* * *
Mackenzie: Take off your pants.
* * *
Campbell: Boom. Instant arousal. You’re a rock star.
* * *
Mackenzie: Ha, you’re going easy on me.
* * *
Campbell: Sunshine, it’s only easy because we have chemistry. Also, I liked talking to you as well.
* * *
Mackenzie: Yeah, it seems your mouth is multi-talented. Looking forward to seeing you again, in clothes and out of clothes.
* * *
Campbell: I like the sound of that. It’s music to my ears.
Chapter 9
Mackenzie
* * *
“So?”
The one-word question hangs in the air as I drive on the freeway outside New York City.
“So, what?”
Jamison grabs his coffee cup and dramatically downs some. “Are you going to tell me about your night last night? Did you follow my advice? Did you have fun? Because one look at you, and I see a woman who had fun last night.”
His voice is full of knowingness, like he can tell what I did from studying my eyes or something.
“What, exactly, does a woman who had fun last night look like?” I grip the wheel tighter, grateful I can focus on the road and not on him. Jamison has always had the uncanny ability to read me. We met in the common room of our dorm our freshman year of college, reaching for the same bag of chipotle chips on the kitchen counter. We had that instant friendship spark. We could talk about anything over chips, and we did.
He taps his chin, and I feel his eyes on my face, as if he can find the answer to what I did last night while I drive. “Hmm. I would definitely say you have a sort of glow about you I’ve noticed women usually have after great sex.”
I shoot him a searing glance then return my focus to the stretch of highway. “And you recognize this because it’s the complete opposite of what I had after you?”
He swats my thigh. “Ooh, mean girl.”
“Two-pump chuck.”
“Oh please. It wasn’t two pumps. It was like four.”
I crack up. “See? You did like it! You like girls, you like girls.”
He covers his ears and belts out, “La, la, la, I can’t hear you.”
I slug his shoulder. “Note to Jamison: when you come quickly, it means you liked it. Even if it was with a girl.”
He shoots me a withering glare, then lets his shoulders slump. “All my gay street cred is gone, gone, gone.” He pretends to cry.
“There, there. I’d say it’d be our little secret, but your thirteen-year-old son is evidence.”
He huffs. “Anyway, who did you like it with last night? Anytime you have a little tryst, you get this happy, dopey look about you.”
“I’ve had that look maybe twice in the last ten years, then?”
He sighs sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Mack. I’ve been busy. I’m out of town all the time. I know you haven’t had the chance to date a lot.”
“It’s okay,” I say softly. “I regret nothing. I’d do anything for him.”
He pats my leg. “And you do. You’re the best mom. There’s no one I’d rather share a kid with. That’s why I wanted you to have the chance to get out, and look, you did. Yay you. Now tell me everything.”
I laugh. “No way.”
I don’t want to share the details with Jamison. They feel personal. Campbell was a one-night stand at the beginning of last night, and now he’s somebody I’m going to potentially date.
A nervous shudder moves through me, but I remind myself I can handle one date.
One date won’t spill over into my mom world. I can schedule it when Kyle is with Jamison, so there’s no reason I need to worry. I’ll tell Roxy the broad strokes later, but the details are for me and only me at the moment.
The exit looms closer, and I turn on the blinker. “I had a good time, and that was that. Let’s talk about something else. When do you take off for your next tour?”
“Ten more days,” he says, and tells me details of the show he’s putting together as we return to who we usually are—co-parents and friends.
When a song comes on his playlist we both like, we sing along to “Lullaby of Broadway,” belting out the showstopper.
“Hey, has there ever been a greater show than 42nd Street?” I ask when it ends.
“Don’t even go there. Don’t even say that.” He rattles off his favorites. “Hamilton. Rent. Wicked. Assassins. Sweeney Todd.”
I shake my head. “42nd Street is the greatest of all time. You can’t deny it.”
“I can’t talk to you when you get like this. You get crazy. You get awfully crazy and say these things, and they make no sense.”
Before I know it, we’re pulling up to the camp, and a new kind of excitement races through me as I cut the engine. I can’t wait to see my kid.
We head to the campground and cabins where the kids and counselors are gathered. When I see Kyle, his dirty-blond hair a thick mess on his head, his brown eyes wide with excitement, I can’t hold back a smile. He runs over to me and engulfs me in a hug. A warm, gooey happiness floods me. I love my boy. I love him fiercely, and I’m so damn glad he still lets me hug him. Because nothing will ever be better than his arms around me and him saying, “It’s so good to see you, Mom. I missed you.”
This is better than sex, better than ice cream, and better than winning trivia. This is the big love I want to cherish always. He does the same with Jamison, and he tells us all the details about how he enjoyed playing with other kids who are passionate about Brahms and Bach too.
A tall man strides over to us, finding us in the sea of parents. He sports a goatee, and a name tag indicating he’s a visiting teacher at the camp. “I’m Chris Barinholtz, and I work with the Hudson Valley Orchestra.”
