by Shari Copell
Stone picked up the locket and let it dangle in mid-air as he studied it. “This is probably your mother’s too. It has a C on it.”
“Does it have anything in it?”
Stone took the little gold heart between his fingers and pried it open. Nicks knew it was going to be something really messed up when he went white right before her eyes.
“Well?”
“Yeah. It does.” He turned to her. “It’s a picture of Asher Pratt.”
“Shit!” Nicks leapt out of bed. “What the hell? What the fucking hell is going on here, Stone?”
“I don’t know, baby doll. Do you want to see it?”
Good question.
She hugged herself and glanced around the room, totally freaked out now. “Well, obviously someone wants me to see it.”
“I think you’re right about that. And I think we both know who that someone is.” Stone raised his hand toward her, the locket nestled in his palm.
She glanced between him and the locket in his hand, a locket she’d never seen before. She stepped forward and picked it up.
Indeed, it was a small picture of Asher. It wasn’t as clear as the picture on the gravestone, but it still felt like a knife to the heart. The ties of a white full-front apron, like the ones worn by the staff at Tapestries, could be seen around the collar of his blue sweatshirt. The smile he wore was adorable...and familiar. His eyes were bright, also smiling...and familiar. He had a face that would make any woman spin around for a second look. Maybe even a third and fourth. She could totally see how her mother could’ve been attracted to him.
“Nicks?”
She looked up. “What?”
He paged through the notebook on his lap before lifting his head to look at her, his face drawn with concern. “I think we need to read this. Tonight.”
“Really? It’s two-thirty in the morning.”
“I know, but...”
“I can see that’s my mother’s handwriting from here. What is it?”
“Well, as near as I can tell,” he pursed his lips thoughtfully, “this notebook has the answers to all of your questions. It’s your mother’s story...and yours. She was apparently very much in love with Asher Pratt when she was young.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
By the time they finished reading the Rock’n Tapestries notebook her mother had written, Nicks was a sobbing mess sprawled across Stone’s lap.
He hated to see any woman cry, but this little sweetheart had just had a nuclear bomb dropped into her life. He was going to let her cry as long and as hard as she wanted. He lowered his hand to rest between her shoulder blades and gave silent thanks that he was with her when she read her mother’s heartbreaking story.
She burrowed her face into the comforter and calmed down a bit. Then the tears started all over again. She shook with sobs as he stroked her bare back. He had no idea what, if anything, he could say to make her feel better.
She lifted her head slightly, drool trailing from her bottom lip, and pounded both fists into the comforter. “My goddamned middle name is Ashley! He asked them to name me Ashley! And they did it.”
He sighed. “I know, Nicks. I’m sorry.”
She rolled over on his lap and stared up at him. Talk about an ugly cry. Her eyes were red-rimmed and nearly swollen shut. Her nose was leaking snot like a sieve. He wiped at it with the edge of the sheet, but she swatted his hand away.
“You know what pisses me off the most? I mean, really makes me kick-your-teeth-in furious?”
“What?” He pulled her close, cradling her head in the crook of his right arm.
“There’s not one single person in that whole fucked-up story I can be mad at. Not one.” She balled up the sheet in clenched fists. “Who gets the blame for all that shit?”
“Asher, I suppose.” Stone shrugged, not thoroughly convinced. Musicians, especially male ones, were an odd lot. They didn’t always use the same kind of logic everyone else did. On one hand, he thought Asher was a dumbass to throw his life—and talent—away like that. On the other hand, the man must’ve given his illness and his future a lot of thought to make the hard choices he did. It took iron balls to walk away from life and love that way. Pretty senseless, but Stone wasn’t going to second guess him.
“I suppose.”
“He really loved your mother. And he loved you, Nicks. Now you know.”
“I wish that made me feel better. It makes me ache inside. I’ll never get the chance to know him. Give me that sheet.” He handed her one corner; she wiped her nose with it.
“You’ll have to talk to your parents about that. They can share their memories with you.”
