Chasing My Forever

by Heidi McLaughlin

  Speaking of Elle, I need to change the locks now that she’s moved out because my dad is sitting on my couch. Unless of course, I didn’t lock the door.

  “Hey.” I rub the towel over my hair. “Door unlocked?”

  “Elle left her key at the house.”

  Duly noted, it’s time to change the locks.

  I dress quickly, although I’m not eager to find out what my dad wants, especially considering we were just together.

  “So, what’s up?” I ask, making my way into the kitchen. I grab a bottle of water, show it to him, but he shakes his head.

  “I’m trying out a new bike.”

  “Say what?” I ask, almost choking on my water. “Does Mom know?”

  Dad shakes his head. “I wanted to see if I liked it first. My other one, repairs are getting costly. I’d like to have it restored and only drive it when your mom insists on it.”

  “Makes sense. It’s pretty old, but like I said the other day, there’s a lot of history with it.”

  He nods. “But these new ones… Liam just got one and I’m jealous.”

  Now I’m laughing. Dad, Liam, and JD are like the Joneses, always having to one-up the next person by getting the best of everything.

  “All right, well show me your bike.” I follow my dad out to the parking lot and sure enough, there’s a Harley-Davidson Sport Glide in matte black. I walk around this beauty of a bike, completely in awe. “Damn, Dad, this bike is legit.”

  “I know,” he says sheepishly. He runs his hand over his beanie and looks at me sort of weird.

  “You ordered this beforehand, didn’t you? When you saw it at the motor show?”

  He nods.

  “And Mom doesn’t know.”

  He shakes his head.

  “Man, you’re so busted. Although, you could leave it here. I don’t mind watching her for ya, you know until you tell your wife that you’re replacing her favorite mode of transportation.”

  “Fat chance, Quinn. Hop on.”

  Sure enough, in the back compartment is an extra helmet, which saves me having to run up and get mine. It’s a bit awkward, riding with your dad, but I don’t care because I’m on one of the finest pieces of man-made machinery. This baby purrs, and much like its name, glides along the roadway effortlessly.

  After an hour, we stop at the studio. Dad tells me he has to pick up some sheet music and asks if I want to come with him. Truthfully, I’d rather stay outside and admire this beautiful bike, but he’s looking at me like he wants me to follow.

  We say hi to the receptionists before heading toward the designated studio for 4225 West. The band paid a hefty price to make sure they always had space, mostly so they could keep their equipment there.

  The red light above the studio door is on. Dad doesn’t say anything, and he definitely didn’t mention anyone using their space.

  As soon as we step inside, I turn cold. My sister’s sitting at the table. She looks at us as we walk in, smiling before turning her attention to the window. I follow slowly, afraid of what I’m about to see.

  On the other side, Dana Cantu is singing into the microphone, a familiar song, the one my dad wrote for my mom. Behind her, Ajay Ballard is on the drums, a set almost identical to my dad’s, which are sitting to his left. Hendrix Brandt is shredding his electric, while another guy I don’t know is plucking away at his bass. And my dad? Well, he’s now behind his kit, Liam is standing next to Dana, sharing singing duties and JD is pounding away on the piano.

  “What’s this? Some kind of set-up?”

  “It’s a jam session, Quinn. I know you’ve been to one or two in your life.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Elle. Dad freaking duped me into coming here. You know I don’t want to do this.” I point toward the room. She stands and faces off with me.

  “Why not, huh? What’s the big deal? This was always your dream and now you’re too high and mighty to let some woman have control, to let her sing?”

  “My decision has nothing to do with Dana.”

  “Then who? Is it me? Are you still pissed at me for almost failing out of school? I thought you were past that crap?”

  “It has nothing to do with you!”

  “Then why, Quinn?” she asks. I swear she’s about to cry but won’t do it in front of me. She’ll save those for Ben.

  I can’t tell her. She’ll never understand. She doesn’t have to worry about estranged parents coming to look for her, but I do.

