by Layne Harper
Does he listen? No. He reaches around me and disconnects my laptop from the charger. He carries the computer into my bedroom and flops on my bed. I follow him and lie down by his side. He positions the laptop so we both can see it as he clicks on the Wikipedia link.
His name appears in bold letters at the top of the page, but in smaller font it reads Aaron Charles Emerson and has his birthdate in brackets. “Your birthday is in April?”
“That’s what my mom says,” he quips.
“You’re thirty-eight?”
“Only on my birth certificate—soul of a teenager.” Truest words ever spoken.
I scan the first couple of paragraphs. They’re essentially what he already told me—raised by a single mother. He worked all kinds of crazy jobs to learn the industry. He got hit by a car when he was seven.
“You were hit by a car?”
“Nothing exciting. Some old man pulled out of his driveway without looking. He hit my bike. I broke my collarbone and left leg.”
“Why did they include it if it wasn’t a big deal?” I ask.
He just shrugs and then picks at a string on my quilt.
I keep reading. “You graduated valedictorian from high school.”
His smile is obnoxiously big. “See? Aren’t you glad you read this? You didn’t know I was such a genius. You should listen to me more often.” He points at his chest. “Motherfucking Einstein.”
I give him a kiss on the cheek. “You forgot humble.”
The rest of his early life is pretty mundane. He swam in high school and was offered some college scholarships for academics and sports. He accepted none of them.
The next header reads Career. He reaches over and scrolls down the page.
“Hey. I wanted to read that,” I protest.
“Here’s the summary. I’ve put out lots of albums. Some have been successful—others, that were actually great, were considered flops. I’ve produced a lot of acts. Most have been great gambles. Next time you can’t sleep, tap on my shoulder and I’ll give you a nightcap. If after that you still can’t sleep, then read that boring shit.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re the one who threw a temper tantrum to get me to Google this. I want to read all of it.”
“Later.” He quits scrolling when he reaches Personal Life.
I make note to go back and read career when he’s gone home. “You named your daughter after the Beatles song ‘Hey Jude?’”
“Yeah. The person who birthed her wanted to name her Charlotte from the song by The Cure. But when you’re so high you don’t remember giving birth, you lose naming privileges. Paul McCartney wrote the song as a way to comfort John Lennon’s son Julian when his parents were divorcing. I thought it was appropriate.”
I stop reading and turn to Aaron. “It must have been very hard on you, birthing your daughter.”
He shakes his head. “You have no idea.” He pauses for moment, and I can tell by the way his mouth twists he’s warring with himself if he should share. I guess he decides I should know the details. “I hadn’t heard from her for a few days so I stopped by the trailer where she was living. I found her inside naked, covered in vomit, and on her hands and knees, absolutely out of her mind. I called nine-one-one and screamed for them to send an ambulance. She was incoherent. Blood was everywhere.” His eyes dart to the ceiling and he swallows hard. “I could see a bit of grey inside of her. The operator said that the baby was trying to be born. She had me push on her stomach to help my daughter enter this world. And then I slapped the shit out of the woman who was so fucked up she didn’t know she was in labor and told her to wake up to push. She did and I literally reached inside and pulled Jude the rest of the way out just as the paramedics rushed in the trailer. The fucking scariest day of my life.”
Dear God. After hearing that I wonder how the man could have ever used drugs. He was so young—just a kid himself. That’s the kind of story that gives you nightmares. “It says that Jude’s mother was named Hannah.”
“Look, MK, I don’t mean to stop this line of questioning, but the last thing in the world I want to discuss is that woman. As far as Jude is concerned, she has no mother. She’s fortunate enough to have a father, aunt, and grandmother who adore every strand of hair on her head. Next.”
I nod and turn back to the screen reading more. There is no mention of any other females he’s been linked to. The next section is Legal Troubles.
“I’m assuming this is where it gets good?” One of my eyebrows cocks.
“You could say that.” He rolls over on his back, and I position the laptop in front of me.
