Chocolate

by Mares, Maggie

  Cut to this morning. Actually, calling it “morning” was being generous. I considered it to be the middle of the damn night. But semantics aside, a black town car had picked Luke and me up from his apartment at 4 a.m. Free trip or not, I’d been less than happy about being awake at that hour. I’d slept for most of the ride to O’Hare and stumbled through airport security. Thank goodness for Luke’s hand on my lower back guiding me, or I’d have probably ended up somewhere in the international terminal, boarding a flight to Budapest or something. It wasn’t until we’d entered a very swanky lounge area that I’d finally shaken off the last vestiges of sleep and looked around.

  “Hold up. Are we flying first class?” I’d asked on a yawn.

  “We are indeed. Welcome to the music business, kid.”

  Oh baby, I’d thought. I’d never flown first class before. I’d never even had the good fortune to be bumped up to business class before. This is going to be sweet.

  I’d flipped through a magazine and Luke had read a book while the rest of his bleary-eyed bandmates had wandered in. Once we’d gotten on the plane, I’d accepted a complimentary glass of champagne because I made it a rule in life to never turn down free bubbly, even if it was being offered to me at six in the morning. Luke had put his head on my chest and fallen asleep right after takeoff. His bedhead had tickled my chin, but it’d felt nice having him so close to me. I’d eschewed sleep in favor of staying up the whole flight. Mostly I’d just been amped about being up in first class and I hadn’t wanted to waste the experience by sleeping through it. I’d felt like a little kid who was trying to get away with something. Every time the flight attendants had circled around the cabin, I’d half expected to be spotted and escorted back to steerage. Like one of them was going to come up to me and say, “Excuse me, Ms. Lyons? We have a seat reserved for you back in coach where you belong. It’s located right in between the bathrooms and a screaming baby.” But it had never happened.

  The late April sun had been shining when we’d landed in L.A. Inside the second town car of the day, I’d sat with Luke’s arm draped across my shoulders and thought about how I’d never been to this city before and, perhaps unlike most people, I’d never had much of a desire to come. This was mostly out of fear for the inferiority complex that I’d assumed it would give me. It’d always been my perception that I’d need a D-cup and duck lips in order to fit in here, and I had neither. Obviously, I knew that I was being silly. After all, it wasn’t like a beer gut and a fondness for hot dogs were required to fit in in Chicago. Plus, I’d only come here to visit, not to get a waitressing job and start booking commercials.

  At some gorgeous art deco hotel in Hollywood, eager bellhops had tended to our bags. Once we’d checked in, I’d had just enough time to wash my face and change my clothes before Luke and I had met the rest of the band for breakfast. Fresh coffee had helped all of us to finally wake up fully, which meant that our scrambled eggs had come with our usual side of sarcastic comments and been seasoned with the occasional movie quote. Everyone had seemed to be in good spirits, partially out of excitement for the rest of the day and partially out of elation for being in truly warm weather for the first time in months. Springtime in Chicago and springtime in L.A. were two wildly different things.

  Next it was off to the studio for sound check and rehearsal. The exhilaration of being on a soundstage had worn off pretty quickly as I’d realized just how tedious it was to actually make TV. For every two notes that Luke and the guys had played, it’d seemed like there’d been about ten minutes of waiting around while different technicians had adjusted this and fixed that. But I hadn’t minded. I’d found a seat in the audience, pulled out my laptop, and actually gotten some of my own work done while everyone else had been occupied.

  We’d been dropped off back at the hotel by early afternoon. Luke and I had immediately crawled into bed for a quick nap. Even though we’d been side-by-side all day, it’d been nice to steal a little time for just the two of us. Then I’d treated myself to a manicure at the hotel spa while he’d gone off to do god only knows what with the rest of the band. He’d been in the shower when I’d returned with my new “Pink Flamenco” nails, so I’d stripped down, hopped in with him, and dropped to my knees to provide him with a bit of, uh, pre-show tension release. Then he’d puttered around the room while I’d gotten ready. Assuming that we’d be going out after the taping, I’d opted for a knee-length turquoise dress with a racer back and nude heels. The ensemble was a little plain, and I’d wished that I’d brought some more accessories with me, like maybe a belt, but then I’d given up worrying about it. It wasn’t like I was the one who was going to be on TV. Thank the lord.

