by N. N. Britt
“You’ve got quite the history.”
“That I do,” I confirmed. “But I’m sure you know not everything you find online is true.”
“No, but a lot of it is true.”
“What exactly is stopping you from saying yes?”
She drew a deep, loud breath and looked away. An expression of concern settled on her face that was flushed from the heat.
I watched her carefully, without interrupting. The faint smell of her perfume tingled in my nose and filled my busted airways. I found it odd that hers was the only scent I could pick out from the multitude of smells that swirled around me. No exhaust fumes, no soap, no engine oil. Just her.
“You’re not the type of man for me,” she finally responded, every word like a blow.
“What type of man are you looking for?” I asked, staring at the candy that was turning into a sticky puddle in my palm.
“I’m not looking for a man, Dante.”
“What are you looking for then?”
“You really don’t take no for an answer.” She shook her head and bit her lip to hide the tentative smile that crept across her face.
“Everyone’s looking for something, Camille,” I whispered, catching her gaze.
“I have everything I need.”
“Do you?”
She took a step back. “We should go check on the food. Some of us have been here since six.”
Ouch!
By noon, a good portion of the volunteers had figured out who I was, and I spent my lunch doing what I did best—being the center of everyone’s attention. At first, it felt strange, foreign even. This wasn’t the type of crowd I was used to. Suburban housewives with their husbands, their teenage kids, and their puppies, who suddenly didn’t care about the fact I was the tabloids’ favorite, who didn’t say “fuck,” and who shook their heads when someone else did. Yet they wanted what I had to offer—a glimpse at greatness, because deep down they were envious. Envious of what I’d achieved—eternity. Because after I was gone, my music would still be alive.
Yes, after months in rehab, I was still a hopeless junkie.
Fame was my other drug of choice that I’d never cared to seek treatment for.
It’d been dormant for months and I’d grown to like the simplicity of my existence, but just like any addiction, it was always there and all it needed was a small push. A sweep of adoration and curiosity. A few precise words and there I was. Back on that adrenaline-riddled train that was going nowhere.
It was the best feeling ever. Being praised for my accomplishments. It overrode the all-consuming sense of defeat that had throbbed in my veins ever since Camille dodged my attempt number two. Unlike other women here, she didn’t seem impressed with my accolades.
“It’s not fair, you know,” I told her as we inched along the table holding trays of food later on.
The midday heat didn’t take any prisoners and people were too tired to pay attention to us or our conversation. On the opposite end of the park, kids were playing with the water hose. To my right, an old man in a US Air Force Veteran baseball hat was digging through the pile of meatballs, looking for the one that would look good next to his baked potato.
“What’s not fair?” Camille tore her gaze from the plate she held in her hands and glanced up at me through the flutter of her lashes.
I leaned closer. “You’re judging me before you even know me.”
Her skin was luminous and her top stuck to her back like mine did.
“I’m not judging you.” Smiling, she plucked a piece of chicken from one of the trays and moved to the next one. “It’s called making an educated decision based on the information available.”
“So the tabloids are where we get an education now?”
She motioned at a lonely slice of watermelon on my plate. “Aren’t you going to eat anything?”
“You’re avoiding my question,” I countered.
“No, I just don’t want you to get dizzy after carrying around all that plastic furniture.” She grinned, slowly walking toward the jars with lemonade.
“Come on,” I whispered into her ear. “Go out with me.”
She came to a stop in front of the drink station and set her food on the table as if she needed to free her hands to give me an answer.
I waited, my heart rate speeding up. There were noises everywhere, swirling in the hot air around us. The faraway hum of an engine that carried over from the front of the shop, the low chatter of people seated in the park, the excited screams of kids running around the lawn, the muffled crash of plastic cups, and the distant crackle of water bottles. It was a jumble of sounds, many so unfamiliar.
“You’re right,” Camille finally said, her voice falling to a soft whisper. “I don’t know you.” She grabbed a cup and filled it with lemonade. “But I know your kind.”
“And what is my kind?” I followed her lead and poured myself a drink too.
She turned to face me, holding on to her plate. “You’re a drive-by. You do what you want. You disappear. You leave tons of damage behind. And you never come back to clean up your mess.”
Her words smacked me like a sucker punch. I didn’t know what exactly it was about this woman that made me want to keep going, keep asking until she broke. Resistance maybe? Resistance I’d never had to deal with before.
“I thought we had something,” I murmured, taking a shy step forward to erase the distance between us.
A subtle, barely there smile of acknowledgment tugged at Camille’s lips. She felt it too. We definitely had something. It was in the sweltering air between us, in the playful words exchanged, and in the long stares we’d shared on more than one occasion.
She’d just chosen to pretend she wasn’t as intrigued as I was.
“You should try the chicken.” There was a waver in her voice. “Renn made it.”
I blanked. My brain was like a lightbulb that popped right in the middle of a surgery, sending everyone and everything into the dark. It only lasted a moment, but by the time my mind got it together, Camille was gone.
“So how did you two meet?” a voice asked from behind me.