“Big Ike’s cousin?” I ask, since they share a last name.
“The one and only,” he says, proudly. “I’m glad she recommended Pine Notes for your son.”
“We are too. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say, and we make quick introductions all around.
“I was brought in for a few special classes, and after hearing Kyle play, I told the camp director that I simply must meet Kyle’s parents,” he says in a deep, rich baritone.
That kindles my interest. “Oh, well, that’s nice to hear.”
“And we are so glad to meet one of his teachers,” Jamison chimes in.
Chris motions us to step aside, out of earshot of the others. He claps Kyle’s shoulder. “Listen. They have a lot of talented kids here at this camp, and I’ve been coming here as a guest teacher for a few years. Let me tell you something, talent this good needs to be nurtured. When you return to Manhattan, you need to make sure he has the finest teacher.”
Jamison nods. “Absolutely. He’s been practicing with a violin teacher who played in a college orchestra.”
Chris scoffs and holds up a hand. “No. I mean somebody who can really take talent to the next level. Someone who will help him flourish. I have a few people in mind. Would you let me make some calls on his behalf and see if I can help secure someone special for him?”
I beam but let Jamison answer.
“That would be fantastic,” he says, since he’s always taken the lead on Kyle’s musical training. Picking the teachers, that is. Because of his job, he has a nose for the best in the business and is often able to pull strings with his Broadway connections. My job is simpler—making sure Kyle knows when his lessons are. It works for us. “Let me know who you might be able to connect us with. I’d love to hear who you’re thinking of.”
“I’ll email you,” Chris says to Jamison.
In the car on the way back to Manhattan, Kyle is a nonstop chatterbox in the backseat. “I met this one kid who also really likes basketball, so that was super fun. We talked about LeBron and our favorite symphonies. It was so cool.”
I glance over at Jamison and smile. “It is great to meet someone who shares your loves.
”
“It sure is,” Jamison says, smiling back at me.
We have that in our own quirky, bizarre way.
We go our separate ways after lunch, with Kyle heading home with me, since Jamison is due back at the office. We spend the afternoon unpacking and sending out clothes to the laundry, playing a tense game of Wits and Wagers before I dive into work while he makes a list of school supplies we need to buy. By early evening, Jamison texts me.
* * *
Jamison: First, I have tickets to the Yankees Saturday night. Would love to take the kiddo.
* * *
Mackenzie: Sounds fabulous.
* * *
Jamison: Second, OMG! Cross your fingers extra hard, missy! The Hudson Valley guy might be able to score us someone fabulous! He just emailed to tell me who he’s reaching out to!
* * *
Mackenzie: Who is it?
* * *
Jamison: I don’t want to jinx it. But I have a good feeling it’ll come together quickly, and then I will tell you!
* * *
I laugh at the note, rolling my eyes. Jamison loves surprises. I write back, telling him I can’t wait. But really, what’s the big deal? It’s not like he’s hired the director of the New York Philharmonic. Whoever Chris finds will be fine.
* * *
I text Campbell that I can get together Saturday night. He replies quickly.
* * *
Campbell: I can still taste you.
Campbell: Also, can’t wait for Saturday night.
* * *
I shiver as I reread his first note. Then I smile over the second. And as I work on a new design, my mind drifts to what he’s going to do to me on Saturday night.
I am such a dirty mama.
Chapter 10
Campbell
* * *
When I meet up with Miller in the late afternoon, he’s testing out his model boat in Central Park. “I am going to crush it in the boat racing leagues this year!”
“Do they have boat racing leagues?” I ask as he radio-controls his blue boat across a lake in the park.
“Yes. And the winner gets a kick-ass gold medal in an all-ages competition in late fall. I’ve enlisted Jackson as my teammate and he is pumped,” Miller says, mentioning the seventeen-year-old he mentors in the Big Brother program.
“I hope you and Jackson beat all those pesky fifth graders.”
“They are fierce, and we will have to fight hard. He’s meeting me here in a few. Also, do you know they have kickball leagues now in the park? I signed up for one.”
“Will you be able to fit it in with your Monopoly and Battleship competitions?”
“Don’t knock it. I happen to like to stay young.”
“You’re racing a boat with ten-year-olds. You can’t get much younger.”
He flashes a toothy grin. He has gleaming white teeth, dimples, and skin models would kill for. He knows it too. “And look at my face! I still look twenty-five. Unlike you. You’ve put on some years.”
And all in one night too. “Gee, I wonder how that happened twelve years ago when Julie died.”
He smiles sympathetically. “Sorry. Just messing with you. I know you’ve seen your share of shit. But you’re still the second-most-handsome brother of the Heartbreakers.”
I tilt my head. “Aww, thank you. I appreciate that. Truly, I do.”
“Wait. I meant third. Miles is second.”
“Second?” I arch a brow. “Surely he’s first.”
Miller steers his boat in front of another one and cheers as he beats it in a pretend race only he’s running. He sighs, then turns back to me. “Campbell, what would it take to get back together?”
