Down the Shore

by T. Torrest

  Jack is fucking playing.

  My initial shock at the sight of him is immediately followed by the sinking suspicion that I’ve been set up.

  I raise an eyebrow at my sister who is failing miserably in her attempt to look surprised. She gives a shrug, but her lips are twitching, and I give her a dirty look before turning my attention back to the stage.

  In spite of my anger, it’s impossible not to get sucked into Thunderjug’s energy. Into Jack’s. I take a moment to really watch him onstage, to appreciate the pure, unadulterated power he’s selling. He’s owning the music. He’s owning the crowd. Shit, he’s owning me.

  He spots me in the middle of “When I Come Around,” shooting me a dazzling grin and a wink from behind his mic. He’s enjoying himself up there, and it’s hard to do anything but smile back.

  At the break, Jack weaves his way through the crowd toward us. I pretend not to notice his transaction with the rose girl, and act pleasantly surprised when he holds up the single, red bloom between us. “I’m glad you made it.”

  I used to find bar-bought roses kind of cheesy, but my opinion is suddenly changing on the matter. “Thank you,” I say, accepting it. “But to be honest, I didn’t realize I was coming to see Thunderjug tonight.”

  He smiles at that, then asks if I’d like to meet the guys.

  I agree, and we wend our way to the side of the stage where the other three members of Thunderjug are surrounded by a group of people. Women people.

  A few of the girls notice that Jack is nearby, and he’s forced to make nice—kissing a few cheeks, accepting a few hugs—as we cut our way into the center of the circle.

  He claps a hand on the shoulder of the tall, decently handsome guy with longish, dark hair, almost yelling the introduction. “Freddie! This is Livia. Liv, you may have noticed by now that Freddie and I trade off lead guitar and bass.”

  I shake his hand as Jack points to his drummer. “And that’s Jimmy. Yo, Jimmy! Say hello to Livia.”

  Jimmy breaks away from the pretty blonde draped over his every word to turn toward us. He’s got fantastic sandy-colored hair and insanely gorgeous blue eyes that are both wasted on an unremarkable face. “Lizzie?” he asks.

  “Livia!” I correct him as I shake his hand. He aims a grin at Jack, which lets me know he’s only busting my chops. It puts me under the impression that Jack has maybe mentioned something about me a time or two.

  Jimmy grabs the guy next to him and pulls him into our conversation. “Did you meet Booey yet?”

  “Booey?” I ask, sure that I misheard his name.

  “Short for Ba-Ba-Booey,” Jack laughs out.

  “Like Gary from the Howard Stern show?”

  “Exactly. He’s kind of our unofficial manager, plus he’s got that stupid moustache.”

  Booey gives Jack the finger, saying, “Nice, dickhead.”

  Jack ignores the slam and instead makes up for the insult. “Booey plays keyboards, harmonica, sax, rhythm and bass guitars.”

  “Wow!” I respond, clearly impressed.

  “Yeah. The dude is pretty much a one-man band but he lets us hang around.” He throws a wink at Booey just to rile him up.

  It’s nice to meet the guys, even though Jack makes a point to keep the conversation brief, almost as if he’s trying to keep me all to himself. He directs their attention back to their adoring fans and suggests we go out to grab some air.

  I’m feeling like a sardine crammed into this small area of the club anyway, so I’m relieved when Jack relocates us outside to the deck. It’s hot as balls out here, but even the liquid heat being inhaled into my lungs is an improvement over the recirculated AC inside. At least I feel like I’m breathing my own air, instead of having to share the same oxygen with the rest of Generation X in there.

  It’s not quite so loud out here, but my ears are already ringing from the hours of assault. That’s why I’m not quite sure I hear Jack correctly when he asks, "So, are you going to let me take you out or what?"

  I roll my eyes, busting his chops when I answer, “Still pushing this?”

  “Still avoiding the answer?”

  “It’s difficult to consider the question,” I huff.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Helloooo Captain Obvious. I like sex. And if I date you, I won’t be having any.”

