He eased to his feet, wincing as his full weight sliced razor blades into their tender swollen soles, and began a slow shuffle toward the master bathroom.
Being on my feet’s not so bad now that I’m up, he thought, once the business with his bladder was completed. It’s the getting there that damn near kills me every time. The pain in his feet had dulled to a bed of sharp nails and he decided it was time to begin the task he’d been putting off before it was too late to even start it at all. I hope they left the computer on. I know typing with these water balloons that used to be my fingers will be tough, but writing by hand will be impossible. I can hardly hold my toothbrush anymore.
He glanced into the living room and considered checking the answering machine for messages, then decided not to not endure the extra steps and walked slowly to the sunroom that served as Kori’s office and writing space and paused in the doorway. Colors and shadows from the screensaver played over the desktop in the feeble fading twilight.
A few more tormenting steps and he was at the chair, glad for once that she’d been a bit extravagant and bought the sturdy high-backed model instead of the flimsy secretarial chair that would have cost so much less. He grasped the arms of the chair and lowered into the seat carefully, then turned to face the desk with a muffled grunt as his rusted knees protested the bending and the motion. Sliding the keyboard shelf was enough to cancel the screensaver and the bright light of the screen stabbed his eyes. He blinked hard twice to cut enough residual glare to read the icons on the screen, then selected the word processing program and began to type.
My heart,
How do I say the two things I never thought I’d be telling you?
First by chickening out and not telling you until I’m already gone and you can’t argue. Then I guess by once again applying your advice from so long ago, to just open up and say them.
Goodbye, that’s hard enough on its own. I hope we had enough time to say that properly before I left this earth and your courageous arms. God, Kori, I never wanted to put you through the hell that this must surely have been…
Twenty-Four
The sweltering heat seemed to zap Mark’s energy faster than the desert winter cold had. Or maybe it’s the humidity. Or maybe it’s just that tomorrow’s never going to be better than yesterday. Nothing is ever truly going to be good again. I think insisting that we return to the tour with them was not very bright after all. JT would have let her stay home ‘til… well, ‘til whenever.
But…
They both know he’s far more than her boss, and now that we’re on neutral turf, which was my only reason for traveling along, I think it’s high time I had that conversation with JT about what it is that I know. Mark glanced around at the nondescript surroundings of yet another cookie-cutter hotel room. And so very neutral it is. I don’t think I could locate an intentionally vivid color in this room no matter how long I had to find it.
He’d asked JT to come for a talk after tonight’s show, assuring him that he wouldn’t take much of his time and he would soon be free to join the band’s New Year’s Eve party. JT didn’t care about the party and said as much, but Mark maintained that the things he wanted to say wouldn’t take very long.
Zach had asked to go to Paul’s suite to play videogames with Steven since neither of them was all that interested in seeing another concert. Mark said he was too tired to chaperone the boisterous boys but told him he could go if Kori went along. She agreed, knowing that Steven would otherwise have to hang around backstage with instrument techs, electricians, Stuart, or whomever else wasn’t needed at any given moment. Steven was thrilled to stay in, the boys were eager to challenge one another to the myriad new games they’d received for Christmas, and it also neatly served their avoidance of the newest schoolwork they’d both picked up during the holiday break.
Funny how this opportunity just landed in my lap. I couldn’t have planned it better. He sank into the wedge of bedpillows with heavy-lidded eyes, pondering what he wanted to say as he waited for JT to return to the hotel.
***
JT wasn’t surprised to see find the Miami streets rather busy during the ten-minute ride back to the hotel after the show. Ten-thirty on New Year’s Eve was prime party time. He pulled the third disposable lighter of the day from the front pocket of his pants and lit his second cigarette of the short drive. Kori had gift-wrapped two dozen lighters as a Christmas gift and teased that they wouldn’t last him a week. And she just may be right. His fingers twiddled nervously with the lighter in the dim interior of the limousine until he dropped it and couldn’t find it again. Well, bollocks! That means I’m up to number four for today, a new personal best.
