by Karen Booth
I giggled breathlessly, his lips hovering near mine, thankful that Lou was likely accustomed to bearing witness to private displays of affection in the backseat.
“Darling, you aren’t the only one having a hard time believing this.” His face was so close to mine that his breath warmed my cheek. He tucked his fingers beneath my chin, running his thumb along my jaw. “I feel like the luckiest bastard on the planet.”
“Mr. Penman?” Lou asked. “Excuse me for interrupting, but do you want me to find another route? Traffic up ahead only looks like it’s getting worse.” I then realized that the town car hadn’t moved in minutes.
Chris leaned his head against the car window. “Yeah, I guess so. I can’t afford to be late.” He took my left hand and wiggled my engagement ring back and forth.
We arrived at Radio City Music Hall a good twenty minutes behind schedule. Chris had spent the last several blocks of the car ride frantically bobbing his leg up and down. “I have a bunch of things I need to do before we go on. Will you be okay hanging out with Angie if I need to leave you for a few minutes?”
I nodded. “Yes, of course.”
“Hey, Reggie,” Chris called out.
A bald, rotund man pointing to a lighting rig overhead answered. “Yeah, Chris?” He ambled over to us, smiling at me, his bulky arms covered in a tangle of tattoos. “This must be the future Mrs. Penman.” His thick British accent suited his happy, yet blustery disposition. He held out his pudgy hand to shake mine.
“Please, Claire.”
“All right, then. Very nice to meet you, Claire.” He reached into a black fanny-pack and pulled out an all-access laminate, attached a black lanyard, and looped it around my neck. “You’re going to need this, love.”
“Perfect, Reggie. Exactly what I was looking for.” Chris clapped him on the back. “Is his royal highness anywhere to be found?”
“Graham? In the dressing room eating up all of the catering.” He gestured to the end of the hall with a head toss. “You best get back there before he polishes off your peanut M&Ms.”
“Take care of Claire tonight, all right? Absolutely anything she needs.” He put his arm around me protectively. “She’s pregnant, so make sure the coolers are stocked with plenty of water, okay?”
“Are you joking? She’s going to want to run off with me by the time the night’s over. Claire will be just fine. Don’t you worry your pretty head about that.”
The corridor outside the band’s dressing room was bustling with people, mostly crew. Chris greeted many of them with a nod, but otherwise kept us moving.
My heart did a flip as Chris gave the dressing room door a single knock and opened it. It was far from the conventional scuzzy band room, a straight, narrow shot with dressing tables, director’s chairs, and mirrors. There was one sofa and a table off to the side stocked with deli trays and snack foods. I recognized Nigel, the bass player, in the corner. I could only presume that the woman he was talking with was his new wife, Heather, who also happened to be his third. Terence was standing with them and he waved, seeming to recognize me from our brief meeting after the band’s second rehearsal.
Angie walked in right behind us. “Claire, Christopher.” She and I embraced. “Big night, huh? Pretty exciting.”
Graham traipsed over with a beer in his hand. “Taking the edge off. You want one?” He raised the can to Chris.
“No, thanks. I’m good.” Chris shook his head. “Can we grab Terence and Nigel and go over the encore real quick?”
“Yeah. No problem. We’ll leave the girls to their gossip.”
Angie gestured to the couch. “Want to sit? We’re going to be standing all night.”
I squeezed in between Angie and a remarkably busty woman sitting at the other end.
“I’m Angela.” The other woman shook my hand. Her voice, steeped in Southern charm, was comically fast. “People really call me Angie, but I don’t want to get mixed up with you.” She nodded in Angie’s direction. “I’m Terence’s new girlfriend. Well, it’s only been a few weeks. I suppose I’m his girlfriend. I don’t know. He doesn’t really call me anything.” She closed her eyes and rattled her head back and forth. “I’m sorry. I start talking and I can’t stop myself.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Claire.”
“I know.” Her deep brown eyes flickered with recognition. “You’re Chris’s fiancée. I wondered if I’d meet you tonight.” Her eyes grew wide. “I read about your pregnancy in People magazine. I hate that they took that photo of you from that awful angle. Nobody looks good from that angle.”
