“Luke.”
He sighs and drops to the seat across from me. “I’m sorry.”
“For disappearing for a week without a word, or giving me a heart attack?”
“You were worried about me? You shouldn’t worry about me.”
“Of course I was! You didn’t exactly leave in a calm state. Then, nothing for days. What am I supposed to think?”
“Like I said, you really shouldn’t worry about me. You can’t, ok?”
Says the most biased judge in the history of verdicts.
And yes, I catch the disturbingly cryptic nature of his warning, but it’s a dangerous sentence. I can’t deal with that right now.
“Next time, can you at least text me or something?”
“I don’t have your number.”
“You could.”
He nods, but doesn’t ask for it. I try not to be hurt.
“I’m just saying that we were all worried about you.”
“I’m still confused by that. Why would you be worried?”
I really don’t have a good answer. I mean, I have answers, they’d just sound crazy out loud. He’s a stranger. He’s asked for nothing. I owe him nothing. He owes me even less. Why would I be worried? Because he’s more important to me than he should be? That’s not an answer. That’s my problem, not his.
“We just were.” And that was even worse than an answer.
“Really. It’s my turn to go out on a limb and guess that by ‘we’ you mean ‘you.’ I can’t imagine anyone else here cared that I didn’t come in for breakfast.”
“And what if it does?”
“Now I have to check in with the Jemma’s Café patrons every time I do anything?”
He’s trying to sound playful. He’s not even close.
“No, of course not, but a week? Last time I saw you, you were so upset you stormed off. How am I supposed to know how you fared after that?”
He doesn’t respond at first, and somehow I know what he’s thinking. Why is he even here? I’m nobody, and now I’m a nobody who nags him. I hate being a nobody who nags him. I’m more than that. He’s more than that. We’re so much more than that.
“Well, I fared fine. I went home and cooled off. Then did some traveling. Now, I’m back.”
I have to stop nagging. I force away what’s left of it. “Traveling? Where to?”
Darryn arrives, and I’m not sure if his timing is perfect or terrible. “Morning, guys. Tea? Coffee?”
We thank him.
“Houston.”
“Texas?”
He gives me a look. “Yes. Houston, Texas.”
Ok, it was a dumb question. “What’s in Houston?”
“Family.”
I nod. “So is that where you’re from in the States?”
He looks away and shakes his head. “Kind of. She was.”
It’s her family.
My stomach actually begins to constrict a little. We both look at his ring. I want to touch it. To trace the intricate etchings in some absurd attempt to soothe the pain.
“What about you? Shelteron, huh?”
I sigh. “Yeah. Shelteron. I have family there. My dad, anyway. We haven’t seen my mom in over ten years.”
“She took off?”
I nod. “New boyfriend, new life.”
“And your dad?”
“New girlfriend, same life.”
“And yet, you’re here.”
I’m not as terrified of my own history as he is of his, but it still isn’t my favorite topic.
“I am. New girlfriend isn’t a gem, which is why she’s perfect for my dad.”
He understands, and I notice the change in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I shrug. “Anyway, there was never anything major. It just didn’t make sense for me to stick around once I didn’t have to.”
“Still, it’s admirable that you are able to live independently as a writer.”
“It’s not all that impressive.”
“Sure it is. It can take years to generate enough income in that profession to survive alone, especially here, and you’re doing it at twenty-three.”
Not exactly. I clear my throat and look away. I know the second he says those words that I’ll regret letting him admire me for a lie, so I can’t let this go.
“Actually, I don’t make enough to survive. The reason I could leave Shelteron was because of an insurance settlement.”
“Insurance settlement?”
“Yeah.” I still can’t look at him, even though I feel him studying every inch of me. “But no personal stuff, right?” I remind him quickly, trying to smile to lighten the comment. I hate closing a door, but I can’t go there. Not yet. If anyone would understand that…
He does. “Sorry, no you’re right. It just seemed like maybe you wanted to talk about it.”
It probably did. And maybe that was even true until it started coming out. That story isn’t an out-loud story.
“I know. I only brought it up because I didn’t want to give you the wrong impression. I didn’t want to lie to you.”
“You weren’t lying. Having secrets isn’t lying.”
“Sometimes not. Sometimes it is.”
It’s his turn to look away and I wonder which part of this conversation is causing the problem.
Darryn brings our drinks, but we both decide to pass on food today. I’m not surprised given our rocky start to the conversation. Neither of us wants to commit to a long encounter right now.
We don’t talk for a while after Darryn leaves. Luke is meticulous about opening the creamer cup and mixing its contents with his coffee. He’s painfully thorough. I doubt there is a single drop of creamer that isn’t transferred and completely dissolved into his cup. He wasn’t so meticulous the last time he had coffee with me. To be fair, my teacup suddenly doesn’t seem to sit quite right on the saucer, and I adjust it in an endless loop of futility.
It’s then that I notice the four girls whispering several booths away. I wonder if they recognize Luke as the chair-watcher, or just as a good-looking guy with an average woman who’s clearly beneath him. My interest is piqued when one of them is pushed from her seat by the others, and it becomes apparent I’m about to learn the answer to my question.
