Full Tilt Duet Box Set

by Emma Scott

  Kacey

  Grant Olsen's grin was so wide I thought it would tip his glasses off. “And that, as they say in the business, is a wrap.”

  “Thank God,” I said, as a production assistant wrapped a towel around me. “I look like a drowned rat.”

  Phoebe handed me a hot coffee. “I would tell you that’s not true, but I like to keep my relationships honest.”

  I stuck my tongue out at her.

  The set for the music video to “The Lighthouse” was a black, windowless boxy room with cables and lines snaking all across the floor. Two flood lights with blue and green filters beaming down on the water tank I’d spent the last three days in.

  The director Grant hired had envisioned a girl trapped in the tank while a man—his face always obscured by shadow—was just out of reach on the other side of the glass. Using some fairly expensive CGI, they were going to pull the video of me in the water and superimpose it on shots of people in everyday life: at a cocktail party, at an apartment, in the bedroom of my cheating boyfriend and his lover. I would be the Drowned Girl, always submerged, while life went on around me.

  I appreciated the theme of a cheating boyfriend and not a dead one. I wouldn’t have agreed to do it otherwise. I would never have let some actor portray Jonah in a dramatic rendition of us. It would’ve felt cheap and disrespectful, exploiting what we’d had for a silly video.

  Even with the changed narrative, I thought the shoot would be emotionally draining. But the video was shot out of order, chopping and shuffling up the story until it was unrecognizable. Take after take, until the takes blurred together. The constant technical adjustments. The stops and starts. The dauntless struggle not to let air bubbles leak out of my nose and ruin a scene. After three days, I was tired of “The Lighthouse.”

  I dried off while the Olsen's updated me on record sales. “You're a hit, girl,” Phoebe said, shuffling some papers. “This video is going to put you over the top.”

  “Thanks to you guys. None of this would have been possible without you.”

  “Just don't forget us when you're accepting your Grammy,” Grant said, still grinning.

  “I won’t.”

  “You can’t,” Phoebe said, her eyes flashing. “We put it in your contract.” She flicked her fingers at her brother then. “Go away. We have girl talk.”

  “We do?” I asked.

  She waited until Grant was out of sight. “Matt Porter asked me if you were single.”

  Matt was the graphic designer doing the cover for Shattered Glass. Cute, dry sense of humor, nice smile.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Phoebe nudged my arm. “So?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll think about it.”

  Even saying that sent guilt curling around my heart, and that unsettled feeling I’d told Theo about hit me with a vengeance. If I wanted to shut that door the Tarot card told me about and start a new chapter, I had to do something. Or maybe a bunch of Big Somethings.

  I drove my little car home, where I stood in the entry. Home, yet feeling untethered. I had success now. Money in my bank account, good friends and a career that seemed to be taking off.

  Shut the door. Do something big.

  Before I could talk myself out of it, I called my parents’ house in San Diego. The ringing went to the answering machine. After my mother's halting voice said to leave a message, I sucked in a deep breath.

  “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. It's Kacey. I haven't called in almost eight months. I don't know if you tried to call me. I got rid of my old cell phone, but I have a new number now. I’m living in New Orleans. My music career is taking off—as a solo artist this time—and I'm taking care of myself.”

  I took another breath, feeling the urge to hurry. If the machine cut me off, I wouldn’t have the guts to call again.

  “I’m doing really well, and I just wanted to let you know. I’m okay. And also…” I exhaled and sat up straighter. “This is the last time I'm going to call you. I can't keep trying and getting no response. If you want to talk to me, I'm here. Okay, Mom? If you want to talk, you call me. If not…Well, then I hope you both have a long and happy life.”

  I left them my new cell phone number and hung up. My heart was pounding and tears stung my eyes, but I wiped them away and huffed a breath.

  That’s a start.

  I glanced around my shabby little place with its second-hand, mismatched furniture, old linoleum floors, cruddy tile countertops and cheap, stained carpet. The bones of the house—as they were always saying on the HGTV shows—were good. It was a classic New Orleans shotgun. It deserved better than this.

