah…can he lift heavy stuff like furniture?”

  God, everyone’s a doctor.

  “Of course,” I said. “He’s totally fine.”

  “Totally fine? A week ago you told me he was dying.”

  I clenched my teeth. I could control the words when they stayed in my head. Hearing someone else say them made emotion surge up in my gut.

  “I was in a bad place when I said that,” I said. “Poor choice of words.”

  “Kacey…”

  “He’s fine. He’s strong—”

  “Fucking hell...”

  “I mean it, Lola. I have to go.”

  “Where?” Lola demanded. “Back to burying your head in the sand? This isn’t like a bill you can’t pay, so you chuck it in the garbage and pretend you never got it. And the next thing you know, they shut off the lights and you’re left in the dark. I know it’s what you do, Kacey. You just brush shit aside and pretend everything’s okay until it isn’t.”

  “It’s not like that,” I whispered.

  “No? Sure sounds like it.”

  “He’s fine. He really is.”

  My thoughts went back to when Jonah picked me up at the airport ten days ago. He held up a big sign with my name on it, and joked that it was the last time he’d be my limo driver. I threw my arms around him and hugged him tight, and I felt his heartbeat against my chest, strong and steady…

  “So he’s been cured?”

  “Shut up, Lola. He’s fine right now. I’m not going to spend whatever time we have dwelling on maybes and what-ifs. And it’s fucking awful of you to try to ruin my happiness.”

  “I’m not trying to ruin anything for you, Kacey. I’m trying to protect you.”

  “Well, I’m done needing your protection. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Do you? Because it sounds like you’ve taken yourself out of one shitty situation and plopped yourself smack in the middle of another.” A pause. “Are you two…together? Please tell me you’re not crazy enough to get involved with a guy who’s…really sick.”

  “We’re just friends. Good friends. One of the best I’ve had in a while. He makes me feel like I can be myself.” I sounded petulant but I had made a plan to live moment by moment. I wasn’t ready to look ahead four months. Not yet.

  Maybe never. Maybe his meds are working…

  “Well, I’m happy for you, Kacey,” Lola said, pulling me out of my thoughts. “And I want the best for you. But I don’t want you to become lost.”

  “Lost?”

  “When the lights finally go out.”

  I bit my lip, trying to find something to say, some retort. My doorbell rang. “I have to go, Lola. The IKEA people are here.”

  “Okay, hon. Take care.”

  “Love you. Bye.” I hung up and set the phone on the counter. Then turned it to silent. Then facedown.

  I answered the front door, not to IKEA deliverymen, but to Jonah. My face broke out in a huge smile as if I hadn’t just seen him two days before, and the blood rushed to my cheeks.

  Jeez, get a grip.

  He looked handsome as hell in simple jeans and a dark green t-shirt. He stood with his hands jammed in the front pockets of his jeans, a bemused look on his face.

  “You’re not my couch,” I said, feigning confusion.

  “Not since last I checked. But speaking of bulky household furnishings, I got a very interesting delivery yesterday,” he said, rocking back on his heels.

  “Did you?”

  “I did. You wouldn’t know anything about an expensive-as-hell-Sleep-Number-adjustable-state-of-the-art-remote-controlled-mega-bed I found on my doorstep would you?”

  I pretended to be alarmed. “On your doorstep? God, I hope not. That bed sounds awesome. I would’ve thought it’d come with actual people to set it up.”

  “Oh, it did. A whole team of technicians who were ‘under orders’ to not take no for an answer.” He sighed and shook his head, his expression turning grave. “Kace, it’s too much. Too expensive. You didn’t need to do that.”

  “Yes, I did,” I said. “I wouldn’t have quit the band if you hadn’t given me a place to crash and get my head on straight. This is my thank you.” I planted one hand on my hip. “Are you going to stand in the door all afternoon? You’re letting in all that godawful heat.”

  Jonah stared at me a moment longer, eyes narrowed.

  I stared back. “What?”

  “I’m debating whether it’ll do any good to argue with you.”

  “It won’t,” I said. “In or out? You’re like a goddamn cat.”

  He relented with a small laugh and a shake of his head, and bent to pick up something from the ground next to him. “So, this is your house-warming present, of which I was quite proud until you sent me Mega-Bed.” He arched a brow. “I should’ve made you a damn chandelier.”

  I ignored his sarcasm, too busy staring at the beautiful lamp in his hands. It was two lamps, actually, made from square-shaped, antique amber whiskey bottles. The bottom had been cut out of each, and oblong, Edison light bulbs were attached to the neck inside. The cords came out the bottlenecks and were woven through small links of a wrought-iron chain that connected the two lamps as a pair.

  “Oh my God.” I stared at the lights, then at him. “They’re beautiful. You made these? What am I saying? Of course you did.”

  “Want to test them out?”

  I bit my lip, glancing around. “I don’t know where… Oh, the balcony.”

  We went to the sliding glass door that led to my tiny balcony overlooking the street. “I plan to have a sitting area out here. Potted plants and a little chair and table to have coffee in the morning.”

  Jonah gave me a look. “You? In this heat?”

  “I need to get used to it. No one likes someone who bitches about the weather every other minu
te.”

  “You got that right,” he muttered.

  I gave him a little shove toward the balcony door. “Out. Lights. Hang.”

  He strung up the whiskey bottle lamps on two plant hooks—one slightly lower than the other—and plugged them into a covered, outdoor socket. Lit from within, the amber glass glowed as if still filled with whiskey.

  “They’re gorgeous,” I said. “I can’t wait to see them at night.” I glanced up at him beside me. “Now I have two Jonah Fletcher originals. I won’t have to work at Caesar’s after all. EBay, here I come.”

  His eyes rolled. “I wouldn’t put in your two-week notice just yet.”

  “I’d never part with them anyway. But I think it’s only a matter of time before the world learns how talented you are.”

  He looked down at me. “I could say the same about you.”

  The air thickened between us, and his brown eyes were soft. When his eyes held mine like this, I felt like he was looking down deep, to a place I rarely examined myself, but where I might have a good song lurking if I did.

  The seconds ticked. I was supposed to look away but I didn’t look away and neither did he, until a passing car screeched at a red light, the sound tearing the moment. Jonah jammed his hands in his pocket and my eyes roved for something to look at besides him.

  “So, the whiskey bottles,” I said, nodding at the lights. “Are you repurposing my bad habits?”

  He smiled. “No, just a friendly reminder.”

  “Of what?”

  “That you can find beauty everywhere, even in the things that scare you the most.”

  A warmth spread in my chest, and I almost teased him for being deep, but my phone call with Lola came back to me, and how she’d voiced what actually scared me the most: being lost in the dark.

  I turned my eyes to my new lamps, then to the man who made them. Lola’s wrong. Somehow, some way, his lights will stay on and I’ll never be lost in the dark.