by Allen, Dylan
And despite all of their attention, all I wish is that Carter could see me now. My heart does a little jump. I’ve done everything they’ve wanted. Surely they’ll let me have a phone soon and I can call him and explain everything.
17
YOU GOT A HIT
CARTER
“You want me to call you a car?”
The girl lying naked next to me raises one of her prone hands and lifts the curtain of hair off her face and peers up at me in groggy confusion.
“I thought I’d crash. It’s late.”
“Nope. You can’t stay.”
I pull the pillow she’s laying on out from under her.
“Hey!” She scrambles up to sitting.
“If you want, there’s some cash in the drawer by my door you can take it on your way out.”
I lay back down and drop the pillow on my face.
“You asshole.” The pillow is jerked off my head, and I growl, but give up on sleep and sit up.
I grope on my bedside table for the sunglasses I’ve taken to keeping there and slip them on before I open my eyes again.
I sit up and prop myself against my headboard and pick up the half smoked joint in my ashtray and light it before I look at the woman who’s now rushing around my room picking up her scattered clothes and putting them on hurriedly. I admire the sweet curve of her ass before it disappears under the dress she throws on over her head.
“It’s not you,” I drawl lazily.
She turns to look at me, her expression making it clear that the next words out of her mouth aren’t going to be, “Oh, thanks for explaining, I feel better now.”
“What’s my name?” She crosses her arms over her chest and pins with me a death glare.
Shit.
I look closely at her. She’s one of the sound techs from last night, but for the life of me I can’t even begin to remember her name.
So, I guess.
“Marissa.” I say it like I’m insulted she asked.
“Fuck you, Carter. My name is Chloe.” She fastens her bra and puts her hands on her hips in frustration.
I look away. I feel weird seeing her undressed, even though less than twenty minutes ago, she was ass up in my bed.
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry, Chloe. I’m really sorry. I should have explain—”
“You’re a pig,” she finishes for me and then bursts into tears.
I watch, slightly aghast as she drops back onto my bed and starts to sob.
“Uhhh, Chloe. What’s going on?”
I know she’s annoyed, but this is a girl who came home with me after a fifteen-minute chat in the staff lounge. People who do things like that—people like me—don’t usually cry when it’s time to say goodbye.
“I expected better from you. Tonight was supposed to be special, you know. We went all the way and I thought it would mean more to you.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask her, alarm rising.
She dissolves into tears again and I watch her, completely confused and a little scared.
How much did I have to drink? Do I have amnesia? She’s talking and crying like we exchanged vows, but I could have sworn I only met her last night.
I look around for my phone, in case I need to call the police.
“I thought you were different,” she yells and then starts to cry even harder. Every few seconds she stops crying long enough to call me a vile name, and after two full minutes of indulging this shit, my patience is wearing thin.
I sit up and put my joint down.
“Listen, Chloe, I understand that you’re upset that things went down this way. But, I didn’t promise you anything. I didn’t force you to come back to my place—”
“But you’re Jackson’s brother. I was hoping, you know…that maybe you’d be like him,” she says mournfully as she walks over to my dresser and starts to brush her hair.
My buzz is gone and my annoyance is rising by the minute.
“I mean, obviously, I’ve never actually met him, but I watch Docked religiously and I feel like I know him. And I thought…"
“Thought what?”
“Why are you so angered by that? You should be proud of him. I’m jealous of Veronica, I would give my left tit to be her.”
And just like that, the nice little buzz I was enjoying disappears. The last shred of my patience is gone.
“I’m such a fucking idiot,” I mutter. I can’t believe shit like this is still happening.
“Huh?” she asks, without turning to look at me, still brushing her hair.
I pretend I didn’t hear her.
“Nothing. So, you came home with me because—”
“You’re his brother.” She says like it should be painfully obvious.
“And you wanted to meet him. And you slept with me so that you could?” I keep my voice as steady as I can.
She shakes her head.
“Well, no. I do like you. You’re hot, you play the piano like a dream. You’re not Jackson, but you’re no slouch, either.”
“Wow, thanks,” I say dryly.
She walks back over to the bed where I’m sitting and sits next to me.
“Sure. Hey. I’m sorry. Listen, I didn’t just want to sleep with you. I asked around before I approached you. Everyone says you’re a nice guy.”
“Oh, do they?” I say and smile like I’m pleasantly surprised.
“Yeah,” she says excitedly, and I can see the calculation in her eyes as she tries to read my expression.
“Yeah, but I’m no Jack,” I say knowingly. She covers my hand and gives me a conciliatory, patronizing smile.
“No one is. But you’ve got your own something special, too, Carter,” she says, and her voice drops and become seductive.
“Thank you so much, Chloe.” I smile like I’m touched.
She trails her hand up my arm.
“Hey, maybe we just got off on the wrong foot this morning. I mean, if you asked me to go get breakfast and then come back here for more, I wouldn’t say—”
I can see where she’s going and I’ve heard enough. “Sure, let's get something to eat first. I’m exhausted.”
