Seven Books for Seven Lovers

by Molly Harper, Stephanie Haefner, Liora Blake, Gabra Zackman, Andrea Laurence, Colette Auclair

  Adelia sat back in her chair and folded her hands across her lap. She had listened intently throughout his entire story, not saying a word to interrupt. Now, he awaited her verdict on the situation. At this point, he’d be happy to hear what someone else thought he should do.

  “You’re a damn fool.”

  That was about right, but not an entirely helpful observation. “Tell me something I don’t know, Grandma.”

  She arched an elegant gray brow and pointed her manicured index finger at him. “Okay. Do you know how much trouble it took me to get Ivy to come back to Rosewood? How many calls I had to make to that Lynch fellow before she’d even consider it? Did it ever occur to you that we could’ve gotten someone else to do a charity concert for a lot less aggravation?”

  “Well, actually, yes, it did. When she first arrived, I’d wished we had gotten someone else. It felt like the fund-raising committee had a personal vendetta against me, bringing her here.”

  “I brought her here because I wanted Ivy. And I wanted Ivy because I decided that you two deserved a second chance to make things right.”

  Blake was stunned. He’d never known his grandmother to give a hoot about other people’s love lives. The fact that she had gone to this much trouble to help with his own was mind-boggling. He wished she’d asked first, although he probably would’ve resisted the idea. “Really?”

  “Yes, really,” she said with a sarcastically flat tone. “And it worked, because I was right. You and Ivy were meant to be together. And once again, you ruined it with your foolishness! What were you thinking, staying alone in your office with a naked Lydia Whittaker? You should’ve bolted the minute she slipped a sleeve.”

  Blake dropped his face into his hands. “I know. Believe me, I know.”

  “You’re damn lucky, Blake.”

  At that, he sat up and frowned at her. He didn’t feel lucky. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about that song.”

  His grandmother rose elegantly to thumb through her iPod and dock it when she found what she was looking for. After a moment, the first few guitar notes started and he realized she was playing Ivy’s new song. He’d heard that much of it before he’d shoved Grant out onto the porch.

  He moved to stand, but a stern look from his grandmother kept his rear in contact with the upholstery of his chair.

  “You’ll listen to this song right now, Blake Allen Chamberlain, or I’ll have Winston restrain you and play it while you’re tied to the chair.”

  Blake swallowed and relaxed back into his seat. He knew better than to call his grandmother’s bluff. If she used your middle name, it was deadly serious.

  Ivy’s voice drifted from the speakers. He wanted to block it out, but there was no point. He closed his eyes and tried to pay attention, since everyone insisted he needed to. Whatever she said in this song had to be important.

  And it was. Christ, it was.

  This wasn’t a song about him. She was singing to him. Pouring her heart out like he’d never heard her sing before. This wasn’t the typical Ivy Hudson song. It was incredible. Romantic. Heartfelt. He was struck by the realization that she’d never stopped loving him. She might have been angry and resentful. But she’d still loved him all this time.

  No wonder everyone wanted him to listen to it.

  The live recording ended as the crowd cheered. The track must’ve been laid down during the concert. The part he’d missed because of Lydia.

  It made his gut ache miserably to think that she’d sung that song and then, moments later, found him in another woman’s arms. That was why she was wearing his letterman jacket and they’d projected old pictures of them. That was why she’d had her guitar with her. She was going to sing it to him since he’d missed it to do an “interview.” He’d lost that beautiful moment, that opportunity to tell her he felt the same way. He’d never have back what Lydia stole from him.

  “Thank you,” he said once the room was silent again.

  “You’re welcome. You needed to hear it so you could understand how lucky you are.” His grandmother lowered back into her chair and crossed her ankles. “Six years ago you did cheat on her! And despite that, she still loves you.”

  “Loved me. I’ve ruined it.”

  “No.” She chuckled softly. “If you didn’t ruin it then, you certainly didn’t ruin it now. The difference is that last time, you let her go.”

