Kiss & Makeup

by Alison Kent

  “I suppose we can let it burn itself out,” she said, brushing by him and starting down the stairs, not realizing until she reached the landing below that he hadn’t yet followed.

  Swallowing what felt like a ball of fluttering wings, she looked up. “Quentin?”

  He descended slowly, his gaze holding hers as he made his way to where she stood. And he didn’t stop once he’d reached her but advanced. She retreated into the corner until she had nowhere to go or to run or to hide.

  He stared into her eyes, a predator considering his prey. “Do you think that’s all this is, Shandi? A flash fire that will burn itself out?”

  What was she supposed to tell him? That she didn’t want it to, hoped it never would? That the idea of being kept by him appealed on countless levels when she should find it too offensive to appeal on any?

  But she didn’t know how much of that, if any, she wanted to say, and so she told him the rest of the truth. “I don’t think it is, no. But I hope it does. I can’t spend my life waiting for you to come to town, feeling complete only when you’re here, feeling alive only when we’re together.

  “I don’t want to live that way. I wouldn’t be able to respect myself. And if that’s what you wanted from me, I wouldn’t respect you either.”

  “SO? DID QUENTIN SPEND THE night?” April asked, hurrying after Shandi as she headed toward the subway station, hiking her backpack up farther on her shoulder.

  “And just what business is that of yours?” she answered, glancing to the side where her best friend carried a Prada bag and nothing more. “By the way, Evan wasn’t home when I left for class this morning.”

  “That’s because I talked him into staying over last night.” April sidestepped a bike messenger whizzing by, then hurried to catch up, her Jimmy Choo slides clicking on the sidewalk. “I knew you wouldn’t want him to be a third wheel on your cozy bicycle built for two.”

  “That’s a horrible analogy.” Though she and Quentin had gone for quite a ride once they’d returned to the apartment from the roof.

  And, eww. Seemed she wasn’t doing so good today in the analogy department herself. Or the walking department. Or in the emotions department.

  She hated admitting it, but since Quentin had left this morning, she’d become a real crab. He’d kept her so warm during the night; she couldn’t remember ever sleeping so soundly, so comfortably.

  Her bed had felt way too empty when she’d finally gotten up and she’d felt way too alone.

  She hated that now she was taking it all out on her best friend. “You might consider taking a creative writing class. Or at least work on your originality, especially since that gallery you’re planning is supposed to showcase April Carter originals.”

  “Stop changing the subject,” April said, grabbing hold of Shandi’s backpack strap and jerking her to a stop. “And stop being a bitch. I was talking about you and Quentin. Not my analogical skills or my originality.”

  “Well, I was talking about you and Evan. Quentin and I are only having a fling,” Shandi said, wondering why today it pained her to say that when yesterday it hadn’t been so hard. “What you have with Evan is supposed to be more. It gets top conversational billing.”

  “What do you mean my relationship with Evan is supposed to be more? It is more.” April crossed her arms, lifted her chin and tried to look down her nose—not an easy task when she was four inches shorter.

  Shandi sighed. She wanted to get home. To soak in a tub until her skin couldn’t be any softer. To do her toenails, her hair, to shave and wax any sign of stubble. To get over this cranky mood.

  To decide what to wear beneath her uniform tonight in case Quentin was struck with the urge to undress her. They had only a handful of days left to spend together. She wanted them to be all they could be.

  What she didn’t want was to get into this argument now when she was so grouchy. But it wasn’t fair to bail on April. She’d still be a big part of Shandi’s life after Quentin was gone.

  She hadn’t had a chance to talk to either her current or future roommate since Evan had dropped his bomb, and they needed to have this discussion. Especially considering it looked as though they were going to be sharing an apartment soon.

  She glanced at the clogged intersection she’d have to fight her way through to get to the downtown side of the subway station, then glanced back to where April was waiting. The decision was a no-brainer. “Let’s go get coffee, okay?”