“If they’ll talk to me. I get the feeling they’re going to be horrified that I know. And my dad. How awesome is he to do all that for my mom and me? It makes me love him even more. I wonder why he didn’t want anyone to know he wasn’t my father?”
“Pride.”
“Yeah.” She sniffed and stared at the ceiling. “He’s proud and stubborn all right. I’m sure he didn’t want my Sorenson grandparents to know. They’ve always sort of looked down on my mom. They thought he was too good to marry a lowly waitress in a bar. They would’ve had a coronary if they would’ve known she was already pregnant by a local rock guitarist.” She laughed ruefully. “Needless to say, we’ve never been very close with that side of the family.”
He shook his head. Stupid people and their preconceived notions about others. Why did it matter what you did for a living? Everyone had to start somewhere. “They made it last, didn’t they? That’s a win in my book. They all did what was best for you.”
“Yeah, they did. Assholes.”
He squeezed her cheeks, making her lips poof out like a fish. “Silly girl. Listen to yourself.”
She picked her hands up then dropped them with a groan of frustration. “I just don’t know what to think about this. On one hand, it feels good to know. I’ve always been the oddball in this family. All you have to do is look at my brothers and sisters to see why.” She stopped for a moment, thoughtful. “What a strange little triangle they were. And that notebook gives me a whole new perspective on my mother. It must’ve devastated her to write the story down in such detail and with such emotion.”
“You never think of your parents being young and in love, do you?” Stone mused.
“No. Never.” She shook her head. “The poor woman had so many shitty things happen to her. I never knew about Scott Dreyfus. And the painting Asher gave Mom after he helped her move into her apartment? I’ve seen it. It’s propped up in one corner of the attic. I asked about it one day when we were getting the Christmas decorations out—I guess I was about fourteen—and she made me go downstairs. Practically threw me out. The next time I was up there, it had two or three sheets thrown over it. I never understood why she was so pissy about it. It’s beautiful. Now I know. He painted it, touched it with his very own hands.”
Stone rocked her slightly, content to let her think her way through the situation. He just hoped she didn’t start crying again. Her tears were his Kryptonite.
“My dad is such a great guy. He wanted to fix things for my mom. He thought of me as his right from the start.”
“Uh huh.” It wasn’t even a question as far as he was concerned. Stone could see how much Tage Sorenson loved Nicks the night he’d had his hands wrapped around his throat. He’d referred to her as “my daughter” and there was no mistaking his tone.
“He didn’t have to do that, you know. Most guys would’ve run for the hills if their girlfriend ended up pregnant by another man. I don’t understand…” Her voice trailed off.
“What?”
“Why did Asher just let himself die? My God, it sounds like my mom begged him for an answer. And he never gave her one. What the hell was he thinking?”
“I don’t know.”
“I hate that I’ll never get the chance to know him. I’ll have to touch him through other people, and that feels wrong.”
�
��So what are you going to do? Put the notebook back and keep this to yourself? Or are you going to ask your parents about it?”
“I can’t put the notebook back. I don’t know where it came from. And I don’t know if I should get my mom alone and ask, or if I should include my dad. Given what I know now, I don’t think my dad will take this very well. “
Stone lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “Are you listening, Asher? The notebook only solves part of the problem. Oh, and I’m madly in love with your daughter. Hope you don’t mind.”
Nicks giggled. “Do you think he watched us make love? Ugh. That embarrasses me.”
“I don’t know. He would’ve blown the candles out or something if he wanted to stop us.”
“What do you think is going on here, Stone? Do you really think Asher left that stuff for me to find?”
“What do you think?”
“Damned if I know. I only know the notebook wasn’t there when we went to bed.” She closed her eyes and went silent, spent from the emotional drama.
Stone looked at the clock. It was six-thirty. The sun was probably up, though he couldn’t tell with the lamp on. He was suddenly exhausted. “Do you want to try and go back to sleep? We’ve been up for a long time.”
