Come Dancing

by Leslie Wells

  “That little eejit. Did you hear about their experience with the henna?” Suzanne asked me.

  “Jack mentioned something about the pool turning orange.”

  We reached the arena, and a guard led us to the middle of the very first row as the funk band wound up. Everyone in the adjoining seats turned to stare at us, which was an uncomfortable sensation. Mary Jo plunked down beside Patrick’s ladies. I took my place between her and Suzanne, feeling a slight sting as I sat. My rear was still tender from Jack’s garter-snapping, but at the time the effect was outstanding. Suzanne spoke to a man with a notepad sitting behind her. “The music critic from the L.A. Times,” she explained to me.

  The opening act left and the stage went dark. “Are you ready for … Four to the Floor!” the announcer said, and the audience began to scream. Sammy and Mark came out, and the noise behind us avalanched. “You’ll get used to it in a minute,” Suzanne shouted. “I have earplugs if it bothers you.” The spotlight caught a glitter of red; Jack walked on, followed by Patrick. The screams and shouts became a savage roar. Jack’s guitar twanged, and the beam hit Patrick’s face.

  “Good to be back in L.A.,” Patrick said, and the crowd went berserk.

  The lights flared as Jack hit the opening notes. Patrick’s bass entwined with Jack’s guitar was so loud, I could feel the vibrations deep in my belly. Patrick sang and gyrated spellbindingly, but my eyes remained on Jack as he moved sinuously across the stage, nimble fingers eliciting ecstatic moans from his Telecaster. Sammy kept up a jangling keyboard, and Mark flogged his drums like a madman. The girls next to Mary Jo were bouncing in their seats, boobs flopping in their casings. An acrid joint, rapidly followed by another, made its way down our row. The men flew into a second number and then slowed it down with the third, when the spotlights went scarlet against the pitch-black stage. Another bluesy tune ensued, ending with Patrick lying in a fetal curl. Then he leaped up and Jack came forward.

  The audience began to stomp and shout Jack’s name. Chills prickled my entire body as he looked right at me and hit the four jagged chords. He belted out the song, his voice rasping on the higher notes. Watching him perform was the most electrifying experience of my entire life. When he finished, he hung his head briefly, acknowledging the mass adoration. Then Patrick came forward and they did several of their biggest hits, faces close together at the mic, Patrick occasionally mouthing lyrics to Jack between verses.

  A large plastic cup was being handed down our row. I saw that the thin straw was sunk into a well of white powder. I gave it to Suzanne, who inhaled a big snort and passed it along. One of Patrick’s girls popped something open under her nose and fell back in her seat, flaked out cold. Mary Jo calmly poured a splash of her soda down the woman’s low-cut top, and she shuddered awake. Mary Jo’s bored expression made it clear she’d seen it all before.

  The rest of the concert flew by too quickly. People extinguished their lighters and filed out of the stadium. We went backstage to where the men, drenched in sweat, were stripping off their shirts and gulping cold beer. I hung back as Suzanne and Mary Jo approached them. Seeing Jack onstage was like watching a different person than the one I’d been spending time with; it made him seem larger than life, and again brought home to me that he really was this huge rock star. Who was I to be with someone like him?

  A bunch of people burst in and flocked to the men. Several women approached Jack, eyeing him voraciously. Jack listened to them and nodded, then looked around and crossed the room bare-chested. “What are you doing over here?”

  “Just taking it all in. That was amazing.” I kissed his cheek, tasting salt. “It was the best concert I’ve ever seen. Your song was fantastic; it was such a thrill to see you play. I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven.”

  Jack smiled. “Glad you liked it. Let’s go relax for a while before the next one.”

  We went to his dressing room, where he reclined on a couch and I massaged his shoulders. I couldn’t believe they had to go back onstage in less than an hour.

  “Room service!” Sammy cried, pushing a delivery cart down the hall toward Patrick’s poolside bungalow. Perched on top were two busty blondes, giggling as the trolley tipped precariously. Jack held the door, and we followed them in. Patrick was holding court in the middle of the lavish suite. “I guess your room isn’t the party room anymore,” he said to Jack, eyeing me. “The good whiskey’s hidden in back of the cabinet.”