  I look back through the window, hating everything that I see. My dad and Ajay are in complete sync, playing off each other. This is what he wants, someone he can jam with, someone who can play the drums, and that’s not me.

  I make eye contact with Liam. His head turns slowly and then looks back at me. He must know because he’s setting his guitar down, but it’s too late.

  “Tell Dad I’m out. Don’t ask me about the band again.”

  “Quinn…”

  I’m out of the studio before my sister or Liam can say or do anything about it. If anything, this backhanded attempt by my father has made my decision more concrete. If I’m going to go into the music industry full-time, I’ll do it as a solo artist and on my own terms.

  Not theirs.

  12

  Eleanora

  The Los Angeles International Airport should be listed on the national registry for nightmares and places tourists should not visit.

  Rhett insisted, no, more like demanded, that I drive out there with him. He gave me some song and dance about being alone in the big city, yada yada yada, yet has zero qualms about sending me back into town… in a taxi cab… by myself with a driver who couldn’t go below seventy – on the side streets. At one point, I thought the taxi was going to flip over and explode into flames. Luckily, I survived and was able to send off a not so nice, yet very thankful text to Rhett. According to him, I’m still alive, making the adventure okay in his book. I happen to think otherwise, but I digress.

  After spending a few days together, I think I finally broke through with Rhett on why it’s so important for me to have this self-discovery mission. He’s my big brother and he takes the role very seriously. Anyone else would freak at the idea of their little sister living in this big scary city by themselves. Of course, I live with Kellie but she’s busy working for her parents, learning the ropes of the family business. Although, girl was not so busy once she found Rhett sitting on her couch. Kellie made sure her hair was done, makeup was on point, and even offered to cook him dinner each night. I’ve seen more of her in the last couple of days, than I had since we went out on the town. Oddly, I’m okay with this. Sure, my friend has the hots for my brother, which surprisingly isn’t the first time. All through high school, girls would try to butter me up for information on him, and my friends, when they were at my house, well their voices suddenly became high-pitched the moment he walked into the room. I’m happy to say, at least to my knowledge, Rhett has never tried to hook-up with any of them.

  I think I did my sisterly duty, showing Rhett around. We stayed mostly to the best parts and I completely avoided the Strip where I’m working. For one, I didn’t want to explain why I took a job in such a seedy part of town and two, I was afraid that once he saw the location, he’d all but drag me home. He’s giving me until the end of the month to get home, so telling him I have a job would only confuse him and ring alarm bells. A job means roots, and I don’t want to give him a reason to change his mind.

  I wasn’t home five minutes from my terrifying taxi ride when Zeke called and asked me to come in. The call couldn’t have come at a better time. For the days Rhett was here, I feared Zeke would call and I’d be forced to either come clean or tell Zeke I couldn’t work. Neither option would’ve worked for me.

  Lies. Lies. Lies. That’s all my life is based on right now. They’re so deep and muddled, I’m afraid I don’t know the truth anymore, and fear that when everything comes out in the wash that my family may disown me. Yep, it’s a complete exaggeration, but the f
ear is there. Yet, it doesn’t compel me to change what I’m doing. Maybe because I keep telling myself that I need this adventure. I need this time away from the life I’m expected to live. Once I go home, I’ll never have this opportunity again.

  When I worked Friday night, the Bean Song was slammed. People stood along the walls, content to stand there, waiting for a table to clear out. I served mostly wine and beer with a few sodas, I mean pops, and glasses of water thrown into the mix.

  Today, it’s different. People are ordering food and I actually have to check on my tables to ensure my customers are happy. Open mic night was easy compared to this, and I’m thankful this isn’t my test because I’m fairly certain I’m failing miserably.

  The Bean Song has a steady flow of traffic, and my tips are adding up nicely, although I find that people aren’t as generous with their gratuities unless they’re drinking. Must be something about letting your inhibitions go when the alcohol is flowing.

  I’m with a customer when the door chimes. I look over my shoulder to greet the newcomer, something Zeke was adamant I do, when I spot the singer from the other night, the one I’m absolutely sure is Sofia’s brother.

