She reached behind her seat for the little leather purse that she’d dropped onto the floorboard when she got in. She fished out a cigarette and tapped it on the steering wheel. Mark threw her a sharp look.
“I’m not going to light it. I just wanted to hold one to calm my nerves about the weather.” She flicked her thumb idly against the tip of the filter.
They rolled on in silence. At first, she was worried about staying ahead of the storm boiling in off the lake, then about getting to Cincinnati before the dark clouds ahead released their looming payload.
Her thoughts slipped to JT, as they invariably did if left to twist into themselves for very long. As her fingers fidgeted with the unlit cigarette, she was brought back to the first time they met. Even then she’d seen through his solid, blustery front to the uncertain heart that lay inside. Deep inside.
Buried under layers of domineering cockiness and professional confidence, he harbored an insecurity about his ability to be wanted and loved for who he was. He’d spent so much of his life being what he was that people only saw the persona he wore when he strode onto a stage. All they wanted was the performer and not the man he was when the show was over.
His skills and talents, those were never in question. He had those in abundance and he knew it. His belief never wavered. All those years ago, he knew he had that special something to make it and make it big. He knew what listeners wanted, even if they didn’t yet. And he was tenacious enough to stick it out through the leaner times until he brought the public around to his way of thinking. It had paid off, but the price was his personal happiness. The further retreat of a romantic heart as the front man they all expected made another appearance.
Soft-hearted, caring, generous. Those were not what came to mind when the general public thought of JT Blackwood. And a worrier about those who captured a piece of his friendly heart.
Worried.
I wonder if he is yet. I hadn’t even thought to let him know we were on our way. “Honey?” she ventured. Mark had been very quiet while she was driving and thinking. She wasn’t sure if he was awake or asleep.
“Yeah, babe?” he answered softly.
“Would you mind calling JT to see if that storm ahead of us has started dumping snow yet? I’m a little concerned about what we’re heading into, and I want to be ready for whatever it is.”
“Sure. Where’s the phone?” He glanced around the car.
“Um, in my purse, maybe? I don’t remember putting it there, but since that’s where I usually keep it, and you obviously don’t have it…” She groped behind her seat. When her fingers made purchase on the strap, she plopped it onto Mark’s lap.
It was a smallish bag, yet it seemed he rummaged in all of its pockets for several long minutes before he said flatly, “It’s not in here.”
She glanced sharply at him then back to the near-empty road ahead. “What do you mean, it’s not in there? It has to be. I had it just yesterday.”
“It may be a small phone, but so’s your bag, and I’m telling you it’s not here.” He thought for a moment. “You didn’t take this with you to the pool yesterday, did you? I think you only had your cigarette case. I was carrying the phone until I gave it to you.”
Her eyes returned to the white dashed line on the pavement as it flashed by. “I know I brought it back to our suite. I plugged it into the —” No, you didn’t. The phone had been off and didn’t need charging. But I’m sure I put it back in the case. And then…
“I had it in my sweatpants pocket. I think I might have packed it in the wet clothes bag.” She glanced at a sign on the side of the road. “There’s a rest area coming up. We can stop there and look through the bags.” She eased into the right lane without signaling. There hadn’t been anyone traveling behind them for miles.
Mark stared at her profile for a long moment. “Why the sudden need to talk to JT? Let him worry and let’s keep going before this storm catches up.”
“I don’t care if he’s worried,” she lied, inexplicably feeling that JT’s smooth rumble was the only thing that could possibly calm her jangling nerves. “I’m more concerned about where the cell phone is. If it’s in with those wet bathing suits, it’ll be toast. We’re not staying in any city for more than two days in a row for the next two weeks, and we won’t have time to get a replacement.”
I don’t know why talking to him feels so urgent. And I can’t distract myself trying to figure it out while I’m doing seventy-five miles an hour and the cross-wind’s picking up.
“Okay,” Mark sighed, exasperated but knowing she was far too obstinate for him to win the argument.
