by Leslie Wells
“I’ve got to rest. Why don’t you do one of yours?” Patrick put down his bass and went to sprawl on a couch.
Jack approached the microphone, lean legs apart. He readied himself with a little hip shimmy, and I gripped the edge of my seat. He struck four razor-sharp chords and plunged into one of his hits from a few years ago.
Without Patrick haranguing them, Sammy and Mark were in their element. The keyboard and drums seemed to be in a race as the song escalated. Once or twice Jack looked in my direction, each time jolting a thrill through me. The acoustics of the room took effect again, but this time it was much more intimate. Jack’s voice was in my ear, vibrating in my throat, deep within me. They pounded into the last verse, with a final resounding twang from Jack.
I clapped and yelled “Bravo!” Mary Jo frowned, as if I’d broken some cognoscenti rule of cool. Jack took a quick belt of Patrick’s juice, and immediately they flew through the song twice more. Finally he lifted the strap over his shoulder, propped his guitar and snatched a towel off the stand. Vigorously mopping his face, he came over and sat in the empty chair next to me. “How was that?” he asked, putting his hand on my knee.
“Fantastic! I love that song.”
“You said you liked the hard-driving ones.” He angled back and stretched out his legs. “I was up last night going over the lyrics so I wouldn’t screw it up.”
“You sounded great,” Mary Jo offered from her seat. “Better than ever.”
Patrick ambled over. “It’s … Julia, right? Hard to keep all of Jack’s girls straight. Although you’re certainly more memorable than some.”
His gaze drifted to my chest as Jack scowled. Patrick turned to him and pursed his lips. “Why don’t you set up a few sessions with my voice coach? That was rough around the edges.”
“It isn’t meant to be smooth,” Jack retorted.
“It’s gonna need a lot of work before it’s road-tested,” Patrick said disdainfully. “You done with your gabfest here?”
Jack glanced at him. “Just about.” He leaned over, put his hands on my waist, and to my dismay gave me a deep, tongue-thrusting kiss. “Now I’m done.”
Patrick stomped over to the mic, and Jack sauntered to his guitar. My face was flaming from the public display, but no one else seemed to have noticed it.
Mark said something and they all burst into laughter. By the time the session wrapped, Patrick had his hand on Jack’s shoulder, speaking into his ear and making him grin, so it seemed their moods had been sorted out.
“That’s it for the day. Don’t forget to punch your time cards,” Jack quipped as they hung up their instruments. I was melded to my chair, I’d been holding still for so long. Mary Jo introduced me to Lillian, her frightened-looking assistant. Jack came over and put his arm around me.
“Sammy and I are gonna take a quick shower, and then we’ll bolt. Patrick said you reserved Caliban,” he said to Mary Jo.
“I thought we deserved a treat after all the hard work,” she replied.
“I’ll be done in a sec. I brought a change of clothes.” Jack pulled his drenched shirt away from his chest. The others cleared out and I sat alone, wishing I’d known about the dinner plans so I could have worn something nicer.
A few minutes later, two extravagantly dressed women came into the room. “Are they done already?” the first one asked. I could smell her perfume from six feet away.
“They just finished.” I wondered who they were.
“Is Jack still around?” I looked at her more carefully; a statuesque blonde with luxurious hair, she had a studied pout below calculating green eyes.
“He’s showering now.” My mind raced. Has she been coming to the studio all this time? “Are you a friend of his?”
“Who wants to know?” she said in a haughty voice.
I stood and crossed my arms. “We’re going out to dinner. Do you want me to give him a message?”
She smiled condescendingly. “I’ll catch up with him later. Just tell him Trina came by. And he owes me one for the last time.” They flounced out.
So that’s why he didn’t want me to come; she’s been meeting him here! I snatched up my backpack as Sammy came in toweling his hair. “Jack’s still prettifyin’ so he can be beautiful.”
“Who says my natural self isn’t beautiful?” Jack walked over in clean jeans and shirt. “You accusing me of primping?”
“Far be it from me to accuse you of that,” Sammy said. “Let’s high-tail it over to this place. I’m gonna chew my own shoe leather if I don’t get somethin’ in me soon.”