  I called the bank that owned the house, and set up an appointment for the following day. I didn’t call Theo that night and for whatever reason, he didn’t call me.

  I went into the bank the next day at two p.m, and by five o’clock, I was in escrow.

  Outside the bank, I paused to catch my breath, my heart racing for the amount of money I'd just committed myself to paying. $64,000 wasn’t a huge mortgage payment but I took out a loan for $75,000 in order to make some renovations. I’d never owed more money in my life. But I wanted roots. A place of my own where I could dig in, stay grounded. I wasn’t about to be whisked off on a road tour, or lose myself in the big Los Angeles music industry.

  My pounding heart slowed, but inexplicably, it left me left me with that same hollow feeling I’d had before I left for the bank.

  What is wrong with me?

  I’d settled up with my parents, bought a fucking house for crying out loud, but I still felt like something was missing.

  I called Phoebe and told her I was free on Friday, if Matt Porter was still interested. She assured me he was, and she’d give him my number.

  I hung up. I waited to feel satisfied.

  I felt slightly nauseated instead.

  That night I picked at my dinner while sitting on the couch, and then watched Big Trouble in Little China until midnight. It was ten in Vegas, and Theo was out of class.

  “Guess what?” I said, my dinner suddenly churning in my gut.

  “You finished shooting the music video,” he said.

  “Yesterday,” I said. “Also, I called my parents for the last time. Left a message. If they want to talk, they can call me, but I'm done offering my hand only to have it slapped back.”

  “Good for you, babe,” Theo said.

  It was eighty degrees in my house but a shiver slipped up my spine, morphed into a nervous laugh that burst out of me.

  “Babe?”

  “Ha, sorry. Kace,” he said.

  “You have too many women to juggle,” I said, plucking mercilessly at the couch cushion. “I can see how we all start to blend in.”

  “Yeah, okay.” He coughed, cleared his throat. “So it’s good you settled things with your parents. Kace.”

  “That's not all I settled,” I said. “I bought my house. I'm a homeowner. Shoot me now.”

  “You did?” A short silence. “Wow, that's…great. So I guess you're in New Orleans for good?”

  I twirled a lock of hair around my finger. “I guess so. I think so. I think it’s what I need to do. To settle somewhere that’s mine.”

  “Permanence.”

  “Exactly. And it feels right to be here and not in Vegas,” I said. “I thought about it. Tried to picture myself back there, and I just can’t.” I hunched my shoulders. “I hope it doesn’t upset Beverly too much.”

  “She’ll understand,” he said.

  I bit my lip. “In other news…I have a date on Friday.”

  The silence stretched out taut. I checked my phone to see if we’d been disconnected. “Teddy?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Yeah, I just… I think there might be the tiniest shred of a possibility I’m ready for it.” I laughed nervously. “Won’t know until I find out.”

  “Guess not.”

  He sounded flat. Bored. It didn’t seem to faze him, about the house or the date.

>   Because we’re friends.

  I yawned loudly. “I’m tired. Buying a house wears a gal out. Talk to you tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be here. ‘Night.”

  “Goodnight, Teddy,” I said, but he’d already hung up.

  Theo

  Over the next week, I kept up my routine, same as always. The alarm went off, my hand snaked out to shut it off and I had three seconds of peace before reality slammed into me. Only now the first thought was Kacey’s not coming back from New Orleans.

  Followed by: And she’s got a date on Friday.

  I didn’t know which was worse.

  The date. The date is definitely fucking worse.

  I didn’t begrudge her any ‘Big Somethings.’ She needed to do what was best for her, to heal and move on.

  But she’s going on a fucking date.

  I got to work that day in a pissy mood. No one was manning the front desk, so I picked up Vivian’s Magic-8 Ball. I shook it hard, silently asking the black-and-white blur: Will it end with Kacey throwing a drink in his face and never seeing him again?

  I watched intently as the blue triangle righted itself.

  Ask again later.

