Style and Disgrace

by Caitlin West

  I opened up and stood to the side, motioning for him to enter. “Hey,” I said, feeling lame, “um…I’m glad you could come.”

  “Thank you.” Ian stepped inside. He grinned at me and, for some reason, it seemed odd on him. Surely I had seen him smile, but I couldn’t remember the occasion. He was so serious, so severe any levity outside of sarcasm was out of place. That assessment made me feel bad but I couldn’t help making it. “So…what’s for dinner?”

  I shrugged. “I dunno. I could make something, but I’d rather order out. I’m feeling lazy.”

  “Do you actually have anything in the house or would we have to go out either way?”

  “No, the fridge is stocked up. Why?” I smirked. “Are you suggesting you’d cook?”

  “Why not?” Ian replied. “Which way?”

  “Are you serious?” I gestured vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. “Just through there, but…I mean, you don’t have to. You know, there’re plenty of delivery places.”

  “I think we want to avoid strangers showing up at the door, don’t you?” There was a sting of truth to that statement, but he was smiling as he said it. He probably meant for that to lessen the gravity of it, but it had the opposite effect. “Honestly, it’s not a big deal. I’m a good cook. I’ll show you.”

  “Okay…sure…I mean, why not, right?”

  I escorted him into the kitchen and watched as he took a quick inventory. He sifted through the refrigerator and pantry, frowning in thought. Finally, he turned to me with a grave expression, far too serious for something like cooking. I couldn’t help but laugh at him.

  “What?” Ian tilted his head, his eyes scrunched up curiously.

  “Just…you.” I leaned against the wall, folding my arms over my chest. “Are you serious about everything?”

  “I…take things seriously, yes.” He seemed to be puzzling through his thoughts as he explained. “That’s how I got better at them. Surely you should understand. You aren’t flippant about your singing.”

  I lifted my brows. “Have you ever read my social sites?”

  “Joking around is different. I believe you’re very respectful of your art. At least, all of you seem to be.”

  “Yes, okay but that’s my profession. Unless you scammed us about the management thing and are actually just some patissier, I think you could let the tension out of your shoulders, lose the intense expression, and maybe slouch a bit.”

  The comment made him smile. I seemed to be getting used to it since it finally suited him.

  “Slouch, huh? Bad posture equals relaxation?”

  “Of course it does. Otherwise, you look like a crazy stiff with a stick up your ass.” I blushed. “Wow, that was…”

  “Crass?” Ian offered.

  “Yeah, a little bit.”

  “I’ll do what I can about being…stiff as you put it.” Ian cleared his throat. “Back to the task at hand though. It seems you have very little in the way of ingredients that go together to make edible food. We’ll have to keep it simple. I’m thinking a chicken and rice dish with broccoli, providing the vegetables haven’t been too badly freezer-burned.”

  “Hey, those should be fine! I just made a thing that used that. It’s a little boring having it two days in a row, but whatever. I won’t complain.”

  “Much,” Ian added. “Anyway, tell me what you made and I’ll do something very different.”

  “Lemon chicken.”

  “Okay, I’ll go for something spicier.” He looked around thoughtfully. “Why don’t you give me some space and I’ll get to work? I can find my way around easily enough.”

  “I’ll be on the laptop in the living room. Just shout if you need anything.”

  I left him alone and decided to read up on the buzz concerning our pre-release party. Fans had lit up our forums, filling up thread after thread with excited conversations and various questions. I spent some time addressing different concerns and thoughts, all to the accompaniment of pots and pans clattering in the other room.

  Ian’s presence lifted the paranoia and the abject fear. All that was left was the normal comfort I felt in my house. The isolation was gone and the safe nook I had created there was restored. After that night, I wouldn’t have to worry about being alone for a long time. We’d be constantly busy and together all the time but for the few hours a night we slept in hotels.

  If I could get through the evening without freaking out or another crazy attack, then I’d be home free. By the time the tour was barely started, this whole nightmare would be left behind. I’d be back to worrying about remembering lyrics, dressing decently on stage, and not making a fool of myself during interviews.

  Other people might think my concerns weren’t important and didn’t have a meaningful impact on the world around me. They might argue I was being given the opportunity to make a tremendous difference, maybe even save the world from time to time. Ian said what my father left me was a gift and by not accepting it, I could’ve been considered an ungrateful bitch.

  The reality was I did make a difference every day. I touched thousands of lives in an overt manner. Years of fan mail proved I had touched people with my words, helped teenagers through tough times, and created a role model for aspiring female musicians. I didn’t get in trouble, didn’t cause scandals, and aside from some vulgarity here and there, I was reasonably accepted by different groups around the world.

  Maybe our songs didn’t save the world or fight off demonic threats from some underworld full of depravity, but that wasn’t the point. People like Ian could continue that fight and they’d do just fine. I was already busy fixing the world in my own way, through something I had picked all on my own.

  I had made this same point to myself several times, but if I didn’t continue to affirm it, I felt like I might be swept up in something I couldn’t control. Whatever happened, I couldn’t imagine having to fight something and certainly not the type of thing that came to my door. I hoped Ian was true to his word. He wasn’t the most trustworthy individual on the planet.