“I don’t know if I could sleep now. My brain is swirling with thoughts.” She glanced up at him. “Hey, I’ve got a great idea. Can you call Gio later and ask if we can go to his place and watch the videos of Asher? Photos are great, but I have an urge to see him whole and alive and playing guitar. Can we do that?”
He stroked her hair lightly, his heart nearly bursting with the love he felt for her. She was trying to turn a confusing negative into a positive. “Of course we can do that. If we can’t watch them as VCR tapes, maybe he’ll burn them to DVD for us. Gio has equipment in his basement that hasn’t even been invented yet.”
The cavernous basement in Gio’s house in Hazelwood was a wonderland of technology. Messy genius, thought Nicks. At one time, it’d been a lovely finished basement, very nearly an apartment. Now wires of various colors and thickness dipped down from the ceiling like jungle vines, trailing into other rooms. Nearly all the white tiles in the drop ceiling were askew to accommodate them.
Nicks took a furtive look at Stone as they followed Gio down the darkened hall to what was called the “cinema.” The poor guy was really tired. He’d yawned endlessly on their way over here, his eyes drooping to half-mast on occasion. Even his hair looked tired. Though he’d washed it at her house, it was not as shiny and bouncy as it usually was. She made a mental note to ask him if he wanted to go back to his place later for a nap...or whatever.
Bless his heart, he really meant all those things he said to her. Talk was cheap, but Stone had worked for an hour trying to track Gio down so she could see her long-dead father in a video. Seeing the tapes meant something to him because she meant something to him. She would never forget that he’d done this for her.
Stone pulled her out of her musings to guide her into an even darker room. Gio flicked a light switch on, but it didn’t do much to dispel the shadows. She could barely see four or five rows of red leatherette seats angling down to a large movie screen suspended from the ceiling.
“Oh my gosh! These theater seats are vintage. Where did you get them?” Nicks asked.
“Bought them on eBay. They were tearing an old theater down in Scranton to make room for a new restaurant. I was so excited I nearly shat myself. I left Pittsburgh at three in the morning and drove straight over to get them.” Gio grinned. “I’ve spent many a night in here with friends and wine and popcorn. Good times.”
“Slept on the floor in this theater a few times myself,” said Stone.
“I bet you did!” Nicks laughed.
Gio stepped behind a long table full of projectors and other equipment and began to search through the debris. “So you say you’re the daughter of Asher Pratt? I never knew the dude was married.”
“Uhm... he wasn’t.” She wasn’t sure how best to explain. The tale sounded like a sappy chick-flick. “It’s a long story. My mom was pregnant by Asher but married to someone else. I just found out he was my father.”
“Oh.” Gio was smart enough not to press further. “Great guy. Fantastic guitar player. Jesus, he set the stage on fire when he played.”
“So you knew him?” Nicks slipped into one of the theater chairs backward as Stone joined Gio behind the stack of electronics. “Can you tell me anything about him?”
“I didn’t know him well,” Gio said. “I met him a couple of times, but only played with him once. He was funny, friendly, but a little reserved, you know? Like he would only give you so much of himself before he’d start to pull back. Then he’d wander off for a while, to be by himself.” He chuckled. “Lord, the ladies loved Asher. I remember that about him. If he slept alone on any given night it was only because he wanted to. I don’t normally go checking out guys—I like the ladies myself—but he had this angular face and jaw. Big, brown, bedroom eyes. Saw a woman faint once and all he did was turn his head and smile at her.” Gio shook his head. “Damned shame Asher died young like that. He could’ve totally done Pittsburgh proud. Now that I know he’s your father, I can see it in you. You’re gorgeous too, but you’re my kind of gorgeous.”
She blushed. “Thank you, Gio.”
Stone looked at her, the light of pride in his eyes. “And every bit as good as Asher on guitar.”
“You got that right,” said Gio. “I know Mike had a pissy diaper on when you played with us, but I found myself wondering if we could make that happen on a regular basis. You totally rocked.”
“I’ll stick with Wild Angel, thanks. I have dreams. I want to take us out of Pittsburgh and see what happens.”