I laughed nervously. “Yeah. I know.” This is all so weird.
The door swung open and Reggie entered. “‘Ello, ladies. The band is going on in ten minutes. If you like, I can escort you to the side of the stage.”
We followed Reggie down the hall, around a maze of equipment cases, backstage doors, nooks and crannies in the historic theater. The sounds of the audience got louder and more distinct with every step. Once we were to our viewing area, right behind the on-stage soundboard, I could hear the instrumental version of Living in Infamy. My pulse raced. It was the same intro they’d played the only other time I’d seen Banks Forest live, when I was seventeen. I found myself again wondering if I was dreaming all of this—being backstage, part of the inner circle, the future Claire Louise Penman. Damn. I should have let Chris pinch me in the car.
The crowd suddenly erupted and the massive stage curtain slowly began to draw back. Stage lights flickered and someone tugged on my elbow. Chris. He kissed me on the temple without a word. He only smiled that melt-me-into-a-puddle smile.
Next thing I knew, the four of them had taken their places. Every atom in my body became charged with electricity. Angie beamed. Angela screamed at the top of her lungs. Graham uttered something impossible to hear over the roar of the crowd. Chris stomped on an effects pedal. A single strum of his guitar and the audience went berserk. The hair stood up on my arms. It’s happening.
The show was such sensory overload that I learned to focus on one thing at a time, sight or sound, not both. Sight—Chris as if he was performing beneath a magnifying glass, every attribute now larger-than-life. God. He is so fucking hot. I can’t wait to get him out of those damn leather pants. Sound—the music I’d spent a lifetime worshipping, lyrics etched in my brain, all of it right here, in my face.
It was so intoxicating that butterflies literally fluttered in my stomach, becoming more active when the music became more intense. Wait a minute. Those aren’t butterflies. I pressed my hand against my belly. That’s the baby. Another flutter. Hi, baby. Daddy’s on stage right now. He sounds amazing, doesn’t he?
Contentment spread over me from head to toe. How could this possible get any better?
The band played for a full two hours plus a twenty-minute encore. At one point, I simply gave in to the roller coaster and stopped trying to remember every remarkable thing. I had four more nights of this to look forward to, the fifth night with Sam. I could sit back and let it all happen, take it in and enjoy the ride.
Angela and I chatted out in the hall after the show, while the guys were changing out of their sweaty clothes in another dressing room. Angie had gone off in search of a bathroom.
Chris joined us wearing a Rolling Stones t-shirt. Luckily, he’d left the leather pants for me. “How’d I do?” His tone said that he knew full well what the answer was.
“You were spectacular.” I pressed my lips against his. “Unbelievable.” He’d given an incredible performance, deserved every accolade. “Guess what?” I took his hand, flattening it against my stomach. “I felt the baby move during the show.”
“You did?” His eyes were wide with fascination. “I don’t feel anything.”
“Don’t worry. You will.” We walked back to the dressing room hand in hand.
Graham had planted himself on the arm of the couch and Angie sat next to him at the end. She nodded and smiled tentatively at me, but didn’t get up. They were
both in conversation with a petite woman with long brown hair, wearing a gauzy, flowing dress with a bold black and white pattern. Her back was turned to the door.
Graham made eye contact with Chris and then his sights flew to me. He bolted from the sofa, pulling me into one of his all-encompassing hugs. “Claire. How much did you love the show? I was better than Chris, wasn’t I?” He loosened his hold. “I won’t make you answer. It’ll only make him mad.” He smiled at me in the most confounding way. “Uh, I have someone I need you to meet.”
The woman turned, her long locks whipping at the air. Her beautiful face was camera-ready, stunning and eye-catching, but an even more compelling feature was impossible to ignore—her massive, protruding belly. Oh my God. It’s Elise. And she’s pregnant.
Chapter Twenty-One
Elise turned to me. “Christopher.” The familiarity in my ex-wife’s voice felt like two fat hands around my throat.
“What are you doing here?” I was shocked I’d said something so benign with evil incarnate standing before me.