I should be feeling anxious, but I’m not. It’s still as if I’m learning about someone else. I don’t think I’ve accepted that this Johnny Knite is indeed Aaron.
There are five entries. “First you were arrested when you were twenty for beating up the owner of a bar.”
“Yup,” he confirms, and doesn’t sound remorseful. “It’s the bar that gave us our start, where I met the woman who birthed Jude. I found out the owner had been shorting us a couple hundred a weekend for years. I told him to pay up. He didn’t. I punched in his face.”
Sighing, I keep reading. “You were sued when you were twenty-six over a song copyright?”
“And I won.” He sounds cocky. “Some kid I went to high school with said I lifted one of his songs.”
No big deal, I guess. So far, this isn’t very scandalous. “You were arrested for drunken misconduct and indecent exposure.” Okay. That’s got some spice to it.
He laughs. “This is a good story. My thirtieth birthday. Vegas. It was an ugly, ugly night. Let’s just say I wound up hospitalized for alcohol poisoning after I was arrested for having sex with multiple girls on the rollercoaster that goes around the top of the Stratosphere.”
My mouth hangs open as my top lip curls up and my nostrils flare. I’m appalled. “That’s disgusting. I should’ve Googled you before I let you blow your load inside of me.”
He pulls me to him and tickles my stomach. “See, there you go talking dirty again. Makes me rock-hard.”
Pausing for a moment, I push the laptop away. “Aaron, I have a very serious question. Why did you do that? You have a daughter.”
He sighs, and his playful mood shifts to serious. He throws his hands up and shakes his head. “I was making more money than I could spend in one lifetime. Girls were everywhere. One pretended to be the hotel room maid and I found her in my shower, waiting for me. Every club or bar was passing out free booze and some slipped me drugs like it was nothing. Me and a couple of the guys in the band stayed drunk and high for a week straight. I don’t remember most of it. I told a group of girls I’d never fucked on a rollercoaster. They decided to give that to me as my birthday present. In hindsight, we’re lucky no one got seriously hurt. Security stopped us and tried to let me go, but I acted like a jackass so they called the police. In the back of the cop car, I started puking and couldn’t stop.” His lips curl in disgust. “Three days in a hospital hooked to an IV was not fun. All the experience really taught me was to drink less and spread it over longer periods.”
“That’s really terrible. I’m glad I didn’t know you then. I don’t think we’d have been friends.”
He chuckles. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”
I move the laptop back in front of me as I continue reading about Aaron’s trips through the legal system. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You were arrested for texting while driving in a school zone?”
“Well, I was pulled over because I was just coming home from a party and school happened to be in session. I wasn’t texting. I was snorting coke off of my phone screen. The police officer let me off easy.”
“That’s awful. You could have hit a child,” I scold.
“Not my finest moment,” he confirms with the shake of his head.
The last entry details his assault charges against the man who sexually assaulted Jude. There’s a lapse between when the charges were filed and when
he went to rehab. I wonder if that was because there was legal wrangling going on. “So the assault happened when Jude was sixteen. Why did you just now go to rehab for it? It’s been two years.”
Aaron shrugs. “The wheels of justice turn very slowly. My lawyer and the district attorney had to iron out a plea deal. No jail time and the incident stays off my record if I completed a stint in rehab.”
Fair enough.
Next I move to Sex Tape. It details a video featuring Aaron having sex with a woman while they were on a boat. Someone filmed it and sold the tape to a pornography company. Aaron sued but not before the tape went live for a couple of hours. There were downloads, but it was removed and destroyed.
I must admit, in all my years of dreaming of Mister Right, him starring in a sex tape was not one of the qualities I thought I would find.
Aaron pushes the laptop towards the edge of the bed and rolls me over so I’m pinned underneath him. He holds my hands above my head. “Look. If I had any idea all of those years ago I would’ve met you, I wouldn’t have been such a prick. I’m sorry. I wish I didn’t have the history that I have, but well, I do. See past it and focus on the guy who adores you.”
