The Rock Star in Seat 3A: A Novel

by Jill Kargman

  Chapter 20

  Though dreams can be deceiving,

  like faces are to hearts, they serve for sweet relieving,

  when fantasy and reality lie too far apart.

  —Anonymous

  The next ten days flew by. Wylie had resumed his semi-Cullen schedule of vampire night gigs, and so we were conveniently ships in the night in the apartment. We’d pass each other with stilted exchanges and go through the motions, but my pounding heart was in L.A. I’d downloaded news of our break to my sister, who was supportive yet naturally concerned for Wylie, as they had grown to be family. But just when she would ask after him and get my permission to reach out to say hi to him, in the next breath she’d giddily beg for updates about Finn. And I had plenty to spare. Our text velocity was spiking and the length picking up characters with each zapped greeting.

  I worked up a storm, fielding calls while juggling adorable texts from Finn that either cracked me up with hyenalike laughter or made me melt into my ergochair (“I fucking can’t stop thinking about you, Hazel.”)

  “I can’t, either” I had replied.

  And then, something novel.

  “Can I call you?” he wrote back.

  The thought hadn’t occurred to me! “Sure!” Moments later my phone rang.

  “Hello?” I giggled, timpani in my chest thumping.

  “Hi, I almost forgot these are actual working phones!” He laughed. Oh my god. His throaty voice made me swoon.

  “I know! We’re like texting teens or something.”

  “Seriously,” he said, pausing. “Hazel . . . I don’t know what it is about you, but you make me feel like a fucking eighth grader.”

  Okay. So I wasn’t delusional. Here it was.

  “Me, too,” I said, more solemnly than I’d expected.

  “I can’t wait to see you,” he said. “The thought makes me want to explode.”

  “Me, too,” I said, my blood rushing through me like crashing tsunamis of hot liquid.

  “It’s weird, right?”

  “Yeah. It is,” I acknowledged of our barely nascent friendship. “I’d been conflicted but now . . . I’m just not. This is too amazing.”

  “I’ve been trying to wrap my brain around it but I can’t.”

  “I’ve completely abandoned myself to it. I can’t stop thinking about you,” I gushed. The weird part was, I didn’t even care about my candid verbal unleashing. “I don’t want to stop thinking about you, either,” I added, softly.

  “Oh my god, you just made me hard,” he said. The heat surged downward. “I’m walking on my deck fucking pitching a tent for you.”

  I felt a surge of heat jolt through my entire body. This is going to sound positively juvenile, but no one had ever really talked dirty to me on the phone! I felt a bolt sear m’down yonders. I felt blushed yet turned on, like the Church Chat lady who needed to pop in a Lifesaver and suck until the hole became big enough for the ring to fit on her finger.

  “Finn, I have to kiss you,” I whispered.

  “It’s all I think about,” he whispered back.

  It was too surreal. This was now officially past the point of no return. I knew it was wrong, but you only live once. His lips would be on me. Not on my locket. On my lips. I’d feel his tongue inside my mouth. And his arms around me. No matter what. And I couldn’t fucking wait.

  Chapter 21

  Wishing is good for us. Daydreams, fantasies, castles in the air, and aspirations all drive us forward, impel us to make things happen. They also tell us a lot about ourselves. Our wishes come straight from our core.

  —Anonymous

  From that point on, we spoke four times a day. At least. Between stolen convos were flurries of texts and even one night, as I lay on my pillow, a bedtime tuck-in worthy of a teenage fantasy.

  “Sweet dreams, little witch,” he said as I closed my eyes in the dark room.

  “I’ll see you in them,” I replied in an almost whisperlike purrr. I never knew I could be this ballsy of a woman; it was as if he’d ignited a sexy side I had never had the confidence to explore. He elicited this tigress streak; I suddenly felt a feline flirting take over my tone as the whisper escaped my larynx. I felt that in my head I was carrying myself like the woman I always wanted to be.

  “I swear, I’ve seen you in mine many times,” he confessed in a throaty whisper.

  “Me, too.”

  “Two more days,” he said, sighing.

