Missez

by Sherryl Hancock

  Nicolette shrugged, not wanting to turn around, because she knew he’d see the tears that had started suddenly.

  “Babe,” Jerith said softly, his lips next to her ear. “Talk to me…”

  “I… it’s nothing, Jerith, okay. I’m just tired,” she said, trying desperately to keep her voice calm and reaching up to wipe her tears away. But Jerith caught the movement and literally dragged her around to face him. His blue eyes widened as he saw her tears.

  “Jesus,” he said, shocked. “What? What did I do?”

  “You didn’t do anything.” Nicolette said, trying to regain her composure and convince him that she was okay at the same time. “It’s me, I… I just have an aversion to the smell of alcohol. It triggers some fairly bad memories. I’m sorry, it has nothing to do with you.” She reached out then and touched his cheek. She could see the worry on his face, and she felt bad for having caused it. He had enough to worry about without having to consider her emotional baggage from her first marriage.

  “What did he do to you?” Jerith asked, surprising her with his sudden vehemence.

  “He drank, and he… Never mind. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “It does matter if it’s affecting us now, doesn’t it?” He really didn’t sound or look even the slightest bit drunk.

  Nicolette looked up at him, surprised by his obvious agitation but not wanting to admit to what had happened in her own household. It was very clear to her, however, that he was waiting for an answer, and that he expected to get it. Finally she sighed. “He’d want sex, and if I refused he’d hit me, okay?”

  She had said it so offhandedly that Jerith stared at her for a long moment as he assimilated what she was telling him. But Nicolette could tell when it clicked, because his eyes narrowed and he looked at her more closely, as if searching for signs of John’s abuse.

  “That sonofabitch hit you?”

  “Not all the time, just when he was drunk. And when I said no… I was his wife—I guess he didn’t figure it was my right to refuse him.” She shrugged.

  “Don’t make excuses for that bastard,” Jerith said, his tone still reflecting his outrage. Then he pulled her into his arms, hugging her close. “I’m sorry, Nick. If I’d have known… I’m sorry.”

  Nicolette couldn’t help but be warmed by his words. It made her realize once again how lucky she was to have him.

  She pulled back to look up at him. “You know something, Mr. Michaels?”

  “What?”

  “I love you.”

  “Well, that’s a good thing, because I love you too,” he said, his smile ever charming. “But first.” He held a finger up as he got out of bed, then went into the bathroom and closed the door. Nicolette laughed as she heard the water running, knowing he was trying to get rid of the smell of alcohol on his breath. She found that he had succeeded a few minutes later when he came back and kissed her like it was their first kiss. They made love that night, and Nicolette realized it was the first time they had since she and Ryan had moved in with him. Things had been so crazy and up in the air, and they’d been so tired, but now everything was right again.

  Nicolette fell asleep in her husband’s arms, thinking that now he needed to get his career back on track too.

  The next day, Jerith and Nicolette were out running errands. As usual the radio was on in the car; Jerith had tuned to a classic rock station. Whitesnake’s “Still of the Night” came on and, glancing over at Nicolette apologetically, he cranked the volume up. Nicolette grinned as she watched her husband sing. At one point she reached over, turning the volume down just a bit. When Jerith looked at her questioningly, she shrugged and said, “I want to hear you sing, not him.”

  “David Coverdale would be real happy to hear you say that,” Jerith said, rolling his eyes.

  “I’m not in love with him,” Nicolette said smoothly.

  Jerith grinned, and continued to sing as he drove. At one point, the lead singer’s voice became sultry and low. Listening to Jerith sing the same lyrics in the same manner, Nicolette was surprised to find her body respond. Her pulse seemed to race just a little bit more, and every note, every slight intonation in his voice, thrummed at her libido. She had always been surprised by her body’s response to him, but this time was different. It was his singing, his voice that made her react. Nicolette knew this was important. She remembered what the Rolling Stone article had said about Jerith’s voice, that it had shaken the writer to the core, that she’d felt an almost magnetic pull toward him when she heard him sing. Now Nicolette felt it too.