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and pull my sweatpants on and walk to my bathroom and turn on the water.
I stick my head back out of the door to find her sitting on my bed, on her phone already.
“I can invite Jackson to join us.”
She shrieks and runs over to hug me. “Oh my God, I totally forgive you for being a jerk just now.”
I disentangle myself, say a chirpy, “Thank goodness. I’ll text him before I hop in the shower, okay?”
I pick up my phone, send a text and then stroll to the bathroom.
When I come back into the room she pounces.
“Carter, I love him so much. Do you think he’ll look at my portfolio over breakfast?”
“Yeah, sure. Who doesn’t love looking at people’s portfolios while they eat?”
While I get dressed she alternates between squealing and giggling as she texts furiously.
I order a car from the service I use and smile through her insane prattle while we wait.
We’re walking out the door to the waiting Uber before she finally stops texting and turns to me.
“I mean, I really feel like I know him, you know? And I could be such an asset to his brand.” She grabs my arm excitedly.
“Wouldn’t it be amazing if we fell in love and Jackson became like my brother-in-law?” she shrieks and I give her silent kudos for having a vision.
As we approach the car, my driver climbs out and holds the door open.
“I forgot you’re kinda famous, too. I mean, you’re not Jackson famous, but my grandparents bought season tickets again because of you, so, I mean, that’s good, right?”
When we get to the car, I open the door for her and she slides in. I start to get in and then touch my pockets to answer my vibrating phone.
“Hey, I forgot I had to take this call. You go ahead, okay? Jack
's probably already on his way. You can have some one-on-one time with him, right?” I wink.
Her eyes widen in delight.
“Yeah. That would be great. Take your time.”
I close the door and lock eyes with the driver, Mick. It’s been a while since I’ve had to use him, but he’s helped me dispose of Jack’s groupies before. He knows the drill. I slide him a twenty and we share a grin.
“You know I’m running the car service now. My dad retired. Your little THOT disposal plan is way below my paygrade. But when I saw your call come through, I had a hankering for the good old days. It’s boring behind that desk.”
“Glad my suffering is going to do one of us some good.”
“You look like shit, man. You all right?”
“Nope, but I’ve been worse.”
The window rolls down and Chloe sticks her head out. “Um, I don’t want to keep Jackson waiting. Is your call over with?”
“Sorry, just making sure he knows where to go. I’ve had him before and sometimes he gets lost.”
She shudders. “Oh, well thank you. Today would be a terrible day to get lost.” She rolls the window up.
Mick gives me the middle finger and I grin.
“Where should I take her?”
“Somewhere on the Lower East. You pick.”
I’m grinning as I walk back into my building and this time, my phone buzzes for real. My grin fades when I realize what it is. A cold sweat pops up on my neck. I can’t believe it.
The notification is simple. It says. “You have a match.”
A month ago, I was coming out of my skin. I was back from Europe, back on the show, but not enjoying it. My role was firmly cemented as the broody, aloof concert pianist. On a whim, I signed up for the DNA website and went through the process of sending them a sample. And now, the moment of reckoning is here.
I open it to a page with my profile picture in a Ven Diagram with another profile that only has a gray circle with the initial SK instead of a profile picture.
I read the rest:
DNA RESULTS
You and Susan Kendicott share 3300 cM. This table shows the percentage of the time people sharing 3300 cM have the following relationship.
Ninety-nine percent of people have the relationship of parent or full sibling.
I click the profile and find that the account has the bare minimum information. I bite the bullet and do what I should have done months ago and hire a PI.
* * *
It’s 3:00 a.m. when I stumble into the house. Everyone is asleep except for the light crew that stays awake in the kitchen to film if something crazy happens in the middle of the night.
On Jack’s show nothing ever happens in the middle of the night and they’re all fast asleep in the family room.
I grab a bottle of Jack and pluck the joint I bought from the guy at the bar out of my pocket and go to the piano room.
I almost sigh in relief when I see her. I need to get so much out of my system. I sit down and start to play the first song that comes to mind, Roberta Flack’s “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face.”
It makes me think of Beth. But everything makes me think of her. And alone in the dark with just me in my sanctuary, I let myself crumble under the weight of everything that’s happened.
Tomorrow is going to bring reckonings and hard decisions, but tonight, I just want to pour myself out on my piano and let her heal me.
It won’t be until tomorrow that I’ll realize that my private breakdown was recorded.
18
MOTIVATION
LIZ
I’m in the kitchen with Hilde and Serene, rolling out dough to make pie crusts to freeze for my grandmother’s annual Thanksgiving bacchanal this weekend. The house is in a frenzy getting ready for the guests and I’m excited to be caught up in it. Working side by side with these women feels good. We’ve been laughing all day and my crusts get better with each batch.
The television is on CNN because Serene is watching the election results in Germany.
It turns out there’s no zombie apocalypse. But there has been a terrible hurricane on the Eastern Seaboard that decimated entire communities. And there’s a story about a girl who brought down the entire administration at Princeton for some embezzlement scheme.
