by Rachel Cross
• • •
Jake Kelly arrived to the sounds of stringed instruments and a marathon of whispered names and instructions by Tyrone.
No sooner was Tyrone finished than people began taking turns to greet him and subtly press for time so they could in turn, press their issues.
Because the activity was a fundraiser and the required donations steep, attendees had to be well-to-do citizens. Not wanting to owe anyone favors he couldn’t or wouldn’t repay, Jake had hand-picked the attendees. All were outstanding leaders and citizens with no hidden agendas, only legitimate concerns. Jake listened to people congratulate him on his efforts, and ask about his agenda for education and crime.
He caught sight of his mother and her best friend Regina White, the woman who was hosting the fundraising event. Both women came up to greet him with warm hugs and pride in their eyes. He chatted them up for a few minutes, and they introduced him to a few friends.
Jake then joined a conversation about the local real estate market. A popular topic, a few more people soon joined in, expressing their concern over the effect morose mortgages had on the local economy. A stuck-up old-money local banker rocked back on his heels and puffed his chest out, as if he was about to say something that would change the world. Instead, he made everyone around him aware of his self-importance and ignorance. It was a typical fundraiser.
And just as Jake was about to speak up again, someone in front of him shifted, giving him an unobstructed view of the string quartet, and surprise gripped him in a way he was unaccustomed to.
Keila was there, and she looked more intriguing than ever because of the soft emotions playing out in her features. He must’ve stared at her a moment too long because Tyrone cleared his throat meaningfully. Jake turned back to the small crowd, said his bit on the real estate market, and slipped away.
He joined his mother and some of her friends again, positioning himself near the string quartet, trying to single out the sounds coming from Keila’s violin. Different feelings seemed to pour out of her and he felt strangely protective of her.
The second the melody ended, she turned toward Jake, her gaze pinning him, her eyes questioning. He turned away, the people and sounds in the room coming into sharp focus again.
• • •
Keila felt heat rise and fall in her chest. Jake Kelly had been staring at her, no doubt wondering if she was finding ways to turn up in his life. As soon as she’d been able to, she’d stared right back, to show she had nothing to hide, but the look on his face as he gazed back had been hard to read.
She caught Michelle studying her and was about to share a smile with her new friend to show her all was well when someone tapped her shoulder.
“Why, you’re that violinist. I hadn’t paid much attention to the news, though to be sure, you seem to have brains and that did catch my attention, but just barely, dear—you know how they tend to make things up. However, now that you’re here and I saw the way the two of you were looking at each other, dare I believe the reports are true?” The older woman squeezed Keila’s hand and recognition dawned as Keila took in the woman’s strange features.
Her upper lip was a tad too full, her eyebrows too surprised, and her smile too stretched. The woman speaking to her was Jake Kelly’s mother. And she was under the wrong impression.
“Um, yes, I’m the musician your son hired as an advisor, but the reports are untrue, Mrs. Kelly. Your son and I are not dating. He was just looking at me because he was probably surprised to see me here.” The string quartet’s first set was over and Keila’s friends were now waiting for her to join them for supper, so she signaled for them to go on without her.
The older woman frowned. “So he wasn’t captivated by you just a moment before?”
Keila shook her head no. Whatever he’d been, it had definitely not been captivated.
“Bewitched, maybe?” Mrs. Kelly seemed hopeful.
“Nooo.”
“The evening paper stated one of their own reporters saw you two arguing passionately on Monday,” she pointed out, her eyes bright.
“We were disagreeing passionately—about the scope of the music program.”
“I’m really beginning to feel like I’ll never have any grandchildren.” Mrs. Kelly then frowned. “I simply adore music, and I had this sudden image of a musical grandchild,” she sighed resignedly before asking, “How do you feel about the Dixie Chicks?”
The change in subject was so abrupt, Keila laughed. “Empowered women who dare call themselves ‘chicks’? What’s not to love?”