  When the song ended, Jerith turned the radio back down to a normal level. He glanced over at Nicolette and noticed the look of amazement on her face.

  “What?” he said cynically.

  “You know what. You’ve been hiding behind Billy this whole time, haven’t you?”

  “Excuse me?” he said, a mystified grin on his lips.

  “There’s no excuse for you,” Nicolette said, returning his grin along with a narrowed look. “Jerith Joshua Michaels, you have an incredible voice, and you’ve been wasting it on backing vocals all this time.”

  “I wouldn’t call it wasting it,” he said, glancing around the interior of the car as if to say, “Look at what I have.”

  “I would,” Nicolette retorted, feeling the need to make him admit his talent. “You could have been lead singing all this time, and you haven’t.”

  “That’s because Billy’s the lead singer.”

  “Yeah, well she’s not the lead singer anymore, is she?” Nicolette replied heatedly. “And Billy and the Kid isn’t Billy and the Kid without Billy.”

  Jerith retorted with equal intensity. “No, it’s just Kid, isn’t it?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  Jerith didn’t reply. He stared out at the road ahead of him, his tumult showing in the tightening of his jaw as he clenched his teeth. “It’s not that easy, Nick,” he said finally, all fight gone from his voice.

  “Explain it to me. Tell me why it’s not,” Nicolette said, her voice softer now too.

  Again Jerith didn’t reply. He pulled into the lot of the store they were going to and parked. Then he turned to her. “Maybe people don’t want to hear Kid Michaels sing. You know people didn’t respond well when Joe Satriani opened his mouth, and he is one of the best guitarists in the world.”

  “And maybe he couldn’t really sing. But you can, Jerith.”

  Jerith shook his head, as if not understanding why she didn’t get it. He turned and got out of the car, and Nicolette followed suit. They walked into the store hand in hand. The man at the front door recognized him, and said, “Good morning, Kid.” Jerith nodded to him and smiled.

  Nicolette glanced up at him, and Jerith responded by saying, “I come here a lot.”

  “I see.” She smiled, as if that were the only reason someone would recognize him.

  They walked around the store for a little while, picking up things here and there.

  “Making an album isn’t cheap either, you know, and there’s not a lot of people willing to back someone soloing it for the first time,” Jerith said. Nicolette couldn’t help but smile; she knew he’d been thinking about what she had said and had hoped he’d get around to discussing it some more.

  “How much does it cost?” she asked.

  “Depends on how you want it to sound.”

  “Well, we want it to sound good, right?”

  Jerith grinned, noting that she was already expecting him to do it. “Yeah, and that would mean a crew like Billy and the Kid used. They’re expensive.”

  “How expensive?”

  “Couple hundred.”

  “A couple hundred dollars?” Nicolette was shocked—he thought that was expensive?

  “A couple of hundred thousand dollars, honey,” Jerith said, his look saying, “I told you so.”

  “Oh,” Nicolette said, taken aback. This was an expensive business.

  “And that’s not including promotion and a
ll that—that’s just studio time, production fees, and the print.” Jerith glanced down at her, noting that she looked a bit surprised.

  She recovered quickly. “Okay… so last time I checked, you had a lot of money.”

  “Yeah,” Jerith said, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his index finger. “And last time I checked, I have a wife and son to consider now.”

  Nicolette looked up at him sharply, but she could see by the look on his face that he hadn’t meant the comment to be nasty. Jerith took his responsibilities very seriously. “No offense, Mr. Michaels, but we were doing just fine before you came along.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You know what I mean,” Nicolette said, touching his arm. “What I’m saying is, I want you to do what makes you happy. You won’t know how people will respond till you give it a try.”

  “And if I wash out?”

  “We’ll jump off that bridge if and when we come to it.”

  “No, the answer is, if I wash out, my career will really be over, and I’ll be doing infomercials on the home shopping channel,” Jerith said seriously, though he was grinning.

  “So don’t wash out,” Nicolette said confidently.

  “Easy for you to say,” Jerith said, walking away from her down another aisle.

