Winter Blues

by Jade Goodmore

  “No, Blue. Really, I can’t.”

  “Look, I’m going to call you up and if you refuse then you’ll have a hell of a crowd to deal with,” he argues, arrogance radiating from every ounce of him.

  “You’re an ass.”

  “A nice ass though, right?” he replies proudly as he walks back to the stage, grinning and taking another long glug of water. I mirror the action but with my beer, finishing the contents and immediately gesturing to Nile for another.

  From the stage, I can hear Blue grabbing the microphone. He looks at me with that impish grin plastered on his stunning face. No, stop. I’m not going to appreciate his beauty now. I’m too pissed off. I want to sing, I do, but I have never attempted it without my guitar. I don’t have time to formulate an escape route though, for I am quickly called up onto stage.

  Hesitantly making my way through the cheering crowd, I am growingly annoyed with myself for getting this worked up. Blue offers his hand and hoists me onto the stage. I scowl at him but when he laughs I can’t hold back my smile.

  Weak.

  “What are we singing?” I ask, twisting my fingers together nervously, anxious that he’s going to start playing something that I’ve never even heard of.

  “Oh, I have something in mind. Sing if you know it.” Sporting an impossibly mischievous smile, he winks and strums his guitar once, allowing the noise to reverberate around the room and consequently silence the crowd. The gesture is unsettlingly familiar.

  Before panic can completely take over and before I am able to dislocate a finger, I hear the memorable chords of a much loved song. Watching Blue’s smile grow wider and even more devastating I quickly relax. I am a pilgrim. I should have known. His version is more upbeat than mine and leans toward soul rather than country but I still really love it.

  Feeling suddenly at ease, I join in with Blue and his rich voice, finding the natural harmony and rejoicing in the sound of our complimenting tones. I’ve only ever sang a duet with my mama or daddy, so this feels completely alien and yet somehow completely normal. Who would have thought that Blue’s gravelly voice could mesh so well with my country twang, but it does, it really does. Blue seems to agree, playing up our easy partnership by turning to face me and singing directly at me, blocking out the loud, joyous crowd.

  I completely let go of the nerves over not having a guitar to hide behind, gripping the microphone and finding pleasure in the light sway of my hips. Blue completely moves from his own mic and steps closer to share mine. We’re so close and the chemistry is so clear. Our performance is unbelievably natural, as if we have been gigging for years rather than only having met yesterday.

  When the song draws to a close Blue’s face is triumphant. He takes my hand and holds it up as I have just won a fight rather than finished a song. I giggle at his gesture but take pleasure in the moment. That was exhilarating. A perfect partnership.

  Addressing the cheering crowd, and still holding my hand, Blue clears his throat into the microphone. “Please, show your appreciation for the amazing, the heavenly, Darlene!” The already rowdy audience emits a deafening applause and I am maneuvered into a shared bow with Blue. “You’ll be ecstatic to know that you can catch this talented lady every Monday and Thursday, starting this week. Only the best for The Nest!”

  Before helping me down from the stage Blue pulls me close, closer than necessary, and speaks directly into my ear. “Yet again, you astound me. Consider Pilgrim your new pet name, for sure.”

  I can’t shake the smile as I make my way back to my seat. It takes much longer than it should, having to stop and shake hands with almost every member of the audience. When I finally relieve my jelly legs I find the dangerous eyes of Blue still watching me, and I begin to realize just how dangerous he has the potential to be.

  8

  REID

  The bright light from the bare window coaxes me awake and it takes me a few seconds to realize where I am. On the sofa. I stretch out, thinking that I’m alone, but when my feet meet something firm and warm I look up to find Darlene curled up on the opposing end. A thick blanket is cast over the two of us and my shoes have been removed.

  I don’t even remember her coming in last night. I didn’t get back until late and expected Darlene to already be home. When she wasn’t I planned on waiting up for her. I took the weight off my feet and apparently fell asleep. Shit, what time is it? I check my watch, worrying that I’ve slept through my alarm, but find that it’s not even seven yet.