He didn’t know what Mark wanted to speak with him about but he did have a couple of ideas; it was likely to revolve around looking after his wife and son. Less probable but still possible would be something directly about Kori. He suspected that Mark had an inkling of his feelings for her since they’d returned home after the dead car incident. JT couldn’t really lay a finger on anything specific that Mark had said or done; it was more a feeling that went creeping up the back of his neck whenever he, Mark and Kori were all together. He shrugged and stubbed out his cigarette. For all I know, it’s Kori’s emotions that I’m picking up, but I don’t think so. It doesn’t have her flavor.
His fingers immediately itched to hold another calming cigarette but the driver was pulling into the hotel’s covered front turnaround and there wasn’t enough time. JT swallowed hollowly and his mouth was suddenly dry.
***
Mark picked up the plain white envelope from where it sat on the bedside stand and stared at it, once again wondering if he should lick it shut or leave it as it was, unsealed with the flap tucked inside. Either way, I should at least write something on it, since I’ll be entrusting it to JT to give to Kori when the time is right. I wouldn’t want him to misplace it.
He pondered his subconscious choice of words as he reached over and pulled open the shallow bedside drawer, searching for the logo’d ball-point that was as much a hotel nightstand staple as Gideon’s Bible. Entrust. This is a matter of trust of the deepest sort. He had a long moment of panic when his blind fingers felt the grained vinyl jacket of the bible and the smooth spine and floppy cover of what was most likely the local telephone book but didn’t find anything else. He slid the books to one side and discovered the pen hiding under Gideon’s finest. He closed it in his bloated fist and exhaled slowly through slightly pursed lips, unsurprised to find the middle of his back suddenly clammy from sweat. And that was only over the prospect of having to get up from this bed and find a pen somewhere in here. I really should not be traveling. Maybe after tonight, when what needs to be said is said, we can go home.
Mark twisted slightly and laid the letter on the nightstand, then pulled the cap from the green-embossed pen (geeze, even the posh hotels only give away the cheap-ass Bics) and rested the tip on the front of the envelope. He was suddenly at a loss over what to write. Writing just her name seems cold and impersonal. And anything else sounds cheesy. I was never the type for flowery words and frilly names. ‘Honey’ and ‘babe’ were about it, aside from my funny pet name for her, and since I’m giving it to JT to hold, I don’t think she’d be comfortable if I put ‘Kooey’ on it. Matter of fact, I think she’ll be either embarrassed, pissed, or (worst of all) feel like she has to explain where it came from. God, the silly things we came up with when we decided to get drunk…
He finally settled for writing what he’d called her in the opening of the letter inside and with a shaky hand he simply wrote My Heart in large loopy letters that scarcely resembled his handwriting. He set the pen on top of the envelope and sank back into the wall of pillows. Yeah, it’s a matter of trust. If, after we talk, he feels the need to know what this letter says, then let him read it. It might even be best if he does. I don’t know how Kori’s going to feel after seeing this, and he might get little insight into her possible reactions. Or at least fa
ir warning. Maybe I should have put ‘To my stubborn mule’ instead.
He chuckled then glanced at the alarm clock, antsy for JT to arrive and to get this over with. I wonder if he got waylaid at the venue?
Soft rapping on the door and a voice a little raspy around the edges sounded from the hallway. “Mark? It’s JT. Shall I just let myself in?”
***
“Security floor my ass,” she murmured as she swiped the hotel room keycard through the card reader on the elevator. The button for the tenth floor lit automatically and the elevator began to rise. She was grateful that the hotel didn’t remove from their system the keycards that were never returned. The encoding on hers was old, but still got her on the security floor every time one of her numerous favorite bandfucks came to town. She’d purloined this one from JT’s dresser two years ago.
The car began to slow and she readied herself to exit, tousling her overbleached hair and snugging her tight babydoll shirt into the waistband of her sprayed-on jeans. She adjusted her new jiggleproof breasts and tweaked her nipples so they’d be more noticeable. She couldn’t wait to see the look on JT’s face when he got a load of her newest pair of acquisitions.
