Dream Me Off My Feet (Sex, Love, And Rock & Roll)

by Kisner, Stevie

  He was grateful to JT for the company and the compassion in those slow-moving hours of gut-piercing pain. He proved to be a loyal friend to me that night. And ever since.

  I’m still not sure what he is to my wife. More than her employer, that much is obvious. Dear friend? Or something more than that? God, I hope not. But I do wonder sometimes. She works too hard at avoiding him. More and more lately, it seems.

  I know she has needs I haven’t been able to fill for too long now, and she wasn’t too great at hiding those fantasies about him she’d harbored since she was in high school (and JT was just a year or two outside his teen years himself. I keep forgetting we’re all about the same age. I feel so incredibly old). I wonder if she still has any, now that she really knows him?

  Watch your heart, Kori. I don’t expect you to put your life on hold forever after I’m gone. It would be all too easy to fall into the first arms that welcomed you in. But if I had to choose my replacement as it were, I don’t know that it would be JT.

  Much as I’ve come to like him, there’s something on some level that tells me I shouldn’t trust him completely.

  Fuck. I just want to sleep. I’m so far past tired.

  Nineteen

  “What the fuck?!” JT slammed the telephone handset into its cradle. “Dammit!” He smacked the phone once for good measure, sending it skidding to cant halfway off the hotel nightstand.

  She’d left yesterday morning with her family and he hadn’t heard a peep from any of them since. He’d left message after message on her cell phone, but apparently she’d turned it off; the voicemail picked up without ringing once. The last seven times he’d called, he simply hung up on the message system’s generic female voice as soon as he heard the first syllable. Either she hadn’t turned it back on at all and didn’t know she had messages, or she’d played them but didn’t deign to return his calls.

  It took a fair amount of wheedling, but he’d gotten the name of their hotel and room number from Stuart. At his request, Stuart had changed their reservations to reflect band business and used the band’s charge account to secure it. That didn’t mean they’d actually used those reservations. He hoped there weren’t any other rooms available and they’d been stuck using it.

  Several attempts to call her there had netted no better results. He’d finally resorted to his ace in the hole and had told the answering operator that he was the director of the corporation which was paying for the room and he needed to reach his employee. The operator was sympathetic but still made him verify the credit card number and billing address before she would tell him anything whatsoever.

  She confirmed that they had indeed checked in yesterday afternoon. She went on to explain that the staff had been instructed to hold all calls and take messages only. This last call had gleaned only one more kernel of information: not one message had been picked up yet, although they were sending a signal to the message light on their room phone. She sounded truly apologetic when she told JT there was nothing else she could do except send a bellhop to their door. She still couldn’t guarantee that anyone would answer his knock. Disturbing a guest in that manner was reserved for emergencies, anyway, she said. Was this a truly urgent situation?

  The voice in his head that bellowed that she might leave, that any time he didn’t know where she was could be considered an urgent situation, but the sound merely echoed and died inside his skull.

  “No, it’s nothing critical,” he muttered. “Can I just leave another message to call JT?”

  “Would you like to leave a number, sir, or would it be the same number as on the dozen or so messages that you’ve left previously?”

  The tight rein on his temper snapped. He called her a smartass; she returned that for all she knew, he was stalking his employee. He demanded her superior and was placed on hold without another word, then abruptly (and, he was certain, ‘accidentally’) disconnected. He’d vented his frustration on the beige hotel telephone.

  What in the hell’s gotten into me today? It’s not like we’ve spent all that much time in each other’s company for the last several weeks. And it’s obvious that they checked in, so I know they got there safely. I just don’t understand…

  As he stalked and paced and pondered, comprehension dawned as delicate as an anvil from the sky. She’s cut me off.

  We may not have had the pleasure of each other’s physical presence, but we did have the pleasure of each other. When I tried really hard to reach her. And, no matter what either of us was doing, I could still feel her. She hasn’t been too far away to sense her, really, since I noticed that I was noticing her. Now there’s just this great big empty where she used to be.