  “I didn’t—” he started to argue, but she was right. He had let her go. She’d kicked him in the balls and driven away, and he hadn’t chased after her. If he had truly loved her as much as he claimed to, he would’ve chased her across the state and fixed this.

  “You have to fight for her love, Blake. You have to force her to listen to the truth and let her know you love her too much to let her walk away again. Prove to her that you’re worthy of her love.”

  Blake swallowed hard. He could do that. He could book the next flight to Los Angeles and bang on her door until she either listened or had him arrested. It was a scary prospect, but his grandmother was right. He needed to fight for Ivy’s love; otherwise, he’d never deserved it to begin with.

  “What if it doesn’t make any difference?” he asked. “What if she doesn’t care about how I feel for her and slams the door in my face?”

  His grandmother shrugged slightly and waved her jeweled fingers in a dismissive gesture. “She won’t. And to prove how confident I am, I’m going to give you something.”

  She worked at her hand for a moment until her engagement ring slipped from her finger. Blake opened his mouth to argue with her, but she immediately silenced him with a stern look. “Your grandfather gave me this ring in 1957. It was the happiest day of my life. We had so much potential, so much time to look forward to being together. We had nearly fifty wonderful years before the cancer took him.” Her pale blue eyes were a little misty as she reminisced about his grandfather.

  Placing the ring in the palm of his hand, she said, “Now it’s your turn.”

  “Girl, if you don’t get dressed and get out of this house, plastic surgery rumors are going to start swirling. The only reason a celebrity goes off the grid for more than a few days is to have work done!”

  Ivy instantly regretted giving Malcolm a key to her house. She didn’t budge from her spot on the couch, however. She remained a lump in front of the television, where she was six hours into an Ancient Aliens marathon.

  “Are you wearing sweatpants?” Malcolm asked, his face contorted in horror.

  “They’re yoga pants,” Ivy corrected. “And I didn’t ask for your fashion critique, Joan Rivers. Shouldn’t you be off filming some action flick?”

  “I’m not on the call sheet today.” He eyed her sloppy ensemble, shook his head, and flopped down on the opposite end of the couch. He didn’t say anything for a few minutes and Ivy could just tell it was killing him.

  “Well, I’ll start with congratulations,” he said at last.

  Ivy frowned. She couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. “Dare I ask what for?”

  “For hitting number one on iTunes with your new single. Your live concert video already has over twenty million views on YouTube. Not bad for three days.”

  Oh. That. Yeah, apparently this was her fastest-climbing single ever. She should be excited. Thrilled. And yet, she couldn’t work up the enthusiasm for it. That song was tainted. She would perform it when she had to, but that didn’t mean she would enjoy it. The song would haunt her, just like those images of Lydia half-naked.

  “I find it kinda funny,” she said, “that I’ve made a career on songs about bad relationships and never had any trouble separating the song and the work from the dating drama. When I finally write a positive song about love and then break up, I’m overwhelmed with the emotions. I can’t even stand to hear it, much less sing it. And guess what? It may be my biggest hit ever!”

  “Yes, and that’s why you’ve got to snap out of this funk, pronto. Your career is taking off in
a whole new direction and you need to make the most of it. You’re not going to be able to float a career with your old, bitter songs anymore.”

  Considering his words for a moment before speaking, he furrowed his brow. “You want to know why everything is different now?”

  She shrugged.

  “It’s because you didn’t care about any of those other guys. They were just tools you used to get in touch with your feelings for Blake again. The angst those guys caused was secondary. You needed it to help you relive the pain of betrayal and loss so you could write. None of those songs were really about John or Carey or Sterling. The lyrics might have sounded like they were, but the emotions behind every song were one hundred percent Blake.”

  She eyeballed Malcolm, not quite sure how to respond to that. By his theory, she’d done nothing but moon over Blake for the past six years. She wasn’t saying it wasn’t true, but her life seemed so much more pathetic when he put it that way. “How much do you charge by the hour, Dr. Holt?”

