Storm Season

by Pene Henson

  Claudie raises her brows.

  “Your posters from four years ago are still up at the Hopetoun Hotel and the Factory. You guys have a reputation there. I was at the Factory the other day. and the guy there was pretty excited when I started talking about you.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’d be a top place to have a show. You could do a warm-up at the Newcombe, iron out the kinks, and then get one of the bigger venues.”

  “I don’t know. Would we have enough people to fill a room that size?”

  “We won’t if they don’t know about it. But if I’m good at anything, it’s letting people know about stuff.”

  Claudie looks at her carefully. It seems like a lot of work for Lien. “You’d do that?”

  “I mean, it’s not only good for you.”

  Lien crosses her bare legs. For a flash, Claudie recalls how those same legs felt, twined with Claudie’s. She straightens in the chair and speaks more quickly than before. “That’s a good thought. I’ll look into it. But I won’t let you work on it alone. Okay, I’m out of here. I’ve got work in the morning.”

  “Oh. Right, okay.” Lien tugs her skirt down—it’s tangled around her thighs—and hops off the sofa.

  At the front door they stare awkwardly. Lien kisses Claudie’s cheek; Claudie turns her face away. They manage a one-armed hug.

  It’s easy to be friends with Lien. She’s interesting and generous and increasingly comfortable with silence. It’s not easy to hug her, though.

  It’s raining heavily.

  “Here.” Lien reaches to the hooks beside the door and hands Claudie an umbrella. On the top step, Claudie opens a pearly white shade covered with tiny little cats or hamsters or something.

  “It’s so you,” Lien says.

  “Thank you.”

  Claudie walks home with rivulets running into her shoes. Her head stays dry.

  “Can I bring someone to the next practice?” Claudie asks Mercy and Gretchen as they pack down in Mercy’s studio. “He’s a bass player.”

  Mercy looks up quickly.

  “Okay,” says Gretchen.

  “I’ve been listening to his stuff, and he’s good. You guys might know him. Boyd Burrows from Canley Reid.

  “I’ve heard him,” says Mercy. “That could work.”

  They’re used to the three of them and no one else. But Boyd walks into the studio quietly. He’s tall and thin with long red hair tied back from his pointed face. He doesn’t take up too much space.

  “Drink?” asks Mercy as he sets up.

  “I’m good. Cheers.” He waves the water bottle he’s pulled from his backpack.

  They try him out on the song that’s kind of a sestina. It has a complicated rhythm that Boyd hooks onto quickly. He’s good. He’s really good. He’s not Tan. Obviously. Though they both have beards. But Boyd is really good.

  Gretchen throws a drumstick at him after the first run through. “This is great,” she says. “I love the way you lean into it.”

  They take a break. Gretchen stays sitting on her drum 'throne.' Everyone else sits on the timber floor. Boyd takes a swig from his water bottle. The others drink tea. Claudie’s amused. They used to rehearse with shots. How the mighty have fallen! But this might lead to a more effective rehearsal.

  “You wrote the music?” Boyd asks Claudie when he puts his bottle down on the floor beside him.

  “Yeah. Some of it recently, some of it’s kind of been updated from work I did over the past few years.”

  “I like the songs. They’re—I don’t know. They’re passionate,” Boyd says.

  Claudie’s mind darts to Lien. Her cheeks heat up. Mercy leans against the keyboard stand and watches. When Lien looks at her she smiles.

  Boyd goes on. “They’re really good.”

  “Thank you,” Claudie says. Boyd is a top bass player, and it’s clear he wants in.

  “Back to work, kids,” says Gretchen.

  Claudie nods. They unfold themselves and hop up from the floor. “We’ll start on the next few songs. Bring us in, Merce, Gretchen.”

  Mercy plays a chord which reverberates in the walls.

  “One, two, three, four!”

  It’s been a long time since Lien had dinner alone with Beau. They eat at the small kitchen table.

  “I miss this,” Beau says. He waves his fork between them.

  “Me too.”