  Jack smiles through a sigh. “That’s not what I said. I’m not planning to be celibate my whole life, for chrissakes.”

  “Just while you’re dating me.”

  “Yes, but not the whole time.”

  I dismiss him with a wave of my hand. “Jackson, you wouldn’t be able to hold out long enough to tell me no for even one night.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  “Wanna lose? Why? Whaddya got for me?”

  His brows furrow as he thinks. “Okay. It’s not really a bet. More like an arrangement.” I eye him skeptically, watching as he tries to contain an evil grin. “Ten dates. That’s all I ask. Ten dates is enough time for us to decide where we’re going to go from there, if we like each other enough to take things further.”

  “Further. You mean have sex.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you want me to agree not to push the issue in the meantime.”

  “Yes.”

  I think on that for a minute. “Can we do other stuff?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like kissing and touching and stuff.”

  He scratches at the tuft of hair on his chin as he considers my question. Most guys look like dicks with chin pubes, but Jack is pulling it off without coming across as a soul-patched poser. “Kissing, yes. But let’s just play the other stuff by ear.”

  “I don’t know. You’re not really being clear about the rules with this proposition, here,” I fire back, eyeing him warily.

  He takes a heavy breath. “Look, Lips. This is something new for me too, remember. We’ll just have to make up the rules as we go along.”

  My eyes tighten as I assess the situation. I still don’t understand this purity quest he’s on, but what the hell. If some stupid bet is going to be all it takes to get this guy into bed, I’m game. It’ll almost be a novelty, having to work that hard to get a guy to sleep with me. Men are so easy.

  Well, normally, anyway.

  “So, no sex for ten days,” I assess. “I’ve done that before, no problem.”

  “Not ten days... Ten dates. It may be longer than a week and a half before we—”

  “Whoa. Hold on.” I haven’t even agreed to this proposition and he’s already throwing a wrench into the gears. What if he’s planning to drag me through a year of this little “arrangement”? We need some ground rules.

  “Okay,” I say. “First amendment: All dates must take place by… the Fourth of July. That gives us an entire month.”

  “Deal.” He’s smiling as he adds his own term. “Second amendment: You don’t date—or have sex with—anyone else in the meantime.”

  I hadn’t really considered the monogamy aspect of our arrangement. But I suppose it’s a reasonable request. “Deal.”

  “Wow, Lips,” he says, crossing his arms and raising his brows. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this agreeable before. Did you just take me up on my offer?”

  I can’t quite believe it myself, but holy shit, yeah, I guess I did. How did he manage to get me to do that?

  I hold out my hand in answer. He shakes it, and I swear to God, there’s an audible clang! as the chastity belt claps around my pelvis.

  “Get ready for some fireworks, pal,” I say through a playful grin.

  “You first,” he shoots back, digging around in his back pocket. “Here. I have something for you.”

  He replaces his handshake with a cassette tape, sandwiching it and my fingers between his palms.

  “For me? How did you…?” My earlier suspicions come to light as I shoot him a sidelong smirk. “You knew I was coming tonight, didn’t you?”

  “A little birdie may have arranged our ‘ch
ance meeting’.”

  My money is on Vix. “You mean my own sister sold me out.”

  His lip quirks at that, fighting the urge to smile. “Just give it a listen. I’ll call you in the morning.”

  * * *

  As soon as we’re in the car, Tess lunges for the cassette. “Give it, Livia! I gotta hear what’s on this thing!”

  Before I can react, Tess wrestles the tape from its case and pops it into the dashboard’s stereo. Isla, Sam, and I lean forward from the backseat as Vix puts the car in drive and Tess presses play. I haven’t completely forgotten that my sister set up this whole evening just to throw me under the bus, but as I hear the first notes of Jack’s guitar, I decide I’ll let her live.