  I relax and watch my wife undisturbed. Darlene seems completely different when she sleeps. The sexiness that clings to her throughout the day sleeps with her at night, leaving her to come across almost angelically. Her breathy, deep voice, silenced. Her doe eyes with lashes that flick out at the corners fan across her cheek instead. Her full lips, reminiscent of a pin up, sit parted, emitting the gentlest of breaths.

  The confidence that she carries in consciousness, abandons her, leaving her seeking comfort in anything she can reach; a cushion, a blanket, or hopefully, my arms. She curls herself into the smallest ball cowering rather than peacocking, and I marvel at the change.

  I love Day Darlene. I love that her sexiness and confidence is effortless, but it’s Night Darlene that appeals to the needy hero in me. Why I decided this self-assured, independent, difficult woman should be the one I’d spend the rest of my life with I will never know, but despite everything I thank God everyday that I did.

  Darlene stirs at my movement and stretches her sleepy limbs. When she opens her eyes I can see the same confusion laced into her features.

  “Morning,” I say, smiling warmly at my wife, who after finding me asleep here, covered me in a blanket, took off my glasses, and stayed with me. She stayed with me.

  “Morning,” she yawns, rubbing her eyes. “You sleep okay out here?”

  “I think so. I must have passed out when I got in. I wanted to wait up for you, I tried...”

  “It’s okay, I got in late. You missed a good night though.” She smiles lightly, maybe remembering last night, and sweeps her hair away from her face. Her makeup is a little smudged and her skin is pale. She’s clearly hungover. Guess she really did have a good night last night.

  “You look a little rough,” I blurt out before my brain to mouth filter has had chance to wake up.

  Embarrassment flashes over her face before she adopts a look of heavy annoyance. “Yeah, well I obviously had too much to drink, didn’t I?”

  I inwardly curse her, chastise her for putting her safety at risk yet again. Drinking alone in a bar with a bunch of strangers? Really? You’d think she’d know better after everything she has grown up with. She’s witnessed the bad that can come from bars and drinking, but she only chooses to see the good. That’s exactly why she needs me to look out for her. She just won’t accept that though.

  “I don’t think you should be drinking on your own there, Darlene,” I push.

  “I’m not on my own. I have friends there.”

  “After two days you call them friends?”

  “They’re the closest thing I have to friends, so yeah,” she bites, standing up quickly from the sofa before holding her head and swaying a little.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, shifting closer and holding her arm, prepared to steady her.

  “Head rush. I just stood up too fast.” She flinches away from me. “Stop worrying about me.” I construe her words to mean more than the context in which she spoke them, and when she stalks to the bathroom I want to punch myself for pushing her away, yet again.

  An hour later and Darlene is actually washed and dressed at the same time as me today. She normally waits to shower and change until after I leave, having no reason to be presentable so early. She looks great as usual, casually dressed in jeans and boots, cleaned of her hangover. “Are you going out?” I ask as Darlene hands me some toast. She doesn’t take any for herself.

  “Yeah, I’m having breakfast with one of my new friends. She’s going to help me choose
some music for my performance this week, so we might go record shopping. I’m not sure.”

  “Oh right.” I choose to ignore the friend indictment. “Do you want some money?” I ask knowing she’s going to say no even though her savings are radically being used up with her joblessness.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Okay. You staying local or catching the El?”

  “The El?”

  “The train,” I explain, wondering when I adopted Chicagoan colloquialisms.

  “Oh right. Umm, no I’m meeting her locally, but I’ll walk with you.”

  Cutting through the park in the midst of an uncomfortable silence, Darlene suddenly takes my hand. I’m so caught off guard by this I actually flinch, but then the connection resonates familiarity and I cling to her hand as if it is the emotive warmth that is tangible rather than her slender fingers. She’s looking straight ahead, unaffected by this rare, sweet gesture. When I follow her gaze I see someone adapt their path to turn and meet us.