  As Jack went to get our drinks, two dolled-up women in their thirties approached and fawned over Patrick. He managed to respond, yet look supremely bored at the same time.

  “Mutton dressed as lamb,” he commented when they left. “What did you think of the show?”

  I decided to play nice. “I liked the way you switched the tempos around in the blues numbers. I’m so glad I’m getting to see you guys perform.”

  “Me too.” He scrutinized me for a moment. “You don’t look like such a demure little book editor tonight.”

  I blushed. “Gary did my makeup.”

  “Quite delicious.” Patrick glanced at Jack as he handed me a beer. “Marissa’s here; you should say hi to her. Remember when she stripped in the hotel elevator?”

  Jack took a gulp of his whiskey. “I don’t recall much of anything from that tour. Neither do you.”

  “Now that you’re old and married, you can’t recall.”

  “I’m no more married than you, last time I checked,” Jack said with a bite in his voice. “Were you too cheap to order food? I’m starving.”

  “Out by the Jacuzzi. Have at it.”

  I followed Jack to the patio, where a cluster of smokers converged around a laden table. Suzanne rushed over to us, cigarette in hand. “I can’t find Mark. Have you seen him?”

  “Not lately,” Jack said. She went to question Sammy, who was soaking in a bubbling hot tub with the now-topless blondes.

  “I don’t believe I’ve seen him since right after the show,” I said to Jack. Mark had been laughing with a couple of young women in the dressing room while Suzanne hovered nearby.

  Jack looked at me. “He’s a big boy, he’ll find his own way here. Let’s get something to eat.” We loaded up on food and sat in chairs by the foaming tub. I tried to avoid looking at the glistening breasts on display. Sammy raised his bottle to me. “We’ve banned the bra, baby!”

  Suzanne circled by again. “I can’t find Mark anywhere. Did he tell you where he was going?” She sounded frantic.

  “He didn’t say,” Jack replied. “Why don’t you hang here with us? I’m sure he’ll show up. Maybe he’s resting in your room.”

  “I’ve called four times; he’s not picking up.” She stalked off.

  “Should we help her find him?” I asked, feeling sorry for her.

  “No.” Jack cut into his salad.

  “But she’s so worried.”

  “That’s their deal. It doesn’t pay to get involved.” This seemed to be his final word on the subject.

  A man started throwing shrimp to the women in the Jacuzzi, who caught the pink nuggets in their mouths. A few other girls stripped and jumped into the tub. People began dumping entire bowls of food into the water, creating a revolting soup. Sammy got out laughing as the women, draped in linguine and spattered with cocktail sauce, entreated him to come back in.

  By three a.m. I was wiped out. I didn’t want to curtail Jack’s fun, so I told him I’d see him upstairs and left him joking and toking with Sammy and Patrick. I got into bed, but couldn’t sleep. I wondered if Mark was with the girls from backstage. I tried to avoid thinking about what Jack might have done earlier this week, other than a lot of cocaine. I recalled my coffee date with Art, his slate-gray eyes taking me in.

  Just as it was starting to get light outside, I heard Jack fumbling with the key. I got up to let him in and he fell back onto the bed. “Man, I’m hammered.” I tugged off his clothes, which reeked of pot, and brought him a glass of water. A limp noodle was stuck in his chest hair.
r />   “Is that from the Jacuzzi?” I asked, yanking it out.

  “Ouch, you’re pulling. Sammy dumped a bunch of it down my shirt.” He smiled sleepily as I lay next to him. “You know at the end, when people get out their lighters for the encore? That always reminds me of fireflies. It’s like the whole arena’s full of them, all flickering just for me.” His expression gave me a glimpse of the little boy he’d once been.

  “That’s a beautiful image.”

  “Yeah, it is.” He sighed. “Julia, what’s your biggest fear?” His eyes were inky pools in the dim room.

  I wondered why he was asking. “I guess … the fear of turning out like my mother.”

  “She’s entirely different from you.”

