“You saw it,” Mandy said, after a bit of awkward silence.
“I saw what?” Nell asked, curious to see if Mandy would spell things out.
“The resemblance — the eyebrows, mostly, but there are other things. Earlobes, jawline. Gossips have always looked at blond and blue-eyed rockers to guess about Easy’s father, but he got his coloring from me.”
“Eamonn doesn’t know?”
“Oh, honey, even Zam and I don’t know for sure, never wanted to poke around with DNA tests and such. It’s better left alone.”
Nell felt cold. “Why?” she asked.
Mandy shrugged. “I chose to keep my baby, and he’s mine. End of story.”
“Okay, that’s fair. But… you can see it, I saw it. With them performing together this weekend, someone else is going to notice, and then what?” If it explodes all over the tabloids, will he be happy to finally know? Will he be hurt or angry that no one told him before?
“I’ll talk to Zam, I guess,” Mandy said, closing her eyes as though the thought was painful. But why would it be, if she was close enough to her old lover to call him to the rescue? Presumably, she was staying at his hotel, maybe even in his room. And the Opals’ front man had looked like he’d be proud to claim a closer association with Eamonn.
“Why would that be so bad?” Nell asked. “You get along with him, don’t you?”
“I love him, honey, always have. But we don’t do commitment, just good times.”
And that, somehow, made Nell feel sad. Nothing fully works without commitment. It was what broke boards, won sparring matches, achieved goals. So, love without commitment is… what? She took a deep breath, seeing two diverging paths ahead of her clearly. I don’t want to end up like that. “It’s never too late. But you do what you want.”
Mandy grimaced, her mouth so like her son’s. “I guess I’ll have to talk to both of them. Not this weekend, but soon.”
Nell nodded. “Now, do you want to go down and listen to the rehearsal session, or — I’m assuming you’re familiar with the number of women crew here. Would you rather have a visit with them?”
“The Smidgettes are great fun, but I’ll always choose my boys and their music, every chance.” Mandy put her sunglasses back on and headed for the door. “I can find my way down, honey. Join me there if you like, or I’ll see you at dinner.”
When Mandy was gone, Nell slumped onto the bed, her hands trembling with adrenaline. I can’t do this. Eamonn belonged here — his us was his band, and now it seemed he was about to be crowned heir to rock royalty. Maybe that conversation wouldn’t happen for a week or two, if the tabloids and gossip websites didn’t explode with the resemblance overnight, but one way or another, it would come out, and the world’s eyes would be on him. She saw no place for herself in that. I can’t be a glamorous groupie, or a blushing bride. Without consciously making a decision, she found herself on her feet, rapidly stowing her things into her backpack. Better to just be gone.
She took a last glance around the room, feeling sick. Took her key card out of her pocket and laid it on the dresser. Should I leave a note? Or just… text him later?
Going home was sensible. She’d find a job and carry on with her training. Maybe if she got her red letters, she’d call him. As an employed person and World Champion, she’d have something to offer a rock god. She smiled to herself as the thought crossed her mind of him coming around to see her when he happened to be home in Seattle, taking her to the Frog and Ball for a drink or meeting her at the Coffee Witch. Yeah, no. He was far too wrapped up in making music and at last belonging with his band. And with the Opals as their mentors, there was no limit to their future.
Love without commitment is a hollow, shallow thing — but to give my heart to someone whose commitment lies elsewhere? Never. So it’s time to go.
She picked up her bag and turned to leave, and there was Eamonn in the doorway, swinging in around the doorframe, saying, “Have you noticed my pedal tuner anywhere in here? It’s a black box about five inches long with a silver knob and an LED screen. I know I brought it, and it’s not in my…” Then his voice trailed off into a frozen silence.
“No,” she said in a wobbly voice that didn’t sound like hers. “I don’t know.”
“Nell. Please tell me I’m not seeing what I think I’m seeing.” He gestured at the backpack on her shoulder, then around at the room devoid of her things, with an awful, slapped, sickened expression on his face.