  I’m sure to make eye contact before turning back to my current table, except my mind is on Quinn and what Kellie said the other night. Kellie thinks Sofia made him up, but I’m not so sure. This guy looks exactly like the guy in her pictures, and while she referred to him as Q, it can easily be short for Quinn. In my mind, it all makes sense.

  After putting in the most recent order, I grab a menu and head toward his table. His head is down, and he’s focused on his phone. The other night, the beanie he wore was black and today’s is gray, but his outfit is similar. Just staring at him, I see just how different he is from the guys back home. They’d never be caught with black military style boots on, a flannel shirt over a holey t-shirt and shorts that hang to their knees.

  It seems as if my legs have stopped moving, and I stand here, with a menu in my arms, looking at this guy, somehow mesmerized by him. I don’t know what it is. It’s not like I know him from Adam.

  I take that back. I’ve never had a type because I’ve always been with Roy. Roy who wears dress shirts, slacks, and ties to everything. Roy who dresses up in a tuxedo and can be as handsome as the next guy. Roy who… cheats on me and thinks it’s okay because I’m thousands of miles away and not tending to his needs.

  Still, it seems that he’s unaware that I’m standing here, which is fine because it gives me more time to study him, to really look at him. His brown, almost black hair peaks out from under his beanie. My fingers twitch with an urge to feel whether it’s coarse or silky.

  From where I stand, I can see his brows furrow, making me want to know if he’s sad, frustrated, or is he confused. Part of me is tempted to ask him if there’s anything I can help with. My friends have all said I’m a good listener with sage advice. But why would this man even give me the time of day? I’m a waitress, one that is assuming his identity based on pictures I’ve seen. I have no factual knowledge about him.

  It’s stupid to stand here, gawking, as if he’s some specimen I’m meant to study. I approach his table because it’s my job to serve him.

  He looks up as I set the menu down. “Can I start you off with something to drink?” I ask as I step back to give him space, but not without smelling the cologne he’s wearing. My throat dries, my heart races, and suddenly I’m fifteen with a schoolgirl crush. It’s ridiculous.

  “Summer ale, please,” he mumbles and turns his attention back to his phone.

  I smile. Not at him though because he’s not looking and head toward the kitchen.

  Zeke is there, eyeing me. Did he see me falter? “You okay?” he asks.

  “Fine. Perfect,” I tell him as I punch in the order for table twenty-eight and his beer.

  “Quinn is one of our Friday night regulars.”

  “I remember.”

  Zeke nods. “He keeps to himself so don’t take his shyness as rudeness.”

  Shy? How can someone who’s shy get up on stage in front of strangers? To me, that doesn’t make any sense. Don’t you have to be outgoing and charismatic to be a performer?

  I remember I had to get up in front of my entire class and give a speech. I practiced for days, looking into the mirror, and speaking, making sure I used a tone that was eloquent and flawless. I nailed it, according to my professor, but was so nervous as I stood up there, knowing my classmates were looking at what I had worn that day or how I did my hair.

  I’m far from shy. I’m outgoing, chatty, and exuberant when I’m having fun. So how can this shy man get up in front of a crowd and sing?

  My name’s called, and once again I find myself staring at Quinn. I gather the plates I need to deliver and his bottle of beer, placing the items on a large tray. Zeke showed me how to do this earlier today, telling me it’s much easier than making two or three extra trips to the back.

  Waitressing is hard. I don’t care what people say. I will never look down on someone who chooses to do this. My back already hurts, my shoulder is sore from carrying the tray, and my feet have blisters. My fault for wearing Chucks, but I thought my most comfortable pair of shoes would be my best bet. I was wrong.

  “Here ya go. Would you like to order?” I ask, setting his beer down on top of a Bean Song paper coaster. Quinn has his head down and this time, instead of messing around on his phone, he’s scribbling notes onto a napkin. As much as I want to lean forward a bit and see what he’s writing, Zeke’s voice plays out in my head. He’s shy. I get it.

  “A club, please.” His phone beeps, he groans. He picks it up, looks, and shuts the screen off.

