Summer of Irreverence: The Rock Star (The New York Artists Series)

by Cathrine Goldstein

  Even here, on the floor of his bathroom, covered in his sweat, stained by his vomit, she was stunning. Her hair was pulled back in a hurried ponytail, and her forehead was creased with worry. Worry about him.

  Summer cocked her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  “How could you?” Malcolm squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, letting the pain in his stomach pass. He opened his eyes again, and they found Summer. “I didn’t exist then. I had just signed my first contract and gotten my first record deal. That’s why the car. His mother wasn’t around—took off right after he was born, so it was just us. I thought it’d be cool to take him for a ride.” Malcolm’s throat ached, his words were laden with anguish. “As soon as I was cleared of all charges, including neglect and child endangerment, my label changed my name.”

  “You’re not really Malcolm Angel?” Summer shook her head, fighting to understand.

  “I am, now. It’s my legal name. But I was born Angelo Malacad. And Angelo Malacad killed his son…”

  “Malcolm…” She sat up and reached out to him, placing her small, warm hands on his cheeks. “It was an accident.”

  “But I was so stupid…” He looked away, shaking his head.

  “You were twenty-two. And you weren’t malicious. You didn’t plan it. Best I can tell, you were doing everything you could for your son—including spending father and son time together.”

  “It’s not that simple.” Malcolm looked away.

  “Of course it’s not.” She placed her warm hands on his arm and then sat back. “Nothing is ever that simple.” She crossed her legs under her and eased his head onto her lap. She stroked his hair as she spoke. “What was his name?”

  “Julian.”

  “Like John Lennon’s son…”

  “Yeah.” Malcolm sighed and again the tears poured forth. He wiped them away as he spoke. “I…I’ve never cried about it. Never once. People…people just tried to convince me it never happened. And I guess I let them.”

  She shook her head. “No, you didn’t.”

  He looked up at her.

  “And you’re crying now.”

  She smiled so sweetly, Malcolm felt the sob rising in his chest he didn’t bother to try to stop. What could it possibly matter now? She had seen it all—she knew all of his secrets. And she was still here, holding him. He cried until he had no more tears to give.

  His tears subsided, and she continued to stroke his hair. It calmed him so much; he couldn’t ever remember a time when anything ever felt so good.

  “That song, Malcolm. The one we’ve all loved for so many years. Your love song that has been played at all those weddings…it has nothing to do with romantic love…it’s about Julian, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah.”

  Summer let her fingers run down his cheeks, scraping against the dark stubble. He stared at her, this angel who sat above him, helping him through the second worst night of his life. He reached up and took her hand, holding it tightly, pulling it to his chest. Then he closed his eyes and there, in his bathroom, his head resting in Summer’s lap, he fell into the deepest sleep of his adult life.

  ****

  When Summer woke she looked around, dazed. Malcolm’s head was still heavy on her lap, but she needed to text Jeanette to let her know she was okay, and she really needed to pee. But the last thing Summer wanted to do was disturb Malcolm—and how was she going to pee when they were both in the bathroom?

  Carefully, she lifted his head and slid out from underneath him. She was sore and stiff from having slept against a marble wall all night. She poked her head out of the bathroom, and Winston reacted to her movements, wagging his tail and whimpering.

  “Shh, Winston.” She made her way to his bed and petted him. “You need to pee too, huh?” She whispered when she spoke to him.

  Winston wagged his tail in response.

  “Okay,” she smoothed the fur on his back. “Tell you what. I’ll run to the bathroom quickly, then I’ll take you out, okay?” She glanced back at Malcolm. “It’s best just to let him sleep. Any idea for a pillow?”

  Winston yelped.

  “Shh.” Summer glanced around. “There must be a few hundred couches in this place, right? Right.”

  Summer turned and gaped at Malcolm’s living room. She walked past Winston, heading into a living area as big as an arena. “Good grief.” The living room had white marble floors, and black leather furniture. A large gray cushion sat opposite the couch, and one entire wall was made of windows, overlooking Central Park, and all of Manhattan.