  Luke had put on the same t-shirt and jeans that I’d seen him wear a million times, but of course he’d still looked great. The style simplicity of the male sex strikes again. I’d been putting on lip gloss when the room phone had rung. “The car’s here,” Luke had said. Then we’d headed off to the studio once again.

  And now I was seated in a little room backstage on a leather couch next to the craft services table while I watched some actor I didn’t recognize plug some horror movie I would never see on the television screen mounted in the corner. Luke was on after the next commercial break, or “c-break” as everyone running around with clipboards was referring to it. Eight hours in this city and I’ve already mastered the vernacular.

  I could tell that Luke was nervous and it was beyond cute. He kept pacing back and forth across the room, compulsively cracking his knuckles and flexing his hands. When he did try to sit down, he couldn’t stop tapping his foot, which made the whole couch vibrate. I didn’t blame him though. If it were me who was about to appear on national television, I’d have probably been curled in a ball on the floor, deep in the throes of a panic attack. Seriously, the thought of all those eyes on me – both the ones in the audience now and the ones that would be watching at home when this aired later – made me want to throw up. For that reason, it was endearing to see that even Luke, professional that he was, wasn’t completely immune to the pressures of show business. It made him seem more normal and I liked it.

  Finally, some guy who looked like a teenager wearing a headset came into the room. “Luke Davies, guys,” he said, addressing the rest of the band, “you’re on.”

  At that point, the sympathy nerves hit me too. Little butterflies started flitting around in my stomach as we all stood and filed out of the room.

  Luke grabbed my hand and squeezed it while we walked to the area where their instruments were set up. It had been decided earlier in the day that I should watch from the audience, since there really wasn’t a good place backstage for me to see them perform, and I certainly hadn’t flown two thousand miles just to watch them on a monitor. I could have done that in my own living room. Thankfully, some crew member had reserved a seat for me all the way in the back near one of the aisles, and I knew that I needed to head up there now. I tugged on Luke’s hand so he would turn and face me.

  “Break a leg,” I said. “You’ll be great, I know it.”

  “Thanks,” he said. Then he leaned down and kissed me. “I’m really glad that you’re here,” he said simply.

  “Me too,” I smiled. Then, because things were getting a little sentimental and I had the maturity level of a sixteen-year-old boy, I stuck my tongue out and slapped him on the ass before I raced up the stairs to my chair. I didn’t have to look back to know that he was shaking his head and chuckling at me. I also knew without looking that he was checking out my departing booty as I sashayed up the aisle. Make no mistake, Luke generally displayed the maturity level of a sixteen-year-old boy too.

  I sat down just as the host started giving Luke’s introduction. “His first album featured singles that could be heard not only on the radio, but in TV shows and blockbuster movies. His new album has already sold more than a million copies and has been praised by critics nationwide. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Luke Davies!”

  The audi
ence erupted. “Luke! Luuuke!” came the screams of several girls sitting near the front. I envisioned them getting hit by a car as they tried to cross Santa Monica Boulevard later. Seriously though, I did like that there were so many people here who were clearly hyped to see him. Up to this point, I’d mostly seen Luke perform locally, and Chicago crowds were always kind to their own. But this show confirmed that his appeal transcended city limits.

  The song started out slowly with just Luke on the guitar. His voice sounded passionate and clear and for about the millionth time since I’d met him, I found myself sitting there watching him, in total awe of the fact that someone as exceptional as Luke Davies was with someone as unremarkable as me. And it had nothing to do with looks or fame or first class plane rides. It was just, holy hell, he was talented. He blew me away every time he was on stage. You must be doing something right to get a boy like that, Lyss, I told myself.