  April nodded without saying a word, then hooked her arm through Shandi’s. Instead of crossing the street at the corner, they turned and headed for the Starbucks where Evan worked.

  Today being Friday, he wasn’t scheduled until after his last class let out at four. She and April had plenty of private time to talk.

  Once April had ordered a nonfat, extra hot vanilla latte and Shandi an espresso straight up, the two managed to grab a just-vacated table near the front window. Once they were settled, Shandi jumped right in.

  “What I want to know is how you and Evan think the three of us are going to be able to afford an apartment with more than one room or four hundred square feet when only two of us have part-time jobs.”

  April wrapped both hands around the green logo on her cup and stared down. “Well, obviously I’m going to have to get one, too—”

  “You mean you’re going to have to get two, too.” Shandi couldn’t help it. Her exasperation and frustration were both showing their ugly heads. “I’m going to have to cut back on classes and take on extra shifts.

  “If I can’t get the hours I need at Erotique, I’ll have to find a second job. So will Evan. It’s going to push all of our degrees back another semester at least. Did y’all not talk about any of this?”

  “Of course we did,” April said, sipping her latte and avoiding Shandi’s gaze while a jazzy-sounding reggae poured from the coffee shop’s speakers.

  Well, they were just going to have to talk about it again, Shandi resolved. And talk about it with her. “Why wasn’t I included? It’s hardly fair that you’ve made this decision without even talking to me about it. It’s not like you’re the only two involved here.”

  “Actually we are.” April looked up, her gaze tighter, determined. “Evan and I want to be together. We want to make it as a couple on our own.”

  “On your own as long as I’m there to help, you mean,” Shandi said, glaring as another customer walked through and jarred her elbow without an apology. When Shandi returned her gaze to April, she was shaking her head.

  “If you want to be there with us to share expenses, we’d love it. But this isn’t about you, Shandi. It’s about us.” April sat straighter in her chair, as if testing out her new backbone. “It’s taken a while, but I finally get what you’ve been telling me all this time.”

  “What’s that?” Shandi asked, feeling small and selfish but still worried about everything this upheaval would mean, wondering how old she would be when she finally finished school, wondering how long she could carry a heavier schedule and not collapse from the weight.

  “We can’t make our lives all about pleasing our families, which is exactly what we’ve both been doing,” April admitted, toying with the lid on her cup. “At first it was a compromise, but now it’s a sacrifice. We’re giving up what we want so that his grandmother and my parents will be happy. I don’t know why it took us so long to wake up to that truth.”

  How could Shandi argue when the words were the ones she’d repeatedly served up to her girlfriend?

  She slumped back, feeling way too tired to deal with a full shift at the bar tonight. “You could’ve told me at least that you were thinking about this instead of springing it on me in front of Quentin.”

  “Trust me, Evan is still hurting from me beating him up about that,” April said. “It only came up the night before. Or I guess it was actually that same morning. I couldn’t sleep and went out to the living room. We talked about a lot of the stuff you’ve been telling me we needed to deal with. I dou
bt Evan thought about Quentin being there. He just wanted to share the good news.”

  “It is good news, really.” Shandi was happy for the couple. Admittedly not so happy for herself, but her friend was right.

  This wasn’t about her, and making it so was dumping on April’s happiness. “I’m glad for you, truly. I just wish it didn’t mean we all have to move. I love that apartment almost as much as I love not paying for it.”

  April laughed. “I know. And actually we’re hoping I’m the only one who has to move.”

  April’s words floated by like a life buoy and Shandi grabbed on. “He’s going to talk to his grandmother?”

  “Soon, yes. First I’m going to get a job. If we end up having to move, I’ll need one anyway.” April swirled the remains of her coffee in her cup, glanced briefly at a trio of giggling teen girls flirting with the barista. “Mrs. Harcourt’s biggest objection to us being together is that coming from money has meant I haven’t had to work.”

  Shandi sipped her coffee, arched a brow. “I thought her biggest objection was that living with Evan meant you would be living in sin.”