  Not what I was hoping for, but I’d take it. I headed back to my station. Zelda and Edgar were already at theirs.

  “Hey, guys,” I said. “Can I get your opinion on something?”

  They gathered around as I opened my portfolio and laid out some ink and watercolor sketches on my tattoo chair. I’d been working on them since the last time I was in New Orleans, trying to keep my mind occupied.

  “What’s this?” Edgar said, picking up my sketch of an African savannah, spare with only the black silhouettes of two giraffes on the right side, a soaring ibis on the other, with a boiling, heat-wavered sun in reds and orange indistinctly rendered along the back. “This is cool shit, bro.”

  “I fucking love this,” Zelda said, inspecting a black ink sketch of a sugar skull in profile, with bright reds, blues, and yellows shaded through it. She peered up at me. “It looks unfinished. But it is finished, isn’t it?”

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “Yeah, that’s the idea. That the coloring highlights the black ink, but doesn’t fill it in or overwhelm it.”

  “This is killer shit, T,” Edgar said, holding a sketch of a woman’s eye, with long, dark lashes and an arching brow. The pale blue of the iris was circled with a darker cobalt and the skin tone of the woman’s face was only partly hinted at. “You going to show this to Inked?”

  “Once it’s on skin, yeah,” I said. “On paper, it’s just a drawing.”

  “I volunteer my services,” Edgar said. He slapped his upper arm.

  “I appreciate that,” I said, “but I’m not trying to pressure you guys. I just wanted your thoughts. See if they might be something.”

  “Got it,” Edgar said. “And my thoughts are, I want one.”

  “Really? Thanks, man. I’m honored.”

  Zelda handed the sketches back. “I have a client who would kill for one of these,” she said. “I’ll send her your way. For a small finder’s fee,” she added with a smirk, and returned to her station.

  “You gone shy on us, Rossi?” Edgar called after her. “The idea of the Theo’s manly man hands on your bare skin too much for ya?”

  “Bite me,” Zelda said, busying herself with her inks.

  “Be cool, man,” I said to Edgar in a low voice.

  He slapped me on the back. “Just playing, bro.” He tapped the sketch of the sugar skull. “Can you give me this with more reds and orange?”

  “Sure. We can start tomorrow.” We clasped hands. “I really appreciate it.”

  “Dude. It’s rad. Inked is going to be all over this.”

  I hoped so. The idea for the unfinished tattoos came to me the night before, right as I was falling asleep. I’d spent the most of the night making the sketches to keep the idea from slipping into the abyss of forgotten good ideas.

  A small smile played around my mouth as I packed the sketches up. If this idea took off, it’d make me feel a hell of a lot better about buying my own place. Maybe I’d have a little bit of a name for myself to stave off the fear of utter and total failure.

  Ideas for other sketches came to me as I readied my station: Tarot cards and jazz halls, cemeteries and voodoo dolls. Vegas was overflowing with tattoo shops. The New Orleans market was much wider. I knew this because I’d researched the city last night. Maybe Kacey buying a house in the Big Easy wasn’t such a terrible tragedy after all. Or a closed door. Maybe it was a door opening. For both of us.

  My cell phone rang as I finished with my first client. I frowned at the number.

  “What’s up, Ma?”

  “Theo?” Her voice sounded weak and shaky. “I hate to bother you but…”

  “What is it?” I asked, my heart thudding. “You okay?”

  “Oh, I’m…having a bad day,” she said. “I was going through some old boxes and found some photos.” She sniffed and forced a small laugh. “I’m a bit of a mess but I promised Lois I’d bake eggplant parmesan for our cribbage tomorrow. I just…I can’t seem to muster the energy to clean up and make myself presentable for the grocery store.”

  “I get it, Ma,” I said, gently. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Would you run to the store for me? I’m sure I’ll be fine by tomorrow, but if I don’t get started tonight…”

  “Where’s Dad?” I asked, trying to keep my tone even.

  “Oh, you know him. He’s at the office. Says he can’t get away.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment, then glanced at the entrance where a couple of clients were waiting.

