It might be too late to love Erika, but it wasn’t too late to start loving herself.
* * *
Erika settled into the soft leather seat of the private jet that was on loan from a record company trying to woo her. Her head pounded mercilessly. After dumping Bethany’s sorry ass, she’d gone back to her room and downed a pint of Jack. But not because she was hurt by the breakup. Bethany was a publicity stunt that had gone too far, and any pain from losing her was merely a payback for having taken Dayna’s advice to heart.
No. What really hurt, day after day, hour after hour, was the loss of Dess. How was she supposed to get over her first and only meaningful love? How was she supposed to do any of this alone? And how was any of this shit supposed to mean a single thing when there wasn’t anyone to share it with? The stage was fun—fulfilling, rewarding, energizing, a real hard-on. But the rest of it? The rest of it’s bullshit.
Erika flipped on the small television in front of her, needing a distraction from her pounding head and her bleak thoughts. Surround Sound negated the need for headphones, but she kept the volume low, not wanting to attract the attention of Dayna, who sat at a table at the back of the plane with her nose in her laptop.
Dayna had turned out to be exactly as Erika had expected—a first-class bitch. But that was the driving force that seemed to be getting Erika places. By unspoken agreement, the two women never talked about Dess, because it was the one subject each seemed to recognize would instantly set a match to their business arrangement.
Dess. Why does every thought, every subject, always circle back to Dess?
Erika clicked through the channels until she settled on Good Morning America. Good morning hangover was more like it, she thought. The weather guy was showing off his colorful digital maps, and then Robin Roberts was on the screen. Erika could barely hear her, but for some reason, Robin was talking over photos of Dess on stage. There was one of her on a Broadway stage, another of her singing at Yankee Stadium, one of her shaking hands with the queen of England. A close-up of her singing showed the ropey muscles in her neck engaged in pushing out the sweet notes Erika had first heard back when she was in high school and had really begun appreciating great voices, great songs, and had begun casting about for singers she could look up to.
Jesus Christ, she thought with a sudden panic that drove a stake through her hangover, instantly sobering her. They only do this shit when people die! Fumbling, she cranked up the volume in time for Robin to introduce Dess as her guest this morning. Oh, thank fucking God!
She watched Dess, adorable in her nervousness, and knew instantly she still loved this woman as much as ever. Hearing her voice, being able to look into her eyes—even if it was just a two-dimensional version of her—was like a warm hug that Erika felt all the way to her toes. She longed to be able to reach through the small screen and touch Dess, to hold her again in her arms, to spoil her with kisses and caresses, to make love to her all night long. She longed for the whispered conversations that came at the end of their lovemaking, their newspaper reading over morning coffee, their idle chitchat, their heartfelt conversations. She wondered if Dess missed any of it too.
With effort, she pulled her attention back to the interview. Dess was warm, engaging, funny, relaxed and surprisingly open. She didn’t look anything like the woman who had shunned everything related to journalists and the glare of public attention. Dess looked entirely as though this interview was her own idea, and the realization came as a shock to Erika. What had happened? What was she doing exactly? And why?
Robin was trying to coax her to talk about her love life, and Erika was on the edge of her seat. A dreamy look came over Dess’s face. Her eyes were gone, lost, and Erika hoped it was because of memories of her. And then Dess was shaking her head, smiling, saying it wasn’t up to her to discuss something that belonged to two people. But “this person” Dess was saying—and Erika knew she was talking about her—had helped inspire her to be herself again, to want to live again. It was a triumphant moment for Erika, as close as Dess was likely ever going to come to admitting she loved her. But Dess’s words, her tone, seemed to imply that she had gotten everything she needed from their relationship—the will to live again and the desire to move on. The relationship had served a purpose for Dess, like the bridge in a song that was meant to transition back to the verse and chorus. Back to the beginning. The bridge was important in any song, but it was short and served a fleeting purpose. That’s me, Erika thought with a new level of disappointment. I’m a fucking bridge in her life. Not a verse, and certainly not a repeating chorus.
“I’m not surprised she wants back in the limelight now,” Dayna said in a tone that matched the perpetual scowl on her face. Erika hadn’t heard her sneak up behind her. “I suppose her money’s running out, although God knows, she had more than enough to ever spend in her lifetime.”
Erika bit the inside of her cheek to keep from telling Dayna to go fuck herself. “I don’t want to talk about Dess.”
“Well, I’m afraid we need to.” Dayna reached over Erika for the remote and clicked off the TV. “Because Dess holds the other half of the key to that song you sang last night.”
“Yes. ‘The Song in My Heart.’” Erika closed her eyes, remembering when they’d written the words, the music, and how her heart had swelled with love for Dess then. So much that it was going to burst if she didn’t scratch out some lyrics and sing it from the top of her lungs. She couldn’t contain her love for Dess, and the song, the song Dayna wanted her to record now, was proof of that. What hurt, for her at least, was that absolutely nothing about her love for Dess had changed or diminished.
“She needs to sign off on it,” Dayna snapped. “Fifty-fifty. She should go for that.”
Erika wavered. “I don’t know.”
