Kissing Booth

by River Laurent

  Hurt always turns to hate.

  Sometimes I cried silent, bitter tears, thinking of him in England hating me and other times other memories would come back. The ants in his pants, being on the roof, laughing together under the sheets, going to The Ministry Of Sound, our unforgettable time in Milan, having sex, having sex, and having sex.

  Tori

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o358xut_JBE

  I look around the dinner table. My mom, my dad, even Brad has come home tonight for our family dinner. They listen to my tales with wide eyes. We laugh, we drink, and we talk late into the night. It is past midnight when Brad leaves. My mother kisses me on my head.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re home, darling. I’ve missed you.’

  ‘I love you, Mom.’

  My parents go into their bedroom and I go into my room and close the door. I don’t switch on the light. I walk to the window and look down at our yard. The silver glow of the moon peeks through the trees and illuminates the old tire swing. The metal on the gate gleams and the air is still. Everything is exactly as it was. I look up at the sky dotted with stars and tears gather in my eyes.

  I can’t do this. I just can’t.

  I take my phone out of my bag and scroll through my photos until I come to the one of Cash in his disguise. I was so happy that night. I know I said I wouldn’t follow Cash’s career, but tonight, just this once, because I am feeling extra vulnerable, I will go on the net and see how he is doing.

  I won’t check his personal life. I won’t look to see what new woman he is with. I just want to see how he looks. It will soothe my aching heart.

  Sitting in the dark, I navigate to YouTube and type in his name. I scroll down results and see that he has recently, just last week in fact, done an interview on a German TV program. I click into it. An advert for Adidas comes on and I realize I am holding my breath. I make it full screen. The advert finishes and a man in his late forties or fifties with a red/blond scruff on his face appears. He is wearing a grey suit and holding a sheaf of papers. He raps the edges of it on the table ala Jon Stewart, and calls out in a very strong German accent, ‘Cash Hunter.’

  The in-house band starts playing and the camera cuts to Cash coming into the studio. He is dressed completely in black, suit, shirt with three buttons undone, and shoes. His hair looks lighter and his face more mature. As if it is not months since I saw him, but years. He stops at the top of a white staircase, smiles, and waves to the audience before he walks down it.

  I pause the video, my face moving closer to the computer screen.

  Wow! He looks like a stranger.

  I hit pause again and the video resumes playing. Cash continues walking towards the host. They shake hands and the guy shows him to a plush armchair.

  ‘Cash Hunter, ladies and gentlemen,’ the host repeats.

  The camera pans to the audience who are all on their feet clapping and cheering. There are a few wolf whistles and Cash smiles and nods towards them.

  ‘Welcome,’ the host says.

  ‘Thank you. It’s always good to be in Germany. I love the autobahn.’

  ‘Ah, you like having no speed limit while you are driving?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘So this is a new look for you?’ the host comments, his hand waving down Cash’s body.

  ‘You gotta look sharp. Take care of those shoes,’ Cash drawls, and the audience erupts into cheering and clapping.

  ‘So,’ the host says, ‘some people are comparing you to Prince, Bob Dylan and Lou Reed. They say the songs you have written for your new album are nothing short of genius.’

  ‘I’ll take the comparisons, but there is only one Prince, one Bob Dylan, and one Lou Reed. I grew up listening to their music. They were some of my idols, but maybe one day someone will say there will be only one Cash Hunter.’ He smiles.

  ‘Before you started on your solo career you were with one of the most successful bands, Alkaline. Why did you leave? Was it the music? Did you guys fall out?’

  Cash shrugs casually. ‘I was with the band for close to eight years. That’s a long time in this business. It was time to try something new. As someone once told me, “Don’t wait any more, reach for the stars, Cash.” So I did.’

  Oh, my God. I can’t believe it. He remembered what I told him on the roof. He actually used me to inspire him to write his own music. I feel a rush of happiness that in some small way I helped his career.

  ‘But this is a departure from the kind of music you were making with the band,’ the host prompts.

  Cash laughs. ‘Yeah it is.’