  April’s mouth twisted into a grin. “That’s why we thought we’d offer her a token rent payment and tell her I’m bunking with you as I work my way to full independence.”

  Shandi let go a chuckle. “You think she’ll buy that?”

  “I doubt it.” April laughed. Laughed harder when Shandi joined her. “So our next option is to get married.”

  At that Shandi stopped laughing. “What? You’d get married just so you could move in?”

  “No, silly.” A warm blush softened April’s face. “We’d get married because we’re in love and want to spend the rest of our lives together.”

  Shandi was aghast. She couldn’t even fathom. “What about all the plans you’ve made? Hell, the plans Evan has made? Your gallery, his drawing his way around the world? The monstrously expensive wedding you’re going to force your parents to pay for and will take months to organize?”

  “A big wedding would be fun, but I don’t have to have one. And being married doesn’t mean giving up any of our plans.” April cocked her head to the side. “Why would you think it did?”

  Because that’s what had happened to every girlfriend she’d had back in Round-Up? Because every female member of the Fossey family had abandoned her own dreams for what her husband determined to be the family’s good?

  Shandi drained the rest of her coffee, reached for her backpack she’d set on the floor at her feet. “I’ve seen it too much, I guess. Watched too many friends from school give up their dreams to family demands.”

  “That’s why you came here, isn’t it?” April asked, slipping the strap of her bag from her chair. “You’ve never told me that before.”

  Shandi shrugged. She needed to get home. She had work to get ready for, and it had been too long since she’d seen Quentin. “The why doesn’t matter. Just that I’m doing what I have to do to get where I want to be. Same as you are. And Evan. The same as Quentin did.”

  April turned, started to get up from her chair, then stopped and looked over with an expression of curious regard. “Is that why you like him? Because he went after what he wanted and got there in such a big way?”

  “I don’t know if it’s that, or just that he is who he is.” Ugh, but that sounded so lame. “I’m not even sure that makes any sense. I mean, I’d hope I wouldn’t be so shallow as to be attracted to his power. And that’s not even it. It’s more about his success.”

  “Isn’t that the same thing?”

  Exasperated, Shandi sighed. “I wish I could put it into words. He went after his dream. He never gave up. He made himself into who he is with hard work. His own two hands. I can’t help but admire that.”

  “I’d say it’s more like you identify with that. Two of a kind and all.”

  “I suppose, yeah. Plus, he doesn’t use his reputation or his success to get what he wants. He still works for it. And that turns me on.”

  April seemed to take in all of that, then said, “I’d figure just looking at him would turn you on.”

  And Shandi couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah. There’s that, too.”

  10

  PEOPLE, PEOPLE, PEOPLE!

  Stop it already with the cocktail napkins!

  Don’t use them to level tables!

  Don’t use them for blowing your nose!

  Don’t use them as toys for Eartha Kitty to shred!

  Or, if you do, at least CLEAN UP!

  Eartha Kitty can hardly be held responsible!

  Shandi

  FRIDAY NIGHT FOUND QUENTIN buying drinks for an old friend, both of them lounging in leather chairs of sea-foam green at one of Erotique’s low black-lacquer tables. The dropped ceiling helped to intensify the room’s intimacy.

  Like all of Hush, Erotique was designed to protect—perhaps even promote—anonymity. Its ambience encouraged private assignations, and that was why Quentin had chosen to meet at the bar. Or at least one of the reasons. The other being the proximity to Shandi.

  Quentin faced the room while his friend sat with his back to the crowd. The arrangement worked for them both. He could look up and watch Shandi as the urge struck, and his friend could avoid a scene, since the bar’s patrons as a general rule had more on their minds than stalking rock stars.

  His friend was Constantine Hale of the metal band Hale’s Fallen Angels. And Quentin’s groupie problem was nothing compared to Constantine’s.

  “I wish I’d known you were in town,” Connie was saying. “We could’ve hooked up earlier.”

  “Right,” Quentin said with a laugh. “I’m trying to keep a low profile this trip. Hanging with you would be counterproductive.”