  “Wow…” Summer was momentarily sidetracked by the beauty of the sun rising over Manhattan. She shook her head, focusing, and turned back to the couch. Thankfully, it had tiny throw pillows tucked into the corners. She picked up a pillow that probably cost more than her rent, and brought it back to Malcolm. She leaned down and slipped the pillow under his head. She stood back appraising him. “Better.” She looked at Winston. “Now it’s my turn.” Summer turned around. “Oh, wait.” She saw Malcolm’s sleeping body in the bathroom. “Okay Winston, any idea where there’s another bathroom?”

  Winston wagged his tail.

  “Yeah. I figured you weren’t talking. Hm…” Summer looked around. “Well, let’s leave him a note in case he wakes up and comes looking for you.” Summer spun around again, the need to pee escalating. She danced around a bit. “Quickly.” She turned around and around, searching. “Okay, if I lived here where would I keep paper?” Summer absolutely refused to snoop or go through drawers, so her search was cursory at best. She gave up, placing her hands on her hips. “Well, we’ll text him and hope it doesn’t wake him up.”

  Just as Summer’s finger was paused over the ‘send’ button, she thought of something. She turned to Winston. “Don’t you have some fancy dog walker who comes and gets you?”

  Winston just wagged again, and Summer giggled, searching for Winston’s leash. She’d text Malcolm in a bit, giving him all the undisturbed sleep she could. She turned to Winston.

  “Rich people do that, right? They have dog walkers.”

  “I don’t know what most rich people do, but this rich person walks his own dog.”

  Summer turned, feeling butterflies the size of Giant Swallowtails flutter around her stomach. “Malcolm.”

  They stared at one another. He looked much better than he had last night. His eyes were red, but there was coloring in his complexion, and the lines on his face were less craterous. He appeared taller and healthier…and frankly, he looked like Malcolm again. Summer was glad to see it. It just then occurred to her she must look like a disaster—she hadn’t so much as peeked into a mirror since she arrived last night. She reached up and ran a hand through her hair.

  “I…” She took a deep breath, trying to calm her stutter. “I was just going to walk Winston. I think he needs to pee.”

  As if on cue, Winston whimpered.

  “I’ll do that.”

  Malcolm grabbed the leash, and with a heavy sigh, Summer let go. So that’s the way it was going to be. He was going to pretend last night never happened. She couldn’t blame him. Well…what mattered was that he was okay. What was she expecting, anyway? It’s not like she—

  Without a word Malcolm stepped to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her tightly to his chest. She turned her cheek so it rested on his chest, and as he held her, she draped her arms around his back.

  Still holding her, he leaned down, planting a single kiss on her forehead.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After a quick trip to the bathroom to pee and freshen up, they left. It was just the two of them as they walked Winston down Broadway. Apparently, Malcolm was able to go out without security when the city was fairly empty—like now, on a very early Sunday in the middle of summer.

  Summer looked up at the sky and smiled. The sun was just waking up, and it promised to shine gloriously today—not too hot—just perfect. She adjusted her oversized g
lasses it was still too dark to need, and caught Malcolm staring at her shirt.

  “What?” She smiled, stuffing her hands into her jeans.

  “I like the way my shirt looks on you.”

  Summer’s cheeks warmed. Truth told, Summer loved being in Malcolm’s shirt. It was just a plain gray v-neck t-shirt, but it smelled like him. She adored the feel of Malcolm Angel wrapped around her. The v-neck sat perfectly at her top, showing only the tiniest bit of cleavage. The sleeves were much too large, and the shirt hung down to her thighs, but he seemed to like it well enough.

  “That’s silly…” She waved him off.

  “No, really.” He reached out and took her hand for a moment, squeezing it. “You look gorgeous.”

  “Really?” She smirked at him.

  “Really. We might have to keep you in my t-shirts—always.”