  We’re completely silent as Thunderjug begins to fill the car with music. It’s a pretty song that doesn’t take long to recognize, even though it’s been sped up and layered with added instrumentals... it’s the one Jack was playing that first night we met, back at Monty’s house after The Tradewinds. Only now, there are words set to the tune as his low, gravelly voice sings along.

  Between life and death I’ve lived alone

  A darkness that I’ve always known

  To live again, to live, to live:

  This heart that beats is not my own…

  I look down at the empty cassette case in my hands and then at the two girls in the front seat.

  Tess sees the stunned look on my face and asks, “What? What’s it say?”

  My voice is barely audible as I manage to squeak out, “It’s dated last Friday. The song’s title is ‘Vampire’.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Date #1: Tuesday, June 6, 1995

  8:14 PM

  My Apartment

  Clifton

  Okay. Here I go. My first date with a rock star.

  Damn. That sounds like the worst After School Special ever made, and will probably play out just as PG-rated. I can’t believe I’m going to willingly date someone I’d rather be screwing instead.

  Oh, who am I kidding? He’s already seen through my bullshit. That fact should be a relief, but it’s actually scary as all hell. Jack has made it pretty clear that he wants to get to know the real me, but the thing is, I’m not even sure who that is. I put some thought into it over the past week, and came to the conclusion that maybe it was high time I found out.

  The morning after The Tape, I’d barely woken up before I was pressing play on the boombox I’d smuggled into my room the night before. I listened to my song the whole rest of the weekend, the entire way home, and then about a million times since.

  Jack called as promised, and with the safety of some distance between us, I was able to enjoy our talk that day. And the one on the day after that. I finally caved yesterday, and we made plans to get together tonight.

  Oh, God. Why did I even agree to this?

  Because he’s hot as hell, you idiot.

  Well, yes, that’s true. But come on. A fricking musician? There’s cause to have guidelines against this sort of thing. I admittedly don’t live my life based around some long list of rules, but the few that are in place are there for a reason.

  My first rule is and always has been: Thou shalt not loan money to my father.

  But, I guess I’ve broken that one a few times, too.

  I mean, how am I supposed to say no? The guy raised us, spoiling the hell out of us whenever he could. Just because he can’t seem to pull his shit together sometimes doesn’t mean I should cut him off. He’s my family. And you do what you can for your family.

  Right there at Number Two on my commandments is: Thou shalt not date musicians.

  Okay. I know how hypocritical that sounds. But there’s a big difference between hooking up with some smoking hot guitarist for a night of fun, and entering into a relationship with the aforementioned man-whore. Life is too short to spend it worrying over some sex-stud’s fidelity. That’s the reason I don’t date rock stars. I don’t want to constantly wonder what some guy is up to when I’m not around. I mean, it’s not that I can be instantly assured that a non-musician will guarantee faithfulness, but the chances are way better. I know all too well what sort of convoluted road my parents have traveled in order to get where they are now.

  But since Jack’s whole deal with wanting to date me is specifically to not have sex, I have to imagine his mindset extends to every other woman on the planet, too. Huh. Suddenly, a rock star has turned into my safest bet. How the hell did that happen?

  I give a peek back outside and finally see Jack pulling into the driveway. ‘Bout frigging time.

  My stomach does a quick flip when he knocks, and I can’t stop myself from sprinting for the door. I open it, busting his chops when I say, “You’re late.”

  Jack is standing there, sporting a sheepish grin and looking delicious as usual. But suddenly, his smile fades. “What the hell are you wearing?”

  He’d told me to dress casual, so I went with one of my standard uniforms: Black miniskirt, black tights, black Docs, and a lightweight flannel that I’m wearing unbuttoned over a tight-fitting concert tee. But his facial expression is suggesting I missed the mark, and I look down at my chest, feeling tacky. Not that I’d ever let him know it.

  “What, this?” I defend. “It’s my Van Halen T-shirt.”

  “Livia,” he sighs. “That is not a Van Halen T-shirt. That is a Van Hagar T-shirt. If anyone could make it look good, it would be you, but please, I’m begging you. Take it off.”