  The first thing I notice about the guy is that he is tall and well-built. I mean, I work out, but this guy is full on muscles. I don’t know why I find it threatening; he’s a perfect stranger. There’s something about the way he regards both me and Darlene though that makes me puff out my chest and pull her just a little nearer.

  “Pilgrim,” he says by way of greeting. I glance at Darlene for an explanation but she just shakes her head in disregard for the name, or perhaps my curiosity.

  “Hi,” she answers, waving pleasantly with her free hand before holding me a little tighter. “Reid, this is Blue, from The Nest. Blue this is my husband, Reid Daley.”

  Offering his hand, he looks amused. “Reid Daley? As in, reading books daily? Don’t you work in publishing too?” The humor in his tone is forced and his handshake unnecessarily firm. I instantly recognize this alpha game and despite not knowing the reason for it, I accept. Commence operation ‘Who Has The Biggest Balls.’

  “Yes, Blue. That’s my name. Unfortunately you missed the opportunity to call that observation your own a long time ago.”

  “Damn.”

  His eyes harden a touch before he focuses his attention back on Darlene. She looks uncomfortable. She’s standing oddly close to me and her fingers are hooked tight around my hand. Is she frightened of him? No, can’t be. She was singing his praises just the other night. But I know I’m not imagining this tension between them.

  “So, what are you up to this early? I thought you’d be hungover for sure,” he drawls while flashing a knowing smile.

  “Was I that bad?” Darlene whines, hiding briefly behind her hand. She’s embarrassed. Did she really drink that much? I can’t remember the last time I saw her embarrassed after a night out. Probably not since college.

  “No, you were that good.”

  Excuse me?

  I’m immediately on guard and Darlene knows it. She interrupts before I can say anything, turning to me to explain.

  “I got a little carried away last night, baby. When the bar closed a few of us stayed behind for drinks and I ended up singing and dancing on the bar. Oh, God.” She squeezes her eyes shut as if mentally reliving it. I don’t know what to say.

  “Darlene...” I’m shaking my head. I’m completely not okay with this but how do I say so without sounding like an overprotective ass, especially in front of this guy.

  “Dude, she was fine. Don’t worry.” Blue’s stance is so uncaring, so effortlessly blasé, that his words double in their agitating effect on me.

  “Sorry?”

  “She was in safe hands,” he adds, as if that makes me feel any better.

  “She wasn’t in my hands.”

  “Hey,” Darlene says, cutting through the tension like a high C. She turns a little to face me, consequently blocking out Blue. “Don’t worry about me. I was completely on top of things.”

  “You know, you should come on Thursday. It’d be great to see you supporting Darlene,” Blue says, his words holding a challenge, that again, I gladly accept.

  “I will.”

  “Great.” He tosses me a false smile before giving Darlene the real deal. “So, where are you off to?”

  “I’m actually meeting Veda for breakfast.”

  “Really? I’ll come with. She walked home in my jacket last night. Last time I let her borrow it she kept it for months.”

  Darlene can’t hide the unease she feels at the new plans, not from me at least, but she attempts to. Why does he unsettle her so much? Heck, why does he unsettle me so much?

  “Oh, okay, umm…I’ll see you at home later then,” she offers me, smiling weakly.

  “Have fun.”

  Not too much, though.

  “You too.”

  Tilting up onto her tiptoes, she leans in to kiss me. This alone is a rarity but the fact that she is going for my lips rather than my cheek throws me off guard. Who is this kiss really for? Is it for us, or him? It’s territorial, like she’s proving her loyalties to me. Has he been hitting on her? At least I know that his advances have not been well received. She couldn’t be any more uncomfortable in his presence if he was naked. I know just how I can help her out.