  No, not where she used to be. Rather, where she belongs.

  She’s too far away and she’s cut me off from all contact.

  And I don’t like how it feels.

  And I hate that I don’t like it.

  What in the hell am I going to do at Christmas when I go back to England and she’s in the southwestern American desert?

  What am I going to do when the tour is over? I’ll be crawling out of my skin.

  She’s climbed inside my soul and taken up residence. This was NOT supposed to happen.

  How am I going to manage without her?

  ****

  “How badly do you want to see the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame?” Mark asked Kori the next morning. They were getting ready to head out in search of breakfast. Kori felt more energized, but Mark still looked completely zapped. Zach, much to their surprise, had been almost his normal chipper morning self. They both took that as a hopeful sign. Still, traces of sadness lingered on his face and his usually smiling eyes turned down at the corners.

  Kori was running a brush through her curls as she met the reflection of Mark’s eyes in the bathroom mirror. “I almost don’t want to bother to go.” She paused in mid-brushstroke. “You don’t want to go, either, do you? You still look exhausted, honey. I don’t think all that walking would be good for you, anyway.”

  He sighed. “Nah. I’d really rather just spend the weekend lazing around, maybe take Zach to the pool and catch up on sleep in a bed that isn’t traveling along a bumpy highway.”

  “Sleeping sounds like a great plan.” For the first time in weeks, she’d managed a night uninterrupted. No dreams, no JT, no waking up. It may have been only six hours, but it was still six hours of blissful oblivion. Even her husband’s subdued groans of discomfort hadn’t pierced her bubble of unconsciousness. She remained astoundingly exhausted, but she felt like herself for the first time in a month. She flashed a wicked grin.

  “And not getting dressed sounds even better. Let’s order room service. Lots and lots of room service.”

  Mark frowned slightly. “Isn’t room service kind of expensive? I can manage to get downstairs to the restaurant.”

  Her grin widened. “Room service costs a little more, but we won’t be paying for it. Stuart told me that JT insisted on putting our suite on their corporate credit card, so the band will be footing the whole hotel bill.”

  “Oh, so they’re paying for our little getaway? That’s really generous. I’ll have to remember to thank JT when we get back.”

  Yeah, so will I. Somehow, I don’t think generosity had anything to do with it.

  “So, what do you say? Rest, relaxation, and food delivered to our room?”

  “Sounds like a great plan to me, since we don’t have to do anything with the bill except sign it.” Mark grimaced at his reflection then stepped out of the bathroom. “Hey, Zach,” he called out, “whattya say to room service for breakfast?”

  “I say ‘Mister, add fifteen percent to the bill for your tip before I sign the ticket!’” Zach giggled from the sitting room where he was watching television. “No, better yet, make it twenty percent!”

  Kori rolled her eyes at Mark’s lopsided smile. “The things that kid’s learning from those guys…” he muttered just loud enough for her to hear.

  “I was having tha
t same thought not too long ago. Our son now knows how to order room service to get exactly what he wants and has a great command of British slang and cursewords that his teachers won’t recognize as swearing. But he’s also convinced Rafe to teach him to play guitar, once they can get their hands on a smaller acoustic.”

  Mark glanced down at his hands; it was the first he’d heard about it. His feelings smarted at being left out of the loop. Not that they can really keep me abreast of everything since I spend so damn much time sleeping, or trying to, anymore. But still, that was something I’d looked forward to teaching him when he was a little older. I only know a few basic chords, but I did want to show him and let him take it from there. Now I don’t know that I could press the strings to the frets without splitting my skin. Dammit.

  He did his best to shake off the melancholy and mustered his smile again, although much smaller this time. “I should go monitor what he’s ordering in there, or we’re likely to end up with three of everything on the menu. Do you want anything in particular?”

  She frowned. “Just some fruit and a mocha latte, if they have specialty coffees. If not, just the fruit and a big pitcher of orange juice.”