Mrs. Kelly smiled excitedly. “Well, I’m suddenly in the mood for ‘Landslide,’ do you think you can play it for me?”
Keila hesitated, looking around at the sea of stuffed shirts. “I’m not sure this is a Dixie Chicks or Stevie Nicks kind of crowd.”
“Oh, they won’t even notice! Come here, just the two of us,” she said, leading Keila away from the crowd to two corner chairs. “How did you know I was Jake Kelly’s mother?”
“Well . . . I looked your son up when I found out I was going to work for him, and I saw a few pictures of the two of you together.”
“I do have a face you don’t soon forget,” she sighed again. “It’s my scarlet letter. My face is my warning to all women: don’t be insecure!” She seemed so earnest and so sincere that Keila found she was eager to play for her.
Keila played a soft rendition of “Landslide”, with Mrs. Kelly singing the words under her breath. When she finished playing, she squeezed Keila’s hand again. “All worthwhile philosophy should be lyricized and put to music, don’t you agree?”
“I do, Mrs. Kelly,” Keila smiled.
“Call me Patty, please. Now tell me, are your parents or grandparents musical? Is this something that is inherited? Or do—”
They were interrupted by Tyrone, who’d brought over two plates heaping with food. “We wouldn’t want you to forget to eat while you entertain the lovely Mrs. Kelly,” he winked at Keila.
• • •
A while later, after the quartet finished their second set, they looked around and realized the event was basically over and it was time to gather their things and leave. They went out into the hallway, saying their goodbyes. Simone and Michelle left immediately, Ralph stayed behind to speak to someone he knew, and Keila rummaged through her purse to find her cell phone.
“Do you need a ride home?” Jake’s deep baritone asked from behind her, and the skin on Keila’s neck prickled in response.
“No, thank you,” she answered, without bothering to turn around.
“Are you taking the bus or the train?” he asked. Keila slowly turned around and took her time before answering.
The truth was that she was taking the bus, but her mother thought she had a ride. Keila hated to lie, but her mom couldn’t see well enough at night to pick her up, and she didn’t want to worry her. She decided a white-lie would do for Jake, as well. “I’m catching a ride with Ralph,” she answered, motioning in her friend’s direction, and she was about to turn and pretend to walk out with him when Ralph shot out his hand and said, “My ride’s here. Bye, Keila!” And Keila froze.
Jake chuckled. “Come on, let me give you a ride,” he said, softly this time, and Keila felt her belly dip and roll. Her body’s reactions to him were new to her and they were delicious enough for her to be momentarily tempted to say yes just so she could continue to feel them.
But a disturbing thought swept through her mind. What if he was offering her a ride to promote the idea that they were a couple? After all, his approval ratings within the Hispanic community and the working middle class had improved since they’d been falsely linked. Was he looking to raise those numbers a little more? “No thank you, I’ll take the bus. I like the bus.”
“You’d rather take the bus?” Jake asked in disbelief.
“Gee Jake, you’d think that of all people, you would know that being seen in a car alone with me would only fuel rumors about us being a couple. I,
for one, want to quell that rumor, it doesn’t benefit me in the least,” Keila replied.
Jake seemed genuinely taken aback. Feeling slightly guilty, Keila turned and walked to the door. But no sooner did she grab onto the bronze handle than she heard footsteps behind her. He put his hand on the handle, too, essentially covering her own small hand with his large and, surprisingly, callused hand. He spoke into her hair, near her ear, effectively sending chills down her arms and spine.
“I’m offering you a ride because the idea of you lugging around the extra weight of a violin case and a huge, heavy bag onto buses and trains all over the city late at night bothers me, okay? It’s eleven o’clock; don’t you think being safe is more important than being stubborn?”
Keila took her hand off the handle and unwittingly wiped her sweaty palm on her skirt. Could he really be worried about her? Feeling perturbed, she asked, “Do I look like a damsel in distress to you?”
“Hell no!” he answered so quickly and earnestly, she had to bite back a smile.