She stops a few times during her approach, glancing back at her friends whose whispers and silent giggles have reached what seems like a feverish pitch to me, but hasn’t fazed Luke. His back is to them. He hasn’t even turned to take a peek at the commotion. I don’t know how he hasn’t noticed the direct attention when I can’t focus on anything else.
The girl continues to move forward, and I’m startled to catch a glimpse of a pen. I can’t make out the contents of her other hand, but suddenly, my blood runs cold at the prospect of what I’m about to witness. I glance back at Luke and am also surprised by his clenched jaw. I thought he hadn’t noticed the girls, but it turns out I just hadn’t noticed him enough.
“Hi. Um…I’m sorry to bother you. You’re from NSB, right? Ok, wow…can you sign this? Please? My sister will die. She loves you guys!”
I stay calm, suddenly losing sight of everything around me except Luke’s face. I watch him react, instinctively, a new smile I haven’t seen yet crossing his features. It’s not the fake one he uses for Darryn, or the weak one I get when he’s trying to be nice but can’t. It’s definitely not the real one I’ve captured a few times that turns his entire face into a work of art. This one is some combination of all three. It’s his stage smile, and it fascinates me.
“Sure. What’s her name?”
The girl nearly shrieks with excitement and shoves the pen at him along with what I can now see is a carwash flyer.
“Um, Linny. That’s with a ‘y.’”
She hovers inches from him, watching each stroke of the pen. Probably breathing in his aftershave, his shampoo. Maybe even getting a bit of the leather jacket brushing against her hip. She’d definitely be able to feel the heat of his body. She’s now been closer to him than I have,
and I’m forced to fight off the sudden absurd stab of jealousy.
“Here you go.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you! She will die! She’s going to seriously pass out! I love your accent by the way.” She looks at the flyer as if verifying it’s real. “Wait, you’re actually Luke from NSB? You’re her favorite! She’s totally in love with you!”
Luke smiles again, dismissively this time, but the girl doesn’t seem to get his subtle hint.
“Thanks.”
The girl is now reaching for her phone, and I have no choice. A photo op is the last thing we need right now.
“Hey, hon, thanks for stopping by,” I interject, “but we’re actually in the middle of something.” She looks disappointed, but resigns to her fate.
“Oh, ok. Well, it was great to meet you! I can’t believe I just met Luke Craven from Night Shifts Black!”
She squeals again, and unfortunately now we have the attention of everyone else in the café. Even Stan’s expression has softened from irritation to curiosity. Ailee the hostess looks like she’s going to be sick. She didn’t know she’d been tormenting Luke Craven from Night Shifts Black.
“Do you want to go?” I ask, ignoring them all.
He shakes his head and stares back at his coffee. “I can’t yet. I will in a second.”
“You can’t?”
I don’t understand. I start to glance around at everyone else for clues, but then remember I’ll probably learn more from watching him. He’s studying them, too, discreetly, maybe judging their own interest. Apart from the one table of admirers, the general demographic of the café is older at this time of the morning, and it all finally starts to come together. Stan is not a fan of Night Shifts Black. It’s doubtful the old lady in the wheelchair or today’s Hope Retirement Home Bridge Club are fans either. Luke has nothing to fear from them. He’s just making sure, and needs to play it cool or will invite even more attention.
“So Night Shifts Black, huh? You said you were a musician. You aren’t just a musician.”
“Yes, I am.”
My pulse starts to pound, and I hope it’s because I find him more interesting due to something other than what I just learned. I don’t want to be Linny and her sister.
“Right. That’s like saying Abe Lincoln was just a politician.”
“He was.”
I smile and shake my head.
“Perfect. So now I suppose you want an autograph, too?”
“Only if it’s on the check for my tea.”
This time I get the real smile, and manage to find my way back to the Luke I was just starting to know. The Luke who was fascinating before he was a superstar. The Luke who was ancient, shattered, and completely obsessed with a chair.
“I hate to admit it, but I’m actually starting to remember that whole scandal now. You left the band right after you won a bunch of awards for your last album. Didn’t you write a hit song for that motorcycle biopic or something? It blew everyone’s mind. No one could understand why you’d walk away right as you were taking off.”
Luke doesn’t respond. He’s heard this question a million times. From people a lot more important than I am.
“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s not.”
I glance at the chair then, I can’t help it, and he does, too. This time he doesn’t shutdown, but seems almost guilty, and his eyes barely brush the surface of it before turning back to me.
“You haven’t learned anything new, Callie. Don’t think for a second that this information tells you anything about me you didn’t know before.”
His words hit me hard.
I quiet as I absorb them, trying to decipher the painful depth of that complex statement. There are so many layers, I’m not sure which one to respond to. I play it safe instead.
“I’m sorry, but I have to disagree. I now know that you have little reverence for carwash flyers.”
His eyes meet mine and it takes a moment for him to process my joke. Once he does, his grin is totally worth every agonizing second.