  “Hey!” Nicolette caught up to him and put her arm through his. “So are you gonna think about it, or do I have to divorce ya?”

  Jerith grinned, shaking his head. “You win. I’ll think about it.”

  Later, when they were in line, a young man sidled up to Jerith and extended his hand. “You’re Kid Michaels.”

  “Okay,” Jerith said, smiling as he shook his hand.

  “Damn nice to meet ya, man. This your wife?” he asked, looking at Nicolette appreciatively. Jerith’s hand tightened imperceptibly in Nicolette’s as he nodded. “Well, it’s nice to meet you too. I’m Derick.”

  “It’s good to meet you, Derick,” Jerith said, and Nicolette smiled, nodding. She still wasn’t used to people coming up to them.

  “So, man, are you like gonna kick it on your own, or what?” Derick said, tilting his head to the side.

  “Not sure yet,” Jerith replied, feeling Nicolette’s elbow in his ribs as she got in her “I told you so.”

  “Think it’d be a badass track, man. You should go for it,” Derick said, seeming happy to be giving a superstar advice.

  Jerith nodded. “Thanks.”

  “No prob, man. Hey, do you think you could, like, sign somethin’ for me? My girlfriend is gonna shit that I actually met you. She’s like got every picture of you ever put out—pisses me off a little bit, know what I mean? How the fuck’s a guy supposed to measure up to that?”

  “Sorry,” Jerith said, looking honestly so. “But yeah, I’ll sign something. Whaddya got?” He started searching his pockets for something to write on.

  Derick pulled a bus pass out of his pocket and handed it to Jerith. Nicolette gave him a pen.

  Jerith looked at the bus pass. “If I write on this, it looks like it’ll void it.”

  Derick looked at the pass for a moment, then shrugged. “Hey, I don’t care. I can buy another one—they’re only, like, ten bucks. Your autograph’s worth it.”

  Jerith smiled at the younger man. “Well, thanks for saying so,” he said as he signed his name. Then he pulled out his wallet, took out a ten-dollar bill, and handed both the bus pass and the money to Derick. “But I don’t want you out any money for it.”

  “Wow, man, thanks!” Derick said, his eyes widening. People standing nearby watched the exchange with interest, and smiled at the young, rough-looking man’s obvious excitement. A few more people became Kid Michaels fans in that moment, even people who didn’t like that loud rock music.

  Later, in the car, Nicolette told him what she’d seen on the onlookers’ faces. “They thought you were great, and so do I,” she said, her eyes shining as she looked at him.

  “Don’t start all that hero worship stuff, okay?” Jerith said, looking very uncomfortable with the compliment.

  “You certainly don’t have any of that star-trip, ego thing going on, that’s for sure,” Nicolette said, shaking her head.

  Jerith shrugged. “I play guitar, people like it. Big deal.”

  “Not quite, Mr. Michaels. I think it’s a little more than that.”

  “Being rich and famous makes it easy to be nice, Nick.”

  “Yeah, but lots of people are rich and famous and not nice at all.”

  “Okay, you win. I’m a god. Can we move on now?”

  Nicolette laughed. “Yes, dear, we can move on. That kid was very happy, and he wanted to know if you were going solo…”

  “He’s one kid.”

  “Bullshit, Jerith. I don’t think anyone really knew who the driving force behind Billy and the Kid was till that Rolling Stone article. But now they do, and they’re all sitting holding their breath and waiting to see what you’re going to do. I don’t think you should disappoint them.”

  Jerith was silent for a long moment, then glanced over at her. “I think your description of my debatable following is a little exaggerated, but maybe you’re right.”

  Nicolette smiled. “Of course I am.”

  Jerith just nodded.

  ****

  Two weeks later, he was sitting in BJ Sparks’ office, his knee bouncing nervously as he waited for BJ to arrive. He looked around, noticing all the gold and platinum albums. The man was proliferate, that was for sure.

  “Hey, Kid,” BJ said as he strode in, extending his hand to Jerith.

  Jerith stood and shook BJ’s hand, his expression serious.