  “Would you like cranberry mayo on it? I hear it’s really good.”

  “But you haven’t tried it?”

  I shake my head. “Not yet, maybe for dinner,” I tell him.

  He looks at me for a moment before turning back toward his napkin. “Regular is fine. No fries please.”

  “A side salad instead?”

  Quinn’s eyes dart toward me quickly and then back to the napkin. “Do you work on commission here?” he asks, still focused on his writing.

  “No, I get an hourly wage and tips.”

  “Huh. Just the club. Regular mayo. No fries.”

  “Got it.” Forget shy, the man is rude. I’ve been around shy people before, they tend to keep to themselves, stay out of crowds, but aren’t downright rude.

  I purposely stall putting in his order. I’m pretty certain he isn’t going to tip me at this point so what do I care.

  When my name’s called, I see a club sitting on the shelf. “What’s this?”

  “Quinn’s order.”

  “But I didn’t put it in,” I tell the line cook.

  He shrugs. “Same thing, every time. He’s a regular.”

  Of course, he is.

  With my head held high, I march back to his table, determined to throw this sandwich at him, but when I get there, our eyes meet, and he smiles. And I’m dead. Like, call the coroner to come pick up my body. This shy, rude man has the most captivating smile I have ever seen. My feet stumble as I try to gracefully finish the last few steps toward his table.

  “Can I get you anything else? Another beer?”

  “Sure.” He pushes the empty bottle toward the edge of the table just as I reach for it. Our hands touch, and our fingers linger there for minutes. It’s really seconds, however time flies so fast when you have butterflies fluttering around, and your eyes are pinned on the most beautiful set of blue orbs that you’ve ever seen, and then the man behind those eyes smiles. Like really smiles to the point I can see every laugh line he’s developed over the years, before pulling his hand away and clearing his throat.

  My heart lurches, catching up with the here and now. “I’ll be right back.”

  I speed walk to the bathroom, feeling my hips sway back and forth, and set his empty bottle of beer on the counter before retreating behind the puke brown metal do
or. Of course, it doesn’t lock, leaving me no choice but to rest my back up against it. I’m bent over, my head near my kneecaps, and I’m practicing my yoga, breathing in and out, to put my entire body into a Zenlike trance, when the door opens.

  And I think, this is it. This is the moment where he comes in and pushes me up against the wall. Where he kisses me and makes mad passionate love to me, while his hands grip the top of the door, using it as leverage to mark me as his own. It’s kinky hardcore sex and I want it. I want it bad.

  My fantasy crumbles when I see the feet of the dream intruder. Feet clad in nylon stockings, shuffling around the bathroom, waiting for me to exit so they can use the facility. I flush, using the noise to try and calm my breathing. Opening the door, I avoid eye contact with the woman. I’m sure to wash my hands, however, one look in the mirror shows a flushed face. My suitemates would call this the “sexed up face.” I call it nothing but terror.

  Splashing water on my red rosy cheeks does nothing but make me look blotchier. I want nothing more than to hide in here, but I also want to be in the same vicinity as Quinn.

  I can’t explain it. I’ve never been so attracted to a man like this before. I’ve never had fantasies about Roy, even after watching Fifty Shades of Grey.

  With Quinn – a man I don’t even know – they’re there, and they’re strong. Sofia flashes in my mind with a disconcerting look on her face. I’ve seen it before – on myself – when my friends pine after my brother. The thought pulls me up short and kills my fantasy crush immediately.

  13

  Quinn

  The tattered napkin sits on my coffee table. My blue pen rests between my fingers, moving back and forth, as I read over the lyrics I wrote earlier. When I sat down to write, I was angry, filled with rage and jealousy after watching my father play with Ajay. Seeing them together, the way they performed in fluid motion, hurt. My dad and I, let alone the rest of 4225 West, haven’t played like that in a while. I wasn’t invited to jam, I was only there to see the band Elle’s forming. So, I could what? See what I’m missing? If that was their plan, it’s backfired. I’m more determined to stick to my guns now than I was before.