I turned to see who it was. The puppy owner in pink capris stared up at me from beneath the visor of her flower-studded hat.
My panic was replaced with recognition that slowly became disappointment.
“Funny story.” I gave Renn my red-carpet smile. “We met at the guitar shop.”
“Oh, really? How interesting.” The woman began to tidy up the table. “Ally says you’re a musician.”
“That’s right. And you’re the person we have to thank for the delicious lunch.” I motioned at a sad-looking tray of what looked like a salad.
Renn leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “The potatoes are from Whole Foods. Precooked.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” I laughed quietly.
“Oh, you’re a gentleman.” Her penciled brows quirked.
“Doing my best.”
“Well, I like you way more than the previous tutor.” Renn shoved her index finger into my chest.
“I think you might be confusing me with someone?”
“Aren’t you Ally’s new guitar teacher?”
I paused, allowing the information to settle in. “What happened to the previous one?”
Renn cleared her throat and glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one could hear her speak. “One day, she came home from her lesson and told Camille she didn’t want any more tutors. Poor thing never explained why.” Renn’s tone grew serious. “I think the imbecile said something inappropriate to her.”
“How do you know?”
“A woman knows these things.”
“Right.” I nodded, schooling my expression into one of understanding, but what I really felt was…anger.
“Ally’s a good girl,” Renn added.
“She’s great,” I agreed.
Our chat was interrupted by a loud horde of teens approaching the table, and we had to
move to the side.
Before I knew it, Renn was called away and I was alone.
The details of this conversation had left a bad aftertaste in my mouth. Was it because I, in general, understood that whatever happened to Ally was wrong or because I suddenly cared about what was going in the life of a person I hardly knew?
A feeling resembling a blend of guilt and shame darted through my chest as I took shy steps in the direction of the park with my plate in hand.
Ally was alone. She sat next to a tree trunk with her legs crossed and her plate beside her. The only kid in all black among a sea of colors. It was self-inflicted—her anger and desire to stand out from the crowd.
“Got room for one more?” I asked, carefully approaching her.
She lifted her head and stared up at me with her big, heavily shadowed eyes. “Sure.” A smile spread to her cheeks, warm and innocent.
I flopped onto the grass next to her and gave a wave to Camille, who was watching us from the table she shared with Harper across the lawn.
“No wonder you’re so skinny.” Ally scowled at my plate.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I whispered, plucking a blade of grass from the ground.
“Okay.”
“I can’t eat anything here.”
“Are you on a diet or something?”
“Yeah, something.”
“Is it because of your overdose?”
I nodded. “Remember when I got you your guitar, I said I had a condition?”
“Yeah, but you never said what it was.”
“Don’t ever do drugs.”
Blinking, Ally glared at me for a long moment. Thin streaks of sunlight that broke through the leaves slashed her cheeks. “What are you, my father?” A crooked grin curved one side of her mouth.
“No. I’m just looking out for you, kid.” I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to her old man. Was he in the picture? Or was he what Camille called a drive-by? The question had been haunting me for a while now, but I refrained from asking it.
“Why is everyone calling me a kid?” Ally protested, rolling her eyes.
“Trust me, ten years from now, you’ll be wishing you were a kid,” I muttered, squeezing the soft grass in my palm. My gaze trailed off, sliding from one cluster of people to another. Despite the heat, they seemed content, chipper even.
“So…” Ally drawled. “You asked my mom out?”
I leaned toward her and whispered, “I don’t think she likes me.”
“My mom doesn’t know what she likes.”
“Is that so?”
“It’d be cool if you dated her.”
“You think?” For some strange reason, it didn’t bother me at all that Ally’s imagination had taken her there. Hell, ever since I met her mother, my own imagination had taken me to the wildest places. Problem was, Camille didn’t want to go with us.
“Yeah.” Ally looked away for a moment, and her voice grew tiny. “I think if she was dating, she’d let me date too.”
“I see what’s going on there, Hendrix.” I laughed softly. “So there’s a boy in the picture then?”
“Well.” She scrunched up her nose. “Sorta… Yeah. But don’t tell her. She’ll flip.”
“I won’t,” I agreed. “You got any more shows coming up?”
“Still working on it. We’re meeting with Jesse Catchum next Saturday in his studio in Burbank.”
“Is that the dude who used to sing for Monochrome Summer?”
“Yeah. He still does.”
“They haven’t released a new album in years.”
“True.” Ally nodded, and when she spoke, her face was like a cartoon—animated. In a sweet, childish kind of way. “He was at the club on Friday. Didn’t you see him?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“He’s pretty dope.” She turned to look at me. “But you’re pretty dope too.”
It’d been a while since anyone had actually complimented me on my personality. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself, Hendrix.”
She bit back her smile the same way Camille did.
“So I heard a rumor that you need a new guitar teacher?” I said, shaking the wrinkled pieces of grass from my palms.
“Who told you?”
“Uh, one of your mom’s friends...I believe. Renn?”