“I was in New York. I thought I should come to the show. Wish you well.” She smiled, shrugging as if it was of little consequence that this was our first meeting since she’d written the memoir that’d dragged me through the mud. Never before had I had such a deep-seated desire to erase all history between myself and another human being.
Claire grabbed my hand, holding on for dear life as Elise came in for a hug from me. One half of me pulled back, the other half forced forward by some horribly odd sense of politeness. I gave Elise a fleeting pat on the back and quickly retreated. Claire’s tension was palpable, it radiated from her. “This is my fiancée, Claire Abby.”
The most bizarre curiosity came over Elise’s face as she took stock of Claire. She didn’t smile, it was more a look of smug amusement, which stirred up an intense need to protect Claire, step in front of her and keep her and our baby from the soul-sucking force of Elise. “Yes, I recognize you from the tabloids.” Elise held out her bony hand and I shuddered when she and Claire touched. “She’s cute, Christopher.”
I tightly balled up my free hand. Cute? She’s cute? And you fucking talk about her in the third person like she’s not even here? “Claire’s an incredible music journalist. Insanely talented. Brilliant, really. She just took a job as entertainment editor for a brand new magazine.” I was prattling on like a complete wanker, trying to illustrate that I’d found the perfect woman, someone who was her complete opposite.
Graham pulled me aside. “Are you okay?”
“How in the hell did she get back here?” I hissed.
“It’s her bloody new husband, the singer from Mission Mad. Practically the biggest rock star on the planet right now. His management called Reggie. He had no bloody idea the passes were for her.”
I glanced over my shoulder to see Elise watching us closely.
Graham must’ve seen it too. “How about your new hubby’s band, Elise?” he asked. “They’re on a bloody roll right now.”
I shook my head at Graham. He wasn’t doing any better than me. What’s next? Why not offer her a spot of tea?
Elise smiled slyly. “They’re playing Wembley in January. He really wanted to come tonight, but he’s in the studio doing some remixes. He sends his best.”
Graham shook his head in disbelief. “Can you imagine? Wembley? Ninety thousand blooming people.”
He looked at me as if I might actually care to converse about this subject. I couldn’t have cared less about her new husband. His band was bollocks, their music a steaming pile of rubbish, and he’d had the good fortune of marrying the most miserable woman on the planet. He could sell out fucking Wembley stadium fifty times and it would’ve made no difference. I was free of the misery of Elise.
I slung my arm around Claire’s shoulder and pulled her close, subliminally encouraging her to stop holding her breath, but she was trembling. It’ll be okay, darling. “Claire and I are getting married next month and we have a child due at the end of May. We’re very excited. I’ve never been happier.”
Elise rubbed her belly. “You’re not the only one with a little one on the way. I’m due at the end of February.”
A confounding mix of anger, envy, and irrational sadness washed over me, but just as quickly, it faded back into the recesses of my mind when Claire turned her head and kissed my hand on her shoulder. This whole business of one-upping each other was ridiculous, and I was pissed at myself for giving into it.
“Congratulations,” Claire said, only when there’d been so much awkward silence after Elise’s announcement that someone had to say something. It just wasn’t going to be me.
“Claire’s an amazing mother. She has the most incredible teenage daughter.” Stop bloody talking. I couldn’t believe that I’d again taken the bait. I don’t even want to deal with this. I don’t want to deal with her. I’m supposed to be happy right now. We just played the best show in a decade and Claire felt the baby move.
Elise cleared her throat and directed her eyes at me. “Do you have a moment? I was hoping you and I could speak alone.”
“What? Why?”
She glared at me as if the questions were preposterous. “Christopher, please.”
“Whatever you have to say, Claire can hear it. There are no secrets between her and I. She knows about everything.” Of course, this wasn’t completely true. There were horrors from my marriage to Elise that were best kept buried.
“No, Chris, it’s fine.” Claire shook her head. “If this is private.” She tried to turn away, but I held on to her tightly.
“See, Chris? Claire understands,” Elise said.
I had to grit my teeth to control my temper. Her manipulation was far too familiar. “Nothing between you and me is private. You saw to that when you decided to make a public spectacle of our past.”
