by Layne Harper
Am I asking if he’s still doing just one drug? I don’t think I am. I need to know what I’m getting myself into, and I must trust that he’s going to be honest with me. This is test number one. “I’m asking who or what else I have to compete with for your attention.”
The bellowing sound comes from his toes. It’s so body jerking that my head bounces off his rib cage. He sits, bringing me with him. “That’s about the best way that I’ve ever heard addiction phrased.”
Bright light flashes through my bedroom as a loud boom rattles the pictures on the wall. Then the side lamp goes out. “Ugh, we’ve lost power.”
“So,” he replies. Awkwardly, we try to fit together. I don’t want to press too tightly against his side because I don’t want him to get any ideas. I grab the quilt and cover us both. “It just means that I get to keep you safe.”
He doesn’t answer my question and silence falls between us. The sounds of the rain against the roof and window fills the void of him not responding.
My eye lids grow heavy and begin to fall.
“I swim,” he says as his arm tightens against my back. “I probably drink more than I should, but I swim instead of using anything else. I can thank you for that.”
Rain splashing mixes with his baritone voice as he sings Pink Cadillac as I relax in his protective embrace. His fingers run down my ribs lulling me to a beautiful place that I haven’t found since the last time I was in his arms.
The final words I hear before sleep overcomes are, “I knew she couldn’t be anything but mine.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Aaron
September
Talk Magazine @TalkMagazine
@RealJohnnyKnite was spotted in #NOLA. He was dining with @NoPinkCaddy his rumored muse.
Talk Magazine @TalkMagazine
@RealJohnnyKnite we want more hot albums like #AlisVolatPropriis
MK Landry @NoPinkCaddy
Second day on the set of #BurntSugar. Did I mention that the show has been officially named? #ForeverNoPinkCaddy
Digging through her makeup drawer, I find a tube of bright pink lipstick. It’s fucking hideous. Hopefully my beautiful girl wouldn’t mar her sweet lips with this Pepto Bismol shade. Maybe it was purchased and used for a Halloween costume.
On her bathroom mirror, I scroll Until next time, sweetheart. Putting the cap on the tube, I toss the lipstick in the garbage. It shouldn’t be worn again.
MK’s been gone for a couple of hours. I pretended to be asleep when she left because I couldn’t bring myself to say the word goodbye. Sleep never found me during the night. I stayed up holding her, breathing in her scent, and writing a new song in my head—tapping the beat on the curve of her shoulder. As soon as I heard the front door close, I got up and sang it into my phone. It’s about her. She’s my muse.
The thought of leaving her again makes me crazy, but I have a show tonight. Grace is right. I am a company. If I don’t step onto that stage, the show doesn’t happen, and everyone who works for Johnny Knite doesn’t get paid.
The only reason I find to put one foot in front of the other is the draw of adding instruments to the lyrics. My guitar is waiting for me in Seattle and calling my name like the siren she is.
Checking my phone, I note Seamus should be here any moment. I straighten the sheets and tuck them around the mattress. Pulling and adjusting, I can’t seem to get the flat sheet right. Taking a picture, I send it to Grace with the message Help.
Grace: Run your hand over the wrinkles and get your ass back to Seattle.
Me: On my way.
Her trick works and once I have the comforter evenly placed so it hangs correctly on both sides of the bed, I grab the eight pillows and toss them against the headboard. Stepping back, I admire my work. It’s probably been twenty years since I’ve made a bed. It looks good if I do say so myself.
Reluctantly, I pack the blue bag and then set it next to the front door. Checking my phone again, Seamus is still about five minutes away. I’d sit on the couch and wait, but, well, there’s no couch which makes me feel like an asshole.
Opening her kitchen cabinets, I find a box of some healthy twig and berry cereal. Just the smell tells me that it’s way to healthy. Shoving it back in its place, I make a face and quickly attempt to forget that anything so bland actually exists. In her refrigerator I spy a plastic container of hummus. Perfect! Next to the horrible cereal, there was a box of crackers. I plop down on her bar stool and enjoy my breakfast feast. It’s no Lucky Charms in a mixing bowl, but it’ll do.