****
Turn around at the wet bar (call me), skirt the end of the couch (call me now) and back to the table (tell me the highway’s still clear). Then turn around (and everyone’s still okay) and do it again in reverse (dammit, woman!)…
JT stared at his cellphone, willing it to ring. Call me back, dammit. Where in the hell are you? They said you checked out of the hotel over an hour ago. He glanced back at the window, watching the flurries fall faster against the darkening sky.
****
After a search of all the reasonable places a tiny cell phone could be hiding but wasn’t, Kori fought the gnawing urge to go to the payphone across the parking lot, pump it full of change and dial to where he was. If she’d had the hotel’s telephone number, she might have. But she’d thrown away the plethora of message slips from JT’s calls and his cell number was a goner, too. It was in her phone’s speed dial and in her day planner. Which was with most of her belongings in Cincinnati on the tour bus.
She took several steps headlong into the wind toward the grungy public phone.
“Where’re you going?”
She spun back, feeling suddenly guilty. Of what, she really wasn’t sure. Her feet had been leading her without thought. Who was she planning to call? Her brain scrambled for some reasonable explanation.
“I thought maybe if I called our phone from that phone,” she hooked a thumb over her shoulder, “we could follow the ringing and find it.” A strong, steady wind whipped the hair back from her face.
Mark looked mildly surprised. “Good idea.” He patted his pockets. “I hope you have quarters. I don’t have any change at all. Zach wiped me out last night buying stuff from the vending machines at the end of the hall.”
The need for change hadn’t crossed her mind. Her feet had just taken over and started her body moving. “I think so. If not, I’ll just charge it to the corporate credit card. At this point, finding that phone is becoming a justifiable business expense.”
She ducked her head against the gusts and once more headed toward the payphone. By the time she reached the booth, she was leaning forward to keep her balance in the increasing gale. The narrow door was spotted with dirt and something she preferred not to identify. The glass panes were scratched and the metal framework was covered with unreadable graffiti. She pushed against the inward-folding hinge with her elbow. It moved with surprising ease and she stepped inside.
One glance told her not to close the door, much as she’d like to shut out the wind. Then she’d have to touch the grotty door handle to get back out. She shuddered and turned to inspect the telephone. It was far from clean, but not nearly as nasty as the booth. She grabbed the grimy black receiver. The dial tone hummed dully and she sighed in relief. She’d half-expected the phone to not be working.
She fished in her bag for change. She didn’t know what the toll would be to call the New Mexico area code of her phone from the middle of Ohio, so she deposited four quarters and hoped. She looked at the dirt-dulled keypad and dialed the number with her knuckle. A short pause of dead air made her worry that the dollar wasn’t enough, then she heard it begin to ring.
One ring. That doesn’t mean anything. Even if the phone is switched off, there’s always a first ring.
Two rings. Well, at least the phone’s turned on. She turned in the booth to look toward the dark blue rental. Both Mark
and Zach were standing at the open trunk with the lid bobbing dangerously over their heads in the growing wind. She watched as Mark reached up a hand to limit its sway.
Three rings. They’re both leaning inside now, but aren’t digging through anything. Can’t they hear it yet?
Four rings.
Just as she was reaching out a finger to disconnect the call and salvage her quarters, the message service chimed in and completed the connection. She heard the coins chink as the phone swallowed them.
****
Korina frowned as she looked into her wallet. Damn. Mostly pennies. Guess I’ll have to use that credit card, after all. At least this phone has a card slot. My fingers are too numb to punch in the numbers. She groped at the edge of the card and finally wrenched it out of her wallet.
Kori held one curled fist to her mouth and blew a long breath over the knuckles, then ran the card through the slot. A not-unpleasant generic female voice instructed her to dial her number now. She was struck by its familiarity. Same voice as everywhere else. Damn, that woman gets around.
Again she dialed with the knuckle of her index finger, then turned to look toward Mark and Zach standing at the open trunk while she waited for the line to connect. Only three rings this time. That way it won’t answer and charge the card for the call.
