Hold On To Me

by Taylor Holloway

  “Well then you go find it,” she said a moment later. She yawned again and I imagined her rolling her eyes. “I’ve just spent two and a half hours of my Saturday night on the phone, begging every hotel in town. Nobody has anything. It’s South by Southwest. What do you expect?”

  “I expect you to find a hotel room. I don’t even care how much it costs.” I’d already resigned myself to the quadruple digits.

  “I find my life is a lot easier the lower I keep my expectations,” she replied, parroting back what I’d told her a few months ago when she told me that she expected a five-to-seven percent yearly pay increase. As usual, her voice was as dry as the Sahara Desert. “Why don’t you just have the girl stay in your guest room?” she suggested when she heard my answering unintelligible noise of frustration. “It’s just one night.”

  I ground my teeth. I kept my calm, but only barely. I was fairly certain that my boss would not be happy to learn that I’d brought his nineteen-year-old daughter to my place for the night. On the other hand, it meant more time with her. I was supposed to be spending time with her as part of my real assignment.

  Of course, there was also the fact that if I was truly honest with myself, I knew that I wanted her as physically close to me as I could possibly manage. Next to me. Right up against me. Under me. Or better yet, on top of me.… I was rarely honest with myself though. I pushed the graphic thoughts away, locking them away for later.

  You’re doing this because it’s the only option, I told myself firmly. It didn’t ring true, but what was I supposed to do? I really did have a problem. The girl had to sleep somewhere.

  I took a deep breath and looked over to where Rosie was sitting forlornly on the steps of her apartment building. She was staring into the middle distance, totally oblivious to my stare and off in her own little world. I took a moment to just admire her as I approached.

  I wondered if God must made her specifically to torture me, and briefly considered what I’d done to deserve such cruelty. She was everything I wanted in a woman, only about ten years too young and totally off limits. Then, I heard her absentmindedly humming, and wondered if it was God who made her at all.

  The tune wasn’t familiar to me at first, but a moment later I realized I had heard it before. It was ‘Happy’ by Jenny Lewis. A bit obscure, but not very. Not that it was the tune that mattered at all, it was Rosie’s voice. She wasn’t singing the lyrics, but I knew them:

  'Cause I can't remember why I hated you

  Can't remember why I still do

  But I'm as sure as the moon rolls around you

  That I could be happy, happy

  Oh, so happy, happy

  Oh, so happy, so happy

  Light, but with a soft, lilting, melodic quality, I could tell from her humming alone that Rosie was not the talentless dreamer her father had promised she was. Her voice was hypnotizing and beautiful. She was talented.

  Crap. Well, one crisis at a time, I reminded myself.

  “Rosie?” I asked.

  She blinked up at me. “Sorry, I was zoned out. Today has been completely nuts. First my birthday party gets cancelled, then my pet fish died, and now this.” She shook her head and her long hair danced around her face. “What’s up?”

  I swallowed my curiosity. “More bad news.”

  Her eyes became saucer-sized but she only looked at me for a fraction of a second before staring down at her battered tennis shoes. “How can there be more bad news? I’m already homeless.”

  I sat down next to her on the step. “I can’t find you a hotel room. South by Southwest seems to have eaten up every single room in town.”

  Rosie bit her full bottom lip. “Oh.” She looked around herself as if a hotel room might be sitting next to her on the other side of the step. “Well, I guess I can call my friends and see if one of them could let me—”

  “—I do have a solution,” I interrupted. The idea that she might find a friend’s couch to sleep on should have encouraged me, but the not-so-secret truth was that I wanted her to go home with me. Plus, I didn’t like the thought of her sleeping on someone’s couch like a vagrant. Her father wouldn’t like that, either, would he? “That is, if you don’t mind.” I put on my most winning smile. “You could stay with me tonight. I have a guest room at my house …” My confidence evaporated when I took in her expression.

  “With you?” Her eyes, already as round and huge as I thought they could be, improbably widened further. There was now a slim ring of white all the way around her green pupils.

  “You’d have your own bathroom.” I’m not sure why that was my response, but it was. I didn’t know how to convince her that I wasn’t a psycho. “I promise I’m not a psycho,” I added weakly.

  She blinked. “I don’t think you’re a psycho, it’s just kind of weird. I mean, I don’t know you. You don’t know me either.”

  I’d hosted plenty of women I knew less about than Rosie over the years in far more intimate situations. Telling her that, however, would probably convince her that I was not to be trusted and intended on seducing her (which was only true in my fantasies). “I promise I’ll be on my best behavior. Do you want to call your dad and ask him?” I proposed. It definitely wasn’t my favorite idea, but I didn’t want Rosie thinking I was some predatory creep, either. Even if the only thing stopping me from being one was the knowledge that she was off-limits in the extreme.

  She shook her head instantly at the suggestion we involve her father. “No. I trust you.” You do? Her expression softened. “I’m sure my dad wouldn’t send you if he didn’t trust you.”

  He does trust me, I thought uncharitably. He trusts me to use my position as a talent agent to crush your dreams of being a singer. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t trust me to bring you home to my place tonight, though. I don’t trust me with that, either.