Just as I’m finishing the last of the container, I receive a text from Seamus letting me know that he’s out front. I toss my garbage because I’m a good house guest.
But before I walk out her front door, I’m drawn to her bedroom. The perfumey smell of MK tickles my nose as my heart clenches. Suddenly, I don’t care about getting back to my tour and guitar. I want Seamus to drive me to her set and hang out all day watching my girl make her dreams come true, and I can also ensure the contractor knows that MK is mine. Fuck. I find it hard to compel my feet to move. Then, without considering my actions or giving it a second thought, I walk over to the bed and dig through the throw pillows to find the pillow she must normally sleep on. It smells the strongest like her. Bringing it to my nose, I inhale her scent before slipping off the aqua case. I know it’s a little creepy, but I don’t care. An involuntary smile spreads my lips. I walk out of her bedroom and shove the thin, satin material in my bag. I lock her door behind me and say a little prayer that she’s already missing me as much as I’m missing her.
***
The crowd begins chanting something over the final notes of Time Stand Still. It starts off sounding like jumbled garbage. Glancing over at Sam, I check to see if she understands. She gives a little shrug as she continues playing. Then it grows louder, and clearer. It hits me. They’re screaming for Pink Cadillac.
Giving the signal for the band to stop playing, I step closer to the mic. “What do you want?” I yell over the roaring crowd.
“Pink Cadillac”
“Pink Cadillac”
“Pink Cadillac”
“Well, I’m in the business of giving the people what they paid their good, hard-earned, money to hear.” Turning around I nod to the band.
Sam mouths You sure?
I catch Grace’s smile out of the corner of my eye. She’s beaming as she claps like a fool.
Turning back to Sam, I nod. I’m happy. My sister seems happy. This moment feels so damn good.
Then to the crowd, “We haven’t played this song in a couple of weeks in concert, but I’ve heard it’s a favorite. You asked for it. Here’s Pink Cadillac.”
As I sing our number one hit, I relive last night in my mind. The crowd thinks I’m singing to them, but I’m not. I’m holding MK against me while she snuggles into my bare chest. I love how she can find just the right places on my body to conform to.
When the song ends instead of feeling crazy and like I’m going to be sick, I’m energized.
Imagine the band’s surprise when I signal that we’ll perform more songs off our new album.
The crowd loves it and hopefully realizes they’re getting something out of the norm. I’ve heard that fans Google our set lists so they know what song will come next. Imagine their surprise when we toss the set list and just play like the old days.
After the show, I race for the dressing room. I want to talk to MK. I want to share with her how great the show was and how I sang her songs, but before I call, I look at the time. We’re two hours behind New Orleans so it’s a little after two in the morning there. Last time I woke her with a call, she was less than thrilled, and it didn’t go particularly well. I’m one to learn from my mistakes.
Sighing, I sink into the couch deciding to text her, but when I click on her name, I discover that she’s already messaged me. Butterflies kick up in the stomach. This is progress. When I saw her in LA she ignored me for a week and then left me the brush-off voicemail.
About an hour later . . .
MK: The pillowcase you stole is $18. I’m not entirely sure that the cost is correct, but that amount should cover it.
MK: My hummus? Now what am I supposed to eat for a late-night snack? Damn you . . .
And a few seconds later . . .
MK: And while we’re on the subject, I think you should replace the things we’re no longer mentioning that you destroyed.
MK: And I want to be reimbursed for the security fence.
MK: You know what? I’m requiring a security deposit before you’re allowed to visit again.
Smiling at my phone, I shake my head. God, I love this girl.
Me: You’re expensive. Want to meet me in Vegas Friday after you’re done taping? I can be yours until Monday morning. Until then, I’ll enjoy my expensive pillowcase and hummus filled stomach and dream of you.
I catch myself whistling in the shower. When the band decides to go to an after-hours club, I happily agree to their surprise. It’s crazy how hearing from her without me having to make the first move makes me giddy.
