I took a deeper breath and blew it out in a slow whoosh. I was shaky, and nervous, but not about my abilities. I’ve played guitar for years and my voice is a little different, which is helpful. Quite a few of the songs I sing are original, written by me to be performed by me, so none of that was a concern. But along with leftover tension from fleeing Venice was the need to be liked. I wanted my music to be appreciated and I wanted this to be a lengthy gig so I could stay a long while. However long a long while is, as one of my songs asks, but doesn’t answer.
I leaned back on the bed for a few last moments before leaving. Quiet thoughts, stubbornly positive thoughts. Slowly the nervousness receded. I needn’t worry, really. This is old hat for me, but I’ve been playing up and down California for nearly 3 years, like a gypsy, and I really wanted to settle in one place. Another breath and whoosh. Relieved puffs for my new job. Getting a gig hasn’t ever been a problem for me. Pretty much all I have to do is sing well and beam out the strong suggestion that I be hired. Picture what I want, then push that picture out. See the win, so to speak. But Jeff's conditional contract was a pain. Ooh, jumpy jitters.
I read somewhere that Einstein claimed ours is a friendly Universe. So a month ago, for Jeff Waldron who both hires and fires, I played and sang and assumed the friendliness of the Universe was meant for me, too. I obviously won Jeff over, because he gave me the audition week. It’s an odd way to do things, but he said the customers appreciate the fact that they have input. So tonight I’ll smile and sing and push happy thoughts at everyone in the room, which is how every artist should think. And ooh, it's time to go.
I sauntered down the stairs, trying to look all casual. “How do I look? The jacket’s for driving only, not to wear on stage.”
Christina twirled a dish towel and looked me up and down. “Turn around. Flip your hair.” I stuck my tongue out at her. “Yep, you look great. They’re going to love you.” She squinted a little. “Do you want moral support? I can go with, if you want.”
“No, I do this all the time. I’m totally fine.” Big smile to prove it.
“Well, go break a leg.” she waved.
I laughed. “That's for plays, cuz.” I groped in my bag for car keys. “I'll be home before midnight and don't wake me in the morning. I'm going to sleep until forever. Or at least until the PR job clears.”
I flew down the front steps and stashed my guitar case in the back of my dirt streaked Honda. It was only a five minute drive out of the low foothills down into the Village. Being Wednesday, there wouldn't be much of a crowd. Probably no families. Friends in groups? Yeah, even in a university town where study seems to be the primary reason for existence. My jitters fed excitement. I could be part of all that.
Jeff had already hung a hand printed poster with my name on it right by the entrance. To me, 'The Village Tavern' should be some old place in colonial Boston. Kind of cozy sounding, though. I wouldn’t be spending a lot of time seated at the bar, except for the hot tea my singer’s throat loves. I hesitated a moment, looked around. Empty parking lot. Just me and Jeff for a quick business meeting before I go on stage. My heart raced a little with the good side of tension. I imagined a night blooming flower and jasmine then I reached out from the petals to pull open the door.
The tavern was a nice size, although the stage was small. Only a platform, really, centered way on the back wall to the left of the entrance. Windows with booths under them lined one side of the room with the angled bar on the opposite wall. Lots of tables in the middle. I liked the décor, the dim lights, art hanging everywhere. Christina told me the art was painted by students and every painting involved music. I was drawn to the one of an old man and his sax.
“Henna?” He walked from behind the bar with a welcoming grin.
I shook his hand. “Hi, Jeff. You have a nice place here.”
“Glad you like it. Come on, we'll talk in my office.”
Jeff seemed to be my favorite kind of boss and I learned more about him during our half hour. To begin with, he doesn’t conduct himself like the sun rises and sets on his every command. Secondly, he’s a minor league musician himself and sometimes plays spontaneously for the customers. He doesn’t sing, but he knows what will appeal to his clientele. My music, he said, fits the bill perfectly.
“Between sets tonight you should just relax, have a sandwich, get to know the customers,” he said. “I’ll take care of the clock and let you know when it's time. If I need you to play after normal hours, would you be willing?”
