“Wait. He spent thousands of dollars on a date with you, and he didn’t try to score?” Her dark eyes widened.
“I know, right? I tried, though. He’s the one who wants to wait. He said we have time.”
She dropped her fork dramatically. It hit the table, but it didn’t clatter like she probably meant for it to. “He’s gay.”
Hard evidence of his straightness had made itself known several times while we kissed and rubbed our bodies together. “No. I think he’s a bit of an idealist. After everything he knows about me, he still has me up on a pedestal. I’m not sure I should respect him for that.”
She picked up her fork, wiped it on her napkin, and took a bite of her food. “You think he’s missing a few brain cells because he thinks highly of you? I think you’re selling yourself short, yet again.”
As I’ve said before, I don’t have a great track record. I don’t look at myself and see qualities that would attract other people. “Maybe I just really wanted to have sex. He’s a very good kisser, and he puts his hands in the right spots.”
She giggled. “If he’d put his hands in the right spots, you wouldn’t be complaining about not getting any last night.”
“True, but that’s not what I meant. I’m trying to say he’s good with his hands. Perfect placement, perfect pressure. You know when you’re making out with some guy, and he puts his hand in an awkward place?”
Luma wrinkled her nose. I could tell she was trying to not laugh. She lost that battle and decided to mock me. “Like when he’s reaching for your hoo-ha, and he finds your nuh-uh?”
“No, but that’s a mood-killer too. I mean like when he’s holding you up, and he’s only supporting half your back. You have to work to stay level or take a nasty fall. Or when one finger presses too hard into your lower back or your thigh. That one off thing is all you can think about, and it ruins everything.”
She stopped laughing long enough to commiserate. “Yeah. I had a date like that last weekend. I had to make him stop touching me, and even then he kept trying to hold my hand. I was so glad I’d driven my car over. Nothing makes a bad date worse than needing a ride home after you tell a guy he sucks ass.”
Silence fell as we digested a bit. I knew Luma still didn’t believe me.
“Luma? I swear this happened.”
She shrugged. “You’ve been mooning over Dylan for months, and then you come up with this fairy-tale story? It’s too convenient, Lace. Your lies tend to be outlandish and convenient. This hits both marks, dead center.”
I had the ticket stub from the show in my purse. I dug it out and shoved it across the table at her. “Maybe I deserve to have the fairy tale. Maybe I finally deserve to be with a guy who doesn’t have another woman in the back of his mind. Thomas cares about me.”
He truly does. I have no idea why, but he does.
Luma opened her mouth, but I cut her off. “Except for pretending to be the band manager for Kiss Me Goodnight, which I don’t really count, I haven’t lied in months—not to you or anybody else—and it feels like a new normal. If I continue to wait for Dylan to see me as a woman instead of a mentally unstable friend, I’ll die alone. I’m moving on. I need someone like Thomas in my life, someone who knows the real me and likes me anyway.”
I think that’s the first time I’ve ever snapped at Luma. Tears tracked down my cheeks, and I rubbed angrily at them. The wetness on my fingers triggered a deep longing to wash my hands. I rose to my feet.
Luma grabbed my arm. “I’m sorry. I’m happy for you, Lacey. You’re right; you deserve the fairy tale. I’m just…I…I thought you were head over feet for Dylan.”
“Dylan had his chance. I’ve moved on.”
That was a lie unlike any I’ve ever told. It wasn’t exactly an untruth, just an oversimplification. I haven’t moved on, but I’ve made up my mind to do so. I think Luma recognized my resolve. She released my arm. I went to the bathroom and washed my hands six times.
Jane called later that evening to offer her support. Luma and I had left things on a positive note, but the fact that she spilled her guts to Jane meant she felt guilty for doubting me. Or that she still doubted me and wanted to see if Jane would get the same story. I’m a consummate liar, but I can’t keep an outlandish story straight for longer than it takes to tell. These details were not hard to recall.
Within ten minutes of hanging up with Jane, my mother called.