  When he reached the first refrain, the rest of the band joined in. Drums, bass, keyboard all playing in perfect unison. Just like the rest of the tracks on the album, this song was all about me. Me. A lowly journalist from the Midwest. Honestly, how lucky could one girl get? No matter how the rest of my life played out, I would always be able to put on this album and remember that there was a time when someone was inspired enough by me to write songs about it. That was insanely special.

  By the time they got to the last refrain, I had chills. Luke and the guys were crushing this performance. The feeling in the room was electric, and I was thrilled for them.

  As the last chord echoed through the studio and the audience went wild, Luke pulled off his microphone and ran out into the crowd. Everyone started to cheer even louder. From high atop my perch, I was clapping so hard that my hands hurt. I thought that Luke was just going to shake a few audience member hands, but then he started climbing the stairs. What is he…? I wondered, as he took one step and then another. Why…Oh my god, is he coming up here?! I demanded nervously as the realization that it was a possibility hit me. My eyes grew wide. No, he wouldn’t…he’s not…Oh my god he is. Terror squeezed my chest tighter and tighter with each step that Luke took. People were reaching out to him, slapping him five, but there was no denying his intended destination. I could see it in his eyes. He was making a beeline straight for me. No Luke, turn around. Turn around! I silently pleaded with him. But he wasn’t turning around. He was getting closer. Oh my god, the spotlights are on me. Oh my god, everyone’s looking. Oh my god, I’m going to be on TV. I sat there in petrified immobility while my cheeks flushed to the color of my newly painted fingernails. The noise from the crowd reached a deafening roar. Oh my god, I’m trapped. My mouth was smiling, but my eyes betrayed the depths of horror currently gripping me. Finally, Luke was in front of me.

  He crouched down. “Hi,” he said, as if he and I were just having a casual conversation without the whole world watching.

  “Uh, hi,” were the words I responded, but my tone said, “What in the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  While everyone peered up at us and the cameras rolled, he leaned in and, in words meant for only me to hear, he said, “I just wanted to tell you that I am so fucking in love with you, Lyssa Lyons, that I can hardly stand it. I’ve known it since the day we met, but my mind was so focused on you that I didn’t have the words until now.” Then he smiled and kissed me for all he was worth.

  “Wooo!” cried the audience, like they were a bunch of grade school kids.

  “In case there was still some confusion about my feelings for you,” he went on, echoing the words he’d said the first time he’d kissed me in that theater alleyway back in Chicago.

  Stunned as I was, I still had to laugh at that. “Yeah that pretty much clears it up,” I repeated my own words from that fateful night. Then, even though I was dying for him to get his butt back down to the stage and get the spotlights off of me, I grabbed him by the collar of his t-shirt and whispered, “I love you too,” before returning his kiss. No matter how reluctant I was to be the center of attention, I couldn’t let this moment go without saying it back. I also couldn’t let it go without adding, “And you can be sure that I’m going to murder you for this grand gesture later.”

  Luke’s mischievous smile was wider than any smile I’d ever seen on him. “If you’re suggesting that you’re going to punish me, then I’m all for it, L.L. I can’t wait, my love,” he emphasized the last word before kissing me one more time. I giggled when he turned around and bounded back down the aisle like a gazelle so that he could take a bow with the rest of the band.

  Oh Luke, punishment does not even begin to cover what I’m going to do to you, I thought as he gave a final wave and exited the stage. I truthfully wasn’t that mad at him for his impromptu display. How could I be? He’d just had the courage to actually articulate what I’d known since pretty much the first night I spent with him. I loved him. And he loved me. Simple as that.

  Somewhere off in the distance I was aware that the host was signing off of the show, but the only thing I could really hear was my favorite baritone lilt, the only thing I could really see were my favorite pair of blue eyes. I practically floated down the stairs so that I could meet up with the owner of said physical characteristics backstage. I could feel more than a few cell phone cameras pointed at me, so I tried to keep my head down as I went. All I could do was pray that no pictures of me staring at the ground while simultaneously grinning like a fool surfaced on the internet. Yeah right.