“Sure, if I don’t have any other plans, which I probably won’t.” My happy slipped at that last comment and I gave a harsh, covering cough. Oops. Coughing not good. I took off my jacket to cover the cough.
“Leave your jacket and bag on the file cabinet. You feeling okay, Henna?”
I feel stupid. “Just great, Jeff. Excited.”
“Good.” He looked me over, like judging how I'd look on his stage and I bounced to the cabinet to drop my stuff and bounced back, all bouncy with healthy energy and no coughs. I perched on the edge of my chair and made my eyes brighter than my stomach felt.
“Okay, then. If I need you to sing extra, there's extra pay. For a few songs, or a whole set, depending.” He smiled and checked the time. All I have to do is get the same smiles from his customers. Starting now.
I angled the platform stool to face the painting of sax man under soft lights. Also soft lighting for me and I pictured myself beaming at the crowd. No crowd yet and no beam, but Venice terror was behind me and stalker guy too, so I could let go and relax. A bunch of people came in the door and one girl wiggled her fingers in a wave. A warm rush ran through me and I glanced at the guys who were looking right back. I think they liked what they saw, so I tossed my head and ran my hand across the strings and opened up my positive self and beamed. I loved my platform and finger girl and Jeff and sax man and I determined to keep my vow to trust my cousin and maybe even others. Try not to hide behind walls.
All I wanted was calm inside and freedom to sing. Safety, no turmoil, no stress. Maybe a friend and time to write music. I had two new homes, Christina's for me and the Tavern for my soul. The front door opened again and my voice lifted to invite them in.
Chapter 3
Brecken
Brecken de Boer, get your act together. Something was off and I didn't know what. My heart never pounded and it was pounding, blood sizzling, my body zinging with uneasy energy. The strange pressure wrapped around my chest and ripped through my gut, pushing me to race past Ev in the final sprint of our run. Sloppy of me. Reckless, even, and while Mark flopped on the grass to stretch, blasé as ever, Ev walked up to me, breathing heavily and obviously disturbed at my surprising burst of speed.
“What the hell was that?” he huffed.
“Feeling good,” I lied. “Must be the vitamins.” He didn’t go for it.
“In a year of running you've never even come close to passing me and now you suddenly feel good?” He huffed again and went over to his things for a bottle of water. “You’ve been holding out on us, Brecken. I don’t care, you know. But damn.”
I tried to laugh it off, but he was right. I never won our last minute spurts, though I could easily win all of them. My running partners had no idea what I could actually do. It was careless of me to have slipped up, but with the strangeness in the air, I was about to pop out of my skin. I thought speed would help tone things down. It didn’t.
“Just a fluke, Ev. Don’t twist your genius brain about it.”
Mark jumped up and tossed us towels. “Brecken, he's not used to losing. It'll bother him for a week.”
My running mates swiped at dripping sweat. I swiped, too, though nothing dripped. Wrong. Black waves dripped and sprayed all around me. Not that they could see such things, but I was surprised at my loss of control. Of necessity, I'm all about control. A freak for control.
“Brecken, I don't get it,” Ev said. “I was going all out and you flew by like I was on a stroll. Why the hell have
you been hiding your speed?”
Irritation inched in. Control. “We all deserve a good day. This was mine.” I looked at his lean form, his sweaty black hair, the firm stance and sharp eyes that were watching me. The guy was brilliant and stubborn, but I liked him. “Drop it, Ev.”
“Guys,” Mark said. “I've got class in an hour. Call you later, Brecken.”
Ev pulled on his sweatshirt. “Do you have a few minutes? Take a cool down lap with me, hey?”
Good idea. My nerves were on edge, the strangeness squeezing like a hungry python, but I could take a few moments to soothe his apparently tweaked ego. He's sort of a friend, after all. Or as close to one as I have in Claremont. “Sure. What's up?” I snagged a bottle of water and started up the track.
