by N. N. Britt
“Right.” Ally produced a tsk-tsk and gave me a meaningful stare.
Once Dante was done and back on the ground, she said her goodbyes and retreated to her room, leaving us alone.
“Thank you for doing this.” I rushed over to the terrace to flick on the switch. Soft yellow light spilled over my back yard, casting small moving shadows across the fence, the house, and the table and chairs.
“I’m glad I could be of help, darlin’.” Dante smiled and followed me to the terrace, where we stood for a long moment and enjoyed the fruits of our collective labor.
“You have a really nice place,” he said to me a few heartbeats later.
“Yes, you mentioned that earlier.”
“I did, didn’t I?” he agreed as his gaze wandered to the table and froze, his entire face suddenly becoming rigid. An assembly of somewhat harsh asymmetrical lines.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw my half-open bottle of wine. “I’m sorry about that. I’ll make sure not to have any alcohol out when you’re around.”
“It’s okay.” He shook his head once and the tension seemed to disappear. His eyes were warm and open again, and his mouth curved into a seductive smile. “Such is the life of an alcoholic. Don’t limit yourself on my account.”
“It’s not about limiting. It’s about respect toward other people.”
“Do you want me to help you with the ladder before I go?”
“Oh, I can lift it. I’m short, not helpless,” I bristled.
“I never said you were short.” He smirked.
“But you’ve insinuated it on more than one occasion.”
Dante leaned closer, his lips almost brushing my cheek. “I happen to like your height, Camille. Good night.” And with that, he left.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about Dante Martinez anymore.
The next morning when I drove to Dream Bride, I carefully sifted through the events of the previous night in an attempt to find a flaw in the way he behaved or spoke. But there wasn’t one. He’d said all the right words and done all the right things. At breakfast, Ally was ecstatic over a new trick she’d learned from him and I credited her cheerful disposition and sudden desire to eat with me to Dante’s efforts.
It was strange, seeing her so happy and animated in my presence.
On my way to work, I dared to play some Hall Affinity songs, this time paying special attention to the guitar.
Oh, yes, the man was good.
I’d almost teared up by the time I pulled into my parking spot next to the service entrance. Harper’s Jaguar, washed and buffed, glistened in the sun and I was afraid to look at it for more than a second, because I didn’t want all the shine to blind me.
Inside, the muffled hum in the ceiling told me the AC was cranked all the way up. Ignoring the lighthearted laughter that poured into the corridor from the main floor, I stepped into my office and deposited my bag on the chair.
There was a small stack of papers on my desk. The indiscernible scribbles on the colored stickies attached to it indicated that they were Renn’s notes. I quickly fumbled through the applications, scanning the names of the candidates, and as I set them aside, there was a knock on my door.
“Sweets? Is that you?” Harper poked his head inside. “I heard someone come in through the back.” He was wearing a meticulously ironed light blue short-sleeved shirt and a pair of navy slacks.
“Who else would it be?” I asked, shedding my jacket. It was too hot, despite the AC.
“Your mother?” Harper shuddered visibly. “Maybe she wants a dress for her anniversary,” he joked.
“I sure hope not. And don’t even think about planting that idea in her head.”
“You know me. I’m Eloise’s biggest fan,” he said sarcastically.
“No one is Eloise’s fan.” I winced a little at the mention of my own mother. I loved her. I really did. But she was like wasabi—best taken in small quantities. Luckily, she didn’t pry into my life too much lately.
“Okay, gotta go finish the displays,” Harper declared and returned to the main floor, where I headed a couple of minutes later after placing an online coffee order.
“Did you see the applications I left on your desk?” Renn asked as soon as I entered the front of the boutique.
“I did. Thank you. Anyone in particular stand out?”
“A couple of people. I made some notes.” The ones I didn’t read carefully enough, because my brain was still struggling with the fact that Dante Martinez was a decent man. Or, at least, as decent as someone in his position could be.
As if reading my mind, Renn spoke, “So the young man you were with on Sunday”—she fixed her face in an expression of neutrality—“is he Ally’s new guitar teacher?”
Harper was hiding behind the lingerie rack and he ducked his head when I shot him a glare.
“He’s very handsome. Rugged but handsome,” Renn concluded matter-of-factly.
Oh, handsome, he was. Among other scandalous things.
“Yes,” I finally replied.
“Is he single?” Renn continued her interrogation.
“I didn’t ask,” I lied.
“Come on,” Harper drawled from across the room and tossed an empty hanger in the air. “Even the blind could tell you two sparked in each other’s proximity.”
“No, we did not.” I huffed.
“Well, you’re not getting any younger, dear,” Renn mused, sounding almost as patronizing as my mother, and at that moment, I hated her a little for reminding me that I was no longer seventeen and carefree. “You’re not even dating anymore.”
“If you haven’t noticed, I’m raising a child on my own.” My comment found its mark. Renn didn’t have children. Except her dogs. So we were even now.
“Ally’s almost an adult.” She recovered quickly.
“Almost an adult isn’t one. And don’t even think about telling my mother about him.”