Chapter Twenty-Two
MK
September
Rock Star Groupies @RockStarGroupies
@RealJohnnyKnite put on every fan’s dream show. Played whole #AlisVolatPropriis album. #I’mDying
Johnny Knite @RealJohnnyKnite
Thank you, Seattle. You were on fire. Great show and great fans. Can’t wait to see you again.
MK Landry @NoPinkCaddy
Grand Opening of #NoPinkCaddy will be in just over two weeks. Want to attend? Register HERE. #YouKnowYouWantTo
I dial his number. This is going to be an interesting conversation and give me a bit of insight on how exactly a relationship might work with us never being in the same city. It’s a test of sorts. I brace myself for the call. I never know which version of Aaron I’m going to get.
“Sweetheart,” he says sounding out of breath.
“What are you doing?” I ask surprised. I had prepared for somber Aaron, moody Aaron, diva Aaron, or even demanding Aaron. Exercise Aaron never entered my mind. “You sound like you ran a marathon.”
“Just got out of the pool. I swam to Scent of a Woman by Cheap Trick. You were on my mind.”
I don’t know if I’ve ever heard the song so instead of trying to sound informed and falling on my face, I disregard the comment. “Cool. Well, I guess you got a good workout by the sound of your breathing. Do you have a sec?”
“Anything for you. Just give me a moment while I drink some water.” Heavy breathing and chugging sounds fill the line before he replies, “Okay. What’s up?”
Exhaling, I share the speech I’d rehearsed. “I got your message about me coming to Vegas. I appreciate the invite, but I must work at the store this weekend. See, they can’t pay the crew to paint my floors. They were going to force me to accept hardwoods which probably meant laminate, and I just couldn’t agree to that so I volunteered to paint them myself.” I hop on top of my kitchen island and pick bits of jambalaya off the plate using my fingers.
“Okay,” he replies. “Want me to come there instead?”
He sounds so reasonable. I’d prepared for diva and demanding Aaron. I figured there would be hurled threats if I didn’t acquiesce. “If you want.” I shrug even though he can’t see me. “I’m going to have to spend time at the store, and you’re going to have to help me do some painting.”
“Hold a second. I’m putting you on speaker.” His voice sounds more distant. “That actually works. One of my latest acts signed is performing at a club in New Orleans on Saturday. We can knock out whatever you need at the store, and then, if you want, we can go listen to them play.”
I actually move the phone away from my ear and stare at it for a moment. Shaking my head, I pick up a few more bits of rice and put them in my mouth. “Okay. I adore live music.”
“I’ll text you the details. Probably I’ll leave right after our Vegas thing so it will be early when I arrive. That work?” he asks sounding like he’s chomping on gum.
“Yeah. Just whatever is best for you. What are you chewing on?”
“Some fucking hippie protein bar that Grace left in my room. She says I’m pushing forty and have to quit eating like a teenager.”
Laughing, this might be the first time his sister and I have seen eye to eye. “That’s some truth if I’ve ever heard it.”
“Fuck both of you,” he chuckles. “A crap diet has gotten me this far. No reason to change now.”
“I’ll fix you some heart-healthy shrimp this weekend and toss them with fresh, spinach leaves, Brussel sprouts, and artichoke hearts. If you’re lucky, I might even drizzle a teaspoon of olive oil over it.” Imagining the look on Aaron’s face makes me smile.
“Well that meal guarantees that we’re having takeout.” I hear a rustling noise. “All right, sweetheart. I’ve got to get showered and head to a meeting dinner thing and then do a walk through with the facilities manager at the casino. Trust me, I’d much rather chat with you.”
I’m still in shock that this is such a reasonable conversation. “Okay. Have a nice evening.”
“Hey, MK . . .”
I hear my name just as I’m about to end the call. “Yeah?”
There’s a hesitation. “Is it shitty of me to ask what’s up with the contractor?” It’s truly a question and not a statement demanding an answer. “I just need to know where I stand.”