“John is home from the hospital.”
I didn’t know John had been in the hospital. “What happened?”
“He had some chest pain and shortness of breath.”
I knew the indicators for a heart attack. John’s parents had both died from heart-related problems, and his brother had heart-valve surgery last year. “Mom! Why didn’t you call me?”
“Well, it was the middle of the night, and we didn’t know what was wrong. I didn’t want to worry you.”
I closed my eyes and counted to eighteen. She didn’t sound too concerned, and my mother wasn’t the kind of woman who would downplay a significant event. Was there a point to arguing with her after the fact?
“What did the doctors say?”
She sighed. “That he needs to take aspirin, which he hadn’t been doing even though his regular doctor told him to do it months ago. We’re going to see a nutritionist tomorrow, and we’re going to start an exercise regimen. Apparently, walking Sadie around the yard until she does her business isn’t enough.”
I was the one who took Sadie out for her longer walks every few days, so I knew how little exercise John got. He was tall and thin, but not healthy. I swallowed hard. “Mom? He’s taking this seriously, right?”
It would be just like him to blow it off. Bad things happened to other people, not John Zimmerman. As he liked to say, fate had brought me and my mother into his life, and he’d promised never to let go of us.
“Yes, sweetheart. We both are. We’re going to get fit together. I boxed up my old cookbooks. They’re in the basement, if you want them. I’ve ordered a bunch of newer ones with healthy meals.”
My mother loved dessert. She made the best cakes and pies. For her to put away her beloved recipes meant she was more afraid than she was letting on. Knowing that, I couldn’t hold on to my anger. As always, she was protecting me, trying to avoid triggering my lying and hand washing. Hot tears pricked at my eyes. “I have tomorrow off. Can I come over for a visit?”
“Of course. You’re always welcome at home. Why don’t you come for lunch?”
“I’ll be there.”
John was in good spirits when he answered the door the next morning. He hugged me for an extra long time, reassuring me with his physical presence. He felt solid and strong, the same way he always has, and I found that comforting.
“Genevieve made some kind of slaw with carrots and parsnips. It’s good, but it’s not carrot cake. I think that’s going to be the hardest part—giving up your mother’s treats.”
I kept my arm around his waist as we walked to the kitchen. “I don’t think you have to give them up. I think you just need smaller portions and maybe cut back to once a week.”
He leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “I like the way you think. If we work together, we can convince your mother to come over to our side.”
If my mother had drawn a hard line in the sand, I wasn’t about to cross it. She rarely took a firm stand, but when she did, woe to anyone who didn’t bow to her edict. So, I did what any sensible person would do: abandoned ship. “Sorry, John. If Mom says no, you know what that means.”
He snorted. “You’ve always been such a good girl.”
“Yes, she has.” My mom set a dish towel on the counter and hugged me tighter than John had. I felt the fear she was trying to hide. New lines had sprouted around her mouth, and dark circles had taken up residence under her eyes.
“Mom, you have to promise you’ll call me immediately if anything happens again, no matter how small.”
She gave a tiny nod, t
he only outward indication that she knew she was in over her head. Then she patted my shoulder dismissively. “Lacey, hon, help John set the table.”
Ten minutes later, I had revised my view of healthy food. With my mother cooking, dishes that should be disgusting were actually tasty. I would never have thought eggplant steaks could be good, yet I asked for seconds.
John tried to steer the conversation away from his health. He succeeded by asking about my weekend. Like Luma, after I told him where I’d been and with whom, he asked the golden question: “Are you lying?”
I was ready for this one. I shook my head and showed him my ticket stub. Where Luma needed convincing, my mom started crying. I think some of it was the stress of her weekend.
“Honey, this is so wonderful. You’ve come so far. I’m so proud of you.” She got up and snagged a tissue from the next room. “Though I’m not sure how I feel about you dating someone who flies you to another state for the night.”