  “Thirty-six hours.”

  We said good night and I curled up under the down comforter in the basking bliss of something more magical than a crush. It did have a ring of the young to it—the physical innocence, for the time being at least, and the almost audible pitter-patter, the kind when you finish the slow song at the school dance and walk outside together, holding hands, hearts pounding. And after that first kiss, practically gliding. And like the youthful crushes that spear the heart and possess the mind, it was moving at a breakneck pace that I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to. My every thought was consumed with Finn. Our mouths locked. I imagined what it would be like. Kissing the obsession of my adult life. What if it was totally vile and he tried to stick his tongue down my throat and lick my epiglottis? What if there was zero chemistry and I felt mouth-raped and icky? You know what? Good! Then I could go back to my life and move on and not sit and mull over this rock-star fantasy.

  But truthfully, all these so-called worries about lack of sparks in person were all bullshit, and I knew it. I had felt a palpable frisson in the air just by his side, in the warehouse, at dinner, in the car, on the plane. Maybe there’s no such thing as love at first sight, but this sure felt awfully close, despite the fact I was emotionally armed with reams of backstory in the press and his vivid soul-searing lyrics imprinted in my brain.

  I passed out and heard Wylie come in around 1:00 A.M. but lay like spaghetti so as not to initiate a whole convo about my departure. I felt guilty that I didn’t feel guilty. Was I a guy? I loved him, of course, but somehow Finn transcended our life and was this whole new dimension, almost like I could compartmentalize the two distinct emotions for two totally different men. I’d heard men were better than women at doing this, but at the moment, as I heard cute Wylie padding around and switching off the lights and climbing into bed, I knew I could give any dude a run for his money. I didn’t know what I wanted—I guess to have my cake and eat it, too? Have a torrid affair with Finn and get him out of my system and come back to patient Wylie after that sexual itch has been scratched? Or was I even feeling these things because something with Wylie wasn’t quite right? If Wylie was my true love, it wouldn’t even be possible to be dreaming of Finn unbuttoning my blouse, right? My mind was reeling a mile a minute. Until it finally slowed and I fell fast asleep.

  Chapter 22

  All fantasy should have a solid base in reality.

  —Max Beerbohm

  My last day at work was a flurry of pretrip phone calls, putting out minifires, and then facilitating, greeting, touring the MTV camera crew that was shooting our office as Noah offered the network an exclusive sneak peek at Pimps N’ Ho’s V. So in the midst of a shitstorm of tasks, I had production assistants asking me where “the crapper be at” and where in the neighborhood they could find a Duane Reade, muttering something about a hangover.

  “This is my little right hand, Hazel!” Noah said with a small squeeze to my shoulder for the camera as I awkwardly held up my hand, as if to say “Hi, Mom.” I looked like I had been run over by the burrito truck on Bedford so was hoping I’d wind up on the cutting-room floor. I couldn’t get a thing done I was so preoccupied by the onslaught of chaos from the visiting MTV News posse, and even more distracting was the inner cacophony of the separate voices—moral, passionate, impetuous, conservative—all talking over one another.

  Finally the day ended and I walked out, leaving ten Post-its with whe
re everything was, my numbers, my hotel, a stool sample. Kidding. But shockingly, as the mother hen it was like the place fell apart when I traveled. I came home and packed my bags and headed to Kira’s. Drew was going to put the kids to bed so she could take me to the airport and spend a little time with me predeparture.

  I arrived to find her with two of her friends, Meg and Serena, in their weekly Tots n’ Tonic hangout, where mommies cracked the booze and the kids plopped on the floor with a pile of naked Barbies.

  “Here she is!” Kira said as I came in.

  I hugged her and kissed Meg and Serena, who I had also grown close to through the years.

  “Oh my god, the kids are so BIG!” I exclaimed. I hadn’t seen them since Iris’s last birthday party five months ago. “You guys sprouted.”

  They looked at me like I was a total doof, like, “Yeah, bitch, it happens.”

  “God I feel so dumb and old saying that. Don’t you remember when people said that to you and you were just like, okay, bye.”