  But no matter my inner misgivings and conflicts, I’d achieved my immediate objective—Rosie was coming home with me tonight. I’d also learned something important. She was much, much too trusting. It was that kind of trusting heart that got people hurt in the music business. Sometimes it got them killed.

  Even if Rosie was as talented as I now suspected that she might be, a person who instantly assumed good intentions had no place in the cutthroat music industry. At the very least, she would need a good agent to protect her. Someone who’d look out for her best interests and keep the bad guys away. Someone like me, maybe. The thought—totally unbidden and infinitely unwelcome—stuck in my brain. Genuinely representing Rosie was the exact opposite of what I was supposed to be doing.

  “Ok then,” I heard myself saying smoothly. My all-too-human brain might be traversing dangerous paths, but my lawyer mouth still knew what to say. “Let’s go before either of us gets hit with any more bad news. It’s getting late.”

  5

  Rosie

  Ryan lived about five miles west of my shabby college apartment in a fancy neighborhood tucked just far enough away from downtown to have a suburban feel while still boasting an illustrious zip code. His neighborhood was where all the doctors and lawyers lived, so it made sense he’d be there, too. His house was a meticulously maintained Tudor-style two story with a wide, lush, green lawn and a three-car garage. Altogether, the place just screamed ‘a lawyer lives here’. It wasn’t ostentatious, but it was extremely nice (especially for a bachelor).

  Ryan’s house was much fancier than the rented house I’d grown up in, although not nearly as fancy as the custom-built castle my father lived in. It didn’t, for instance, have the pair of life-size marble lions that guarded my dad’s front door. Instead, an actual cat—black, scrawny, and grizzled—stood sentinel in front of it. The cat puffed up as we approached, and its eyes turned into little amber slits.

  “Is that your cat?” I asked. He didn’t look too friendly. Or healthy, for that matter.

  Ryan smirked. “No. I’m not really a pet person. According to his name tag, that is Marley,” Ryan told me. The cat ran off and glared at
us from under a bush. “He belongs to my neighbor, I think. He’s not very sociable.”

  I’d never met a cat I didn’t like before, but Marley hissed when I extended a hand toward the bush. Rude. Well, there was a first time for everything. I just hoped it wasn’t a bad omen.

  “You live here all alone?” I asked him when we got inside. To my surprise, the place was fully decorated. As in, someone with an eye for design had clearly spent a lot of time curating everything in sight. Everything was tasteful, matching, and not at all what I’d imagine a young guy like Ryan wanting to surround himself with. Not that I knew Ryan at all, but all the neutral, warm colors and hotel-like decorations felt weirdly bland and generic. It all had the chic but impersonal look of an HGTV show about house hunting. I absently wondered if a Crate and Barrel had thrown up in it.

  Ryan looked at me sidelong. “Yes.”

  “Have you always lived here alone?” My curiosity was running wild.

  His head bobbed up and down. “Yeah. I just moved in about a month ago.”

  “Hmm.” To my left, a pillow was embroidered with the phrase ‘home sweet home’. There were roses on it.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing. It’s lovely.”

  His eyes narrowed, and his breath puffed out in a little huff. “You know, every woman that’s come in here since I moved in has behaved strangely. None of them have explained why. Is there something weird about my house?” He looked around at the plush surroundings in confusion.

  I smirked at his reaction. “No. Not at all. It’s really very pretty. It’s just… did you hire a decorator? Or did your girlfriend decorate it or something?” I couldn’t quite square the man in front of me with the space we were in. They didn’t match. Not at all.

  Ryan seemed like the type of guy who’d prefer leather smoking chairs, ornate rugs, dark wood, and lots of brass. Instead, the room was filled with chevron patterns, shiplap, and stainless steel. It just didn’t add up.

  He blinked at me and shook his head. “I don’t have a girlfriend. It was furnished this way when I bought it.”

  I nodded, emboldened slightly that there was no live-in girlfriend (or girlfriends of any type) in the picture. “That makes sense.” I felt myself smiling, happy that I even if I had no chance, I had no competition.

  Ryan, however, seemed to be deeply confused. “It’s weird because it’s decorated? I figured it was better to buy a decorated house than live in a blank, totally empty space. I didn’t have enough furniture…” He looked around himself as if suddenly reevaluating his choice.

  Guilt shot through me. I shifted my weight from foot to foot and felt like a fool. Now that we were alone in his house, I felt totally out of my depth. I’d never been in a man’s space like this before. I’d never gone home with a man before, even to sleep in his guest room I didn’t know the rules. I certainly had no right to criticize a stranger’s house. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. It just doesn’t look like something a young, single guy would do.” I pointed at the ‘live, laugh, love’ art on the wall. It looked like something my mom would hang up.

  He smirked at me. “Were you expecting cinderblock bookshelves and bean bag chairs? Maybe a Bob Marley poster or two? Lava lamps? I’m a bit old for that at this point.”