She pressed the cold earpiece to her even colder ear to hear the rings above the wind as it whipped around the booth. And watched as Mark and Zach failed to make a move toward looking for the little red telephone. What’s going on? I know I didn’t set it to vibrate instead of ring. Or did I? At three rings, she pulled her free hand from under her arm and pressed down on the receiver hook, disconnecting the call.
One more try. If they still haven’t heard it, then either the ringer’s off, or we just plain don’t have it and… then what? I guess I’ll call the hotel and have them check our room to see if we left it in there somewhere.
Kori had kept the credit card in her hand, expecting she might have to use it again. She ran it through the slot once more, listened for the voice she’d dubbed ‘the phone slut,’ then knuckled in her cell’s number and waited for the rings she was feeling more certain would once again stand unanswered.
****
One ring. Kori turned to look toward the car, surprised to see them reaching into the trunk.
Two rings. She wondered if she should just hang up now, then watched Mark yank out his bag, unzip it and start tossing clothes into the trunk.
It’s on the third ring, please find it so I don’t have to touch those nasty buttons again…
****
Don’t look out there again. It’s not any different. He forced his eyes to stay on the television but he couldn’t make them focus on the action on the screen.
But it might be different out there. Could even be worse. He squelched the harping voice, then glared down at his hands and picked his ragged cuticles.
Once, before he’d ever picked up a guitar, he used to bite his fingernails. First from nerves, then out of habit. His mother would nag him to stop; his hands looked awful. Now he had to keep them trimmed down to nothing in order to play, and that put an end to the biting. Still, when he was distressed, he fought the urge just the same. Since there was nothing there, he would set about destroying a cuticle instead. His nail beds were a wreck.
It was either pick or chain-smoke, and he couldn’t let his voice get any more raw. It was already starting to shred on the higher registers. He tugged at a tiny tag of skin. It came off with a little needle-stab and started to bleed. He watched the redness ooze into the semicircle of his nail bed and he swiped it away with his thumb. It immediately welled up again and threatened to spill over. He stuck it into his mouth and raised his head. His eyes reflexively jerked to the dim square of the window. “Shit,” he mumbled around his fingertip; the snow had begun to fall harder and faster, the wet flakes clumping into large, irregular masses of white.
I didn’t need to see that. Where are you, dammit?
His fingers itched to dial her number, wanting to assuage his worry with the sound of her voice. I wanted someone special in my life, but I didn’t want anyone to worry about. Like that makes any sense. What was I hoping for, a cartoon character?
And I certainly wasn’t expecting to worry that she may not come back.
He dragged his eyes from the window yet again and sat down to impatiently wait, flipping listlessly through the television channels before settling in to make another cuticle bleed.
****
JT picked up his cell phone and touched the screen, one ragged-edged finger poised above the keypad, waiting for the go-ahead from his zigzagging conscience. He sat for a long moment, staring pointedly at the air, his thoughts still waffling.
No. Be patient, JT. He set the phone down and turned off the power, then it dawned on him that he’d never hear any incoming calls that way. He pressed the button back on again with the pad of one large thumb. Why do they make these buttons so damn tiny? Or maybe it’s just that my hands are so big.
He looked down at the phone, toy-sized against his palm, and his mind, never tightly reigned anyway, distanced itself from his twisting emotions and spiraled off into tangentland.
They really are disproportionately large. I’ve never considered myself a vain man, but I hate my hands. They’re ungainly. The palms are too large, my fingers are long and tapered, but so thick. Long enough to play the piano without the reach being tough, but it doesn’t look very elegant. Neither does my guitar playing, with how I have to arrange my fingers so that I don’t get in my own way. Made it bloody well hard to learn to play. But I guess I was determined enough. Still, I could never play lead, I can’t move these stinkin’ sausages fast enough to do a good riff.