Crap. He looked stunned, broken. It wasn’t meant to be like this. He was supposed to be busy, happy. I was just going to slip away. “You don’t need me anymore,” Nell blurted out.
“What? Of course I fucking do.” He stood looking at his hands, as though he didn’t know what to do with them. His voice sounded raw like he might be holding back actual tears.
“You have your band again,” she tried to explain, “and now that your father is—” Their eyes met. “Oh, ever-loving hell, I didn’t mean to say—”
He sounded suddenly very tired as he said, “I do own a mirror or two, babe. I can recognize my own face when I see it, just as well as you can. It’s not like I’m going to be surprised if they ever decide to tell me.”
“But will you be all right when it happens? Because with the two of you on the same stage, I think more people are going to see the resemblance. It’s going to come out sooner rather than later.”
“You say that like you’re still planning to leave,” he said, his voice cracking.
She looked away from him, couldn’t bear to see his eyes. “I don’t belong here. I can’t just give up everything I’ve worked for to tag along with a rock band like a groupie, getting free room and board in exchange for sex.”
“Fuck me.” The agony in his voice forced her to look at him; he sank to his knees in front of her. “Don’t leave me, lovely. We’ll give you a job — you can work security, get paid — you don’t have to share a room with me if you don’t want to. Or live at my house in Seattle, and I’ll come home between concerts, whenever I can. Anything.”
Nell dropped her backpack; it thumped onto the hardwood at her feet. “You don’t have to kneel for me,” she said slowly, and the hope brightening up his eyes was almost worse than anything else, because she wanted that hope, needed it, and felt an answering flare of possibility rising in her to meet it.
“I’d do a lot more than kneel to keep you,” he told her. “I swear I don’t expect you to be a groupie or a bride — just be my ninja woman, my gorgeous independent woman with heavenly tits and a razor-sharp mind, and we’ll figure the rest out as it comes.”
“I don’t know.” She struggled to find words around the ache in her heart. “How can it work between us, when we both have higher commitments to other priorities?”
He shook his head, still on his knees, looking up at her. “You’re wrong, Nell. Those aren’t higher commitments, they’re part of who we are. We can be all in as partners without having to sacrifice what we breathe for, what we do best. I want you at my concerts; I want to be at your tournaments.”
That sounded sweet. Tempting. But was it too good to be true? When the needs of his band inevitably conflicted with the demands of her sport, what would they choose? “Get up, already,” she told him. “I won’t leave right this minute, at least.”
“That’s something,” he muttered, getting to his feet with a sigh. “Could you consider talking to me if there’s a problem, instead of just disappearing?”
“I thought you wouldn’t miss me, now that you’re happy with your band again.”
He gave a short bark of incredulous laughter. “Well, I would. It would fucking break my heart to find you gone, okay?”
It was breaking mine to leave, she thought, grateful for the reprieve, no matter how temporary it might be. “I promise I won’t disappear.”
“Good.” He grabbed her hand and pressed a fervent kiss to the back of it. “I’ll do my best to show you we can make this work.” Th
en his phone pinged, and he gave her a hesitant grin. “They’re waiting for me. Think you could help me find that pedal tuner, then come down and listen to us jam? If you’d like to, that is.”
That night, Keith Zamarron took a party of thirteen out for dinner at an excellent steakhouse in St. Helena — ten musicians, plus Mandy, Crys, and Nell. “Call me Zam,” he said. “Most everyone does.”
“Thirteen is not bad luck,” Nell had overheard Sally telling Angel, right before they left. “I refuse to come with you just to make up a number. Anyway, I’m not dressed for it, plus Erva and I have plans.”
Sally’s company would have been nice, but Nell understood.
She felt a bit underdressed at the fine restaurant in her grey denim capris and black velour top, but most of the men were in jeans, Mandy still wore her sequins and feathers, and Crys looked like a little girl at a birthday party in a ruffled lilac maternity smock that really didn’t help her appear old enough to be there. At least they were eating in a private wine-cellar dining room that would keep cameras and prying eyes and ears out.