  Summer laughed, but burning heat shot from the hand he had squeezed up through her arm, resulting in her face flushing. She fanned herself, racking her brain for the plausible reason for this sudden hot flash. Medically, it could be the stress hormones epinephrine or norepinephrine, but she wasn’t feeling a bit stressed. If anything, she was feeling quite calmly content. Think, think, think. There had to be a reason she was feeling this rush, this warmth all over—a hypothalamus dysfunction? She should be so lucky. There was only one answer that could explain her sudden perspiration, and he was about six feet tall with the body of a god and the voice of an angel…Malcolm Angel. The aroma of warm bagels caught her attention, offering a reprieve from her thoughts, and she threw her small nose up into the air, sniffing. Winston barked.

  “Right, Winston? Bagels. They smell incredible.”

  “The store over there—across the street—specializes in them.” Malcolm pointed to an orange and white awning. “Best in the world.”

  “Best bagels in the world?” Summer turned to him, lifting her glasses, her eyes wide. “Let’s go.” Letting her glasses drop, she grabbed his arm and started pulling.

  He laughed. “Hold on a sec. I haven’t eaten a bagel in…I don’t know how long.” Malcolm stood still, shaking his head.

  “Why not?” They stopped under a tree, and Summer smiled. She would never have guessed in the middle of all the concrete and high rises, there could be life. “If I lived here I’d eat them every day. At least every Sunday.”

  “Are you gonna?” He turned to Summer. The intensity of his words hung like fog between them, cooling her burning skin, and blanketing the nearly deserted street.

  “Am I going to what?” She stared at the ground, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

  “Live here.” He turned his head away and then back. “Is that your plan?”

  Summer stared at Malcolm, feeling his vulnerability.

  “I—I don’t know what my plan is.” She mumbled her words, her stomach seizing. She gazed up at him, knowing she should tell him the truth—she had a very definite plan that began right after Labor Day. And that plan would take her far from New York City—for good. He deserved to know, but she was terrified if she confessed, everything would change. And besides, the vulnerability he was exhibiting this morning was only because of last night. The ache in her eyes confirmed that. Once Malcolm was feeling like himself again, he would move on from Summer to some bone-thin supermodel who was tempting him with her swimsuit body and not warm bagels. No doubt about that. Summer sighed, petrified the slightest slip of the lip would drive Malcolm away prematurely, and for good… And heaven knows, she wasn’t ready for either of those options.

  Malcolm smiled. “So whaddaya say we grab some bagels? I’m famished.”

  “I can imagine…” Summer squeezed her eyes shut. She shook her head, mentally kicking herself. She swore to herself she was not going to bring up last night. He certainly didn’t need to relive it.

  “Sum…”

  The use of her nickname gave her a definite pull toward him, and she turned her entire body to face him. The early morning sun relaxed her as she looked up at him.

  “It’s okay.” He reached out and placed his hand on her cheek. He stroked it gently and then pulled back, smiling. “You don’t have to skirt around the subject. Actually…I…I owe you an explanation. And a thank you.”

  Summer settled her eyes on him. “You owe me nothing, Malcolm. I was there because I wanted to be.”

  “I’m glad you were.”

  “Me too.”

  “But still, Summer…”

  Summer let her eyes linger, heavy on Malcolm. She sighed, scratching a phantom itch on her arm. She took a deep breath before speaking.

  “When I was sixteen, my parents begged me to go to a Memorial Day picnic with them. I had just gotten my license, and the picnic was just about the last thing I wanted to do. I didn’t want to hang around a bunch of middle aged people, sipping chardonnay, and discussing politics. I was a really good student, and I deserved a break. I deserved to have some fun with my friends.”

  “Jeanette?”

  “Yup.” Summer looked away, her eyes aching. Her voice remained strong as she fought through the tears. “I was with Jeanette when I got the call. The police officers called her house…her parents were my emergency contact and mine, hers. They tracked down the number that way.” Summer scoffed. “You know what’s so odd?”

  “What’s that?” He didn’t touch her, and she knew he was giving her space while she spoke.