Jack looked at me. “What’s up?”
“Some friends of yours stopped by,” I said frostily. “Trina and another woman.”
Jack met Sammy’s eyes. “Want to wait for us in the car?” he said, and Sammy scooted out. “What did Trina say?”
“That you owe her one for the last time.”
Jack drew a pick from his shirt pocket, glanced at it and put it back. “She’s just someone I fooled around with a while ago.”
That was all I needed to hear. I started for the exit, but Jack’s hand stopped me.
“Hold on. She’s come by a few times. We went to a bar when I was wired up and didn’t want to go home.”
“That’s fine, Jack. Have fun at dinner.” I knew I didn’t have any claims on him, but neither did I have to stick around and have my nose rubbed in it. I headed for the door, but Jack caught my arm again.
“Wait a minute.” He turned me to face him. “It was one of those nights you were tied up with your editing; I was a little ticked off.”
“How long were you seeing her before? If it’s not too inquisitive of me to ask.”
Jack gave me a frustrated look. “Who knows? I didn’t keep track. I was screwing around with a few of ‘em.”
“Well, screw you!”
“Suit yourself.” He charged out the door.
I stood there for a minute, my chest heaving. I guessed that was it; finito. It was bad enough for him to show up at my place reeking of perfume; even worse to be confronted with the source of the reek in person. His true colors came out after all, just like I knew they would. Dejectedly I shoved through the door, then jumped back in surprise as Jack pushed away from the brick wall.
“I thought you weren’t the jealous type,” he said.
“I’m not jealous; just disgusted.”
“At me? I’m not all that disgusting, am I?” He put his hands on my shoulders. “Listen, all she could talk about was some new shop on Rodeo Drive. Not nearly as interesting as Alice Underground.” He smiled and gave my arm a squeeze. “C’mon baby, let’s go to this blowout.”
Either he was the smoothest liar on the planet, or he’d really only gone to a bar with her. I stood my ground for a few moments before lunging for Door Number Two. “I guess I’ll come. If you can promise none of your other girlfriends will show up.”
We went to the car and Jack pulled me in next to him. Sammy broke the seal on a whiskey bottle. “Jesus, it was hot in there. I was sweatin’ like a whore in church,” he said, obviously trying to lighten the atmosphere. “Felt good to change into something dry.” He took a gulp and handed it to Jack.
“Yeah, I’ve dressed up, and Julia’s dressed me down, so I’m somewhere in the middle.” Jack swigged the liquor and passed it back to Sammy.
“At least you have someone to set you straight,” Sammy said mournfully.
“Now don’t start in,” Jack said.
“Julia, Vicky’s done took up with another man. I’m gonna have to strut mah jelly and get me a new gal.”
“Watch out ladies, he’s going on the pull.” Jack rolled his eyes at me. “You should check out the talent in L.A.; plenty of loose women there.”
“You need to hit a few bars out there with me, Jack. That’s always a real leg-opener.”
Jack laughed as I stared out the window. Thanks a lot, Sammy. Just the kind of reassurance I needed.
At the restaurant we were taken
to a back room divided by a long table. Mark and Mary Jo arrived with Suzanne, whose teal blouse set off her red hair strikingly. “So you attended your first rehearsal,” she said, smiling. “I hope they behaved themselves.”
“We were on our best behavior,” Jack said. “Some of us, that is.”
Patrick entered the room with a brunette in a hot pink bustier that displayed bountiful tanned breasts. “Hullo, you lot. Didn’t you order the Dom?” he asked Jack.
“I was waiting for you, since you always bitch about what I pick.”
Patrick made a dissatisfied moue and told the waiter to bring four bottles.
“Let’s tuck in; I’m beat,” Mark sighed. He took a chair next to Suzanne, and Jack and I sat across from them.
“Carmen, you know everyone but Julia,” Patrick said.