  BJ sat behind his desk, looking over at the guitarist and leaning back in his chair. “So, what’s up?” he asked when Jerith didn’t say anything.

  “I, uh,” Jerith stammered. He blew out his breath, not sure if he was actually crazy for doing this, but knowing he had to try. “I was thinking about doing an album.”

  “Alone?” BJ sounded surprised.

  “Yeah,” Jerith said, feeling even more nervous.

  Steepling his hands in front of him, BJ looked like he was trying to wrap his head around the concept. “Are you gonna sing?” he asked wryly.

  Jerith stared back at him, considering just telling him to forget it and leaving before BJ could tell him he was nuts. But he knew he needed to see this through; then at least he’d know he’d tried. Finally he nodded, slowly, his lips twitching in consternation.

  “Well, it’s about fucking time!” BJ burst out, smiling widely.

  “I’m sorry?” Jerith said, suddenly lost.

  “You think Johnny didn’t play me that track you laid?” BJ’s lips curled in a sardonic grin. “Nothing happens in Wild Irish Silence that I don’t know about, Kid.”

  “I guess not,” Jerith muttered, trying to decide if he should be pissed at Johnny.

  “So when do you want to start?”

  “Uh, soon?” Jerith was still somewhat in shock at how easy this had been.

  “The sooner the better.” BJ stood and extended his hand. “Let’s get to work.”

  ****

  Production on Kid Michaels’ first solo album, titled Solo, began a month later. Jerith worked on it tirelessly. Nicolette had gotten on with the Bureau of Narcotic Enforcement in their Los Angeles regional office as a special agent and had been told that because of her experience as a sergeant in narcotics, she would more than likely make special agent supervisor within two years. Ryan started his new school and was happy to find out that Becky went there too. Things seemed to be going smoothly, until one afternoon when Ryan got home to find John Harris sitting in a rental car outside Jerith’s house.

  When Ryan’s friends dropped him off, John got out of the car and walked over to him.

  “Dad, what are you doing here?”

  “Your mom may have full custody, Ryan, but I still have visitation rights, you know,” John said, his voice deceptively casual. Ryan didn’t like it; he knew that his fa
ther hated Jerith, and he surmised that he was all-time pissed off that Jerith and Nicolette had actually gotten married.

  “Yeah, right, I know,” Ryan said, smiling at his father wanly. “Look, I’ll go inside and drop my books and then maybe we can go somewhere.”

  “What’s the matter with you?” John said, his voice almost harsh. “I want to see where you’re living now.” He put his arm around his son and steered him toward the house. Ryan was on alert instantly. He knew how his father could be—including very violent, if he wanted to be.

  “Okay, but let me call Mom when we get in. She doesn’t like me to have people in Kid’s house, ya know,” Ryan said, trying to cajole his father into dropping the idea.

  “It’s your house now too, not just Kid’s,” John replied, saying Jerith’s stage name with apparent distaste.

  “Yeah, I know. Kid’s real cool about that—he doesn’t mind if I have the guys over…” Ryan trailed off as he saw his father’s face change. He knew he was telling his dad more than he needed to hear, so he shut up. He opened the front door and went in, dropping his backpack on the sofa and heading into the kitchen to call his mother. Fortunately, she was in her office and answered on the second ring.

  “Michaels,” Nicolette said, still stumbling slightly over her new name.

  “Mom,” Ryan said, trying to keep his voice low. John was standing in the living room, looking around.

  “Ryan, what is it?” Nicolette said, detecting the cautious tone in her son’s voice.

  “Dad’s here.”

  “He’s what?” Nicolette stood in her cubicle, the people around her glancing up at her exclamation.

  “Here, Mom, here,” Ryan almost chanted under his breath. “Dad’s here.”

  “I’ll be home in a half hour. Don’t go anywhere with him,” Nicolette said very seriously.

  “Okay.” Then Ryan realized he’d already told his dad they could go somewhere. “Hurry, Mom.”

  They hung up, and Ryan turned to his father.

  “So, Dad… what’re you doing here, anyway? I mean, are you on business or something?” Ryan said, surprising himself with how calm his voice sounded.