Nell was seated between Eamonn and Joel Bonamour, which was still a bit difficult to get her mind around. “I saved up for a whole year so I could go see you on the Dark Jewelry tour,” she said, and then felt ridiculous for saying something he must have heard so many times. “Absolutely worth it,” she added, taking a gulp of her gin and tonic.
“I enjoyed that tour,” the older guitarist told her. “Some of my best memories are from that year. But every tour has its own highs and lows. I’m guessing you weren’t even born when we released Pseudochromatic Effect, and now here we are.”
“Elder Dragons is the best work we’ve done yet, though,” his drummer said from across the table. “And that’s as it should be. Our best work should always lie ahead.”
“Matchett’s right,” said Zam. “Every band should strive for better each time.”
“That’s our hope for our next album,” Angel said. “We’ve started working on some new stuff, but we signed a wretched contract with Arleigh Hayward back when we were newbies lured with champagne and girls, and we just can’t see a way out of it.”
“I’ll talk to our guys at Valancy,” Zam offered. “They’re old-school, mostly-legal gangsters, but their loyalty and support for us are through the roof. Maybe they can help you.”
Angel nodded thoughtfully as waiters circulated with bottles of Chateau Montelena Chardonnay and Mayacamas Cabernet Sauvignon.
The food was overwhelming perfection. Baskets of fresh sourdough bread sat on the table, with oil and balsamic vinegar for dipping. To begin, everyone was served a choice of crispy spring rolls or delicate pâté en croûte with apricot relish, followed by heirloom tomato salad or avocado gazpacho. Mandy and most of the men opted for grilled filet mignon with horseradish cream, but Crys and Zam chose the Pacific halibut, and Nell decided to try the seared maitake mushrooms on a bed of zucchini risotto. All of these were accompanied by crisp green beans with toasted almonds and truffle frites with parmesan aioli.
Sitting across the table from Nell and a couple of seats down, Crys sipped her cranberry and soda and picked at her fish. When Blade offered her a bite of his steak, she shook her head and rubbed her belly. Just how pregnant is she? Nell wondered. Could she be going into labor?
Later, as everyone dipped their dessert spoons into delicate vacherins, peach and champagne sorbets layered between rounds of crunchy meringue, Crys wasn’t at the table. Nell ate a few bites, then got up, leaning down to murmur next to Eamonn’s ear that she’d be right back.
Nell found Crys in the bathroom — at least, there was muffled sobbing coming from the only occupied toilet stall. Oh, crap. Tears. Sometimes students in the children’s class cried; it was best to be practical with them. “Uh, hey, Crys? The fact that you’re crying tells me something’s wrong. Can we troubleshoot?”
The wet sniffles stopped, followed by a nose-blowing sound, and then the younger woman emerged from the stall, red-eyed but in control of herself. “Could we just… pretend this moment never happened?” Crys asked, her voice a bit shaky.
Nell put a cautious hand on her shoulder, thinking that some comfort was in order but not knowing her well enough to offer a hug. “Is the baby okay?”
Crys looked down at her belly with a watery smile, her eyes shining with love. “Thank God, yes! Lots of kicking tonight.”
“Well, that’s good. Are you feeling sick? In pain?”
That prompted a small snort of amusement. “Only the usual for thirty-six weeks pregnant. We’re both healthy and it’s almost over, so I shouldn’t complain.”
Nell could respect that. From training in a male-dominated, relatively stoic sport, she knew all about putting a good face on discomfort and pain — she might joke or grumble, but never whine or cry. So, if Crys faced things that way too, why the tears? “You want to talk about whatever’s wrong, then?”
This got a moment of hesitation, then Crys’s eyes welled up again and she pressed her lips together to hold back more tears.
“It’s okay. Breathe. Baby’s fine, you’re fine, Blade is fine.”
Crys nodded.
“Better. Good. Now, tell me what’s bugging you, hmm?”
The words tumbled out of Crys then, a bit jumbled and sob-interrupted, but Nell could follow the gist of it well enough. “I’m sorry — it’s just hormones — I’m not normally like this but the last couple of months I’ve been all over the place. I love Blade so much, I just want to be married… so people like that awful radio show can’t talk, but… Mummy will think I gave in to what she wanted… and I’m tired all the time and I feel like a whale and everything hurts…”
“Okay, right. So, hormones. Let’s just accept that you wouldn’t be crying if you weren’t flooded with a preggo-chemical cocktail.”