  “Only now,” he continued, ignoring her, “you can’t write those angry songs about him. You love him too much.”

  “And I didn’t love him before? The first time?”

  “Of course you did, but you were stunned by your first real heartbreak and you lost touch with everything but the pain. Now, your love is too recent and real, but so is your disappointment with how it ended. So of course you’ll be conflicted about that song. But you should embrace it. It’s a beautiful song.”

  Ivy leaned back into the couch, tempted to reach for the remote to start her show again. This conversation wasn’t helping. Of course that song was painful. Conflicted didn’t quite touch it. “I just need some time. Eventually, I’ll get over him and the song won’t have such sharp edges anymore. I’ll date someone new. I’ll come up with some new songs.”

  “Another pointless relationship that doesn’t get anywhere? How long are you going to keep dating men you’ll never commit to? It’s not fair to them. When are you going to admit to yourself that it never works out because you’re still in love with another man? I mean, you said it yourself—you’ve never stopped loving him.”

  It was just like Malcolm to throw her own lyrics in her face. But he was wrong. She could get back on the metaphorical horse and things would be fine. With a new song, she’d be a hot commodity to be seen with. Finding a new guy wouldn’t be a problem. Looking at him and not seeing Blake . . . that was another matter.

  Ivy got up from the couch and padded barefoot into the kitchen to get something to drink. A whole carton of Ben & Jerry’s would be better, but if she did that in front of Malcolm, he’d have her checked into a rest facility for emotional distress. “Do you want a bottle of water or something?”

  “No, I’m fine, thanks.”

  Ivy reached into the refrigerator and pulled out one of her carbonated waters with citrus. “I just need to date you for a few months while I lick my wounds. That would keep the pressure off to start a real relationship. I can see you through your movie premiere. By the time all that is done, I’ll be fine.”

  “You don’t need to waste time dating a gay man.”

  Ivy slammed the door of the refrigerator and turned to him in irritation. “Last week you suggested we date!”

  “Last week you hadn’t admitted to yourself that you were in love with Blake. You’re not going to use me to hide behind, sorry. You need to talk to him.”

  “No way!” she shouted as she walked back into the living room. “You’re out of your damn mind!”

  “No, I’m right and you know it. Despite everything, you still love him. There’s a part deep inside you that knows he was telling the truth about what happened with Lydia. It wasn’t what you thought it was.”

  Ivy’s jaw tightened in irritation. “I could see her ass cheeks, Malcolm. That’s pretty hard to misinterpret.”

  “Yes, but was he touching her?”

  “Yes!” she said. They’d been over this once before.

  “Where?”

  She sighed and tried to think back to the unpleasant memory. The moment itself was a blur of lace panties and heartbreak. It look her a moment to conjure the exact placement of his hands in her mind. “He was touching her shoulders.”

  Malcolm nodded thoughtfully. “That’s some sexy stuff. I know whenever I’m faced with a half-naked woman, I always go straight for the shoulders.”

  Ivy frowned. Not the best example. “That’s because you’re terrified of lady parts.”

  “Exactly! Blake, as you’re well aware, is not. He likes them. If he was interested in what Lydia was offering, I sincerely doubt he would’ve opted to put his hands on her shoulders.”

  “He shouldn’t have had his hands on her anything! I don’t care if she was dancing around his office naked, throwing glitter.” Ivy’s brows drew together in irritation as she tried to rid herself of this pesky new image. “Why are you taking his side, anyway? You’re my friend.”

  “I’m not taking his side. If he’s guilty, let him rot. But I just have to wonder, with the way things were going with you two, if you walked in on something else. You said Lydia was after him. Maybe she lured him there and put the full court press on him. It might not be the simplest explanation, but it could happen.”

  “You’re grasping at straws. Aren’t I supposed to be the one doing that?”

  “Yes, but you’ve got to admit that you have doubts about what you saw. You wouldn’t be so torn up over this whole thing if you didn’t. You’d be writing some song about lighting his balls on fire.”