“Good. Then you can give me a ride. But only because it will make you feel better,” she relented, knowing she sounded immature.
“Fine. And since you’re so concerned about being seen with me, we’ll take my mother’s car. I’ll meet you at the corner to the left of the house in five minutes.”
A few minutes later, Keila stepped into a sleek, gleaming black Mercedes Coupe. She sunk into the plush beige leather and smugly reproached, “I knew you drove a luxury car.”
Jake unexpectedly laughed. “I told you it’s my mother’s car. Now don’t you feel safer and more comfortable here with me than in a bus with some random stranger sitting next to you? At least you know I’m not Jack the Ripper.”
“Honestly? Maybe I would be more comfortable in the bus sitting next to a stranger than in a car sitting next to someone who refuses to call me by my given name. You know, you haven’t called me Keila once. That ‘Miss Diaz’ deal is cold.”
“Keila,” he said with one hot gaze that just happened to knock the air out of her lungs. “There. Do you feel better now?”
She shrugged, feeling flighty, not better, and noting he seemed to be in an excellent mood. The fundraiser must’ve been a success. Cate had once said Jake Kelly had that debonair thing going on, and Keila had seen that in him tonight. And now he was being dashing, as well, wanting to see her safely home.
“What car do you drive?” Keila asked when her thoughts began to bother her.
Jake cleared his throat. “A 1965 Shelby Cobra Roadster,” he answered, trying to keep his voice level but failing miserably. It was dripping with typical male enthusiasm over his cool car.
“Wow. Talk about luxury.”
“It isn’t a luxury car. It’s a classic,” he said, the last word almost reverent. She laughed, and he grinned, making her like him a little better.
“Do you mind if I turn the radio on?” Keila asked, wanting something to take her mind off her reactions to Jake.
“Go ahead.”
She fumbled with the dial and instead of the radio; Billy Joel’s softly melodic “She’s Got A Way About Her” filled the car. “You know, a wise woman very recently told me all worth-while philosophy should be put to music,” she sighed, wishing she had a way about her, so that she could affect this man the way he affected her. Not because she wanted anything from him, God knew. Just for revenge. It wasn’t fair she should suffer alone.
“You know—I think I know that woman,” Jake said. “And she’d tell you that if you listen close enough, Billy Joel has the answer to everything.”
“She has the soul of a musician,” Keila declared, adding, “Maybe you do, too.”
He laughed. “Trust me, I don’t. I can’t play or sing worth a damn.”
“It’s not just about that, it’s also about being moved by music,” she explained, remembering how earnest he was about the music program.
“I’m not easily moved by anything. In fact, I might just have the soul of an undertaker.”
“Well, I’m not so sure about that.” Keila snuggled back into the seat and listened to Billy, thinking it was better if they didn’t talk. It was bad enough being attracted to him, she didn’t want to feel friendly toward him as well.
When they neared her neighborhood, she gave him final instructions on how to get to her street, finishing with, “It’s the teal and red bungalow, you can’t miss it.”
“Teal and red?” he looked over at her again, both eyebrows raised.
“My mom likes crazy color schemes and my dad loved making her happy. And now whenever she needs to paint the house, she can’t bear to change the colors.” Not thinking, she added, “She can’t bear to change anything, really. The whole house is exactly the way it was eleven years ago.”
Curious, Jake turned to her. “Like Miss Havisham in ‘Great Expectations’?”
“No. She isn’t half-mad, only a little eccentric and a lot in love.”
“That’ll do it.”
“What’ll do it?” Keila asked.
“Love,” Jake answered, and such a word, said with such a lack of emotion, seemed to just hang in the air.
“I don’t think it’s love that does people in; it’s passion that’ll get you in trouble. People should just concentrate on finding friendship and compatibility. That lasts.”
“I guess you’d know,” Jake remarked, just as Billy Joel began to croon “Leave a Tender Moment Alone.”
“Um, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Didn’t a lack of passion get you, let’s see . . . semi-dumped by your quasi-ex-boyfriend?” he smiled wickedly as he slowed down to look at her.