Dayna sat down beside Erika. Her eyes were uncompromising. “I don’t care about whatever lovers’ spat you two had. That song is a gold mine. You need to fix it with her so that she’ll sign off on it.”
Everything was a business proposition to Dayna. It set Erika’s blood boiling. “I’m not going to force her or beg her to do anything. I agree it’s a great song, and I agree it could be a hit. But it’s up to Dess to give her permission. Or not.”
“Oh, that song is more than a hit. That song is your ticket to everything you want.”
No, it’s not, Erika thought. Because it won’t give me back Dess.
Dayna harrumphed. “Anyway, she certainly won’t want to talk to me about it. I’ll set things up for you to meet with her lawyer in Chicago. Who also happens to be your lawyer, as I recall. That might work in our favor.”
Distilling her relationship with Dess down to a mere business arrangement sliced a new gash into Erika’s heart. It was all they had left to show for their love. A song. A souvenir. But it was something, at least. And just maybe, she thought with the first ray of hope she’d felt in a long time, if Dess loved her, she’d let her record that song. If Dess loved her—had ever loved her—she too would want to share something of their love with the world. Wouldn’t she?
It was only a moment before Erika relented. “All right. Set up the meeting and I’ll be there.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dess had tried to avoid making the trip to Jennifer Parker’s office, employing her usual suggestion that anything needing a signature could be done via courier. But when Jennifer insisted, Dess found herself giving in. She needed to make changes in her life. She had told the world that she was going to make changes. She needed to change. And that meant getting out of the house, seeing people, keeping her mind and body active, rejoining life. She’d even begun to mentally entertain some of the many offers Jennifer had received lately on her behalf. There were requests for more talk show appearances, newspaper and magazine interviews, a health-product company looking for her endorsement.
The most intriguing had been an offer from a top book publisher to write her memoirs. “But I don’t want to talk seriously to them u
ntil after Christmas,” she’d told Jennifer over the phone. She wanted to go slow, make sure she was committed to the idea. Mostly, she needed to feel confident that anyone out there wanted to read an entire book about her.
“We’ll talk a bit more about the book,” Jennifer had promised over the phone. And then she dropped the bomb on her. Told her that Erika and Dayna wanted the rights to record the ballad she and Erika had written together.
A flat refusal had been Dess’s first impulse. She laid out all the reasons why she shouldn’t sign off on the song, but Jennifer picked them apart like a trial lawyer pouncing on the testimony of a weak witness. When it came down to it, Dess had no good reasons to refuse the song, other than it was a way to stick it to Dayna, Jennifer said. But sticking it to Dayna would only hurt Erika, and Dess didn’t want that. She didn’t want to feel used either.
Now, as she sat in Jennifer’s office, the contract in front of her, Dess stalled.
Jennifer raised an eyebrow. “Still having second thoughts?”
“This whole process just feels so…cold. And that song. It’s…it’s…”
“Anything but cold.”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps,” Jennifer said, tapping a pencil on her desk, “there’s someone who can help you through this…process…a little more productively than me.”
She rose and strode to the door, turning back to Dess with a wink. “I’ll be back in about thirty minutes.”
“What? Jennifer, what are you—”
But Jennifer was gone, the door closed firmly behind her. Great, Dess thought. I’m supposed to sit here and cool my heels for thirty minutes? How is that supposed to help me make a decision?
The door clicked open. Dess turned in her seat, then nearly fell out of it. Erika stood frozen in place, a mild look of shock on her face.
Dess could barely push the words from her mouth, which was suddenly full of cotton. “Erika. What are you doing here?”
“Wh—what are you doing here, Dess?”
“I…” Oh hell, what did it matter now? They’d been set up, and Erika was here. Alone. In the flesh. Right in front of her. And looking ridiculously gorgeous in a tan-colored linen suit and burgundy blouse. Her hair, still so dark and luscious, was a bit longer, and it suited her. Confidence was growing in those brown-black eyes that were so emotive. Dess had dived headlong into those mesmerizing orbs each and every time they had landed on her, and she did so again now, losing herself to the point where she barely comprehended if she were standing or sitting.
“Dess.” The easy way Erika said her name, the sure way she walked toward her, melted Dess’s insides. “God, I’ve missed you.”
Erika stood in front of her, pulling her out of her chair and pressing her to her body in one brisk movement. Her mouth was in Dess’s hair, against her ear, and she whispered over and over how much she’d missed her. Dess had no defense against the onslaught of feelings Erika’s presence unleashed in her.
Oh God, I’m going to faint, Dess thought as Erika’s perfume, citrus and something mildly herbaceous, pleasantly tickled her senses, reminding her of their many—and yet not enough—nights together. Dess deepened their hug, clutching Erika hard, so hard, as though to keep her from slipping out of her life again.
It was another moment before Dess realized she was crying. Oh Christ, she thought, I don’t want her to see me cry. I do not want to cry. I’m supposed to be the strong one. And yet crying in front of Erika somehow seemed the most natural thing in the world.
“Oh, baby. Sweetheart. Don’t cry.”