  Taking her face in the palm of my hand I deepen the kiss, pressing my body to hers and holding her there long enough to feel the familiarity. My tongue flicks lightly against her cold lips and is immediately granted entrance. I’m almost shocked to the point of stillness, but at the presence of her tongue I am overwhelmed with recognizable heat. God, she’s not pulling away. I can’t recall the last time she didn’t pull away. I contemplate keeping this going forever, but when a deep cough intrudes, the moment is lost.

  Darlene walks away with a true smile on her face. I want to cherish it, but when Blue offers her his hooked elbow and she accepts it I immediately deflate.

  I hate him.

  9

  DARLENE

  The candles that I purchased during our first week in Chicago have finally been lit. They flicker in the middle of a meticulously laid out dining table, enhancing the bronze hues of the tableware with their golden glow, as Sade sings softly in the background. I’d like to say that I go to this much trouble for evening meals often, but that would be a big, fat lie. This evening’s efforts are a by-product of too much time on my hands. Too much time leads to too much thinking and today’s thoughts have focused entirely on guilt. Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t really done anything completely immoral. I haven’t physically swayed from my marital vows, but I’ve thought about it. And that’s just as bad, right?

  After an interesting morning with Veda and Blue, eating breakfast and arguing over music for me to play later this week, Blue is heavily on my mind. In fact, Blue is featuring more and more in my inner musings as the week progresses and I can’t shake the feeling that he is going to be important to me. He is important to me. As little as I know him he has already helped me immensely; he’s reintroduced me to the music scene that I’ve been so lost from, he has invited me into his circle of friends who have welcomed me with open arms and hearts, and he has made me smile. I have smiled and laughed with Blue so much these last few days that my face has ached from the effort.

  So why is it that when I accumulate all of these positives I get a negative? Firstly, it is pushing me even further away from Reid, and secondly, because I don’t think it can stay as a friendship for very long. Blue has made it clear that he would like more than my friendship and while I have made it apparent that his advances are not welcome, I know that I can only hold them away for so long.

  So, I should end this now.

  I shouldn’t allow this friendship to progress.

  And I won’t.

  This dinner then, is a promise to Reid; a gesture of my willingness to work harder for us, and a plea that he will too. I need him to remind me of what I felt for him just a few months ago, because I know that it is only circumstance that has allowed those feelings to wane. Not him and not me. My love hasn’t burnt out, but the passion has, and the passi
on can easily be reignited, right? Consider this meal kindle to our prospective fire.

  As if the table wasn’t decorated enough, I have gone all out on my own attire. Wearing a delicate gold dress that fits snug to my chest and waist before flowing softly to my knees, I feel immensely overdressed. My hair has been coiffed into neat curls and I’m wearing more makeup than necessary considering how I intend on staying in. But, the dress is a favorite of Reid’s and I can’t wait to feel his appreciation.

  The night has been ticking by slowly and although Reid doesn’t know the reason behind my incessant checking, he is finally able to tell me that he is on his way home. I feel a slither of butterflies in my empty stomach as I remove the food from the oven and place the salad on the table. I pour us some wine and wait patiently.

  And then impatiently.

  I have finished my glass and I’m ready for another when Reid finally opens the door. I’m retrieving the bottle from the fridge when he tosses a look my way. He’s having a heated conversation on the phone and I can practically feel the aggravation emanating from him. He mouths two minutes somewhat apologetically before rushing through to his office and slamming the door.

  Well, that wasn’t the reaction that I was hoping for.

  He didn’t acknowledge the candles on the decorated dining table, his eyes didn’t wander over my specifically chosen dress and he didn’t even falter at the smell of my painstakingly prepared meal.

  I bite back the hurt and take a seat with my second glass of wine. Instructing myself not to take anything from his insensitive arrival I wait...

  and wait...

  and wait.

  An hour later and the food is stone cold. The candles have lost their romance; their flickering only encouraging my annoyance. Sade’s smooth voice grates on me like grit against my overly moisturized skin. My outfit feels desperate and ridiculous. Everything has been ruined. I try not to see it as symbolic but the inner drama queen in me is too loud and too brash to ignore.