  A small smile curled Ivy’s lips. “I hardly think that would get airplay. But it might be therapeutic.”

  “You need to let him know how you feel, Ivy.”

  “He knows! The whole world knows. I got on that stage and announced to thousands of people that I loved Blake and always have. Even if he missed the song because Lydia’s tongue was in his ear, he has to have heard it by now. It’s all over the radio and the Internet. With as much money as we’ve already raised for the Rosewood Gymnasium Fund, someone has to be talking about it there. He hasn’t called or texted. He must not care.”

  “I don’t believe that for a second. I think he knows he’s screwed up so badly that you might never give him another chance. He might be afraid to call you and tell you how he feels.”

  “And how does he feel?”

  Malcolm shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Ivy picked up the pillow beside her and threw it at him. “A lot of help you are!”

  “But,” he argued, “I know how you feel. You’re miserable without him. You put your heart out there once; do it again. You’re going to be on Late Night with Jimmy Jones tomorrow night, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” Her hiding away wouldn’t last much longer. Jimmy’s show was her first promotional performance. After that, she had The Tonight Show and MTV.

  “Go on that talk show and sing that song the way you did before, like he’s listening. Pour your heart and soul into it and give him another chance to hear you the way he was meant to. I’m telling you, you’ll get a call within twenty-four hours.”

  “And if he does, what do I do? How can I trust him, Malcolm?”

  He scooted beside her, putting his arm around her shoulder to snuggle against her. Ivy rested her head on his chest, hovering on the verge of uncharacteristic tears. “When that phone rings, listen to what he’s got to say with an open mind and an open heart. Give him a chance,” he continued. “I want to see you happy, Ivy.”

  She wanted to be happy. Having a taste of it with Blake convinced her that she did. But after everything that had happened, could he still be the one to bring her that happiness? She just didn’t know. She supposed she should do what Malcolm suggested.

  Right or wrong, Ivy would find out one way or another.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Blake was standing on the arrivals curb at LAX the next afternoon, armed with nothing but determination and a small bag of clothes. But as he moved through
the cab line, he realized he had missed a critical detail: he had no idea where Ivy lived. He didn’t think “somewhere in Malibu overlooking the ocean” would cut it.

  He’d tried calling her parents, but they were both at work and neither was answering their phone. He could probably try to track down her manager’s information, but that could take a while. That meant he had to call her directly and hope she stayed on the phone long enough to give him the information.

  Stepping out of the taxi queue, he went back into the airport and looked for a quiet place to call. He stared at his phone for a moment before he dialed her number. His palms were sweating like he was about to start in his first NFL game. “Man up, Chamberlain,” he said in his gruffest coach voice. It worked on his students and players; maybe it would work on him, too.

  He hit the button to call her before he could stop himself. From there, he could only raise the phone to his ear and wait. It rang four or five times before someone picked up, but it wasn’t Ivy’s voice. It was a man’s voice.

  “Hello?”

  Blake stumbled over the unanticipated road block. “I uh, I think I might have the wrong number.”

  “Blake?”

  He stopped, a moment from disconnecting the call. “Yes,” he replied warily. “I was calling to speak to Ivy, please. Who’s this?”

  “This is her friend Malcolm. Ivy is away from her phone right now. She’s actually in rehearsals for a talk show she’s taping in a couple of hours.”

  Malcolm. Her “friend.” Just the sound of his name made Blake’s stomach start to ache with dread. He had ruined it. He’d driven her back into the arms of her ex with his stupidity.

  “Do you want me to have her call you?”

  “I don’t know. If you two are . . . uh . . . together, there isn’t much point.”

  “Together?” Malcolm said with a hearty chuckle. “Did Ivy not tell you . . . ?” His voice trailed off. “Well, I guess she wouldn’t.”

  The loud voice of the airport public announcement system cut into the conversation.

  “Wait, Blake . . . are you in the airport?”