  Of course, who is? He’s my only chance at getting out of this. I really hope you’re the genuine article, Ian. I don’t have it in me to face a Shakespearean betrayal.

  Not that I’m as cool as those heroines…much as I wish I were…

  Sigh.

  Chapter Seven

  Puzzles

  Here’s a rule of thumb: Always read anything you plan to send to another human being, celebrity or otherwise. Think about it coming to you. You’d be surprised at how insensitive you’re being with the best intentions in the world. Trust me, I’m a bitch. I know.

  —Abby’s Facebook

  I had only two expectations for Ian’s meal. One, it would be boring. There was no way such a serious and dedicated member of this secret underworld could produce an exciting meal. My supporting evidence came from the thousand-yard stare he occasionally indulged and the way he spoke of his duty and what my father did.

  The second was it might not even be edible. Of course, he might cook for himself all the time, but I personally found it unlikely he had enough idle time to prepare food. He struck me as a medium-restaurant attendee, places that were nicer than fast food, but quicker than a five-star establishment with multiple courses and slow wait staff.

  When he presented his spicy chicken breast and dirty rice combo, I felt like a total ass for my lack of faith.

  This wasn’t the kind of thing a person cooked at home. It was straight out of a real chef’s repertoire and so delicious I barely believed it came out of my kitchen. I wondered if he were able to teleport something in with one of his gifts, dragging a delicious plate from someplace in New York City. I had eaten at many places all around the world and this simple dish from Ian was right up there with them.

  I finally had to compliment him when I was halfway finished. “This is amazing. Thank you very much.”

  “You’re welcome. It felt like miracle-working in there, but your spice selection is above average. That
made it easier.”

  “Why are you so good at this? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Just a hobby. Don’t you have any?”

  I shrugged, taking a sip of wine. “I guess. I mean, I like movies.”

  “That’s a rather passive hobby.” The disapproval bristled me some, but I let it go.

  “There’s a lot to keep track of with movies. Celebs have crazy lives.”

  “Yes, but you’re one of them so why would you be fascinated?”

  “Dude, I don’t make ten million for a couple of shows. I’m not a crazy actress who can be eccentric and wild or need ten security guards to get from my house to the gym. I can still go to the grocery store and not be recognized. Maybe if I did have all those problems, it would be different, but since I don’t…I’ll keep up on my entertainment news.”

  “I have to tell you, that’s such a dramatic waste of your talents…your intelligence.”

  “Oh, come on. I still read books, write fantastic songs that people love, and work with the community from time to time.” I tapped the table. “I just figured out what your problem is.”

  Ian huffed, but there was a grin hiding behind the indignity. “I can’t wait. Do tell.”

  “You think every second of your life has to be spent doing something important. You can’t stop and smell the roses because you figure if you do, some construction crew is going to destroy the road ahead of you. The only thing you can do is stay ahead of the chaos you imagine boils around you. Everything else, frivolity, friendship, fun…you’ve sacrificed all that stuff for your concept of the greater good.”

  “That’s an interesting set of insights from someone like you,” Ian said. “You’re a woman that embodies frivolity. You’re turning down your responsibility because you have the arrogance to believe you’ve created a better one.”

  “I’ve never said it was better. I only said I picked it and that’s worth a lot to me.”

  “I didn’t resist my fate when it was put in front of me. I embraced it.”

  “Were you as boring before your fate showed up?”

  “I…” Ian paused and looked down. “My life may not have been as exciting as a rock star’s, but I was not completely idle.”

  “No, I figure your drive is something you’ve carried with you since you got the idea dedication would get you what you wanted. You’re like some of the philanthropists I meet. You’re all in and that’s cool, but you have to realize not everyone thinks the way you do. You’re a rare and beautiful flower in ground where your kind doesn’t grow easily.”

  “That’s very poetic. What are you referring to yourself as then? Weeds?”

  “Ha ha, that’s very funny. No, I may not have the same drive as you, but I do have it. You don’t get to this point without a lot of hard work.” I paused and sipped my drink again, leaning back in my chair. “I love what I do and I love the people I do it with. I wouldn’t give that up on the chance I might be good at what you’ve got to offer.”

  “I really was hoping you’d change your mind.”

  “Well, let’s change the subject too then. What do you do with your free time? Or am I right and you don’t bother with that sort of thing.”

  “I love to read,” Ian answered a little too quickly. “And I do puzzles.”

  “Oh, what kind? Like with little pieces or crossword? You strike me as a Sunday-paper type. You know, sitting there in the morning with your old-man pajamas, crappy coffee, and an old Bic pen.”

  Ian rolled his eyes. “Now it’s your turn to be funny, I see. Crosswords are okay, but I prefer the thousand-piece variety, all those details and the fine work. It takes a lot of patience.”

  “Yeah, I’m terrible at those. My grandparents were always doing them and I couldn’t figure out what they liked about them. As far as I could tell it was just a time sink, something to do when you couldn’t think of anything else.”

  “Be careful,” Ian said. “You’re sounding dangerously like someone who wants to fill up every second with something important.”