  “I can still smell the room I was in when I got the call. The house was engulfed with that certain…sweet but sultry smell of blueberries cooking in the oven. Jeanette was arguing with her mom, because her mom was trying to get us to eat some pie to celebrate Memorial Day. Of course Jeanette was always on a diet so she said no, but I passed as well—though I wasn’t sure why. I’m an eater…” Summer smiled when she said this, laughing a half-hearted laugh. “And normally, I like pie, but that day…as soon as I smelled the blueberries on that day, something hit me in the stomach. Something was wrong.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and cleared her throat. “To this day I don’t eat blueberries.”

  Summer raised her shoulders and dropped them, hard.

  “But you weren’t responsible, Sum.”

  “Wasn’t I?” Buried behind the thick, black lens, her eyes made their way to his. “They asked me to go. I had just gotten my license. I wouldn’t have had anything to drink at the picnic…maybe if I had driven home, they’d still be alive…”

  “You can’t know that.” Malcolm stroked her arm.

  “Nope. But I screamed, ‘I hate you!’ at them before they left that day. And I can know that is the biggest regret of my life.”

  “Summer…” Malcolm’s voice was sweet.

  “And you know what my mother said back to me?”

  Malcolm shook his head, his body leaning toward hers, his arms waiting to embrace her, and Summer knew he wanted nothing more than to make her pain go away—just as she had wanted to do for him.

  “She said…” Summer bit the corner of her lip, fighting the tears. “She said, ‘I’m sorry you hate me right now. But I love you. And always will. No matter what.’ And I just huffed and stormed away.” Summer’s voice was a whisper. She reached up and wiped away a tear. She spoke through a cracking voice. “And the irony of it all was I was normally such a good kid. It was the first time I had ever acted like that.” She shook her head, gazing at Malcolm. “Timing’s everything, isn’t it?”

  He reached out and took her hand.

  “Malcolm,” Summer squeezed his hand. “I didn’t tell you this to try to compete with you. There’s nothing worse than the loss of a child. That’s…” She took a deep breath and let it out, audibly. “That’s unthinkable. I told you my story so you’d understand…you’re not alone.”

  “Summer…” Malcolm pulled off his glasses and slipped hers off as well. He stared into her eyes, eyes that were red with worry and exhaustion. “I don’t feel alone anymore. I…I haven’t since the day I met you.”

  Summer inhaled sharply,
looking up into Malcolm’s eyes. His sincerity bore a hole straight through her, letting whatever decency there was left in her spill out onto the street. How could she mislead him like this? But it was too late now…the time to tell him the truth was weeks ago. Now, if she was lucky enough to be with him, she’d have to wait to tell him the truth until summer ended. When summer ends, she would explain everything. Until then…

  Malcolm stepped toward Summer and wrapped his arm around her waist. He looked at her with eyes so hungry and lost, she needed to look away. She ran her tongue over her teeth, feeling the minty grit left from the quick finger brushing she did before they took Winston out. Malcolm’s incredibly broad shoulders, and strong, sinewy arms, protected her from all the pain she had felt only moments before. Somehow, seeing behind the rock star persona to the man he really was—made him all the more desirable.

  “Malcolm, I…”

  He placed his hand under her chin, guiding her face back toward his. He eased his hands up onto either side of her face, and held her…his grasp intense. She closed her eyes, her breath racing, her breasts pushing against his chest as he leaned down and ever-so-gently, brushed his lips against hers.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I don’t wanna let you go, today…” Malcolm’s words were a whisper in her ear.

  “Then don’t.” Her eyes were still closed, and she snuggled further into Malcolm’s embrace, with Winston waiting patiently at their feet.

  “Come home with me.”

  The tiny blonde hairs on her arms bristled…his words, pure seduction. Her nipples hardened in response to his earthy, scratchy voice…the voice she had heard croon out maybe hundreds of love songs. And now that voice was uttering words meant only for her.

  “Summer?” He held her a slight distance from him. “Sum?”

  His arms muscles tensed—she needed to answer him. Her breathing increased, rapidly. For the past few weeks she had wanted nothing more than to be with Malcolm…alone…in that way. But now that it was here, could she handle it?

  She nodded, unable to form words.