“It’s Cara, silly,” the woman giggled. To my surprise, she slid in next to Jack as Patrick sat on the other side of me. Sammy flopped down beside Cara; Mary Jo sat across from Patrick and immediately started going over concert details. Cara launched into a long, meandering story about how her luggage got left in Tahiti after a shoot, and how it took a week to get it back. Jack said “Uh-huh” at various intervals, but looked bored despite the golden cleavage on display. The waiters popped the corks and poured champagne all around.
I took a sip as Patrick turned to me. “The Roederer I served at my party was better than this.”
I had hoped he’d just ignore me. “I think this is nice too.”
“Easy to please, huh. But I guess I knew that already,” he said, looking over at Jack. He took the menu the waiter handed him. “Jack, why don’t you get the filet mignon; it’s great here.”
Jack picked up his menu, glanced at it and put it down. “Maybe I will.”
No such entrée was listed. “Actually it’s strip steak,” I said in a low voice to Jack, who frowned in Patrick’s direction.
“Jack’s a big one for ordering things that aren’t on the menu, and then we all have to wait while they scrounge around for it.” Patrick smirked.
“At least I don’t try to stick everyone else with the check,” Jack said.
I asked the waiter for the halibut, and Jack said, “I’ll have what she’s having.” Cara requested steamed asparagus, and then began describing her recent bikini shoot in Helsinki.
“The photographer did everything he could to get my nips to stand down, but they’d just pop back up,” she warbled. “Even through two bandaids.”
Jack grinned. “Julia has that problem sometimes too, don’t you, darlin’?” He leaned toward me and muttered, “What a nit-wit.”
More champagne flowed as the others debated the pros and cons of various hotels around the country, many of which they’d been kicked out of. It sounded like they’d be touring at some point next year; I wondered where I’d be then.
“So what do you do in your spare time?” Patrick asked, his gaze flitting around the table. “Do you have any interests, aside from books?”
I wish he’d just leave me alone. “I like paintings.”
“Really, who d’you like?” Patrick turned toward me and let his glance fall below my neckline.
“I like Picasso. And Van Gogh.”
“Oh, that’s right, you’re just out of school, aren’t you? Did you take an art history course?”
I didn’t reply, not wanting to give him fodder for a fresh put-down.
“I like Picasso’s nudes.” Patrick sidled closer. “Those big ones with the huge tits. I can really get into a pair of nice tits,” he said, his hand suddenly sliding up my waist. I scooted away and tapped Jack, whose ear was still being bent by Cara, on the arm.
“Do you know where the bathroom is?”
“Straight over there.” He indicated a door across the way. I crossed the room and entered a stall, dreading going back to sit next to Patrick. Maybe I can get Jack to switch seats with me. Someone came in; I hoped it wasn’t Cara. I waited for a few minutes and went out to wash my hands, then stepped back in shock. Patrick was calmly scoring lines of cocaine on the countertop. He snorted one with a rolled-up dollar bill and extended it to me.
“Want a little toot before we fuck?” he said. “We’ll have to make it fast.”
I stood still for a second, unable to articulate an answer. “I won’t be having either,” I finally blurted out, brushing past him. As soon as I exited, the door opened behind me. I met Jack’s eyes across the room, and then saw his expression change. I glanced over my shoulder to see Patrick following me, zipping up his pants, a broad smile on his face. Jack darted a furious look in our direction and bolted from his chair, fists clenched. After a moment’s pause he stalked out. I hurried after him and breathlessly caught up with him outside.
“Jack! I hope you don’t think I was doing anything in there with him.”
“That didn’t look too good from where I was sitting,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Nothing happened! I was only using the bathroom. Just like you were only having a drink with Trina.”
“So you’re getting back at me for that? I didn’t think you were the type to play dirty. Rick will take you home.” He spoke to him through the open car window and charged off down the block. Reeling, I got in and Rick dropped me off at my apartment.
Slowly I undressed and got into bed. My god, does he really think I’d blow Patrick in the bathroom? For one thing, anyone could have walked in. And I’d never screw around with one of Jack’s pals while I was seeing him. What kind of women had he been with to think I’d do something like that? It made it even worse that he’d lump me in with that sort.
The next morning I tried calling Jack to insist that he give me a chance to explain, and to demand an apology. But he was either there and not picking up, or he was out with Trina—or a Trina type.