  ‘That was boyband music.’

  ‘It was pretty bad, wasn’t it?

  The host waggles his head as if to agree without agreeing. ‘What does it feel like to be writing and singing this kind of deep stuff compared to the light pop that you were making before?’

  ‘I was fifteen when I started in the music business. What could I really write about? I didn’t understand anything. I hadn’t lived yet. I had to figure out who I was. When the band broke up I went into my studio and wrote the songs that I really wanted to write, the kind of music that touched my soul. The way I felt hopefully came out in the album. It’s a mixture of the kind of music I grew up listening to and loved.’

  The host brings out a CD and opens the jewel case. ‘So I have your new single here,’ he says showing the cover to the audience. The CD has a picture of a woman’s naked chest. Her long blonde hair covers her breasts.

  ‘Of course, not all songs are autobiographical, but judging from the two titles of your songs, She Passed Like A Cloud and I’d Like to Know How You Feel, it would seem these are love songs. Want to tell us who she is?’

  Cash’s jaw tightens.

  The host senses his reaction. ‘This is a very sexy cover. Who’s the blondie? Do you know her personally?’

  ‘Sure. She’s a model.’

  ‘Can I have her number?’ he guffaws.

  Cash smiles. ‘You sure you can handle her?’

  The host is still laughing as he reaches under his desk and produces a guitar. ‘How about a little song for us?’ he asks. The audience erupts into a roar of applause. He lays the guitar on his thigh and plucks experimentally at the strings. ‘She Passed Like a Cloud is written around a cord progression that is very similar to the ones the Beatles used, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  He passes the guitar to Cash and he plays it and sings.

  I stop breathing. His voice, the words, the music. It is hauntingly beautiful.

  The host shakes his head in awe. ‘You are the new star. Yeah, I think, yeah. You will see that in the next few years you will become bigger than ever.’

  Cash shrugs modestly. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No, I promise you. You are destined for big things. I saw you perform live once and it was great. You are not just a great composer, but you are also a good singer, a fantastic guitarist and a great dancer as well. The show was exhilarating.’

  Cash smiles. ‘Welllll, I’m not one to brag, but …’

  The host points at Cash. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, Cash Hunter.’

  The video ends there and I think about the way his jaw had tightened. Did Cash think of me sometimes? Was I the girl who passed like a cloud? Then I think of the blonde girl on the CD cover. He said he knew her. What if he’s slept with her? Oh my God, I can’t believe I’ve let myself go down this path. I switch off my laptop and lie in the darkness. Somehow. Somehow I’ve got to find a way to heal myself.

  Tori

  The sound of my phone buzzing wakes me up. With my eyes still shut, I fumble around and squint at the screen. It’s Leah.

  ‘Yeah,’ I mumble.

  ‘Are you feeling as bad as I am?’ she asks morosely.

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not awake yet.’

  ‘Well, wake up and tell me.’

  I sit up. ‘Why are you up so early?’

  ‘My bed’s too comfortable. I couldn’t sleep.’

>   I manage half a laugh. ‘So sleep in your sleeping bag then.’

  ‘Might have to do that tonight.’

  I yawn.

  ‘Want to meet for lunch or something?’

  ‘I don’t know if mom’s got something planned. I’ll call you later?’

  ‘Okay, bye.’

  I close my eyes and fall back to bed. I never got to sleep until late. I had to creep downstairs and cut two cucumber slices to put on my eyelids because I didn’t want to wake up with swollen eyes and have everybody know I’d been crying all night. I push my bedclothes away and go to stand in front of the mirror in the bathroom. The cucumber trick worked. My eyes look normal.

  As I stare at my own reflection a dream I had last night breaks. Weird. I dreamt Cash and I were sitting in a boat. It must have been a lake because the water was calm. There was no sadness or perpetual pain. In my dream he’d forgiven me. With a sigh I turn away from the mirror.

  I use the toilet, wash quickly, and go downstairs in my PJ’s. The whole house smells of Italian roast coffee and bacon. My dad has already gone to work, but my mom has got her rubber gloves on and is busy cleaning out one of the shelves.