Her interview rivets me. She’s tiny, with these fierce gray eyes and jet-black hair, and she’s ranting at the news cameras.
Hilde grabs the remote and hits mute.
“It was just getting interesting,” I complain, as I put the final crimp in the pie edge.
She gives the television a derisive frown. “Girls like that are a disgrace to her parents.”
“Why? She broke up some crime ring.” I cover the tray of ready to freeze pie shells with a cloth and move them to the rack where the others are waiting.
“She should be less boastful. More humble.”
“I think she was very brave,” Serene says quietly without looking up from the pecans she’s chopping.
“Brave?” Hilde says scornfully.
“Yes. I read an article…” Serene says.
“Oh, I should have known. Don’t go reading. You’ll get ideas,” Hilde says.
I lay a dramatic hand over my brow. “Ideas. The horror.”
Serene and I burst into laughter and Hilde scowls and turns the volume up again.
We are still giggling when I hear something that makes me look back at the television.
“The young pianist appears to be crying as he sings his heart out.”
It’s Carter on TV. It’s a video of him, naked, with a cigarette between his lips, sobbing as he sings and plays the piano. My heart lurches in my chest. Oh my God.
I grab the remote and turn the volume up. Just then, the tape cuts back to the two anchors.
“Grrrr,” I fumble with the remote.
“Can’t you rewind on this thing?”
“The musician has recently suffered the loss of his father. We knew it was a hard time for the family, but we had no idea how rough.”
“How do you rewind?” I ask frantically as they move on to the next story.
“There’s no rewind.” Hilde snatches the remote from me.
“What’s the matter with you?” she snaps.
“I…” I stare at her and try to calm down before I say something I shouldn’t.
“Nothing, I just like his music, that’s all.” I turn back to my work and have to flex my fingers a few times to get them to stop shaking.
My mind is racing while I roll out the ball of dough on the marble countertop.
His father died. Oh my God. When? Was it recent or has it been months? He would have called to tell me. And if he’s singing and crying at a piano stark naked, then he’s clearly not handled it well at all.
My stomach churns with worry. Oh, poor Carter. He loved his dad. My heart hurts even more when I remember the kind man who came to pay his respects to my brother.
How can I get my hands on a phone? I wrack my brain.
I can’t.
Not unless… I look up at Serene. She’s watching me with worry in her dark eyes.
She’s my friend. She’s the person who put the paper and pencils on my bed. I know it. It’s only Tuesday. I’ll have to wait until next Monday night, when the guests are gone and we’re having our desert. But I’m going to ask to use her phone. I’m sure she’s been given strict orders about it, but I’ll beg, blackmail, bribe, browbeat. Whatever.
I have to find a way to get Carter a message.
* * *
I wouldn’t have to wait for Monday for the opportunity. Guests start arriving the next day, and on Thanksgiving Thursday, I’m woken up by my grandmother and a team of makeup artists and people pulling racks of clothes and shoes behind them.
“Get up. You need to be ready in ninety minutes.”
By the time I’m awake enough to ask any questions, my grandmother is gone and none of the people she left behind can tell me what I’m getting ready for.
<
br /> My grandmother comes back in when I’m dressed.
She inspects me, has me make some adjustments to my lipstick, but is obviously pleased by what she sees. I’m intensely uncomfortable in the stylish, yet entirely too mature for me, cream pencil skirt and matching blouse. They’ve tied a copper scarf around my neck and crammed my feet into a pair of copper patent leather pumps that are impractical in every way possible. My feet started to hurt the minute I put them on.
“What’s the occasion?” I ask, keeping my lips as still as possible for the makeup artist who is putting a final dab of gloss on my lips.
My grandmother claps her hands in delight and I get a sinking feeling in my gut. “We have the welcome lunch this afternoon. But first you’re meeting the man your father has chosen.” She says it so casually that the significance goes right over my head.
“Chosen for what?”
“For you to marry.”
“Oh shoot,” the makeup artist whispers when the sharp jerk of my head makes her lipstick wand run down my chin.
I stand up as she starts to wipe it up.
“What do you mean?”
My grandmother looks at me like I’m addlebrained.
“He’s here this weekend. Of course, we want you to have an opportunity to get to know him. Although your father is doing the choosing, I’ve stressed to him that your approval would be an added benefit.”
“I thought I was going to get to go home before this happened,” I say slowly, as the words sink in.
“Well, I let your father know you were ready to be presented and things moved faster than we thought. He’s here. If he likes what he sees in person, all will proceed.”
I stare at her in horror. The walls start to close in on me.
Serene walks into the room then. “Mr. Westfall is in the blue library, ma’am.”
She’s leaving me alone in this house with him. I turn sharply to look at her.
If she sees the alarm in my eyes, she ignores it. Her expression is serene and full of solemn expectation.
“Serene will escort you. Remember everything we’ve spent the last few months learning. Make your family proud,” she says and then she walks out of the room.