  “Totally,” said Meg. “Though they dig it. They’re psyched to be older-looking. They think it’ll help them get Lady Gaga tickets next tour. Lexi wouldn’t speak to me for three days after Nick and I went without her.”

  “Oh my god these kids grow up so fast these days,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Ki, tell her what Iris said!”

  “What?”

  “Oh my god—Hazel, Iris comes in this morning and jumps on our bed and goes, ‘I made up a joke!’ so Drew says ‘Okay, let ’er rip’ and she says: ‘What did the asshole say to the butt cheek?’ ”

  “NO! Come on!” I laughed. “What did the asshole say to the butt cheek?”

  “Hey, neighbor!”

  “That’s not bad.” I giggled.

  “Wait, Aunt Hazel, I have another!” she said, beaming with pride. “How do you wake up Lady Gaga?”

  I looked at Kira, trying to hold in my laughter. “Uh, I don’t know, Iris, how do you wake up Lady Gaga?”

  “Poker face!”

  “I’m so proud,” Kira said, rolling her eyes.

  Serena leaned in to me with a whisper and said, “Who cleans Lady Gaga’s pool?”

  “Uh . . . I don’t know,” I said.

  “Alejandro!” she guffawed. “I made that one up.”

  I burst out laughing at the un-PCness of these übermoms, realizing round two of the Tots n’ Tonic playdate was clearly kicking in.

  “Okay girls, andiamo! I gotta take my little sis to her flight, but you guys stay as long as you want.”

  “Drew!” I said, going to give my brother-in-law a hug. “Ready for daddy-time?”

  “Yeah, Velveteen Rabbit. I’m sitting there crying like a b-i-t-c-h reading this book.”

  “All right, have fun!”

  We kissed everyone good-bye and bolted. I could tell Kira was so psyched to get out of the house and whiz down the street in her car.

  “I love Meg,” I said.

  “You know she wipes herself only with Puffs Plus now, no toilet paper.”

  “WHAT?”

  “Yeah. Puffs Plus. Boutique boxes. Charmin’s too rough for her royal sphincter or something.”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  “Swear!” she said, holding a hand off the wheel. “God, I’m just so happy to be OUT!” Kira shouted joyfully as the cold air from the open window blew back her blond hair. “I swear, I’m housebound! I’m Upper East Side–bound. I sometimes can’t breathe with all the snobby people and homogeneous neighbors. I feel like I’m trapped sometimes. I’m so jealous of you right now.”

  “Kira, you know every girl in New York would kill for your life, don’t you? Gorgeous children, gorgeous apartment, gorgeous husband . . .”

  “I know. I’m so lucky. I know I am, and yet I would give anything to be getting on a plane to L.A. right now. Not even to go make out with Finn fucking Schiller, just to fly off to the sun and have an adventure. The older you get, the narrower the sieve gets that your life pours you down. So you’re going to go and live it all for both of us.”

  I looked out the window, getting chills as I thought about it. I looked back at my sister.

  “Kira, this is our secret. I’m not telling a soul. Wylie and I are taking a break and I just . . . need to do this.”

  “To the grave,” my sister said, in all seriousness.

  “This is all so surreal,” I said. “I can’t believe he’s picking me up. Well, I guess his driver is, too, so not, like baggage claim PDA or anything, but I feel like I’m going to explode.”

  “Listen, Hazel. I’ve been thinking about this nonstop. Every single second. I love Drew, I really do. I adore him. But you know life doesn’t have to be so black and white. I know you love Wylie, but this is something outside of you guys—”

  “I think the same thing, but I don’t think he’s seeing it that way.”

  “I just feel like you need to go there and fucking live your life. Do it for me, at the very least, I’ll be sitting here dying!” she gushed. “You just don’t want to blink and have all the exciting parts of your life over and wish you had acted on this. Trust me, it becomes ‘too late’ too soon. The second I came home with my baby and was up all night I knew it was the beginning of her story and it wasn’t about me anymore. My needs went out the window, and I want you to do as much as you can, pack it all in before you decide—if you decide—to settle down. Because it really is ‘settling’ in a way. You settle for letting go of that piece of yourself that fantasizes about what life has in store for you. And you begin to think about what it has in store for someone else. Your child.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “That’s so fucking depressing,” I said.