There was a long pause. “I don’t think we can afford you,” Ally finally said, her voice meshing with the soft rustle of the leaves above our heads.
“I’m sure we can work something out, Hendrix.”
She perked up. “Are you going to tell my mom or do you want me to?”
“How about we do it together?”
“Okay, but get some Kevlar first.”
We shared a laugh and got to our feet.
“Let’s do this now,” Ally murmured, dusting off her skinny jeans. “While she’s with Harper. If he likes you, we win.”
6 Camille
“No,” I said loudly, which prompted a few heads to turn to see what was going on at the table I shared with Harper.
Ally’s face instantly slackened, the light in her eyes going out like a candle in the wind. “Why not, Mom?”
I shifted my gaze to Dante, who stood next to her. There was a hint of a smile on his lips, but he knew to keep it contained. Regardless, everything in his relaxed posture told me he was expecting this little plan of his to work.
Over my dead body, I wanted to scream at first, but obviously, my common sense prevailed and I didn’t. I didn’t generally have a flair for the dramatic.
Harper sat across from me, to Dante’s left, hands resting on the table on either side of his paper plate, heaped with loads of food. His wheat-colored mop of hair moved in the breeze and fell into his eyes. He arched his brows to express his surprise.
“This isn’t fair.” I lowered my voice to hide my irritation. Still, I felt attacked. All three stared at me as if I’d just committed a crime, and I was burning with rage because I couldn’t believe my own daughter had the nerve to ask me something like this in front of all our friends.
Dante volunteered to be my new guitar teacher, Mom.
“You know what’s not fair?” Ally pouted. “To prevent me from having one of the most successful guitar players on the planet as a private tutor.” The sarcasm in her tone was sharp and evident. She folded her arms on her chest to only further demonstrate how determined she was to ensure this happened. She’d make a scene if necessary.
Well, that was definitely Greg’s gene pool. Not mine.
“A word?” I gave Dante a menacing look and rose from my chair.
He nodded. “Sure.”
Harper was unusually quiet and his betrayal stung.
Badly.
The lunch break was at its peak. People were tired and hungry after being in the sun since early morning and barely paid attention to us as we quickly walked past the tables.
Once the chattering crowd was out of earshot, I halted and said, “I don’t appreciate that you’re using my daughter.”
We stood beneath a canopy of thick, leafy branches, but the shade did little to protect us from the heat.
“I’m not going to lie to you.” Dante tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes locking on mine. “You are partially the reason why I’d like to work with Ally, but I also want to help her because she’s got potential.”
“That’s not the best strategy to get back into my good graces—confessing that you’re trying to use my kid.”
“I assure you that I’m not.”
“You’re contradicting yourself.”
“Yeah, that happens a lot lately,” he said in a self-deprecating manner.
It was odd. I didn’t think rock stars had it in them to be able to see—and announce—their own shortcomings, but he’d done it before, at the guitar shop where we met. He’d talked about his vices openly, which meant he wasn’t just laying it on thick about Ally’s skills. He saw what I saw.
“Look, I can take rejection.” He hitched
a shoulder. It was a nonchalant shrug. “Earlier, you made yourself clear. I’m not going to ask you out anymore, but if you change your mind, just tell me whenever I’m at your place working with Ally.” And there it was. He smiled smugly, knowing all too well that my kid would hate me forever if I forbade the lessons.
“I don’t believe you.” I huffed a frustrated laugh, feeling utterly trapped.
Dante responded with another smile. “If you don’t believe me, believe this—I’m offering to tutor your daughter because she has a shot at a future as a musician. She’s skilled. She’s talented. She has great stage presence. And she’s disciplined, at least from what I can tell. I have the power to help her.” He paused for a second and I let his words sink in. “You know I can. Don’t deprive her of a chance that millions of other kids are dreaming about this very second.”
“You’re an asshole.”
His smile grew bigger...and sexier. “That, I am.”
“Entitled asshole.”
“That too.”
“Grrr,” I growled. Literally. Then I balled my hands into fists and stomped like a little girl, the grass beneath me silencing the angry thud of my shoe against the ground.
To that, Dante laughed—a deep, low rumble rattling his firm chest, which caused something in me to snap.
I was agreeing to lessons. I already knew it before I opened my mouth to accept defeat.
He was charming even when he was being ridiculous and pushy, and I understood why women threw themselves at him. I just prayed I wouldn’t become one of those women.
Later that evening after we returned to my place, I was too restless to stay still. I paced around my living room while Harper lounged on my couch, one leg swung over the other, arms crossed.
“It’s like I’m not myself when he’s around,” I said in a hushed voice to ensure Ally wouldn’t hear me.
As soon as we’d pulled into the driveway, she’d climbed out of the car and retreated into her room. She’d skipped her guitar practice tonight and after a day spent around roaring vehicles and shouting people, the silence that filled the house seemed almost unnatural.
Harper uncrossed his arms and dipped both hands into his hair to push it away from his forehead. Just like me, he was in desperate need of a shower, but my crisis was currently derailing us both.