“Well, I wish you the best of luck. By the way, I’ll try to be at Tapestries this Friday,” Gio said. “Kinda curious about you girls now.”
“Better get there early,” said Stone. “You’ll never get in if you don’t.”
“I’ll say I’m with the band,” countered Gio. “Works every time.”
“Come to the back door. I’ll have someone let you in.” Nicks felt a camaraderie with Gio, and she wasn’t sure why. He was friendly and funny, and she got the sense he liked women. Not just sexually, but really liked them.
“Will do.” Gio dug around in a box under the table. The sound of plastic crashing together made Nicks wince. “One of these days I’ve got to organize this place. Aha!” He stood up with a black VCR tape in his hand and a look of triumph on his face. “Here we go. This was filmed in 1991 at a bar in Vandergrift called... Well, I think it was called the Grimy Spoon or the Shitty Spoon or something like that. Great band bar. Lots of chicks. Free drinks.”
He fiddled around with some of the equipment. A square of light lit up the large silver screen. The pile of equipment made a whirring noise then she heard the distinctive sound of a VCR tape being pulled into the player. She turned around to face the front when she heard voices.
The screen was a blur of color. There were a few seconds of disorientation, the world spinning as the person who held the camera got his bearings.
“Hey, is that thing on?” A blond guy who desperately needed a haircut poked his nose into the lens of the camera, tapping on it once or twice.
“That’s Spencer Meiers, the drummer for Dirty Turtles. Fastest hands in Pennsylvania,” explained Gio.
Stone sat down beside her and took her hand in his. He squeezed. She squeezed back, glad to have him there. The first sight of Asher would probably be shocking and maybe a little painful.
A soft tenor voice filled the movie theater, causing Nicks to sit up straighter in the seat. She recognized that voice. It was the voice from her dreams.
“Get out of the way. I’ll show you the proper way to break a camera and get that fucker off your back.”
Spencer’s face was instantly gone. He’d been pushed to the floor.
The camera tilted at an angle as Gio swore on the tape. He the
n righted it to focus on the man who’d given Spencer a shove.
Nicks caught her breath and tightened her hand over Stone’s. It was him. Asher Pratt. Her father.
Asher looked into the lens and pulled his shirt off. He made a big show of flexing his muscles for the camera. “Look at them guns,” he said, pinching a moderately-sized bicep as everyone around him laughed.
It made her laugh too, right out loud as her eyes burned with tears. God, he was as pretty as an angel. The picture on his gravestone was accurate, but seeing him alive was something else altogether. He had existed. He’d lived and loved and played and joked. He was real, at least in this small theater at this moment.
Asher had a woman’s eyes with long, dark lashes, but they were a perfect foil for the sharp angles of his face. His hair, even on grainy, twenty-two-year-old video, appeared to be as soft and shiny as silk, nearly down to the middle of his back. He was lean and wiry, but his chest, abs, and arms were chiseled. Again, a musician who’d spent years moving amps, speakers, and other band equipment. He was beautiful. No wonder her mother had fallen in love with him.
Even on the video, she could feel the pull her mother had noted in the journal. He exuded...something. It was beyond confidence. Beyond sexuality. Chelsea had struggled to put her feelings down on paper, and Nicks understood perfectly. Some men just had an aura about them. Their DNA was not of this world.
Nicks covered her mouth with both hands as a lone tear tracked down her cheek. “Look at him,” she whispered. “There he is.”
Asher finished the gun show and quickly unbuckled his pants, presenting a round, bare man-butt to the camera before it could be turned off.
“He was one of a kind,” Gio said behind her. “Two hundred percent clown until he got onstage. Then he was all business.”
Stone put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “If this upsets you—”
She laughed through the tears. “Are you kidding me? I love this! Do you have any video of him playing?”
“Yeah. Later on this tape. We were foolin’ around before the show here. I didn’t play with them that night. Just went to get video of the Turtles.” Gio fast-forwarded the tape a bit then stopped.