Dess only cried harder at the soothing plea. She tried to apologize but couldn’t squeeze the words out. The tears continued, and the longer they went on, the more troubling it became. Where was stoic Dess? The one who had declared it was best that they went their separate ways? Where was the Dess who didn’t need anyone else? Who didn’t like to feel so weak, so needy? The Dess who had admitted to no one how much she loved Erika?
Well, she knew exactly where that Dess was. That Dess was long gone. The sight, the sound of Erika’s voice, her touch, had vaporized the old Dess in a flash. In Erika’s arms now, Dess didn’t know who she was anymore, and for the moment at least, she didn’t care, because it simply felt so damned good.
Erika guided her to the leather sofa. They sat down, Erika placing her arm solidly around Dess’s shoulders, and Dess fell against her. She was so soft, smelling of that perfume—and she thought how wonderful it was to be home again. To be sheltered, safe, to be loved. Erika, she realized, had always made her feel loved, and now Erika was patiently caressing her back, letting her cry herself out. Dess pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her eyes, trying hard to stem the tide.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what—”
“Please. Don’t apologize or try to minimize. I needed this, Dess.”
Needed to see me in such a blubbering, weakened state? Needed to see that I’m a mess without you? That you’re actually the one with all the control? Fine. You can have my admission.
“I love you, Erika Alvarez. I always have. And I always will. That’s what you wanted to hear, isn’t it? That’s why you came here in person? To hear those words? And for the song, of course.”
Stunned, Erika pulled away, her mouth frozen open. “I—”
“You can have the song. And you can have what you always wanted to hear from me. Everything I have is yours. It always was.”
Without waiting for a response, Dess hurried to Jennifer’s desk and signed the contract for the song. She’d get fifty percent of the royalties, but she couldn’t care less. If it gave Erika the number one hit she wanted, then fine. It would be Dess’s parting gift to her, because she could see in Erika’s eyes how badly she wanted that song. How much she wanted it to be her conduit to superstardom. Erika had that hungry look about her, the same look Dess had once possessed when she could think of nothing but her desire to make it to the top. When making it to the top had become her entire raison d’être. That, she realized, was exactly the way Erika looked at her now.
When she turned around, Erika was behind her. Gently, she gathered Dess into her arms. “Dess, please don’t act like this song is some battle trophy.”
Battle trophy? Is that what she thinks? “It’s not a battle trophy. It’s half my heart, and you can hang it on your belt like a scalp, if that’s what you want.”
“Dess. Don’t. This isn’t about the damned song now, and you know it.”
“The hell it isn’t.” She understood the music business all too well. Erika needed that song, and now she’d gotten what she wanted, including turning the tables on Dess’s heart.
Erika’s hand had crept up to her chin, and she pulled Dess’s mouth to hers. The kiss started out hard and uncompromising, as though it could mend all the things wrong between them. But it quickly deepened into something that could never be explained in a song, never be defined adequately with words. The kiss had taken on the aura of their bond, their connection, leaving Dess gasping for more. Her desire for Erika had only intensified over the months apart, and she was horrified to hear herself whimper. She simply couldn’t be in the same room with this woman and not want her to rip her clothes off and have her way with her.
She also realized that impulsive sex would solve the insistent throbbing between her legs, but little else. It was her heart that was grievously injured and so full of need.
“Do you know,” Erika said huskily, “how badly I want to make love to you?”
“No,” Dess pleaded. Oh God. “Please don’t.” If she allowed herself to think about it any more, she’d end up begging Erika to make love to her. And Erika would do it, too. She’d make love to me and then take the song. How’s that for feeling used? “Just. Please. Take the song and go.”
“Dess, wait.”
“No.” Tears began filling her eyes again, but this time, she wasn’t going to let Erika see her cry. Or comfort her. She’d gotten what she’d come for, and as fa
r as Dess was concerned, their meeting was over. The necessary reasons for their breakup still remained. “Please just go.”
* * *
Erika had a ready excuse for her swollen, red eyes and runny nose. “I’m coming down with a cold,” she planned to tell Dayna when Dayna picked her up at the LA airport. But Dayna wouldn’t care. All she’d care about were the signed papers in Erika’s satchel.
She’d been tricked at Jennifer Parker’s office. No one had told her Dess would be there and that they’d be left alone together. She was simply supposed to retrieve the signed papers and add her own signature, then do a short guest appearance on a Chicago radio station. She’d blown off the radio station, her face and voice completely trashed after the emotional meeting with Dess.
Memories of the anger and hurt in Dess’s face came rushing back at her. God, she thinks I’m a ruthless bitch, caring about nothing except the rights to that song. Her mission had been to secure permission from Dess to use the song in exchange for half the royalties, and she’d done that. But if she’d known Dess was going to be there, it would have changed everything. She would have slowed things down. Talked to Dess, although, of course, all she’d really wanted to do was touch and kiss her. Make love to her again. Convince her that nothing was right since they’d parted.
Erika turned to the jet’s window to watch the approaching city and its wreath of smog. It had wrecked her to see Dess so distraught, and yet it was proof that Dess had truly—finally!—loved her. Now she couldn’t get Dess’s admission out of her head. And probably never would. “I love you, Erika Alvarez. I always have. And I always will.”
The Song in My Heart Page 23