“You didn’t let me read the good parts about your career and philanthropy. Right now, I just think that you’re sure to have VD and are an amazing father.” I mean it as a joke, but it’s obviously not interpreted that way.
“MK.” He glares at me. “I would never put you in danger. I told you earlier I have not had sex since rehab, and I was tested for everything there.”
I buck my hips, hoping to get him off, but he doesn’t budge. “Look, Aaron, I wish you didn’t have a past. I really wish you hadn’t had sex with a random girl on a boat or multiple girls on a rollercoaster.” I shiver and make an involuntary disgusted face. “But you did. I never thought my guy would have a criminal record, but well, you do. I wish you didn’t have a history with drugs, but I can’t change it.”
“Fuck, MK, when you put it like that, why haven’t you kicked me out?” There’s a hint of seriousness in his tone.
He releases my arms and I reach up, tucking his hair behind his ears so I can see his knowing eyes. “Your past doesn’t frighten me. It’s your future I’m concerned with.”
He beams. “So I can quit trying to make you run far, far away from me.”
“You do it again and I’ll flick your balls.” I smile. I can’t help it. His moods are contagious, like the flu.
He mouths I love pain.
There’s nothing for me to do, but shake my head.
“Awesome so now we’ve decided you’re stuck with me, let’s make plans for the weekend.”
My head aches from another sudden case of whiplash. “Aaron—”
He cuts me off with a smirk. “I prefer Angel.”
My eyes roll so far inside my skull that I swear I catch a glimpse of my brain. “Angel.” It’s said dripping with sarcasm. “Go home. I adore you, but you are too much for me right now. I need a break.”
His lips turn, and he looks hurt. “If you adore me then you want me to stay. We just decided that I can’t scare you and you can’t run away.”
“Not running. Need a nap,” I lecture. “Big difference.”
The V forms between his brows.
“Get off,” I try bucking him again. “I’ve had a really crazy day. Let’s review. It started when I found out you had a daughter. Then at midnight your employee walked into the bedroom after we’d finished doing naughty things to each other. I got a bit of sleep and/or a break. Next I watched you eat cereal on my toilet while you talked to me about life. I tried to go to work and you did the most erotic thing in the world, which absolutely is my hot button trigger, so I was forced to have sex with you—”
“And you cried because you realized how much you like me,” he interjects, very pleased with himself.
“I’m spent, Angel.” I pause. “I want to edit my pictures and video that I took today and sit in my frumpy, flannel pajamas, and drink a bottle of wine.”
“You can do that at my house. I’ll leave you alone.” His face is radiant as if he just brokered world peace.
“Go home. I’ll discuss our plans with you for this weekend tomorrow.”
He doesn’t give up. “How about if we make all the plans now, I’ll go home?”
Sighing, I roll my eyes again. “Fine.”
He leaps off the bed and walks into the living room. When he returns, he has my phone in hand. “I’ve taken the liberty of sharing our calendars with each other.”
If I wasn’t so mentally bludgeoned I might protest. “Fine.”
“My sister and the band arrive tomorrow. She’ll stay at the house in her room. Most of the band will stay in the guest house. Except for Sam. God only knows where she’ll sleep.”
“Fine.”
“I’ll only make you cook us dinner tomorrow night. There will be about twelve people and maybe more with company.”
“Not fine,” I reply. “I’m not a caterer. I’ll make reservations. Leave me your credit card number.”
He gets the pouty look again. “Gumbo?”
“No.” My arms cross over my chest. I will not be bullied into cooking for people I don’t know.
“Whatever,” he replies and looks at his phone again. “We usually record all night. We’ll spend Saturday afternoon with Jude.” He pushes some buttons, and my phone dings. “So dinner with everybody Friday night.”
“Fine.”
“Sunday is a sleep-it-off day and work on the album.” He looks up from his phone. “Don’t expect to see me much on Sunday. The band will be laying down music until about . . . probably Tuesday. Then they go home.”
“Fine.”
“Grace will call you with the company card so you can make dinner reservations.”