I clap him on the back. He’s relentless in his pursuit. “You know that won’t happen.”
“But you play with the other guys. The Angry Waves.”
I laugh and shake my head. “You know the name.”
He huffs. “The Gnarly Waters.”
“Something like that.”
“What do they have that I don’t? I am a wizard on the keys, and no one in the whole wide world can harmonize like you and me.”
I sigh, a little wistfully, as his idea tugs on a small piece of my music-loving heart. Playing with my brothers was one of the great joys in my life, but there’s no room for that now. “You know I love singing with you, but it’s all the other stuff that comes with it that I don’t want—the expectations. That’s what the other guys have. They aren’t you and me, bro,” I say, wishing I could give him the answer he wants. “But what about Miles? Why don’t you and he start it up again?”
Miller rolls his eyes. “He’s busy down under.”
Miles launched a successful solo career post-Heartbreakers, and he’s in the midst of a year-long world tour.
“Eventually the tour will be over. Hit him up.”
Miller sighs dramatically. “You know the score.” He pats my cheek, then his cheek. “These faces, bro. The world sees us as the Heartbreakers.”
“I bet the world would find a way to be good with you and Miles.”
He pouts and affixes the saddest face in the world. He rubs one eye and acts as if he’s tearing up. “What if I told you I was withering away into a pathetic mess?”
I gesture to him. “I would believe you.”
He nods sadly, adding an exaggerated frown, like a kid. “Don’t you feel bad for me?”
I chuckle. “You’re not terribly good at eliciting sympathy when you’re standing here and goofing off. Like you usually are.”
“Oh, excuse me. I’m allowed to goof off. That’s why I worked my ass off when we were younger.”
I roll my eyes. “We both worked our asses off.”
“And we both loved it.” Miller wiggles his eyebrows as he shoves on the controls of his boat. “I’m just saying those were my happiest days, and you’re basically depriving me of ever being happy again.”
“Your happiness rests on my shoulders?”
“We could do a reunion tour. Pick twelve cities. We did that when we graduated college. We can do it again.”
Miller has played with other bands since we split up a few years after college. He’s had some good solo runs. He loves performing, but he’s never settled down with one band. He wants it all again—the whole nine yards.
But me? I don’t want that lifestyle. I can’t risk it.
That’s why the Righteous Surfboards is a side gig. I don't want the crazy touring lifestyle of the Heartbreakers. My focus is singular, and it’s always been singular since Samantha’s mom died when she was only two. No touring. No staying out too late. No life dictated by managers and agents and all the things out of my control.
I want my life to be mine, and I like paying it forward by teaching.
I squeeze my brother’s shoulder. “I love you, Miller. But I’m happy doing what I’m doing. I have a packed schedule, and I work with great kids. But you should find a new band. Maybe a new partner to sing with. Why don’t you do that?”
He huffs as he steers his boat to the shore. “It’s not the same without you.”
“But what if it could be better? You know I’ll be cheering you on. That’s what I can do. I’ll be your biggest fan.”
But that’s not enough for him. He wants so much more than I can give.
I glance at my watch. The person I need to give my all to today is Sam, and she’s nearly done with her day as a counselor-in-training at a local arts camp. I tell Miller I need to hit the road.
“Hit the road,” he says, crooning one of our tunes. “You want to hit the road with me. Let’s go on a road trip, girl, just you and me and the headlights . . .”
I laugh him off.
“I’ve still got it though,” he calls out.
“You’ve still got it.”
As I leave, I pass Jackson, stopping to say hello. “You be sure to keep him in line in the boat races,” I tell the kid.
“Don’t you worry about that. I’ll keep my eye on
him,” he says with a wink, then I head out of the park.
As I walk away, I hum a few bars, still loving the way they sound.
Those tunes have never fallen out of my head, or my heart. They probably never will.
The next night, I catch up with Miles on Skype. He calls me from the beach.
“I can’t believe you fit in time for your big bro,” I say when I see his smiling face on my phone. I lean back into the couch, making myself comfortable as Samantha works in the kitchen on a project she’s deemed top secret.
“I always have time for you,” he says, but a pack of young women wander past him on the sand, distracting him with their itsy-bitsy bathing suits.
“Earth to Miles . . .”
He snaps his gaze back to me. “Sorry, man. It’s naptime for Ben, so I was enjoying myself for ten seconds.”
“Would it be helpful if I wore a bikini?”
“Please never do that,” Miles says, then fills me in on his tour and the latest antics of Ben, his five-year-old. Sam jumps in front of the screen and says hi to him.
When he takes off, an old buddy of mine calls and starts raving about a kid he taught this summer.
“We’re talking prodigy, Campbell.”
“Is that so?”
“Blew my mind. He has a gift, both for classical and modern. Any chance you can fit him in for a test lesson?”
Hmm. My Friday afternoon student did just relocate to Miami . . .
“I’ll give it a shot, but I need to confirm in the morning after I look at my schedule.”
Once Upon a Real Good Time Page 6