The doors opened and she glided off, assuming the air of belonging right where she was. She thought fleetingly and without regret of who she’d had to do to learn JT’s room number. It’d been too long and he was worth whatever it took to hook up with him again. She stepped lightly down the hall, scanning the numbers for room ten-sixteen.
She knew JT didn’t usually bother locking his door when they’d rented the entire security floor, and she hoped time hadn’t changed that habit. She pressed down on the polished brass door handle and the latch snicked open to reveal a dark, empty room. She broadened her smile and slipped inside.
***
A shroud of discomfort hung heavy in the air, neither man knowing how to begin.
JT felt more certain than ever about that creepy electric snare running up from his shoulders into his hairline. Kori wasn’t here and the feeling was powerfully strong. He knows. So why isn’t he saying anything? His eyes darted around the room, seeking a little reminder of Kori to smooth his edginess. He clasped his hands tightly in his lap and let the fingers begin to mindlessly tap out an uneven rhythm on the backs.
“Go ahead,” Mark said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I don’t think it’ll make any difference anymore.”
JT drew a startled glance back to Mark’s face. “Beg pardon?”
“I know smokers and nerves. Smoke all you want. You’ll feel better and I really can’t feel much worse.” He indicated the window with a nod of his head. “Kori keeps the ashtray on the sill. I told her I’d rather have her here in a smoky room instead of flitting off to wherever, but she still insists on opening the window a crack and blowing out the smoke.”
JT rose, intending to drag one of the mini-suite’s ladder-back dinette chairs to the window.
“Oh, just stay where you are, JT.”
“Are you sure?”
“My time is too limited to say things I don’t mean. So I don’t. Smoke away, if that’ll put you more at ease.”
JT retrieved the clear glass ashtray and went back to the brown velvet easychair next to the bed. He sat on the edge of the seat, feeling uneasy and ready to bolt.
“Sit back and get comfortable, will you please? Just looking at you is making me nervous, and I swore I wasn’t going to be.”
JT pulled the hardpack of cigarettes from his back pocket then shifted further into the chair and crossed his ankles, squelching the urge to bounce the toes of his shoes together. He shook a cigarette from the pack and cursed himself again for losing yet another lighter. He had been so intent on getting to this room, on starting (and ending) this conversation, that he’d neglected to stop in his own room on the way to pick up another. There was a folder of matches on the bedside table, emblazoned with the same logo that colored the bottom of the ashtray, and he picked them up. I hate the smell of matches, but beggars can’t be choosy. He used one and blew it out, then tucked the rest of the match pack into his cigarette box.
Mark watched JT’s face relax just a tad as he exhaled a second bluegray cloud of smoke.
“You know I’m not one to mince words, JT, so I’m just going to say what I need to. All I ask is that you hear me out before you say anything.”
“Okay,” JT responded, taking in both the sharp assessment in Mark’s eyes and the deep, tired creases underneath them. He noticed for the first time a creeping yellow jaundice in the whites and wondered how long it had been there.
Mark folded his hands loosely in his lap and sighed. His face remained calm but the rolling of his thumbs, one over the other, belied his tension. “I want you to look after Kori and Zach.”
JT nodded his head slightly but remained quiet, allowing Mark to continue.
“I know that’s old news. Well, sort of, since we’ve talked before about Kori continuing her job and all. But this goes deeper than that, and even though I think you know what I mean, I’d rather have it all out in the open, at least between you and me. I have to say this now, while I’m still not on so many painkillers and other drugs that I don’t know what I’m saying.”
JT bit back his instant denial. Any negation was moot and would only make him appear foolish.
Mark watched JT carefully before continuing. “I know you’re in love with my wife, JT. And I’m fairly certain she feels the same way for you.”
JT’s eyes widened and the fleeting remains of his autumn suntan bleached alabaster pale.