  The guys were standing around in a circle just inside the curtain when I maneuvered my way into the restricted area. Amongst the horde of crew members packing away cables and clearing up sound equipment, I stopped about ten feet away from the little posse and put my hands on my hips.

  “Lucas Aloysius Davies,” I said sternly. That was obviously not Luke’s real middle name, but I was trying to channel the tone that my mother used to take when she was about to ream me out. Hearing my full name had always let me know that I was in big trouble. “That was quite the stunt you pulled back there.”

  Everyone stopped talking and turned to look at me. True to form, Luke looked like he’d just gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Just trying to keep you on your toes, Lyssa Chrysanthemum Lyons.” Not my middle name either, but I had to give him points for creativity.

  I smiled, walked over to him, and threw my arms around his waist. I was rewarded with a tight squeeze and a kiss on the forehead. Alright fine. I would hold off on killing him. For today at least.

  “Yeah, what was that all about guys?” someone asked.

  “Oh, I’d been meaning to tell her something for a while,” Luke said. “And right then seemed like as good a time as any.”

  “‘As good a time…’” I leaned back and scoffed at him. “Your ability to follow up an incredibly sweet statement with an incredibly crass one is truly impressive.”

  Luke shrugged. “What can I say? If you’re going to love me, then you’ve got to love every part of me, babe.”

  “Yeah, well you’re lucky I do because I don’t think many other women would put up with ‘every part of you.’ Babe.” I stressed the last word.

  I don’t think any other women would,” he admitted. “But that’s alright because I’m planning to keep the one I’ve already got.” He bent down and placed a gentle kiss on my lips.

  I sighed. “Yeah, and she’s planning to keep you too, so I guess you’re good.”

  He smiled at me and then looked up. “Alright,” he said to the group as he gave my behind a firm slap. The combination of sleep deprivation and adrenaline was apparently making Luke and me very aggressive toward each other today. “Let’s go get drunk,” he announced, and that sounded like the best idea in the world.

  The rest of our time in L.A. consisted of the band and me having a fairly debauched night out at some of Hollywood’s seediest drinking establishments, followed by tacos out of a food truck at 2 a.m., followed by a few hours of sleep, and finally topped off with one
miserable plane ride back to the Windy City. Seriously, I was so hung over that the sun seemed loud. Yes, while some couples celebrated declarations of love with champagne, roses, and passionate sex, Luke and I did it with whiskey, greasy street food, and passing out with our clothes on. But what could I do? That was what made us us, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  Yet, as content and full of dopey love as I was, one horrified thought kept running through my mind as I sat next to a slumbering Luke on that first class flight home: Oh my god, I bet that yesterday’s little spectacle is going to land me on YouTube.

  Hands Open

  “Okay great. Thanks again. I’m so excited about this. I’ll talk to you soon. Yep. Okay. Bye.” I hung up the phone and broke out into a happy dance. Holy shit, I can’t believe that just happened! I couldn’t wait to tell Luke my staggeringly good news.

  “Luke!” I called as I stepped out of the bedroom.

  “Yeah?” he said from the couch. It was a Wednesday evening in May. We’d been home from L.A. for a couple of weeks and Luke was enjoying a rare night off from his busy promotion schedule. Right now, he had his guitar on his lap and he was absent-mindedly plucking the strings while he focused on some soccer match on TV. Boys and sports. I would never understand it.

  “Guess what?” I beamed at him.

  “What?” he asked. He must have heard from the tone of my voice that I was about to tell him something important because he put his guitar down on the cushion next to him and turned to look at me.

  “I just got a job offer from Vulture!” I said excitedly. “Like the Vulture. You know, the New York Magazine entertainment blog. They want to hire me as a music correspondent.” I held out my arms in a gesture that said, “That’s right, bow down before me.”

  “Wow. That’s great.” He stood, walked over to me, and planted a kiss on the top of my head. It was no genuflection, but I guess it would do. “I’m so proud of you.” He adopted the look of a doting parent before he said, “My baby is such a talented writer.”