  “Are you busy?” she asked. “I’m so sorry, dear. I feel so useless.”

  “No, Ma, it’s fine,” I said. “Give me a list of what you need. I’ll go now.”

  “You’re so good to me,” she said, tears thickening her words. “I was blessed with two wonderful sons, wasn’t I?”

  Pain squeezed my heart. I got the grocery list from her, then gathered my stuff.

  “Where are you going?” Vivian asked from the front desk. “You have a client coming in twenty minutes.”

  “Call them back, would you? See if you can push it to forty.”

  She shook her head but took up the receiver. “You’re lucky you’re so damn cute,” she muttered.

  “Thanks, Viv. You’re the best.”

  I stopped, grabbed her Magic 8-Ball and gave it a shake.

  “You asking if Gus is going to fire your ass?” she muttered, her hand over the phone’s mouthpiece. “Spoiler alert: It is certain.” She turned aside. “Yes, hi, is this Brittany? This is Vivian from Vegas Ink…”

  I didn’t ask the toy if Gus was going to fire me, but the same question I had this morning. It was later, so I was asking again later.

  I swear the fucking triangle looked smug as it floated its answer: Outlook not so good.

  After I tore through the grocery store with Mom’s list, I screeched my truck into the drive. My forty minutes was up; I was nearly an hour out of the shop. But my hopes for dropping off the food here and heading back out were smashed to pieces when I found my mother sitting on the living room floor, a hundred photos spread out around her on all sides, and one held slack in her hand as she cried.

  “Christ.” I dropped the grocery bags and hurried to kneel beside her. “Come on, Ma. Let’s get you to the couch.”

  “He was so handsome,” she murmured, staring at the photo in her hand of Jonah at UNLV graduation, wearing a red gown and red cap. She didn’t pull her eyes from the photo as I lifted her off the floor and helped her sit on the couch. Then she looked to me, her eyes red and shadowed. “I miss him so much, Theo.”

  “I know you do.”

  She leaned into me, crying softly. “I’m trying to be strong, but some days…”

  “I know,” I told her, putting my arm around her. “We all have bad days. That’s nothing to feel ashamed of. It’s okay.”

/>   “You’re so good to me. I know it’s been hard for you, but you’re so strong.” She sat up, cupped my cheek in her hand. “You’re all I have left. I get so scared that something will happen to you too…”

  She collapsed back into tears, and I held her together. “I’m right here.” I said, my jaw clenched, as if trying not to let the words escape. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Kacey

  The house was a mess. The drywall had been taken down in some places, my kitchen floor was pulled up, and plastic sheets hung like curtains to keep the dust from flying.

  I wanted to do as much of the work as I could, thinking the more I made this place a real home, the more settled I’d finally feel. But holy shit, it was a much bigger job then those HGTV shows make it look.

  Thankfully, Yvonne was handy with a sledgehammer and let me pay her in beignets I bought from her favorite bakery. Today she was helping me demolish the old kitchen cabinets. They’d been painted and repainted so many times, the doors stuck together.

  “What’s with the mopey face, baby,” she said, peering at me from behind her safety goggles. “You seem a little down.”

  “Do I?” I yanked at a cabinet door that hung on one hinge. “Just nervous I guess. I have a date on Friday.”

  “With Teddy?”

  “What?” My head shot up, and I frowned. “No, not Teddy. He’s back in Vegas. The date is with a friend of Phoebe’s.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh, what?”

  “Nothing.” Yvonne whacked the sledgehammer into the lower cabinet like a pro golfer, splintering wood and cracking it off the wall.

  I don’t know why I felt the need to explain myself but the words poured out anyway. “Teddy’s only a friend. He’s my best friend.”

  Yvonne pursed her lips and peered down at me over her goggles.

  I laughed and slung my arm around her. “I mean best friend from my old life. You’re my BFF from my new life.”

  “That's better.” She took aim at another cabinet. “And does your other best friend also go out on dates?”