He turned his phoneless hand palm up and studied the calluses that stretched from the tip down to the second knuckle. He brushed his thumb across the thickened skin, surprised by its sensitivity despite the hard flesh underneath. And it’s soft, too, which has always surprised the hell out of me, that using lotion doesn’t destroy the pads I need to play, won’t make it so soft that it splits under the pressure against the strings, but keeps it from being rough and scratchy. Against her skin.
I would hate it if she shrank from my touch, winced away because it was like sandpaper. Ah, God, to feel her under my hands again… I miss you, babe. I need you here, even if I can’t touch you, can’t have you. Just to know that you’re in arm’s reach is enough. For now, anyway.
He woke his phone up again and this time he let his fingers dial the number he’d come to know by heart.
****
He almost dropped the phone. He’d been fully expecting to hear the usual four rings followed by the most unsexy female voice on the face of the planet first reciting the number he’d dialed then instructing him to leave a message. Instead, he was surprised to hear her voice, and even further taken aback by her tone. It took a moment but he found his own voice and stammered, “K-Kori? Is that really you, love?”
****
The snow was sticky-wet and piling up alarmingly fast. The flakes grew bigger the further south she drove. Several times she had to pull into a rest area or onto the shoulder to clear the clogged wiper blades when they slid goopy arcs of blur over the windshield. Sprinkled in-between, she faked the need to clear the blades and pulled off, simply to get a moment’s respite from the mesmerizing snow.
Try as he might, the stress of the day had taken its toll on Mark and he found it impossible to stay awake. His body demanded sleep and he was powerless to fight it. Zach, however, stayed nervously awake in the back seat. Every time the droning engine started to lull him into a light doze, Kori swore softly at the smeary windshield and he jerked back to full awareness.
Heedless of their wishes this time, Kori chain-smoked her way to Cincinnati; it was the only way she could keep her hands from trembling too violently to steer. The day had only passed into midafternoon, but she’d turned the headlights on more than hour ago, as mu
ch to see as to be seen. The dim light and slushy snowfall cut visibility to almost nothing. Thank God the road is mostly flat and straight. Any big curves or inclines would have me spinning in circles. It scares the bejesus out of me as it is. Just keep it at forty-five, Kori, slow and steady, and we’ll get there just fine. It’ll take seven hours instead of five, but we’ll be all right. I hope I can last that long without wigging out completely…
****
JT paced and fretted, the nervous knot in his stomach growing as the minutes ticked by and the daylight began to fade frighteningly early. I thought a separation would do me good. Would do us both some good. He snorted softly. This is worse than when she was right next door and I had to play the part of casual friend.
This won’t happen again. I can’t let it. He wasn’t sure if he meant a long distance between them, or how he reacted to her absence. Does it really matter? As long as I keep her close by, I won’t have to find out. He kicked himself yet again for falling too hard and too fast.
Too fast? She’s been invading me since we were, what? Teenagers? Even earlier than that? Sometimes my head felt crowded, and thoughts came from out of nowhere and I thought I must be going crazy. But I wasn’t, I just didn’t even fathom that this was possible. That the overstuffed feeling in my head was when she was here. I didn’t know she existed. And now that I’ve found her…
His thoughts trailed off. Now that I’ve found her, what? I have to keep her? She’s not a possession. You can’t own people, JT. I can’t let her go? She’s her own person, and it seems she’s been coming and going in my life, whether I knew who she was or not, for most of it. I don’t think I could ever put a stop to it, the leavings and comings are all up to her. Would I really want her to, anyway? She’s the rest of me. I wonder if she understands that the way I do?
We’ve been inseparable on that other level, whatever it is, for so long. It’s been pretty much one-sided until recently, but I’m getting there. I wonder if we’ll ever be equal in that capacity? I can only reach her when she’s near, but she can climb into my brain from halfway across the planet. She’s been doing that all along. I wish I could. It would sure as hell end this damn anxiousness.
Dream Me Off My Feet (Sex, Love, And Rock & Roll) Page 40