  They talk about Lien’s article. It’s taking shape. She doesn’t tell Beau that she sees Claudie in all her favorite sentences, not only the ones that are actually about Claudie. Beau talks about a photography exhibit he’s been selected for. There are more stories to tell when they’re not spending as much time together. Some guy at Beau’s work has been stealing his pens. “I bought one of those label-making machine things. I’m labeling everything I own now.”

  Lien laughs. “And I thought only the good guys worked at non-profits.”

  Beau humphs. “You’d think.”

  “So, I hear you’re seeing a great girl,” Lien says. She’s making light of it. But however happy Lien is that Beau and Annie are together, it creates a distance between them. She and Beau can’t talk about everything any more.

  “She’s incredible,” Beau says. “Sweet and smart and ridiculously gorgeous. And her body—”

  “Stop right there.”

  Beau laughs. “Fair enough. But she really is incredible. It’s almost scary how easy it is. I didn’t think I’d get to have something like this. Really ever. I even met her parents.”

  “Oh. Excellent. They’re good people. You deserve to be so happy,” Lien says. “You and Annie both.”

  “We are. We so are. Okay, doll. Now tell Uncle Beau everything,” he says. “Why on earth are you not sleeping with that gorgeous woman who spends fifty percent of her time in our house?”

  “I’m not exactly sure,” Lien says. “She thinks I’m too superficial.”

  “You are not!” Beau gasps.

  “It’s not that, exactly. She has this idea of me. Because I was dating Nic when we were in her cabin. And I told her I didn’t like time alone. At the time I was used to writing a million tweets and attending a million parties and being busy all the time. She thinks we wouldn’t fit.”

  Beau humphs. “What, and she hasn’t noticed that she’s with you most days? That’s fitting.”

  Lien shrugs. “I guess she hasn’t.”

  Beau eyes her. “Why don’t you tell her then?”

  Lien shakes her head. “I can’t. I already asked her out once, basically. I threw all my cards on the table when we were at her cabin. She said no. Unequivocally no. It really sucked.” She feels sick thinking about it.

  “I remember.” He leans back in his chair. “But Lien, this is kind of sucking anyway. You’re already miserable. You might as well be miserable because you took a risk.”

  “I’m not miserable.”

  “You’re a little bit miserable.”

  “And you’re the expert on taking risk now?”

  He takes a mouthful and chews slowly. “I just want you to be happy,” he says eventually.

  17

  Lien calls while Claudie’s walking to work. Claudie smiles as she answers.

  “What’s up?”

  “So.” Lien pauses for effect like a little drum roll. “I sold the article. The one with you in it. It’s going to be the cover story for Clash.” Her voice bounces with excitement.

  It’s great news that means Claudie’s struggles will be public. Claudie’s lungs tighten at the thought. But she’s read the article. It’s good: well-written and interesting. It looks at several artists, at managers and radio stations and psychology and history. It looks at gender and race and mental health and addiction. Claudie’s lucky to have input at all into what people are reporting about her. Anyway, it’s more a
bout the music industry than it is about the individual musicians who left it.

  She turns onto Queen Street. “Congratulations, Lien. I’m so proud.”

  “So, I’m calling to thank you. You were integral to it. I’d never have thought it up without you.”

  “You’d have thought of something else though.”

  “The thing is, I wanted to ask. I—it’s my first cover piece, Claudie. Can I take you to dinner?”

  “Sure,” Claudie says. Her voice is higher than she’d like. She stops outside the guitar shop. Dee’s changed the guitars in the window. The shiny aqua and baby blue bodies are cheerful.

  “Good. Good. I’m feeling rich. They’re paying by the word and they give me a supplement because it’s a cover.”

  “Don’t spend it all on dinner.” Claudie opens the door to the shop and nods a greeting to Dee.

  “Well, I’m an impoverished journalist. I’m just talking Thai or Indian at one of the local places. Being rich means I can order an appetizer.”

  “I can’t wait,” Claudie says.

  It’s different, getting ready to go out, together and intentionally, for dinner. Claudie reminds herself that this is not a date. She doesn’t want this to be a date. Still, she dresses carefully. She buttons her shirt and looks in the mirror. She puts a belt around the top of her low rise jeans. She knows what looks good on her long legs and broad shoulders.