Crys gave a weak chuckle at that. “Truer than you could imagine.”
“I’m not sure I ever want to experience that,” Nell said with a shudder. “But look, if you don’t want to rush into a wedding this weekend, I’ll back you up, talk to people for you. No one should push you into—”
“No! I don’t want to wait,” Crys said, her words tumbling out in a rush. “Blade is the other half of my soul, and… I guess I could be married in a potato sack if I had to. It’s just that… right before we left for dinner, I overheard Sally telling Erva she doesn’t have time to find or make a wedding dress this weekend. It shouldn’t matter — it doesn’t matter — but…” The younger woman swallowed against another upswelling of emotion, then very quietly said, “It was just the last straw, you know? I guess a part of me did want to feel pretty on my wedding day! I can let that go — I can — but it broke me a little, and I have to put myself back together and pretend I don’t mind.” She looked down at herself, fingering the ruffles on her lilac smock. “I just expanded again, it seems, and this is the only pretty dress I have that fits, so I guess I’ll be wearing it again on Sunday.”
Nell felt a surge of grim sympathy. She’d never wanted a wedding dress, but she knew how right her uniform felt at a tournament: crisp, gleaming white, tied with a black belt that bore her name in gold letters. Sometimes being dressed for an occasion did matter. And there was something admirable about the fact that Crys loved her man enough to let go of a vision she’d wanted and dreamed about, or at least accept that it was turning out differently from what she’d planned. Isn’t there a way she can have it all? Shouldn’t there be? And a little stray thought inside her asked, Am I wondering that for her, or myself? Could it be possible to let go of her structured life and throw herself all in with Eamonn, on the road and at his house in Seattle, and still train and take her shot at the championships? Everyone has their own version of happily ever after. If she could find a way for Crys to have her dream wedding… “Look, I’m going to text a guy I know. If anyone can magic up an emergency wedding dress, he can do it.”
“Really?” Crys looked so hopeful and
appreciative that Nell worried she might not be able to deliver.
I haven’t done anything yet, she thought, but got her phone out and texted Johnny: I know this is random and we barely know each other, but can I ask a giant favor?
Almost immediately, he texted back: You can ask, sure. Can’t promise I’ll do it ’til I know what you want. Is everything okay, though?
Better than okay, she replied. But here’s the thing — Smidge’s guitarist Blade is engaged, his fiancée Crys is almost nine months pregnant, and they’ve decided to get married here at Time Rock. Which means she needs a maternity wedding dress for Sunday evening. Any chance you’d want to get involved?
He replied with a heart emoji, then added, You’re not messing with me?
I know it’s probably not enough time, she typed. But you said you sew your own costumes, this poor kid wants to get married before she pops, and I don’t know who else to ask.
Johnny sent her an emoji of a laughing face. You haven’t watched Drag Dolls, have you? It’s more than enough time. You’re literally offering me the chance to make a wedding dress for what could be the bride of the fucking year, and she’s my buddy Rhys’s friend on top of that — of course I’m interested. Is she there with you? Can we voice chat, or better yet, video?
Nell showed Crys the message. “Are you okay with me putting Johnny on video so we can talk?”
Crys blinked. “How do you know Johnny? I’ve only met him once — it was at a Smidge concert, the same night I met Blade. He can make a wedding dress for me?”
“Let’s talk to him,” Nell said, and connected the call.
“Well, look at you, mama-to-be!” Johnny said, as soon as he saw Crys. “Congratulations!”
“Hi, Johnny! Thanks!” she replied, then, “Can you really make me a wedding dress in time for Sunday?”
“Of course I can. But we need to talk about budget.” Johnny gave them a rueful grimace through the screen. “I wish I could wave the money side of it away for you, lovey, but I’ve got to be practical.”
Rock God in Exile (Smidge Book 2) Page 29