  Connie shrugged, a shock of blue-black hair falling over his forehead as he leaned forward and hooked his longneck with his index finger. “Maybe. But you can’t say it wouldn’t be a spitload of fun.”

  “I’m getting too old for your brand of fun, Hale.” Smiling to himself, Quentin swirled the ice in his glass and stared down into the amber liquid, resisting the draw of the woman at the bar whose brand of fun he couldn’t get enough of. “Last time you and I partied, I ended up with a paternity suit.”

  Connie laughed, drank again and shook his head as he swallowed. “Oh, man. If that didn’t blow! I don’t even remember seeing that chick that night.”

  “I saw her, but that was it.” This time Quentin glanced at Shandi as he lifted his glass to drink. Her eyes were bright as she chatted with the couple sitting at the end of the bar where he usually sat.

  His seat. His woman.

  “That suit pretty much put an end to my partying days.” He tucked away the possessive feelings that rose swiftly and out of nowhere and looked at Connie again. “I knew that woman was trouble when she tried to slip a demo CD into my, uh, pocket.”

  Connie flipped his thumb over the mouth of his bottle, playing it like an instrument. Thwup-thwump. Thwup-thwump. “That’s the thing, man. Women. Can’t live with ’em, can’t wash off the stench of the sheep.”

  Quentin tossed back his head and laughed. “Now I know I’m done partying with you.”

  “Believe it or not, Marks, you are looking at a brand-new man,” Connie said, shoving his hair back from his face so he could be seen.

  “That so?” Setting his glass on the table, Quentin hoped he sounded more laid-back than he felt.

  If he could sign Hale’s Fallen Angels to his new label once they’d finished up with their current obligations, he’d be years ahead in his game plan. “What was your wake-up call?”

  “I was losing way too many brain cells out there on the road. I’d get back home, hole up in the studio and nothing.” Thwup-thwump. Thwup-thwump. Thwup-thwump. “I didn’t much like the idea of being washed up at thirty.”

  Since Connie had three years to go and an unparalleled driving talent, Quentin doubted the other man would ever be washed up, but cutting back on the distractions wouldn’t hurt a
nyone’s career.

  Quentin himself was the opposite end of the spectrum from any member of Hale’s Fallen Angels, the one who for years wouldn’t have known a distraction had it bit him on the ass.

  But that didn’t mean he wasn’t susceptible now. And then he wondered how much of a distraction he was for Shandi, because she sure as hell was distracting him. “So what have you been working on?”

  Connie’s eyes lit up. “You want to hear?”

  The man went nowhere without his guitar in tow, though he didn’t need it to make music. He did that simply with the gift of his voice.

  Quentin glanced down to where the case sat on the floor next to Connie’s chair. “Sure. Be a change of pace to hear The Constantine without the Angels around.”

  His beer drained, Connie nodded and set the bottle on the table. He then leaned to the side and flipped the latches on the case, shifting forward in his chair and settling the guitar on his knee.

  After tuning the instrument to his satisfaction, he launched into a slow, unplugged warm-up session, running through the riffs of several well-known Angels tunes.

  Quentin sensed heads turning, conversation stopping, movement slowing, a hush descending.

  But Connie didn’t sense a thing. He was all about the music. Only the music. His eyes closed, he nodded his head in rhythm to a beat only he heard.

  And then, facing Quentin, his back to the gathering audience, he sang.

  “Do you know what I know

  What I think

  What I want

  What I do when you’re not around

  Can I say that you know

  That you sense

  That you feel

  That you hear me when I’m not around

  Will you ever know how I know

  How I fail

  How I miss

  How I ache when you’re not around

  Should I ever fear why you know

  Why you hurt

  Why you need

  Why you cry when I’m not around”

  Sitting with his elbows on his chair arms, one leg squared over the other, his hands laced and his steepled fingers tapping his chin, Quentin lifted only his eyes to search out Shandi. He wondered if she heard what he heard in Connie’s song.