  Mark decided that, whether or not they had the caffeine, she was getting the orange juice. He didn’t like the tight stretch of her skin over her cheekbones. She’s not eating again. And I’ve been unconscious too much recently to notice. Something else to talk to JT about when we return. Somebody has to make sure she eats on a semi-regular basis, and he’s as stubborn as she is. If any of them can get her to eat, it’ll be him. He ambled slowly into the sitting room to join his son.

  ****

  “Come on now, JT, surely you’re not so self-involved as to think she left just to get away from you.” Rafe sat cross-legged on the wooden Chippendale-style chair at the dining table in JT’s suite, one hand holding a cigarette and the other wrapped around his ankle. He watched with calm amusement as JT stalked the room from one end to the other, stopping occasionally to glare at the beige telephone sitting benignly on the end table.

  JT whirled on his heel to face him and once again dragged a hand through his bedraggled shoulder-length hair. “Then please explain to me your theory, Rafe, of why she felt it necessary to leave and why she’s staying out of contact.” His eyes narrowed. “Kindly enlighten me, since you’re sitting there being the picture of cool.”

  For starters, I’m not letting my little head lead me around like it’s a homing device. “Because I’m not in love with her, JT.”

  JT crossed his arms. “What does that have to do with it? I’m simply uncomfortable with —”

  “It has everything to do with it, you dumb wanker. She left with the competition. Second, I’m not worried that she isn’t coming back, because she is.”

  “Wait. Back up a minute. You said ‘second’ without saying a ‘first,’” JT retorted.

  “Yes I did. Leaving with her husband was the first thing. Being afraid she’ll stay gone was the second.”

  “But you can’t have a thing be ‘secondly’ without having a ‘firstly.’”

  “It was implied, JT,” Rafe responded.

  “Not to me it wasn’t.” JT’s stance shifted, his head angling slightly as he dug in his heels for the debate.

  Rafe mirrored JT’s arrogant tilt. “Shut up, JT. Quit focusing on how I’m saying it so you can avoid thinking about what it is that I’m telling you.”

  JT raised one eyebrow. “Which is, to be succinct, that I’m in love with her and view her husband as a threat, and that I’m afraid she left with him and won’t be coming back.”

  Rafe widened his eyes in mock surprise. “Yes, oh-normally-verbose one. I’m amazed you could be so brief. But, in short, there’s your problem.”

  JT looked at his best friend as if he’d suddenly grown a second head. “That’s rubbish.”

  “No it’s not. I’ve seen that look in your eyes only twice before. The first time was right before we went onstage at our first paying gig and you were terrified that you’d forget the lyrics.”

  JT quirked a smile. “And I didn’t forget any of them, did I?”

  “No, and quit trying to distract me. It won’t work. The second time was the day you realized your marriage was over and you had to decide to either live with a conniving, deceitful bitch or divorce her. You’re scared to death.”

  Rolling his eyes, JT retorted, “I know that she’s coming back, Rafe. They only packed enough for the weekend.”

  “That’s not what I’m referring to and we both know it.”

  JT sprawled into a chair at the table, arms still crossed over his chest. “What, then? You think I see Mark as a rival? That’s just insane. I like the man. And besides, he’s, well… you know.”

  Rafe’s gaze grew more solemn. “And you think it’ll end that easily? Come on, JT. Be realistic. Sometimes a ghost is more competition than a living, breathing man. You’d do well to keep that in mind.”

  JT snorted. “I know how she feels about me, Rafe.”

  The bassist arched a brow. This was new. Not entirely unexpected, but nonetheless something neither of them had voiced before. “Oh, really? And how do you know that?” He watched JT’s face carefully for any sign of deception.

  JT quickly backpedaled. “Well, at least I think I do. She’s said…things. She looks at me that certain way. And I have kissed her, Rafe, and there’s no mistaking the fire there.”