  Ah. The outfit isn’t the problem, just my choice of band. His exasperation and complete music snobbery brings a smile to my face. Temperamental rock star. Yeesh.

  “Right here?” I tease. “Because I should warn you, I’m wearing a matching Van Halen bra underneath this thing,” I laugh as I head off to my bedroom to go change.

  I get about five steps away before turning just enough to see his lip curl and his eyebrows rise. “Prove it.”

  Spinning slowly on my heel to face him, I fist my hands on my hips and meet his eyes. “Gladly.”

  That staggers Jack a bit, enough to make him realize what kind of game he’s playing. He gives a snicker and runs a hand through his hair. “Hey, Liv? I’m sorry. Old habit. That sort of just slipped out. But you know I’m really trying to do the right thing, here, right? Can you do me a favor and not make it so hard?”

  Oh, the comebacks I could fire at him for that. I’m about ready to back his delectable form onto my couch and show him just how hard I’m capable of making things between us. Instead, I take a look at the gorgeous man standing in my living room, warring with himself about taking the straight and narrow. The thing is, he’s a nice guy. I’m not used to dating nice guys.

  If I had any reservations about this dating thing prior to Jack’s arrival, it was that moment that I felt them disappearing. If I am going to do this, I need to give it a fighting chance. I lose the chip on my shoulder and answer, “Okay. You’re right. I’ll be good.”

  I stand still for an extra second, waiting for another smarmy comeback, but it doesn’t come. I decide that the way he’s visibly biting his tongue from firing out a retort is good enough for me, and head off to my bedroom to go change.

  * * *

  His ride is a broken-down van which reminds me of that POS Camry Vix and I were forced to share when we first got our licenses. He does the gentlemanly thing and opens the door for me, and as I get in, I lean over to his side to make sure the lock is popped. I know Sonny made a huge deal about that move in Bronx Tale, but it’s just common courtesy, right?

  There are a few Styrofoam coffee cups on the floor and a stack of papers and notebooks crammed into the console between us. Great. I’m dating a slob. “You always make it a habit to give a girl such a stellar first impression by picking her up in this molester van?”

  “Sorry. It was blocking my car and I was running late.”

  “Well, at least you keep it clean.”

  “Hey, princess,” he offers through a laugh. “I told you, I was running lat
e. And blame the mess on Freddie. He’s normally the one riding shotgun in this thing.”

  We sit in silence as he pulls out of my street. I’ve never been much one for silence, and without any background music, the first-date jitters are amplified. In the ten minutes since he’s walked through my door, I’ve already chastised him for being late, got defensive about my T-shirt, accused him of being a creeper, and insulted his hygiene. Not exactly the greatest start to our evening.

  Told you I suck at dating.

  The self-imposed tension in the car is more than I can take. “Hey. Mind if I turn on the radio?”

  Jack taps his thumbs against the wheel. “Actually, yes. There’s a Smiths tape stuck in the cassette player, and if I have to listen to it one more time, I may drive us off the road.”

  That makes me laugh. “Which one?”

  “Best of.”

  “One or Two?”

  “One.”

  “Mind if I take a chance?”

  He sighs. “Yeah, go ahead.”

  I turn up the volume, and “How Soon is Now?” pours out of the speakers. I haven’t listened to these guys in ages. I was never a humongous fan, but one time, I bought tickets to see Morrissey at the Garden. A week before the concert, he canceled the show, no excuses given. No refund either. I never forgave him for that, but I’m thinking that maybe I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on The Smiths. This is a good freaking song. “I can deal with this.”

  “Me too. But it’s going off again after this one, okay?”

  “Deal.”

  After the song is over, “Hand in Glove” starts in, and Jack gives a groan, so I turn down the volume. I take a look at my date for the evening, trying to think of something to say, but I’m still mesmerized by his absolute gorgeousness, and after a while, I realize I’ve just been sitting here staring at him for way too long. Awkwaaard.