“Christopher. Please. Don’t be an asshole. It doesn’t do any good to be so angry.”
Angry? Anger is for a far less complicated situation. The lies that she’d told about me, about our marriage, about the baby we’d lost—each untruth ate at me. Everything she’d chosen to put in print, for money, for her own personal gain, it was all done with complete disregard for me. I won’t hesitate to be an asshole.
“Whatever you have to say, should be said out loud,” I said. “It’s too bad we didn’t take advantage of the sold out house tonight and put you on as the opening act. You could’ve apologized to our fans for making me look like the biggest bloody jerk on the planet.”
Elise wrapped her arms around her ribcage, resting them atop her belly. She looked at me, a tear rolling down her cheek.
I had once loved those eyes. They had meant everything to me. Now I didn’t recognize the person behind them. Still, she had a child growing inside her, an innocent being who had no choice but to have her for a mother. I couldn’t bear the thought that every cross word I spoke might somehow affect the baby, even when I was quite aware that I had little control over my emotions. “Tell me what you came here to say.”
She swallowed and swiped away the tear. Her face tensed with a familiar expression.
I couldn’t escape the feeling that this was all a show to her. She was, after all, standing backstage, with dozens of people silent and hanging on her every word. “Please say what you need to say so that we can both get on with our lives.”
“This is probably more than one conversation,” she said.
I closed my eyes to conjure a calm response. “No. I’m sorry, but you and I are not speaking again after this.”
“Fine.” She nodded. “I understand that you’re angry, but I’m here to tell you that I’m sorry. I’ve been sober for seven months and this is part of beating addiction. I have to go through the steps.”
At least she got sober before she got pregnant. I took a deep breath. “It’s good to know that you’re sorry. You can go now.”
“That doesn’t sound particularly sincere. I need to know that you really understand how sorry I
am.”
“Forgive me if you aren’t selling it very well. Or perhaps it’s just that I’m not buying it.”
“Will you stop being such an asshole? I’m trying to apologize and you’re just pissing me off. This is so typical of you. You know, I didn’t have this problem with anyone else.” She jabbed her finger at me. “Everyone else I talked to was generous and forgiving. Angie and Graham both seemed happy to see me.”
In my periphery, Graham was shaking his head “no”.
“I don’t know why you’re being such a goddamned jerk about this,” Elise continued.
“Guess I can’t help it.” I shrugged. “I’m a natural asshole. So much so, that it was the subject of an entire book. Please be sure to talk about what an asshole I am at your next Narcotics Anonymous meeting.”
She laughed dismissively. “You have got to be kidding. I don’t go to those meetings. I read a book. Those meetings are for normal people. Not me.”
I opened my mouth, but Claire’s voice stopped me.
“Okay. Hold on one second here.” She waved her hands in the air like a referee stopping the play. “You don’t go to the meetings? You read about this in a book?” She turned and looked at me with astonishment. “Uh, no, this is not happening. I love you and you are not an asshole,” she said firmly.
“Excuse me?” Elise asked, her angry eyes darting to Claire. “I don’t think anyone asked your opinion. This doesn’t concern you. This is about me and Christopher.”
“You know what?” Claire took a step closer to Elise, leaving me paralyzed with awe. I’d seen Claire angry before, with her dad or Sam or with me, but this was something different—very different. “This does concern me because I love him and you made him miserable. He’s worked insanely hard to put this behind him and you’re bringing everything back up when he should be on top of the world.”
“This is part of sobriety, so I’m sorry if the timing is inconvenient.”
Claire shook her head. “I’m guessing that since you’re pregnant, nobody in this room feels like they can say any of this to you.” She cocked an eyebrow. “But I’ve got you there, because I’m pregnant too, so I guess it’s going to have to be me. I had a boyfriend who went through the steps. This isn’t how you make amends. You don’t ambush someone with your apology and you certainly don’t just read a book and start checking things off a list.” She shook her head. “No, the real reason you’re here is to ruin his night or to get some glimpse of what you used to have. Whatever it is, I think you need to leave. Chris shouldn’t have to put up with this.”