Chapter 21
Should I Stay or Should I Go
I sat in my open windowsill Sunday afternoon, listening to Patsy Cline. “I Fall to Pieces” came too close to what I was feeling, so I moved the needle to the next song. There was no telling who Jack had spent the weekend with, but I had an idea. Trina had probably been stroking his oversized ego—not to mention other parts of him—all weekend long.
I didn’t get it; I was supposed to sit by while women came on to him, but his bandmate plays a stupid joke and Jack freaks out. The unfairness of it made me want to scream. It isn’t exactly a confidence-booster to have your lover mauled by gorgeous girls everywhere he goes. But now I guess he’s my ex-lover.
I watched the traffic lumbering up Broome, my tears dripping down like drops of rain. Falling to pieces didn’t do it justice; my heart was cracking in two.
The phone rang, and I blew my nose so it wouldn’t be obvious I’d been crying.
“Hi, it’s Suzanne. Can you come over? Jack’s at our place.”
I tried to gather my thoughts. “I didn’t do anything with Patrick. Doesn’t he know I wouldn’t do that?”
“I told him. Patrick’s always trying to stir the pot. Can you come now? He wants to talk to you. We’re on Commerce Street, the gray house with the raven over the door.”
“I don’t know, Suzanne,” I said slowly. “He does these questionable things and expects me to believe him, but once the tables are turned, he flips out and doesn’t even let me explain. It’s such a double standard.”
“I know what you mean,” she said soothingly. “Patrick really knows how to push his buttons. Could you please come? I think he just needs to see you.”
Anxious to see him but resenting having to make the first move, I threw on some clothes and walked up Sixth Avenue. I turned onto the narrow street of hundred-year-old wooden homes and found the one with the raven.
“He’s in here,” Suzanne said, letting me in. She led me to an olive-green sitting room lined with dusky paintings in flaking gilded frames. Jack was sprawled on a settee, whiskey bottles and ashtrays on the low antique table before him.
“I guess I deserved that,” he sai
d.
I put my hands on my hips. “I didn’t do anything with Patrick. I don’t even like him. Not only that; I don’t even know him.”
He gave me a long look. “I was using other women as a yardstick.”
“Well, don’t. What happened was—if you’d given me a chance to explain—I heard someone while I was in the stall. Patrick was doing lines of coke on the counter. Then he followed me out and played his little joke.” I wasn’t going to tell him what Patrick had said; that was too explosive.
“It was the look on his face that set me off. Like the cat that got the cream.” Jack grimaced and took a long swallow from the bottle. “I thought you were getting back at me for Trina. I had to run outside to keep from punching our lead singer in the teeth, right before we do four shows back-to-back.”
“Maybe you should have, instead of taking it out on me.”
“Patrick knows that shit really sets me off. Next time he can sit next to his own date. Did you hear Cara telling me about her ‘nips’ standing up in Helsinki? Man, he can really pick ‘em.” Finally he smiled.
“That whole thing seemed like some sort of setup,” I said.
“Could be. He doesn’t like me to be happy with any one woman. As if it would take away from the band, or something. He once told me I wrote better songs when I was in the dumps.”
“So you’re supposed to be miserable?”
“I dunno, it’s messed up. And once again I fucked up.” Jack stood and slipped his hands under my blouse. “Let’s go upstairs and forget about that toe-rag.”
I pushed his hands away. “Your fingers are cold.” I was dying for it though. Where did my self-control vanish to when I was with him?
Jack raised an eyebrow seductively. “I can think of a way to get them warm.” He drew me close, his erection poled against me. Lightly he slid his palm over my ass. “Are you going to make me beg?”
“I might.” I shut my eyes as he sucked on my earlobe. Ahh, he’s melting me. I slid my fingers inside his shirt.
“Come on.” Jack grabbed my hand and led me up the thickly carpeted stairs to a jewel box of a bedroom, the ceiling sloping to curtained dormer windows overlooking the street. A pre-Raphaelite portrait of a blushing pink nude hung over the ornate iron bed frame.