  “Look, I love my life, LOVE my girls and Drew. I’m just saying there’s a monotony that I don’t want for you, unless you sign up one hundred percent sure that’s what you want. Not just because people do it or I did it. I would never want you to march along without at least daring to shake it up a little.” I saw a little glint in my sister’s eye.

  “Are you telling me to fuck Finn?” I teased.

  She smiled. “I’m telling you to carpe the fucking diem.”

  “Here we are, American,” I said, pointing to my terminal.

  We pulled up and she gave me a long hug. I felt so lucky to have a safe, nonjudgmental friend in her; all my other pals would shit over this.

  “I love you, Hazel.”

  “Love you, Kira,” I said. “Thank you.”

  Chapter 23

  All the works of man have their origin in creative fantasy. What right have we then to depreciate imagination.

  —Carl Gustav Jung

  I had passed out on the plane, in a slumber mirroring an autopsy patient on the slab. I was so deep under that I didn’t even put my seat back, so no one woke me to put it back. I reentered the world of the living literally as the wheels hit the runway at LAX. Shocked, I immediately went for my little makeup kit and tossed my hair up into what Kira and I always called a Bamm-Bamm ponytail but was actually Pebbles, high and bunlike. I put on some powder to absorb the oil spill on my face that rivaled British Petroleum, and some lipstick. But then I imagined our Robert Doisneau–style kiss and rethought that. I wiped it off. I didn’t want him to kiss me and then have smeared twisted-clownlike mouth and look like Heath Ledger’s Joker. Okay, a little Rosebud Salve and a spritz of perfume. Okay, Hazel. Breathe.

  I walked off the jetway, headed toward the departure/drop-off area, where Finn said he’d meet me. My head darted around in every direction as the onslaught of traveling hordes coursed in all directions. I felt like an animal in the woods knowing the hunter was there. But instead of bullets spraying my dead ass, it was Cupid’s gold-tipped arrow headed for my bum. I stopped dead in my racks next to Mex in the City cantina and made eye contact. Both of us grinned huge shitea
ters and picked up our paces as we approached each other. Personally, I would’ve jogged into full dash but tried to play it slightly cooler than the Bulgarians who tore their hair out screaming for Michael Jackson in the late 1980s.

  “Hazel,” he simply said, reaching for my face.

  His ice blue eyes flickered with warmth as he smiled and leaned in, his lips electrifying mine. I threw my arms around him, and we dissolved into each other in an embrace so fierce and blinding, it was as if all the Tumi-draggers around us faded into blurred props, cardboard cutouts, set dressing in the drama that starred this very liplock. A very public kiss that somehow made the rest of the world stop, as if we were shrouded in our own red velvet love nest and not the buzzing concourse of an international airport. His mouth was hot and wet and delicious. Honey? Citrus? His hands touched my neck then my shoulders, and finally, gasping, we parted and looked at each other.

  “You take my breath away,” he said.

  “Me, too,” I said, practically panting. “I mean literally, I’m hyperventilating.”

  Flush and glowing, we both walked hand in hand to the exit, Finn relieving me of my bag as we headed to his car. One or two young people did double takes noticing us, but in general even a rock band of The Void’s stature would go unnoticed by the neck-pillow-carrying masses. We exited the building and headed toward his car. I had expected Sly to be there, but Finn had driven by himself.

  “Awww, the rock star came and fetched me all by his lonesome?” I smiled, cocking my head to one side, like those children in Sears Portrait Studio.

  “Yeah, we can do some things for ourselves. I just started brushing my own teeth, actually, and it’s nice.”

  We got in the car and looked at each other.

  Instant mauling.

  I don’t know if it was me or him or both but we dove toward each other, kissing like mad, until several honks summoned us to reality and the guard, who had been cool with letting the musician bend the rules to park there, rapped on the window as a gentle reminder to move the fuck on now that his ho’d been collected.