I spun and faced Harper, who was now walking between the rows of sale items at the far back, staring at his phone.
“You either,” I told him sternly. “You’re not allowed to tell my mother or any other member of my family about Dante.”
He gave me a nod, then added, “Have you guys seen this? A camping site near Santa Barbara burned last night.”
“Again?” Renn grumbled in a very unladylike manner that didn’t match her exquisitely dressed exterior. “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to deal with that this year.”
“They evacuated over ten thousand people,” Harper continued to read the news off his phone.
“Let’s talk about something positive,” I suggested, glancing outside, where the sky was blue and the sun was bright.
Hundreds of thousands of acres of dry land burned every single year in Southern California. Wildfires had become just as normal for people who lived near the mountains and outside the immediate city as heat waves...or earthquakes. But the chaos they initiated was the worst. I’d lived through only one evacuation, which happened before I bought my house, but my parents had seen way more damage and had been forced to leave their home several times in the past.
“Well, our sales are up this month,” Harper blurted out, then added, “You wanted something positive, sweets. Will that do?”
“Yes, that’ll make my mother extremely happy.”
And there were very few things that made my mother happy. I, sadly, wasn’t one of them.
9 Dante
Every time I tried to leave the house, Snowflake made a scene.
I had no idea that having a dog entailed so much mental and physical work. Good thing time wasn’t an issue. Except for my AA meetings and therapy appointments, there wasn’t anything else that required me to disappear from the premises for more than an hour or two at a time. Not counting my hikes with Malik, which he’d backed out of the past couple of days due to his divorce taking an unexpected turn.
Yanneth was also pleasantly surprised when she showed up for work on Friday and was met with a white
ball of fur, who spent a full minute licking her shoes before letting her proceed to the kitchen to unpack the groceries.
That afternoon, she was gracious enough to show me how to bake artichokes. Yes, fucking artichokes! And after that, the two of us sat on the terrace and sampled my feeble attempts with Snowflake barking and limping around the chairs and demanding to be included in the feast. Of course, after sniffing the hell out of his share, he decided it wasn’t tasty enough and returned to munching on his treats.
As I watched him waddle across my yard, ears flapping and eyes gleaming with excitement, I couldn’t figure out why anyone wouldn’t want him in their house, why anyone would give him away like some old shirt that wasn’t in style anymore.
The answer was just as obvious as it was confusing. Perhaps for the same reason my mother hadn’t bothered to put any effort into loving me or making me into a better person than I was today.
Later that night, after tossing and turning in bed for what seemed like hours on end, I went downstairs and looked for Snowflake. He was in the kitchen, curled into a ball under the table, ignoring the doggy bed I bought him at Yanneth’s suggestion.
“Hey, bud. Why are you here?” I dropped into a crouch and reached for him carefully, then pulled him from his hiding spot and cradled his small warm body to my chest. Surprisingly, he went willingly.
I’d been reading all sorts of online articles about adopted dogs now that I was a proud owner of one, and according to the literature, most pets took some time to adjust to the new family and become friendly.
Not Snowflake.
He was curious about everything and everyone. He just didn’t understand that he’d become rich. He ignored the toys and the bed and napped on the floor. He also ignored the pee pads and peed wherever he deemed fit and I was too lazy to train him.
“I’m not used to sleeping alone,” I whispered at him as I climbed the stairs. “I typically prefer women, but the one I like doesn’t like me back. So you’ll have to help me out here, all right?”
In turn, Snowflake licked my fingers.
He slept in my bed, and in the morning when I woke up, he’d drooled all over the pillows and knocked down the digital clock that sat on the nightstand.
“I suppose it’s time to set some ground rules, huh?” I muttered as I got to my feet and looked around the room.
To that, Snowflake excitedly nuzzled my ankles.
After breakfast, I called Malik to make sure he was staying dry. The drama with his soon-to-be ex-wife couldn’t be doing his sobriety any favors.
“I’m hanging in there, brother.” He sounded less and less convincing every time we spoke about the divorce.
“You sure? My offer still stands.” For some reason—and perhaps that reason was a bit selfish—I wanted his company. The property seemed lonely now that I’d seen what a real house should be like. Camille’s house. Small, cozy, clean, and stuffed with all sorts of furniture and family photos. I was looking forward to going back there this afternoon for my second lesson with Ally.
“You got a crush on me or something?” Malik laughed into the phone.
“I can’t fucking live without you. Didn’t you know?”
“I’m thinking about it. For real,” he said, this time serious.
“Let me know.”
“Absolutely. Gotta go. God bless you, brother.”
God and I weren’t friends, but I didn’t shit on him in front of Malik, not wanting to offend the big guy. Instead, I bid him my farewell and went on with my day, which sadly wasn’t as eventful as my evening.
When, hours later, I steered my Navigator into the familiar driveway on the cul-de-sac of the street in Woodland Hills, the tips of my fingers were burning and itching to play. It was a strange sensation, a mixture of something old and something new and something different.