  I frowned at him and felt myself blushing yet again. “You’re not old and I wasn’t expecting anything. You just didn’t strike me as the type of guy who spends his weekends antiquing and carefully decorating his living room.”

  That answer appeared to mollify him. He even smirked. “That’s fair. I guess it is a bit heavy on the beige.”

  “It looks nice,” I told him again. “Really. I mean, you’ve seen where I live. I’m in no position to criticize.”

  Ryan’s confused expression returned in a rush. “If you don’t mind me asking, why do you live there? I’m sure your dad would get you a much nicer apartment.”

  I sighed. He was right, of course. My dad would be perfectly happy to buy me a house nicer than this one if I only asked. But really, it was none of his business. “Actually, I happen to like my apartment when it isn’t full of water,” I told him. My voice was tart. The apartment might not be fancy, but it was mine. Even though it was being paid for by money that didn’t belong to me, at least it was mine.

  He nodded and looked away. “Sorry. I’ll show you the guest room.”

  “Ok.” I followed him obediently up the stairs. I shouldn’t have snapped at him again. I was just tired, irritable, and horny. It wasn’t a great mix. I really wasn’t at my best tonight.

  “On the left is my bedroom and office, and you’ll be staying here,” he told me, pushing open a door to reveal something that looked more like a hotel room than some hotel rooms I’d stayed in. “There’s a bathroom attached. And you’re welcome to use the kitchen.”

  “Ok. Thank you again for letting me stay. I’m sorry to be an imposition.” Staring at him across the double bed felt unreal. I begged him with my eyes to throw me atop it and fix all my problems right then and there. I was pretty sure sex would fix all my problems at the moment. Or at least make me forget about them for a while.

  “You’re not an imposition.” He smiled at me, and I didn’t know what it meant.

  I sure felt like an imposition standing uselessly like I was. We stared at each other for a long moment. My heart decided now would be an excellent time to hammer so loudly that I wondered if he could hear it. I wished he’d make a move. Ryan’s blue eyes seemed to be full of things he wanted to say. Or maybe do. But he didn’t.

  “Well, I guess I’ll settle in,” I finally stammered. The spell between us broke.

  “It is getting late, huh? I’ll get out of your way.” He smiled at me. “If you need anything, just holler. I’m right across the hall.”

  “Ok,” I whispered.

  “Happy birthday, Rosie.” His smile said that he knew exactly what I wanted. He could read me like an open book. He softly closed the door behind him, leaving me alone with my frustrated thoughts.

  6

  Rosie

  I tried to fall asleep, bit it simply wasn’t possible. My surroundings were too unfamiliar, my mind was too wound up, and my body felt like it had just been on a roller coaster from all the day’s emotion. I ended up popping in my headphones, firing up my laptop and posting a new video to YouTube that I’d recorded earlier that day instead.

  The song had a wickedly hard guitar part, all triplets and syncopated rhythms. I’m not sure what I’d been thinking when I wrote it. Just playing the thing was hard. Singing it was even harder and required me to really stretch my range. But I was nothing if not stubborn. After a month of practice, I could probably play and sing the tune standing on one leg while juggling lit candles and it would still sound perfect.

  Some of my stubbornness stared back at me when I watched the video one more time before posting it.

  “Do you ever feel like you’ve lost touch with the things that mattered most to you?” I asked from the playback window. “I wrote this song about finding them again before it’s too late.” I smiled nervously. “This one’s called Pearl Diving.”

  There’s something in the water,

  You can see the shadowed shape,

  The pool is deep and silent,

  And you’re standing there agape,

  If you jump in, you’ll be freezing,

  Or your friends may laugh and stare,

  So, you stand there doing nothing,

  You pretend that you don’t care,

  You used to dive straight in,

  and look for treasures in the blue,

  Then breaking breathless from the water,

  You clutched pearls like dreams come true.

  You found magic in the water,

  and that magic found you too.

  You’re addicted to the hunt now,

  and the hunt has chosen you.

  But now you’re older and you’re wiser,

  and since you just want to fit in,
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  you nod that pearls are out of fashion,

  you’re embarrassed,

  you pretend.

  So, the treasures stay un-rescued,

  And the moment passes by.

  You forget about the magic,

  Or at least, you know, you try.

  But sometimes you wake up cold,

  having sleep-walked to the edge.

  The pool still calls you forward,

  it might pull you off the ledge.

  When the treasures stay un-rescued,

  if all the moments pass you by,

  You’ll wake up, but on the bottom,

  Gazing breathless at the sky.

  You found magic in the water,

  but magic doesn’t come for free.

  You can deny how much you want it,

  It will still collect its fee.

  You’re older but no wiser,

  You can pretend you aren’t alive,

  You can pretend that nothing matters,

  One day you’ll have to take the dive.

  If your treasures stay un-searched for,

  The magic will finally pull you down

  You’ll wake up on the bottom,

  Clutching treasures as you drown.

  7

  Ryan

  Somehow, I managed not to pin Rosie against the wall and kiss her senseless right then and there. I managed to be a gentleman and keep my hands to myself. I felt like I deserved some sort of prize for my forbearance.