  ‘Good morning,’ she says brightly as she takes her gloves off.

  ‘Morning, Mom,’ I reply with fake brightness and a fake cheery smile.

  I pour myself a cup of coffee, sit at the kitchen table, and yawn.

  ‘Awww, honey. You’re still jetlagged aren’t you?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘I knew you’d be missing out on your Southern breakfast so I made the works. How about a nice plate of bacon, ham, sausages, grits and gravy with sunny side up eggs to dip your toast in?’

  ‘Oh no, Mom. I can’t today,’ I groan. ‘I just want cereal.’ I get up to take a bowl from the cupboard and my mom steers me back to the chair.

  ‘Bull puckey! You’ll do no such thing. I made you a good breakfast this morning and you’ll eat it and be grateful for it, young lady. Didn’t you say last night how those poor beggar children were starving?’

  ‘You’re not going to start using that against me,’ I grumble. ‘It’s not like me eating a big breakfast is going to make a blind bit of difference to them.’

  However, mom is already putting a plate on the cooker top to warm it. With a resigned sigh I watch her put the skillet on the stove and lay two thick cut slices of bacon on the black iron.

  The bacon has just become limp and mom has just pushed it to one side to make space for the eggs when the doorbell goes. Both mom and me look at each other.

  ‘Who on earth could that be?’ mom says.

  ‘I’ll go,’ I say, and hop off the chair. I peep out of the window and it’s a delivery man holding a box. I open the door, sign for the package that is for me and come back in.

  ‘Who was it?’ mom calls from the kitchen.

  ‘It was a package for me.’ I put the package on the kitchen table.

  ‘Who is it from?’

  ‘I don’t know. It doesn’t say.’

  ‘It’s not ticking, is it?’ she laughs.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Well, open it then,’ she says giving me a knife.

  I slit through the string and brown paper and open the box inside, and stare at the contents.

  Mom comes to peer over my shoulder. ‘What on earth is all that?’

  I look at the measuring tape, the knife, the scissors, clothes pins, and thin and thick rods and I start to laugh.

  My mom looks at me strangely.

  ‘These are the items you need for basket weaving, Mom,’ I tell her grinning happily.

  ‘Basket weaving? Why in heaven’s name would someone send you basket, uh, why’re you crying?’

  ‘Mom, your eggs are burning,’ I half sob.

  She rushes to the skillet and takes it off the stove just as we hear music coming from the back garden. I rush to the back door and wrench it open, and without warning my legs give way. I sink to my knees. My body goes into shock and my little heart feels as if it will burst with happiness.

  Cash Hunter is standing in my garden playing the guitar and serenading me! Can this even be real? All those years when I stood in front of the TV and pretended he was singing to me! And now this. Oh my!

  You live your life as if it’s real.

  The girls are young, the music is good,

  But your heart is hard.

  Hey, look at me, I’m a big star.

  There are no limits. You can have anything, man,

  But your heart is hard.

  I saw her bathing and she didn’t even need moonlight.

  She used the sunshine in her hair.

  I looked into her eyes, I moved in her

  And drank from the pool of her soul.

  But my heart was hard.

  There are no oceans left for you to swallow, she said.

  They call me diamond

  I’ll break your hard heart for you, she said.

  So she broke it with one kiss.

  It lay in a million pieces at her feet

  And then she passed on by.

  Like a cloud. Like a fuckin’ cloud.

  Like a cloud. Like a fuckin’ cloud.

  He stops playing the guitar and walks up the wooden steps on to the back veranda and crouches in front of me. I blink at him. I feel as if I am drowning in a tidal wave of emotion. Cash Hunter is in my backyard and there are a thousand things in his eyes.

  I can’t think. I can’t speak. I can’t even breathe.

  ‘I finally stopped being mad and stupid and I read your diary. All of it. Every single word, and I loved you even more after I finished than I did before I started. You’re no crazy stalker fan, Tori Diamond. You’re the bravest person I know. You travelled half way around the world to chase your dream. I needed a fucking tragedy before I went after mine.’