“I haven’t gone out again with him since Los Angeles. We see each other on set and work closely together, but that’s it.” I grab a piece of sausage and pop it in my mouth.
“And if he asks you out again?”
Ugh. I have no idea how to answer. The truth is that I don’t have time for any new relationship and that includes one with Aaron. Every waking moment is spent doing something for No Pink Caddy. Even in my dreams, I can’t relax. Last night, I dreamt that no one came to the grand opening, and Shannon was paying homeless people to come in and shop. My full-time relationship is an eight hundred square foot, old building which requires every bit of my focus and my site that’s been pretty neglected.
Instead of telling him all of this, I reply, “I won’t go.”
He sighs. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
After we hang up, I text Bella.
Me: You’re not going to believe this. I told Aaron I couldn’t come to Vegas so he’s coming to NOLA.
Bella: No temper tantrums?
Me: None. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this surprised.
Bella: Guess he’s got more tricks up his sleeve.
***
“Plans tonight?” Vince asks as we walk from white trailer city to No Pink Caddy.
He’s asked on Monday, and I blew him off. He asked on Tuesday, but we all went out for a crew dinner so I was off the hook. Wednesday, when he asked, I had already made plans with Bella. Today is Thursday, and I’m feeling like a real jerk.
“Well . . . Umm . . .” Even though Aaron and I aren’t officially dating again, I’d feel like a piece of gum on the bottom of a shoe on Bourbon Street if I go to dinner with you. Plus I told him I wouldn’t. “I’ve got to get caught up on laundry.”
He takes my elbow and helps me navigate around a huge crack in the sidewalk. They’ve got me in like five inch heels again. It’s ridiculous.
“I’m beginning to think that you’re avoiding going out with me.” He stops walking right before we turn the corner to the shop.
Stopping also, I run my pointer finger over my thumb cuticle and decide to trace my star tattoo instead. I don’t want to tell Vince about Aaron. I’m not entirely sure there’s anything to tell, and I don’t want Janet and Cindy to know that we’re talking again. I saw their reaction to the idea that I could teach him to fry beignets. Just the thought causes a shiver to run
down my spine.
“Vince, I feel like my life has been turned upside down and then put in a blender. You and I, well, I think we would have been great if we’d met under different circumstances or if I was more settled with this new life.” His face remains passive as I speak. Taking his hand, I give it a squeeze. “I think we’re a victim of timing.”
He lets go and pulls me into a hug. “I wish you all the best in your show and personal life. You’re a great girl.”
“Thank you,” I reply with a dip of my chin. “Shall we go stain cabinets?”
We continue walking. “You’re working in those heels?” He laughs.
“Margo promises I can change after we do our joint interview and then my individual. I snuck a pair of blue-jean overalls onto one of the clothing racks. I’m so hoping she says I can put on those with a pair of Chucks.”
He holds the door open as I walk into my favorite place on earth. “I love the smell of sawdust.”
“We should bottle it and wear it as cologne.”
***
“You’re going to show MK the problem with the cabinets,” Janet instructs Vince. “I get that it’s an easy fix with some nails, but we need a bit of drama. This project is going too smoothly.”
She turns to me. “The camera is going to film you dropping by the store to check on Vince’s progress. You’re going to walk through the door and find him in the back of the store trying to solve the issue. He’s the expert. Let him give you the answer.”
Then back to Vince, she says, “Remember, I need drama.”
“Got it,” he replies as he walks over to the cabinet doors that are balanced between two saw horses. The rest of the kitchen is built, and it looks great. The marble for the countertops should be here later today. I’m so hoping that the design assistant, Marcy, picked out pretty slabs. I’d wanted to join her, but there just wasn’t time.
He hired local carpenters to do the wood work. What I’ve come to realize is Vince doesn’t do much on a project when the cameras aren’t on. I don’t either. Janet explained that it’s our jobs to look pretty and take directions. There’s a beehive of people who never have camera time that actually make the job happen.