“Fine.”
“They’re going to love you.”
“Fine.”
“Is that all you can say?”
“Fine.”
***
He leaves, and I feel as if I’ve been hit by a train. The silence has never sounded so amazing. Oh my goodness. What a day. It’s only seven o’clock, but I could easily fall asleep now and not wake until tomorrow morning. But instead, I hook my phone up to my laptop and begin downloading all the footage.
The hours slip by and before I realize it’s ten o’clock. I post what I have and grab a bottle of wine from my stash. Before I open it, I contemplate going to Eddy’s. I haven’t been in a week, and I miss the gang. But I’m so damn tired. Aaron is a full-time job. It’s hard to believe I’ve only known him a week.
Instead, I put on my worn cotton jammies and snuggle into my couch with my now opened bottle of vino. I haven’t talked to my mom in a while, and I need to do damage control after the whole blow-up at the office, so I give her a ring.
“MK, my beautiful daughter.” This is how she answers every call.
“Hi Mom. What’s new?”
“What’s new? Well, darling, you can imagine the phone call I received today.”
I don’t let her finish. “I’ve decided to work on NoPinkCaddy full-time.”
“So I heard that you—”
“Michael was a dick. Sorry, Mom, but it’s true. I offered to work two more weeks as well as hire and train my replacement. He wasn’t appreciative so I’m working two less weeks, but I don’t want to talk about that any longer.” I swallow hard. “I’ve met someone.”
“So I’ve seen.”
I sit up straight on the couch and ask, “What do you mean you’ve seen?” Is she talking about me dancing with Aaron at the ball?
“Phyllis, who I play tennis with, called me a couple of hours ago and said she saw you eating with the rocker who donated to your sister’s charity at that yummy restaurant in the Quarter.”
Frantically, I grab my laptop and search for Johnny Knite and click on images. Sure enough, there are multiple pictures of Aaron and me together. They’re not obscene—just a boy and girl having lunc
h. I sigh in relief. “I found them.”
“How did you meet him?”
“Well, I met him at a bar, but he doesn’t drink. It’s all very strange. I was hoping I would be the first to tell you that I think I really like him.”
“What about Tripp, darlin’? He’s crazy about you.” There’s the million-dollar question. Safe Tripp. Never-been-arrested Tripp. Doesn’t-have-children Tripp. As far as I know, he’s never-made-a-sex-tape Tripp. Life would be so much easier if I could learn to love Tripp.
“Mom, Tripp is a dear friend, but that’s it. There are no sparks.”
“And let me guess. With Aaron, it’s like the Fourth of July.”
I giggle. “Yeah. I guess it is.”
“I saw you dancin’ with him at Grandmother’s ball. You two looked like sex on a stick.”
I gasp. “Mom!”
“Honey, I’m not dead. I know sparks when I see them.” She pauses for a beat. “Well, I’m not telling your father until we know this is a sure thing because you’ll probably give him a heart attack, and hopefully, Grandmother will be dead before we have to tell her. I’m assuming you’ve Googled him.”
Geez, my own mother. “He forced me to web-search him today. I’m assuming you have?”
“Of course. I am a woman of the twenty-first century.” I can imagine her flipping her platinum blond bob to the other side.
I laugh. “Then you probably know more about him than I do.’
“You tell me what you want me to know about your rock star.”
Chapter Twelve
Suzanne Long @JohnnyKniteIsMine
Greatest day of my life. Met RealJohnnyKnite at a restaurant and got his autograph. He’s awesome! But she was there. #HateNoPinkCaddy
Suzanne Long @JohnnyKniteIsMine
Is this some sort of pity sex? Why her? She’s a brunette, and has no tits. #HateNoPinkCaddy
Suzanne Long @JohnnyKniteIsMine
RealJohnnyKnite I have fake, firm boobs. Pick me. #HateNoPinkCaddy
Suzanne Long @JohnnyKniteIsMine
I hope NoPinkCaddy gets hit by a car #HateNoPinkCaddy