  ‘I’m so sorry about everything. I honestly didn’t mean to hurt anyone.’

  He smiles. ‘You were always my fate as sure as I am yours. It can’t be escaped. Our connection is real. I love you, Tori Diamond.’

  With one finger he wipes away the tears that are running down my face.

  ‘I travelled all night to get to you so these better be happy tears,’ he says.

  I start laughing.

  ‘That’s better.’

  ‘Oh, Cash. I love you so much. I thought I would die when I heard Octavia reading my diary. God, I missed you. I can’t even describe how much. It’s like no matter where I turned I came back to you. It was hell. There was no solace anywhere.’

  ‘Me too, Wildcat. Me too. I couldn’t weave a single basket without you.’

  ‘Not a single one?’

  He shakes his head slowly. ‘Nope.’

  With a cry of joy, I throw my arms around his neck and the force of my lunge makes him topple backwards, and we both fall sprawled on the veranda. Me on top of him.

  ‘Oh, Cash. I’m so proud of you. I heard your new stuff last night on a German talk show and your music is just amazing.’

  ‘You made my guitar burn, baby.’

  Someone clears their throat. I look up and my mom is standing over us.

  ‘Do you kids want some breakfast?’ she asks with a wink.

  ‘Thanks, Mrs. D. I’m starving,’ Cash says.

  And my heart swells up with joy.

  Epilogue

  Tori

  2 Years Later

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-MlR6tFh8Gs

  (I’m Your Man)

  ‘Don’t cry, Mom, or I’m going to start too and it’ll ruin my makeup.’

  ‘Oh, honey,’ my mom sobs, actually sobs. ‘You look so beautiful.’

  ‘That’s a good thing, right?’ I quip to lighten the mood.

  But my mother is already in full flow. ‘I still can’t believe you’re marrying Cash Hunter. Dad and I used to secretly call you Mrs. Hunter.’

  ‘What? When was this?’ I ask incredulously.

  Mom smiles through her tear
s. ‘When you were young. When you were so crazy about him, we used to joke about it.’

  ‘I never knew.’

  ‘Obviously, we were not going to tell you.’

  ‘I don’t know what to do with the information.’

  Mom laughs and carefully dabs the corners of her eyes with her handkerchief. ‘I’m so happy for you, my darling. Come and see how you look.’

  I take a deep breath and walk to the mirror. I look at myself and I have to stare at my own reflection with wide eyes. Wow! Look at me. I decided I didn’t want to marry in white, so I went for this astonishingly beautiful strapless multi-colored silk gazar draped ball gown. The bodice is fashioned into a gorgeous rose and the waist is made of pleats that bloom into the gleaming petals of large red and orange roses.

  Leah appears next to me in the mirror. She’s wearing her bridesmaid’s outfit, a pink dress with a darker pink underskirt showing and her shoes are the same deep pink.

  ‘Can you believe it?’ she asks with a grin.

  ‘No. Pinch me,’ I say softly.

  ‘Neither can I, actually. But I’m so freaking glad you never took my sane advice, and went with the mad option of following your impossible dream instead.’

  I laugh.

  There is a knock on the door, someone opens it, and my father comes in. I turn towards him and he stops in his tracks.

  ‘Oh my God,’ he exclaims unsteadily. He shakes his head in disbelief. ‘You look … did your mother and I really make you?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, Dad.’

  His eyes fill with tears as he comes forward to stand in front of me. He takes off his glasses and wipes his eyes. ‘You’re all grown up now, but you’ll always be my baby girl, my little Princess, sitting on my lap telling tales on your brother.’

  ‘I did not,’ I mutter.

  ‘I’ll be giving you away today, Princess, but not from my heart. Just remember, I’ll be here for you, always, until the day I am no more.’

  What my mother did not accomplish with her tears my father accomplishes with his words. Tears start rolling down my face and all around me women start tutting and scolding. I am pulled back onto the bed and the woman who did my make-up starts fussing and dabbing at my face.