  “It’s a kneejerk reaction. Whenever I start to do something that reminds me of her, I do the exact opposite. What’s yours?”

  Jack gazed up at the ceiling. “I’d have to say … I’m afraid I might not be able to have children.”

  I was startled by his admission. “Why?”

  “It seems odd that all this time I’ve been sowing my oats, I never got a woman pregnant. Not that I wanted to have a baby with any of ‘em. But at times I wasn’t always so careful.”

  Ugh, I love hearing this. “And you’re positive …”

  “I never had a kid. It would have been made public, believe me.”

  “Well, maybe you were more careful than you realized. That doesn’t mean you can’t have a child.”

  Jack looked at me. “I hope you’re right.” He closed his eyes, and I thought he’d fallen asleep. “Do you ever think about trying to find your father?” he said after a few minutes.

  “No. He left me behind with Dot, knowing what she was like. And he never called me or anything; he just vanished.”

  “You were a fourteen-year-old girl. That wouldn’t have been easy for a single man to deal with. Especially if he was moving around.”

  “I haven’t heard from him once in ten years. It makes me feel so … rejected.” Even after all this time, the hurt was still piercingly fresh.

  Jack turned to his side, our faces almost touching on the pillow. “I know what you mean. For years I thought my dad moved out because of me; I was kind of a handful. Nobody ever explained to me that adults can stop loving each other.” He put his warm hands on my waist and pulled me closer. “I resented it like hell that other kids had their dads around at night, and I only saw mine every other weekend.”

  A dark strand fell into his eyes and I smoothed it back. “You never mention your stepfather. Did you get along with him?”

  “It felt like he was taking my place in the house. For a while there, I just wanted to destroy things. I moved to London when Sharon was little, but he probably would have kicked me out if I hadn’t gone on my own. At least I had some contact with my dad through those years; yours just got cut off.”

  “He must not have cared enough about me to keep in touch.” I spoke over the lump in my throat.

  “He might’ve had his reasons,” Jack said, his face in half-shadow from the dawn light coming through a slit in the curtain. “Maybe he was afraid of your mum. You should try to locate him, before it’s too late.”

  “I guess that’s another big fear: if I found him, he wouldn’t want me back in his life.”

  We slept in until early afternoon; even highly charged Jack seemed exhausted. The insistently ringing phone woke us up. I answered and told Mary Jo we’d get going, not bothering with any pleasantries. “That was short and not too sweet,” Jack said after I hung up.

  I sank back on the bed. “Mary Jo doesn’t seem to like me much. She took it upon herself to inform me that you jump around a lot. From woman to woman.”

  Jack frowned. “She did? When was this?”

  “Yesterday when she dropped off the lyrics.”

  “I don’t jump around more than anyone else. Anyway, none of that is Mary Jo’s business.”

  I saw an opening and decided to take it. “A lot of these girls seem to know you from before. This newspaper writer cornered me at the Ivy, wanting details.”

  Jack sat up and ran his hand through his hair. “It’s been pretty crazy at times,” he said. “But they weren’t girlfriends; just women on the road. What do you want to ask me? Shoot.”

  “Well … I know people throw themselves at you. I guess obviously you’ve slept with a lot of them,” I said carefully.

  “There was never a reason not to. You know me; I need a lot of it. Sometimes it’s just a mechanical type of release.” He paused and looked at me. “There isn’t all that much joy in it. Even a couple of years ago, I was barricading my room half the time to keep ‘em out. Most of those backstage types aren’t too appealing anyway.”

  “What about … that woman made the comment about you doing a lot of coke.”

  “Yeah, you know I do some blow. I’ve been cooling it a little at home, but on the road it makes things less dull. And it ramps us up for the show. It’s not exactly an aphrodisiac, once you’ve scarfed a pile of it.” He gazed at me wearily. “Is that it for the interrogation?”

  “I haven’t asked you much of anything before. I think it’s only fair, since I’m spending so much time with you. Lately.”

  “I know you haven’t asked me much. You like to play it close to the vest.”

  “You can blame that on my experience with Dot.”

  Jack considered me. “All right, now I want to say something to you. About your mother.”