I assured her Thomas had good intentions. “He’s a great guy, Mom. If he wasn’t, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere with him. And he’s nice. I think you’ll like him.”
My mom sat back down at the table. “Well, then, I’m looking forward to meeting him.”
John, sitting next to her, held her hand in his. “I’m sorry things haven’t worked out with Dylan. I know you liked him, but five months without a lie? That’s amazing. You’ve never gone more than a week before. This is a breakthrough. How does it feel?”
It felt wonderful. Truly wonderful. Except now I had to come clean about the white lie I’d told. I cleared my throat. “I did tell one lie this weekend. I told the people at The Fillmore I was the manager of Dylan’s band so I could negotiate with them. I told Dylan, and he wasn’t upset, but he also doesn’t know I lie. Thomas does, though.”
John studied me carefully, and I knew he’d shifted to view me through his therapist’s lens. I didn’t mind, because he’d actually been my therapist. I trusted him implicitly.
“Lacey, the fact that you’re telling white lies is progress. You never went in for the little things. I’m not saying lying is right, but what you’ve done is actually quite healthy.”
That made me feel even better.
I wanted to put it off, but I had to drop by Daisy’s house the next day. The Fillmore had paid me for the band’s performance, and I needed to pass that money on. I texted Daisy to see if she was going to be home. On a Tuesday afternoon, I expected everybody else to be at work. I was wrong.
Levi answered the door. He pulled me into the house, lifted me up, and swung me in a circle. “You know, the first time I met you, I remember thinking you were one ballsy chick. I was right.”
I couldn’t recall the last time someone had been so effervescent in their greeting. I laughed, trying to sound happy instead of nervous. The living room was full of people. Levi set me down, and Daisy took up where he left off. Thankfully, she only hugged me. Then Gavin took his turn. He set me in front of Dylan and shoved my shoulder, urging me closer to Dylan. I resisted.
I didn’t know if he was angry with me for telling him to fuck off or if I was still upset with him for treating me like a client.
He offered a tight smile. “Thanks, Lacey. Because of you, we’ve had two radio stations ask for a single.”
“That’s wonderful.” I was genuinely delighted for him. For them all. I directed my congratulations at the group. “You guys deserve it. Hopefully you can get some air time in a major market like Los Angeles or New York.”
The tension between Dylan and me was thick, and the rest of the band would’ve had to be incredibly clueless not to pick up on it. They weren’t. The cheerful sounds in the room quieted.
I extracted my wallet from my purse. “I wasn’t sure how you wanted it, so I brought one check. You guys probably want to put it aside for studio time or new equipment or something.”
They had other jobs, and the paltry pay from their shows wasn’t enough to use for income so they’d been putting that money into a pool to use for the band’s expenses. On the plus side, they were now self-supporting. I’d never asked if they had any surplus. It wasn’t my business.
Dylan looked at the amount. “You didn’t take your six percent.”
I shrugged. I didn’t need the money. “I didn’t do anything much.”
He glowered at me, and I took a step back, edging toward the door. I wasn’t afraid, but I didn’t have anything left for a fight. John might have looked fine, but I’d spent the night tossing and turning, waiting for the call that would confirm my worst fears.
Gavin put his hands on my shoulders and spun me to face him. The tension building between Dylan and me didn’t fade, but it stopped growing. Gavin grinned. “Daisy said you’d refuse the money. That’s okay. We have a better deal. We want to hire you to be our manager.”
I studied his face, looking for signs he was fooling with me. Gavin had a great sense of humor, but sometimes he was the only one in on the joke.
Daisy spoke next. “You don’t have to answer right now. You can take some time to think about it.”
They were serious. “I don’t know how to be a manager. You should get somebody with experience. Or at least somebody who has an idea of what they’re doing.” I scanned the crowd. They stood around me in a semicircle. From their expressions they seemed to disagree with me.
Levi gave voice to their opposition. “As I said, you’ve got balls. Brass ones. We want you.”