“I hope that’s surprise and not fear I’m seeing.” Mark glanced down at his distended fingers, then back up at JT. “I’m not going to fight you for her, JT. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. Not that it would make any difference, anyway. She’s as stubborn as three mules and an ox and nothing either one of us might say or do would change anything.”
Stubborn is right. I’d sooner argue with a cinderblock. One corner of JT’s mouth twitched into a tiny smile despite his worry. He switched his glance to the end of his cigarette, watching the smoke curl and drift, willing his heart rate to slow to match the eddying swirls. It’s not working, but it beats the hell out of meeting his eyes right now.
Mark continued, sounding resolute and calm. “I’m not stupid or blind. And you and I have talked about your relationship before. I tried to talk myself out of it, but as I’ve gotten sicker and sicker, it’s more difficult to believe the lies I was telling myself.”
He pushed himself up a little straighter on the bed with a silent grimace, then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and stare down at the triangle of blanket beneath his folded legs. “I do have to thank you, though, for having the decency to try to keep it under wraps. It doesn’t seem anyone else knows, and I’d really rather it stay that way for now.”
JT’s eyes darted back to Mark, afraid he’d see their guilt and alarm. Rafe knows, and I’m pretty sure the rest suspect. But if Mark doesn’t know that, I’m sure as shit not telling him. He let out a silent sigh upon seeing that Mark wasn’t looking in his direction.
“You know,” Mark went on, “the sensible part of me accepts it, as much as I can, I guess. After all, I really can’t expect Kori to spend the rest of her life alone. I wouldn’t want her to, either. But in my heart, it hurts. I can’t rationalize that away no matter how hard I try.”
JT felt a heated sting and looked down to find his nearly-forgotten cigarette had burned down to the filter. He stubbed it out, grateful for a reason to be looking away as Mark continued to talk.
“I suppose that something growing between the two of you was inevitable; you’ve had this extra connection for… how long now? Years? Decades? I don’t think Kori even knows how far back it goes.”
Yes she does. So do I. But I don’t think now would be a good time to tell you that. Yeah, Never’s a good date for me. JT kept his chin tilted down, staring at the hands held loosely in his lap.
“I�
��m rambling now. I don’t think the reasons are relevant any more, anyway. It’s happened, I can’t change any of it, and all I should really be concerned with is the future. Their future.”
Mark stopped and looked at him again. JT’s teeth were worrying at his bottom lip as he scrutinized something on the carpet near his feet. Mark waited for him to glance back before continuing. “Don’t you dare hurt her, JT. Not ever.” Mark’s eyes narrowed, almost disappearing under their swollen lids. “If this isn’t a ‘for the rest of your life’ thing, if your intentions are for anything less than that, break it off now. She could better deal with the loss while I’m still here rather than after I’m gone. For all her bluster, her heart’s a very fragile and gentle thing and she doesn’t surrender it easily. If you crush her, so help me I’ll know and I’ll find a way to hound you and haunt your every breathing moment for the rest of your life.”
JT paled again, as stunned as if Mark had materialized a dead fish and slapped it across his face.
“I’m not wrong, am I, JT?” Mark asked, finally inviting a response.
“Much as I’d like to say you are, that would be a lie.” JT’s right shoe began to bounce eight to the bar, tapping lightly off the toe of his left and he sighed heavily. There was so much more he wanted to say but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead he slouched deeper into the chair and lit another cigarette, letting the smoke and the uneasiness cloud the air.
***
Kori tuned out the irritating sounds of the boys’ videogame along with their jibing and laughter. She’d long since given up wondering what they were playing this go-around. The noises of crashing, screaming, clashing swords and battle cries didn’t sound as if they ought to belong together in one game, but she couldn’t recall them changing game discs recently. There hadn’t been any of the ensuing bickering over what to play next. Who knows with these games anymore? Maybe they somehow melded swordfights and car races. Or maybe, just maybe, those two finally agreed on a game to switch to and I didn’t notice.
Dream Me Off My Feet (Sex, Love, And Rock & Roll) Page 51