  The restaurant’s a Thai place in Kings Cross. Claudie arrives first. The waiter seats her against the red wall under a recess with a lit up painting of Thai royalty. He brings two glasses of water. Lien enters while Claudie’s smiling in thanks. Her smile freezes. Lien is in a creamy lace dress, something that’s somehow old-fashioned and charming and also really, really short. She’s wearing brown lace-up boots that are too heavy for the dress in a good way. She’s given a nod to the cool weather by wearing a creamy knit scarf and striped yellow and gray gloves that go up over her elbow. She’s adorable.

  Claudie half stands as Lien follows the waiter toward her. Lien’s smile is fond and sure.

  “I bought champagne,” Claudie says after Lien’s seated. “To celebrate.” She lifts the bottle from the ice bucket propped on the table and pours Lien a glass. They clink glasses, meeting eyes above the glass rims as they drink. It’s not bad. “I haven’t eaten here before,” Claudie says. “What’s good?” She winces. She hates small talk.

  Lien doesn’t seem to mind. “Everything here is good. But we have to have the sung choi bao. It’s sort of perfect.”

  You are sort of perfect, thinks Claudie. Her brain is impossible. Lien twitters on about whether they can share three plates. “Maybe we should have the ginger tofu and these little prawn and vegetable things. It’s a celebration. What do you think?”

  They’ve mostly finished dinner. The food is still on the table, but no one’s eating. In the candlelight, Lien’s face is mobile; her eyes sparkle. She’s gorgeous and impossible to look away from. The whole night seems like a date. Lien leans closer. She touches her tongue to her lips. Claudie’s thoughts must be broadcast on her face.

  Lien says, “I signed the band up for some social media platforms.”

  “Oh.” Claudie blinks. “Okay.”

  “I just thought it was a good idea to get things going. I know you’re not quite ready, but I think it’s time. I don’t want you guys to miss out on the perfect handle.”

  It’s laughable. Claudie was thinking about a date, and Lien’s figuring out ways to boss Claudie’s band around so it’s more popular. Claudie should have known.

  She closes her eyes. “I appreciate your help,” she says, opening them again. “But—I’ve got my own plans. I’m not asking you to manage my second chance, Lien.”

  “I just want to help.”

  Claudie’s jaw tightens as she speaks. “I know. But look, I’ve been in this place before. You’re not supposed to build my dreams for me. I don’t want to be anyone’s little cause.”

  The bill arrives. Lien pays. She says nothing until the waiter has left.

  As she stands she says, “Thank you for your help with the article.”

  On the street, the wind is cool and erratic. It stutters around buildings and trees. Lien wraps her arms around herself.

  When they reach Oxford Street, Lien stops Claudie with a hand on her arm. Someone bumps into Lien and walks away muttering. They move closer to the street so they’re out of the way. This neighborhood is busy. The rows of old buildings lined up along the sidewalk have been remodeled into shops and bars. Behind Lien, the street sweeps downhill toward the city where row after row of lit windows tint the night sky. The moon is huge and orange.

  Lien’s focus is on Claudie. “What you said before? It wasn’t fair. I never thought of you as a cause.” Her voice is choked.

  “I only meant that you want to build my band for me. You can’t. I need to do it for myself.”

  “I never wanted that. I wanted to help.” Lien’s eyes glitter in the streetlight. She lifts her chin. “But more than that, Claudie, I wanted to spend time with you. Tonight wasn’t just about celebrating the article. I had this whole plan to um—to ask you to go on a date. With me.” She swallows. “I wasn’t looking for a cause. I was kind of looking for a girlfriend.” Car headlights arc behind them. Lien goes on. “What I said up at the cabin? That I thought we could be something? This whole time nothing changed for me. I still think we could work.” She squeezes her eyes closed before going on. “I know, I know. You don’t. And that’s okay. There’s no rule that you need to be into me like that. But I kind of got my hopes up here.” She shakes her head. “It hurts. So I’m not going to trail around after you trying to prove that I’m a different person from the one you created in your head. I can’t make you believe this would work. You’ve already made up your mind that it won’t.”