  “Wow, way to use my words against me.” I stuck my tongue out at him and laughed. “I was hoping to get to know you better and we found a way to get back to the serious stuff. Can we not carry on a conversation without making fun or talking about…you know, the elephant in the room I’m trying to ignore?”

  “Okay, I’ve got a confession to make then.” Ian turned so he was facing me instead of his plate. “When I decided I had to take the management job for Avalon Nights, I went online and did a ton of research on you guys. I watched interviews, music videos, live performances, and listened to every song a dozen times each.”

  “Yeah?” I smirked. “I don’t even think I’ve done that before. There’s a lot out there.”

  “Yes, there really is.” Ian cleared his throat. “The fact is, I found it…well…I mean to say…”

  “Wow, this must be profound,” I said. My eyes widened. “I didn’t think you were capable of being flustered.”

  “It’s just…the first couple of hours were interminable. I didn’t think I’d be able to do it and would have to think of another way to get close to you.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose for a moment. “That’s about the most flattering thing I’ve ever heard. Not.”

  “Please—”

  “I hope there’s some point to this other than telling me my life’s work is painful.”

  “I’m getting there, just…don’t interrupt.” He let out a sigh. “I was about to give up when…something happened. It was during an interview you did in France with the rest of the band. Only you and Doug knew the language and you were so candid and real…up till then all of you had been larger-than-life superstars, even the earliest stuff, but this…it was genuine. I saw through the facade.”

  “What did I do? Pick my nose?”

  Ian shook his head. His expression was more earnest than serious. This was another side of him I wouldn’t have imagined. I realized whatever I thought I had figured out about him was little more than false impression. He was a complex man that defied description let alone full understanding.

  I had thought he was the type of guy who would be all business all the time. This side of him was different. There was something in his eyes I recognized from the various people I had met on the road. Throughout his study of us, while he was trying to learn enough to get involved with the project. He had become a fan. Despite himself and probably against every ounce of willpower he could muster, he liked the project.

  And of course, his focus on me meant I particularly held his interest.

  He blushed. “No, of course not. You reached up and tucked your hair behind your ear, and gave the camera a coy look. It was so amazing so…simple. Up to then, you’d been perfect. Every video, you were just another celebrity that didn’t change. That little thing…that tiny thing humanized you in a way that made my heart ache. I think that’s why I agreed to let you give up your gift in the first place.”

  “You agreed to help me do what I want because my hair was bugging me in some video?” I tried to simplify his comments, but I couldn’t quite get there. My hand was trembling. Some of the stalkers in my life weren’t quite so intense and yet I didn’t feel such a negative vibe from him at all. Quite the contrary, I was more comfortable than ever.

  “No, I agreed to help you because I realized Abigail Wright was a complex woman that was far more than the sum of her music, lyrics, and ridiculous fan base. I realized you were a person that had put everything on the line for what you wanted and got it. How many times do you think people are expected to make that commitment before they should be allowed to enjoy their spoils?

  “That’s…very thoughtful.”

  “It’s truthful.” He stood up and took our plates into the kitchen, leaving me alone with his lingering, final gaze fresh in my head. His blue eyes burned into my brain and I didn’t see fanaticism but affection…honest and truthful…there for anyone to see. It dawned on me I was not simply a pro
mise he made to my father. There was more to it.

  The protector had become smitten with his ward.

  I felt like the poor sap on a reality wedding show ready to ask the magic question only to be denied on national television. Rejection registering in perfect color correction for the whole world (or at least a few hundred thousand viewers) to see and my soul trying to sneak away like a bad performer slinking for stage left.

  Chapter Eight

  Uncomfortable Proposal

  There it is, the obligatory zombie apocalypse fan mail for the week. Yes, my plan is firmly in place. No, you can’t stay at my house and no, I will not do a special photo shoot in my survivor garb. Spread the word, please. I’ve answered this like a billion times.

  —Abby’s Facebook

  I moved out to the living room and sat down on the sofa, staring blankly at the television. Allowing Ian to come over was a bad idea, I had known that immediately. The fact I was afraid, paranoid, and scared…that just made it easier to ignore the screaming voice in my head that said Cowgirl up and stop being such a wuss!

  The intimacy of dinner and a conversation that didn’t involve Sphere and Pillar nonsense gave Ian the opportunity to confess to me. Now that he told me, I didn’t know how to react. Should I be angry? Worried? Frustrated? Annoyed? What was the right thing to do? Kick him out? Talk more? Pick a fight?

  After all the questions in my head, I settled on silence. There were no words, no comments, no sarcastic statements that could embody how I felt. Ian was a dangerous man, the one who had killed my father, even if he wasn’t entirely responsible. He lived a life involving monsters and the supernatural. He battled things I wrote about in my youth, the fantasies my friends brought to soaring life with ridiculous music and dramatic melodies.

  Frustration welled up in my chest. David was the perfect guy for me. He was understanding, trustworthy, and gorgeous and he didn’t need me for his career. We were in love and that was a rare and wonderful thing. That morning, I would’ve said nothing on the planet could have threatened that.