“Courage,” Dylan chimed in. “He means you have courage. You can tell Levi doesn’t write our lyrics. He has a limited vocabulary.”
Daisy took my hand. “Lacey, you got us a gig opening for Walk the Moon, and you weren’t even trying. You can do anything.”
I didn’t have that kind of confidence in me. “It was dumb luck. I was in the right place at the right time. You don’t want to entrust your future to me.”
“Six months,” Daisy said. “Let’s try it for six months. At the end of that time, if either party wants to dissolve the contract for any reason, we can.”
“Contract?” They wanted a legal relationship? That scared me more than anything. It put responsibilities on my shoulders I wasn’t sure the skin of my hands could take.
Dylan handed me a green folder. “It’s in there. You get twelve percent to start. We already signed it.”
They weren’t going to let me get away with a straight refusal. I clutched the folder to my chest, but I didn’t look inside. “I’ll think about it, but not right now. I have to meet a client, so I need to get going.”
During the farewell process, I caught more than a few accusatory glares directed at Dylan. I wondered if he’d told them about our argument.
I made it two steps from my car before he came after me.
“Lacey, wait up a second.”
Pausing on the strip of grass between the sidewalk and the street, I pivoted in time to see his magnificent figure jogging toward me. I would like to say I took this time to compare him unfavorably to Thomas, but I didn’t. Dylan is hot; nobody else comes close.
I peered up at him with what I hoped was a neutral expression. He didn’t need to know I would welcome him shoving me against my car to make out in public. Nope. Hell, I was better off not knowing that.
“I wanted to apologize for Friday night. I didn’t mean to upset you. I care about you—”
“I know you care about me, Dylan.” That’s sort of the problem. If he cared a little less, he might feel free to make a move. Or not. With my luck, today is his wife’s birthday. I had so many things I wanted to say to him, none of them appropriate. I settled for meeting him halfway. “I’m not mad at you anymore.”
He grinned, and his eyes sparkled in the sunlight. A breeze played with a lock of hair on his forehead. I noticed these details, and wished I didn’t.
“I knew giving you a few days to cool off was the right move. You’re not the kind of person who holds a grudge for very long.”
I sighed. I don’t hol
d grudges because I usually don’t care enough to stay angry. “John was in the hospital Sunday with signs of a heart attack. He didn’t have one, but it was close.”
He could assume I’d been at John’s side through it all. If my mother had called, that would’ve been the case. Did this count as a lie? I honestly don’t know.
“I’m sorry to hear that. He’s okay now?”
I nodded. “They’re changing their exercise and eating habits. John has a history of heart disease in his family, so we’re taking it very seriously.”
“Good.” He hesitated, ruffling his hair with his hand. “If you need me, you can call. Anytime.”
“Thanks.” I turned, hitting the button to unlock my car. The conversation was made awkward by what wasn’t being said. I knew he wanted to bring up my hand-washing, and I desperately didn’t want to mention where I’d been or who I’d been with.
“Lacey?”
I didn’t want to face him again, but I did.
“Think about it, okay? You’ll make a great manager.”
Chapter Twelve
TWO NIGHTS LATER, on my way home from dinner with Mom and John, my cell rang. I turned down the radio and answered it.
“What are you doing this weekend?”
“Thomas. I was just thinking about you.”
I swear I could hear him smile on the other end of the line. “I know. I’m psychic.”
During my deliberations, I’d come to the conclusion that Thomas would be an objective sounding board for the idea of me managing Kiss Me Goodnight. Luma and Jane both thought I should jump at the opportunity, but I wanted an unbiased opinion. “I wanted to ask your advice on something.”
“Really?” He sounded pleased.
“Yeah. Did you get those tracks I sent you?”
“The ones from your friends’ band? Yep. They sound great.”
“They want me to manage them.” I explained about the six-month contract. He already knew about the opening gig I’d landed for them. I’d used the story to make him laugh on our date. The fact that my lying didn’t put him off made me feel like I could take more emotional chances with him.
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