  She stands there with the city behind her and the streetlight in her hair. Claudie can’t get her words together. Lien nods as though everything she’s said has been affirmed. She turns and strides away. Her white dress reflects the green and red and white of the city lights. Her hair flies out behind her. She’s across the road in a break in the traffic before Claudie has time to think.

  Claudie can’t breathe. The rest of the world keeps moving. Wind spirals in the trees that line the street. A few clouds tumble across the sky and block the moon. A siren wails in the distance. And Lien turns a corner and disappears.

  Lien’s the opposite of what Claudie needs. She’s hectic. She’s interfering. She’s bossy. She’ll move on. It’s taken months for Claudie to realize that even though all of that matters, even though she’ll have to learn about vintage clothes and be ordered around about social media, even though she’s going to wake up every day to sunny conversation, she’d still choose life with Lien over life without.

  Lien closes the front door and leans against it. She blinks back tears. Beau and Annie look up from the sofa.

  “How did it go?” Annie asks, though their faces show that they know the answer.

  Lien shakes her head. Two tears slip down her cheeks.

  “Oh, no,” says Beau. “No, no. The woman is a fool. I am going to have to have words with her.”

  Lien tries to smile through the tears, but fails. She swallows. “I really wanted this,” she says. “I really wanted it.”

  “We know. Come sit with us,” Beau says. He moves over to make space between them.

  “You can share the sorbet,” Annie offers.

  “Thank you,” Lien says. “I’m okay. I’m going to go to my room.”

  Upstairs she turns on the fairy lights. She leaves her boots on, lies on the bed, and lets herself cry. The doorbell rings.

  Beau’s steps echo in the hall. The latch rattles, and the door swings open. His voice carries up the stairs to her. “I’m pretty sure this one’s for you.”

  Lien wip
es her face before she walks down. Claudie’s outside on the front steps. She spreads her arms and lifts her shoulders sheepishly.

  “Hi,” Lien says.

  “Hi.”

  They sit side-by-side on the concrete steps that lead down to the sidewalk. They’re half lit by the streetlight, half shadowed by the shifting branches of the gum tree.

  Claudie faces the street as she speaks. “I believed what I told you when you left the cabin. I didn’t think we could work. I thought the time we had up there was just a make-believe. And then when I got to Sydney—well, you’re still you. You’re the kind of person everyone circles around. I figured that’s the last thing I’d want. And the last thing you’d want.” She faces Lien and swallows. “Truth is, I was scared. So I decided our connection couldn’t be real.”

  Lien swipes at a tear. “I wish I could prove it to you,” she says. Her eyes sting, and she blinks up at the streetlight.

  “You don’t need to prove anything. I was wrong.”

  “Oh.”

  Claudie nods. “I’d convinced myself I didn’t want to be with you. But since I’ve been back—you’ve pretty much destroyed all my arguments. It took a while for me to notice.”

  Lien keeps her eyes on Claudie's profile.

  Claudie frowns. “But I also convinced myself I wouldn’t get to be with you. I thought—you said you wanted to be friends.”

  Lien sighs. She scrunches her face to look at Claudie. “I could maybe have asked you again instead of slotting myself into your life and hoping you’d work it out. Might’ve saved us some time.”

  “I don’t know that I worked out my feelings until now, anyway.”

  Shadows from the tree shift across Claudie’s face. The streetlight is reflected in her eyes. Lien kisses her. There’s no rush; they suddenly have so much time. But Claudie’s lips are soft and rough at once; her hands are strong on Lien’s waist. Lien wants every part of her.

  When they break apart, Claudie says, “I can’t believe I didn’t see it. Gretchen did, even Boyd. No doubt Mercy, too. They told me. All the songs I’ve written are about you.”

  Lien laughs, startled. “Oh no. I can imagine the lyrics. This girl took over my Instagram, and it’s tearing me apart.”