He began with what I call filler chat. “My Mom and Dad are both professors at Stanford. I'm named after my father and grandfather. Everett the third. I'm actually proud of that, but it caused me a headache of crap my first two years at Stanford. Hard to be myself. That's why I transferred here.”
This was what he wanted to talk about? “Understandable,” I said. “Your Dad’s a physicist, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, and so is my Mom. I’m an only child.” Ev was stalling, warming up to the real thing. “So I spent a lot of time alone growing up. It’s okay though, because I had a plenty to keep me occupied.”
I wanted to scratch at my skin, or punch something.
“I’ve never had a lot of friends,” he continued. “Except on the track team at my prep school. I was the fastest and won most of our meets, so that made me pretty popular with the team. For a few years, anyway.” He tilted his water bottle.
“Makes sense,” I said.
He glanced at me. “The thing is, I was always smarter than everyone, and you know how that goes. Geek, nerd, all the names, usually behind my back. But I heard them.”
“Sticks and stones.” I kept my voice level.
“Yeah. Here at the university everyone is smart, but I’m still pretty much alone. You and Mark are probably the ones I know best.”
Now that, I thought, is sad. We may be running mates, but he doesn't know me, really, and Mark never hangs around with him. I already knew much of what Ev was telling me, but he wanted to talk and I was willing to listen.
“The thing is, I tend to watch people. I always have, since I was a kid. You, for instance.”
“Me?” I looked at him in surprise.
“Yeah. I’ve been racing since I was seven and I know runners. To be honest, I suspected you were better than you let on. I’d like to time you someday.”
“No thanks, Ev.” I seldom spit, but I was tempted. Control.
“Okay, I know. You've kept your speed hidden but truthfully, I always thought it was there. We run seven to eight miles every morning and you’re never tired. It’s amazing.”
I laughed at him. “Amazing? Lots of athletes can do that.”
“You might think so, but not really.” He switched subjects suddenly. “The guy that lives with you. Louie?”
“Mmm?“
“I used to see you two around now and then, but not lately. What does he do? I mean, for work?”
“His family has money like yours does. And he's living outside of Claremont for a while.” I hoped that closed the subject of Louie. We rounded the end of the track in silence.
The morning was crisper than normal for California, even in February. I figured once around the track, give him time to quite stalling and say whatever it was he had to say, then home to a hot shower. He must have felt the same, because silence didn't last long.
“You usually act so balanced and calm, Brecken. Nothing seems to faze you and for sure I’ve never seen you angry. The last couple of days, though….”
Heh. I thought of my testy mood and the uncomfortable energy in the air this week. Nothing I could identify, but ever since my return from visiting Louie in Canyon Lake, something had been drastically affecting me and observant Ev had noticed.
“Of course, I see that you can have a temper,” he continued. “I’ve been watching you for a while now and don't get mad, but....” He stopped talking and worked on the water.
Ev sees me five days a week, but only while we run. When did he watch me? “But, what?” I said. I stopped on the track. He emptied the bottle and looked around, stalling again. “You started this, Ev. True, I can be moody, but I'm listening, so say what you have to say.”
“I don’t know how to put it.”
“Sure you do.”
“Well, it sounds dumb, but I believe you have something I don't have and I’m not exactly certain what it is. But I want it for myself, so I've been trying to figure you out.”
“Yeah, it does sound dumb. What could I have that you want? You’re on full scholarship. You have a supportive family. A few years from now you’ll be done with school and will have earned your first mil.”
“That’s probably true.” He glanced at my face. “There’s still something unusual about you. I told you I spend a lot of time watching people and you’re different. Unbelievable, in a way. Mark is bright and a great guy, but you are the one who has what I want. I just don’t know what it is. Something subtle, maybe even subconscious.”
This was irritating and my skin wouldn't stop prickling. “Playing shrink, Ev? Want to analyze me? I'll stretch out on a bench if you need. Unless you've got the hots for me, in which case all bets are off.”
“Ha. No, I’m serious. I mean you’re only a couple years older, but I look up to you in a way. Maybe I can get some pointers from you.”