“I’ve signed worse,” he returns.
“I believe you.”
I pause and lean forward. “Examples?”
He laughs. “You don’t want to know.”
“Oh, I do. And now, even more so.”
He suddenly looks shy, and I can’t understand why. There’s no way the former frontman for Night Shifts Black could be shy, for any reason. Then, I realize my confusion is because I’m doing exactly what he told me not to: assuming I actually know anything about him.
“I think I made it sound more interesting than it is. Just the normal clichés. You know, bras, panties, things like that.”
“Ok, but worse than that?”
He gives me a mischievous look and shrugs.
“Fine. I have a jury summons in my purse, would you sign that?”
He laughs again and holds up his hands. “No way. That puts me in prison.”
“What? No. A fine maybe, but not prison. I do understand your fear, though. Prison is no place for a pretty boy like you.”
His eyes widen for the fight. “A pretty boy? Really.” He leans back and crosses his arms. “You don’t actually know our music do you.”
“I don’t have to. Teenage girls love you and want to marry you. That’s all I need to know.”
His eyes still hold the rare amusement that makes me willing to do anything to keep it there. I wish I had the courage to pat his hand, now resting on the table. It could pass as playful with my teasing, but I’m not good at that sort of thing and don’t trust myself to pull it off.
“Teenage girls love and want to marry anyone they see on TV. You were a teenage girl once.”
“I was.”
“And?”
“And I would have been happy to settle down with any one of seven different celebrities.”
“None of which was me? Undeniably sexy frontman for Night Shifts Black? How’s that possible?”
I include an apologetic look with my headshake. “Sorry. I was more into movie stars than rock stars.”
“Really? That surprises me.”
He’s not joking now, and it catches me off guard.
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t know. You take me as someone who charges off the beaten path, that’s all. Hollywood crushes seem too cliché for you.”
“Now who’s judging a book by its cover?”
“What? You’re offended that I think you’re interesting?”
I can’t even begin to respond to that. He’s got me all kinds of flustered. Stupid words. Stupid, traitorous words. I’m about to say something horrifying like “you think I’m interesting?”
Thankfully, I manage to stop it.
“No comment, huh?”
His self-satisfied smirk makes me want to smack him. And kiss him. I almost blush.
“I’ll have the perfect comeback in about three hours when I’m back at my apartment cleaning out my closet, don’t you worry.”
His smirk spreads into another genuine grin, and I can’t help but return it.
“Fair enough. Make sure you write it down so you can tell me tomorrow.”
He tosses a few bills on the table and grabs his jacket.
I’m disappointed until I notice he’s still smiling on his way to the door for the first time since we met.
Day Six: Part I.
I don’t even make it through the door before Shauna is shoving me back into the cool April-morning air.
“You’re here! I thought you’d never get here,” she says.
I’m not nearly as pleased to see her. This can’t be good.
I try to peek past her through the door, but I can’t see anything.
“What’s going on? Is everything ok?”
She bites her lip and glances behind her. “Not really, no.” She leans toward me. “He’s here and he’s not good today.”
“Who’s here? Luke?”
I know the answ
er, of course I do; I just need more time to process it.
She nods. “If Ailee didn’t know he was Luke Craven of Night Shifts Black, he’d probably be dealing with the cops right now.”
“Really? Is he causing a disturbance? He’s bothering people?”
“Um…no, not like that. But he’s been sitting there for, like, a half hour.”
“He’s freaking people out because he’s been sitting for a half hour?”
“He’s…” she stops and seems frustrated that she can’t explain. The thing is, she doesn’t have to. I get it, and I wouldn’t know how to explain it either. I realize it’s better if I just spare her the attempt and agree to take over from here.
“I’ll go see if I can talk to him.”
“Really?” She is clearly relieved. “Thank you! We’re all worried about him, you know.”
I nod to be polite, but their concern doesn’t mean much to me. They weren’t worried until they learned who he was.
I go inside slowly, as if I’d startle him with a normal entrance. I know it’s silly. My guess is he won’t even notice me. He’s probably not noticing anything right now.
I know exactly where to look after I’m inside, and when I see him, I completely understand Shauna’s hesitation. I’m not sure how you’d describe the scene to make it sound as disturbing to the ear as it is to the eye.
It’s about the chair again.
This time though, he’s in it, seated casually, like he’s enjoying a relaxing meal with a companion. The problem is, he’s removed it from the table and placed it in the middle of the aisle. There is no companion. No meal. No silverware, napkins, or table. Just Luke in a chair, in an aisle, sharing a silent conversation with a pretend person. It is disturbing, incredibly disturbing, especially for someone who’s begun to care about this person.
He doesn’t acknowledge me as I move toward him. I don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t see me or just doesn’t care that I’m here. I was so sure I had to help a moment ago, but now, faced with the actual problem, I don’t really know what to do. I sense speaking isn’t the right approach and will just turn a strange situation into a volatile one. Instead, I decide to simply join his world like I’d done many times now, and figure out how to navigate it once I’m inside.
Night Shifts Black Page 4