  I glanced away. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

  “You don’t have to; just listen. Dot seems like she’s trying to get her life together. If we were all judged by things in our past, none of us would make the grade.” He gave me a pensive look. “I believe you have more sympathy for those hookers on the West Side than you do your own mum.”

  “That’s because they seem so lost.”

  “So does Dot.”

  I snorted. “She ruined my life because she couldn’t resist getting in the sack with her boss. I lost my dad because of her.”

  “It sounds like your parents were headed for a divorce, regardless. Everyone screws up sometimes; your mum messed up royally, and maybe to you, that’s unforgiveable. But I do know you have to be able to forgive someone before you can trust them. So, Julia.” He lifted my chin so I was looking him in the eyes. “You have to forgive me for all the stupid shit I’ve done in the past, so you can trust me going forward.”

  I got back to the empty room after having my first-ever massage with Suzanne. A message slipped under the door directed me to call room 696. I dialed, and Patrick picked up the phone. “Jack and I are running through some stuff. Do you want to meet us here and we’ll head over together?”

  “Can I speak to Jack?” I wanted to be sure this wasn’t some dirty trick.

  “Jack! Your old lady wants to talk to you.”

  “How’d your massage go?” He came on the line.

  “It felt kind of weird. But she worked out some of the kinks.”

  “So you’re not kinky anymore; too bad. Want to come down? We need to leave soon.”

  I hurriedly put on some makeup and went to Patrick’s bungalow. A tall woman wearing a bikini answered my knock. “They’re out by the pool,” she said, and I stepped through the open French doors.

  Jack and Patrick sat in ornate garden chairs bordered by hibiscus bushes, sheets of paper scattered around on the grass. Hovering near an open blossom, a honeybee was drunkenly lurching from flower to flower. As I watched, it landed, still humming, on the arm of Jack’s seat. He held out his finger; the bee climbed onto it and proceeded to shake golden powder off its legs. Jack noticed me standing there. “They like me,” he said. The vibration of his voice disturbed the bee, and it took flight.

  “Did you catch a buzz?” Patrick said caustically. “Can we get this wrapped up? I need to get ready.”

  Jack reached out and dragged a chair over, the iron legs scraping divots in the lawn. “Let’s see what Julia think
s. She has a good ear.”

  Patrick scratched some notes on a pad and narrowed his eyes. “All right, we’ll go to third-party negotiation. What do you think we should open with, ‘Storm Front’ or ‘Higher’? Or keep it the way it was last night?” He tapped his pencil on the notepad.

  I held back, not wanting to insert myself in their argument, particularly since Patrick was in such a pissy mood. Jack swirled the cubes in his glass. “Spit it out; we’re not getting anywhere. He won’t listen to you anyway.”

  “The guy from the L.A. Times told Suzanne he’s coming back again tonight, so it might make sense to do the set in a different order,” I said. “I’d vote for ‘So Good’ to start off, then “Storm Front,’ and move ‘Higher’ to the end. That way it won’t seem like a rerun.”

  “I see you two discussed this before you came down,” Patrick snapped.

  “No, we didn’t. I don’t need Jack to monitor my opinions.” I didn’t care who he was; I was tired of his condescending remarks.

  “Oh, right, ‘coz you’re so independent-minded. But it doesn’t bother you to be part of the entourage, does it?” Patrick smiled at me disdainfully.

  “I’m only here because Jack invited me. I’m not part of your entourage.”

  Jack was laughing into his drink.

  “That’s true. You left before the party really got going last night. You missed a lot of the fun,” Patrick said insinuatingly. “Jack’s so good at doing two things at once. Or should I say, two girls. But I’m sure you already know that.”

  I bolted out of my seat. “I don’t like extra baggage in my bed. Unlike some of these imbeciles you surround yourself with.”

  I marched out to the hallway. The door slammed as I pressed the elevator button, and Jack came toward me, grinning. “About time you set him straight.”

  Hair and makeup perfected, the men were waiting to go on in the echoing corridor behind the stage. Jack patted his shirt pocket beneath his guitar. “Damn.”

  “What is it?” I asked.