Keila felt her temper spike at the sensitive subject. “So, you aren’t good with faces, but you can remember Cate’s comment, word for word?”
“It caught my attention, that’s all.”
“Why?” she challenged.
“I’ve just never heard of a sexless liberal before, that’s all,” he grinned. This time, she didn’t like him better for the grin.
She opened and shut her mouth twice before finding words. “Who said anything about me being sexless?” she finally demanded.
“That’s what lack of passion usually means,” Jake shrugged, before adding, “Teal and red, there it is.”
“You know, on second thought, I think I prefer cold and distant Jake better than friendly Jake. Turns out friendly Jake is a bit of an ass. You can continue to call me Miss Diaz.”
Jake laughed heartily and the sound made Keila smile in spite of herself. Okay, so she liked friendly Jake. He was about to roll to a stop in front of her house when she saw a man sitting on her front steps, looking down at his phone. “Wait,” she said, putting her hand on his arm.
Jake saw him, too. “Damn it, I think I know him. He’s this popular blogger who sometimes attends press conferences.”
“A blogger?” Keila repeated, dumbfounded. “Are you sure? Maybe he’s a burglar,” she added, hopeful.
“I’ll drop you off at the corner. Ignore him and don’t say a word. We’re not really interesting enough to hold the public’s attention, okay? He’s probably fishing around like this because nothing else of interest is going on, so don’t let him get to you. Don’t do that overemotional thing you do.”
“Overemotional thing I do?” Keila repeated.
“You know; the way you became unhinged at the press conference last Friday? And then on Monday you became agitated and unreasonable during our disagreement,” he calmly explained.
Unhinged, agitated, and unreasonable, huh? Cold Jake was back and Keila wanted to hit him over the head with her violin case. When they reached the corner, she quickly got out of the car, and yanked her stuff out from the back seat. First, she was sexless, and now, she was overemotional?
An emotional person would have slammed the door of the car, which she didn’t, but just barely. It was his mom’s car, after all, and she was a doll.
A minute later, Keila reached her house and
was hesitantly approached by the reporter. “Keila Diaz? My name is Pete and I write a blog about the Chicago social and political scene. I’ve been trying to find out a little more about your relationship with Jake Kelly. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
She ignored him, even though he came across as polite and decent.
“Look, I know he already issued a standard denial regarding a romantic relationship with you, but nobody ever believes those generic denials. I’d just like to hear it from you, too, so I can officially put this thing to rest,” he explained, and he seemed reasonable. Jake was the overemotional one, Keila decided, acting as if this nice blogger was some insane paparazzo trying to get a scoop.
So Keila decided to unemotionally explain, in no uncertain terms, that she and Jake Kelly were not and would never be romantically linked, and why, even though she didn’t think that many people would tune into Peter’s blog when there were so many blogs out there.
The front door opened and Graciela came out. Pete stood up. “Oh, I didn’t know anyone was home,” he said.
“I came downstairs to turn the lights on for Keila and to reheat some chocolate Cortez for her. Are you Keila’s friend? Would you like some, too?”
• • •
Jake circled the entire block slowly to drive past Keila’s house again and make sure she’d gotten in all right, only to see Keila sitting down on her front steps with the blogger, both of them drinking out of mugs and laughing. What the hell part of “ignore him and don’t say a word” did she not understand?
Chapter Six
Jake watched, for the umpteenth time, the grainy, cell phone-recorded image of Keila speaking to the blogger who’d been lurking around her house Friday night. The video, first posted on the man’s blog, had somehow made its way onto Jake’s very own Facebook page over the weekend. Hackers, he felt, were a talented but sinister bunch.
Trust me, if I were dating Jake Kelly, I’d just own up to it. But he and I share absolutely no chemistry of that nature or any romantic connection whatsoever. We have nothing in common. Our one and only link is music education. That and the fact that I was once forced to give him a dance lesson. That’s it.