“What pointers? I’m no mentor. Nothing special. Just a student like you are.”
“I know, but I’ve been trying to say this for awhile. It sounds weird, I guess, but you flying by me in the last stretch was the final straw. If I'm pulling shrink on you - well you just pulled a damned Secretariat.”
I was peeved and wanted him to know it. “If you don’t understand what it is I'm supposed to have, how the bloody hell can you want it, whatever it is?”
“Strange, huh? I'll tell you when I figure it out.”
“You need a girlfriend,” I said dryly. My muscles twitched from the odd vibes in the air.
“Oh yeah, girls, the magic cure. I've had my eyes on one or two. They aren’t interested, so I’m still looking.”
I stared at the track. “Looking where?”
He laughed. “Where else? The research lab and classes.”
“So find a girl research whiz. Life will look a lot sweeter.” We walked slowly and I realized the energy filled air didn't affect him.
“No, my life is plenty sweet. You’re right about that. Besides, you don't have a girl and you seem to do fine.” He stopped and twisted his upper body, stretching the muscles.
Am I doing fine? Normally, yes. These days I manage to ignore the things I both crave and deny myself. Everyone is safe, including me. He couldn't know that, though, so I kept to normal, albeit irritated, responses.
“How do you know if I'm fine or not? You don't know anything about my relationships, female or otherwise.”
He ignored my irritation. “I think I do. Watching, remember? I see you here and there and girls check you out, but you're nearly always alone.”
He sees me? How could I have missed that? “My business, Ev. Stop spying on me.”
“Just trying to figure out what I want from you. There's a lot that's strange.”
Disturbing conversation. I didn’t want Ev watching me, studying me for some ineffable quality he thinks I have. Years of living under the radar has erected my privacy wall a mile high and I realized that clever Ev might innocently cross the line. I wondered what he would feel if he knew there are two of me living in this body and walking beside him on this track, both of me liking the sheen of sweat on his arms and the strong throb under his skin.
I hate to wait. “Out with it, Ev. I told you I'm listening.” I respected his guts for daring to pursue this conversation, when I was so obviously
testy.
“Okay, you’re listening. I get it.” He hooked his hands behind his back and arched, then leaned over to stretch his leg muscles. Because he probably expected it, I stretched, too. “You know, “ he said, “talking about this stuff makes me nervous. Maybe a second lap around the track?”
We started around again and suddenly he was chattering like an obsessed monkey. Ever methodical, Ev is, even as he tumbled into my world of privacy. Both parts of me paid hard attention, both silently snarling.
“Like I said, you never get tired, unless Mark and I are. Then you fake a little wear and tear. You also never sweat unless you notice one of us toweling off and looking at you. Then your face and arms suddenly pop a sweat, but it’s my wild guess that it's volitional, instead of your natural cooling mechanisms. I mean, look at me. My hair is plastered with sweat. You have all that wild blondish hair and it's completely dry. Not a drop of sweat. Not today, not ever.”
I frowned, more at myself than at him. Mark, being more focused on his own self, would never have spotted this stuff.
But Ev was on a roll. “You don’t drink water the way you should. I finally realized that you don’t really need it, but I can’t figure out why not. We certainly run hard enough. You're tall and your stride is long, but you shorten it when you run, both on the track and the streets. I see that and it makes no sense. Also, everyone who runs cramps up sometimes. But in all these months there’s never been a twinge of anything that affects you. It’s like you’re a perfect running machine.”
He looked over, checking for reactions. I stared straight ahead but gave him a shrug. Hiding irritation and jumpiness, but encouraging his spiel. Might as well hear it all.
Ev went on down his mental list. “You breathe wrong for a runner - and I’ve actually listened lots of times. Mark has his breathing pattern and I have mine. They’re similar. Yours is off the charts. And your warm up and cool down stretches are perfunctory. They look real, but they’re not. You live your life stretched and ready.” He hesitated. “Am I annoying you? I am, aren't I.”
“Why do you think you’re annoying me?”
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