  “Fire can scorch, JT, and sometimes it burns out pretty damn fast.” He considered his next words, knowing where they could lead and what it would reveal of his conversations with Kori. Conversations, he was certain, of which JT was completely unaware.

  In fact, they’d both said things to him about the other which were slightly off-kilter. Until you combined them. Rafe knew he wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box, but he was also far from stupid, and putting her two and his two together to make four really wasn’t a huge leap. “There’s quite a bit that goes unsaid between you and her, isn’t there, JT?” he said carefully.

  JT fixed him in a sharp stare. “Meaning just what, exactly?”

  Oh, bloody hell, just get it over with, Westmore. In this foul mood, beating around the bush will only piss him off further. “Meaning that the two of you don’t have to utter a word to have entire conversations, do you?”

  JT’s look said the bassist had just sprouted a third head to go with the second one. But Rafe detected a little more to his glare this time. Although he wasn’t certain, since he’d seen the expression so rarely on his friend’s face, he could swear once again he saw the fear.

  JT folded his hands into his lap and sucked in his lower lip, biting it hard. His glance shifted to his intertwined fingers as he considered how to respond.

  Rafe watched him as the silence stretched on. There’s something about her, something different. A comfort level that simply should not have been there so soon. It was as if I’d somehow known her, or rather that she knew me, knew what I was feeling and just how to elicit the response she wanted. I didn’t understand it until those odd comments she’d made that night when she got completely potted and Paul and I were playing snooker.

  And what she said when she confided in me about Mark’s health.

  “It’ll never be all right again. I love him. And that changed everything.”

  I should have seen it then. I assumed she meant her husband, but she was talking about JT. I can’t believe I was that oblivious. Not that I really believed ESP was possible until she came along. But I guess I just didn’t want to see her for what she really is. Nor their relationship for what it is. Both make me extremely uncomfortable.

  And that unusual comment JT made when he told me how he felt about her:

  “I just click with her on some basic level.”

  Well, it still took me a while of watching to figure it out. She reads into people, hears their thoughts. Especially JT’s.

  He’s too quiet. I must’ve nailed it right on the head.

&nb
sp; Or this is the first he’s heard about it. Uh-oh…

  Did I assume too much? Is it only one way, she’s the receiver and JT isn’t aware of it? No. He wouldn’t be room-swapping his way down every hall, even giving up his precious suites when necessary, just so they can have adjacent doors.

  Besides, she’s too outspoken; she would have said something to him by now. And they did become terribly close so fast. JT’s certainly no mind reader, but that doesn’t mean she can’t project, does it? Hell, I don’t know how this works, what she can and can’t do. But even if she isn’t sending any thoughts his way, he must know she’s hearing his.

  I really believe he’s getting something unspoken from Kori, though. And now she’s too far away and it couldn’t possibly stretch that far. That would also be why he feels she left just to get away from him. They’re out of touch, and now he’s out of sorts.

  JT’s too close to it to see that most of his problem is his own doing. She’s as proud, strong, independent and arrogant as he is. He’s obviously met his match. And she won’t stand for the bulldozer approach. I’m so sure I’d stake my favorite bass on it.

  For good or bad, when JT’s around, everyone in the room knows it.

  And because of that, he just might lose her.

  I can’t let that happen. Not just for them, but for the good of everyone, since it seems we’ve all been dragged into what should have stayed private. Like any of us get any real privacy in this band.

  Still, this really ought to be none of my business, and I wish it could be. But first of all (ha! There’s your ‘Firstly,’ JT!) he’s the one who called me in here and started this whole conversation. And I’ll be damned if I sit here mute as an unplugged amp.

  Second, no matter the outcome, this has become band business. It’s affecting his sleep, his behavior, and the gigs. The audiences may not notice, but all of us sure as hell do. His normal hundred and fifty percent performances are easily only half that now. And he’s ducking the ‘afters’ with the fans. I can count on one hand the number of times he’s done that prior to these recent weeks, and in each case he was feeling truly ill. Now it’s as if he just doesn’t care.