Ever since the stroke, I’d been adamant about not picking up a guitar in front of another person. I practiced in the privacy of my own home where no one could hear me fuck up and fumble through the chords like a baby who was learning how to walk. But Ally didn’t see any of my mistakes, or even if she did, that shine of admiration in her eyes remained bright. There was hunger in her, hunger to learn everything that I knew. And for the first time in my life, I wanted to share it all, give it to someone who would continue my legacy after I was gone.
Because I felt it coming. I felt the end approaching like an express train. My body and mind were different from what they used to be. Broken and unfit for my previous lifestyle, and without that lifestyle, I had no idea what I was going to do. And this acute feeling of dissociation was a chain around my neck, a huge, heavy chain with some extra weight on it so that I couldn’t find my way back out of the depths I’d been tossed into by circumstances of my own doing.
Ally was the one who opened the door when I rang the bell, and as soon as I saw her, all the gloom in my head evaporated.
“Hey, Dante,” she greeted me with a grin splitting her face. The flicker of lowering light caught the stud in her nose.
“Hey, Hendrix.” The savory smell of something wafted over to me from the house. Black pepper. Cumin. Chile. Again, I picked only scents that had something to do with Camille. Then I realized she must’ve been cooking. There was noise in the kitchen, but she didn’t come out to examine me like the first time.
Ally had hauled her gear to the same spot we used for practice last week. “We’re starting, Mom!” she shouted and picked up her guitar. The Les Paul. The one I’d eyed for myself, but now that I saw her with it, saw her making music, I knew instantly that the instrument was never meant to be mine.
“All right, show me what you’ve been working on this week.” I sunk down onto the couch and watched her apply my previous instructions to one of her original pieces.
We spent the next hour going over various sweep picking exercises and playing some of my solo works. Hearing the riffs I wrote from someone else was weird, but not in a bad way. Just weird.
Toward the end of the session, Ally shared her experience at Jesse Catchum’s studio she’d visited with her band this past Saturday.
“It was so much bigger and so much cooler than the one Mac’s Dad runs.”
“Which one is Mac?”
“Our bassist.”
“Ah, the big dude who hides his face?” I remembered.
“You used to hide your face too when you played,” she pointed out. “Aren’t you worried people will recognize you?”
“Nah.” I grabbed one of the picks from the coffee table and flipped it between my fingers. The plastic was cheap, probably a beginner kit from the Guitar Center or purchased online, and it reminded me of my early days. The days before Hall Affinity. My gear was all beat up, my clothes from a thrift store. My attitude was the only thing that was mine—not second-hand—and no one else’s. And that attitude had led me to places I’d never thought I’d see.
Ally produced a few squeaky notes, then lowered her voice and asked, “So…you really don’t think you’ll be back on stage?”
“Doubtful as of right now.” I shrugged.
“It sucks. I never got to see you live.”
“Aren’t you looking at me right now, Hendrix?”
“Not like this. I mean performing.”
“How come?”
“Mom doesn’t really let me go to shows. Only sometimes, if Pauline’s parents go with us. And then you guys were on break.”
Break was one way to put it.
“Now you’re suing each other,” she concluded.
“We’re not,” I corrected her. “The label is suing Frank.”
“What about the rest of the guys? Why only him?”
Good question. It made me pause and think. I found it odd that a fifteen-year-old kid who had no idea what it was like to be a part of a multimillion-dollar enterprise posed the questions I, myself, was afraid to ask.
“It’s a bit more complicated than it seems,” I said, putting the pick back on the coffee table and gla
ncing at my cell phone.
It was six minutes after seven. The hour was up and then before Ally had a chance to dig deeper, Camille strode out from the kitchen. She wore a pair of black sweats and a yellow top and looked adorable with her fiery hair mounted into a messy ponytail on top of her head.
“So how did it go today?” she asked, surveying the living room as if looking for damage. Obviously, there was none. We weren’t out to ruin her house, only to make some noise.
Ally stiffened. “Fine.”
I stood up. “We’ll touch base in a couple of days about our next session, yeah?” My gaze darted to Camille first, then to Ally. I felt like I was walking a very fine line here between the two, unsure who was the real boss in this family.
“She starts school on Monday,” Camille reminded.
“Right.” I nodded. “Education comes first.”
“It’s only two hours a week, Mom!” Ally protested.
“We’ll talk about it later, Bug.”
“Well, I guess I’ll see you when I see you, Hendrix.” I was about to start for the door when she blurted out, “Can Dante stay for dinner, Mom?”
There was a long moment of hard silence and the world outside ceased to matter.
Camille’s face was the picture of contradiction. “Umm…” The corner of her mouth bunched up. “I’m not sure…” She looked at me. “Are you hungry?”
Oh, this was extremely dangerous territory to tread in. I liked her and I wanted her. I didn’t know why. I just knew that I needed to have her in my life, but as I was getting to know Ally more, I was getting to understand where Camille was coming from when she rejected my dinner invitation.
I’d ruin her and her daughter if we crossed that invisible line that we’d drawn.
Suddenly, I felt every bit the homewrecker I’d been labeled by Frank after he discovered me and his wife doing the nasty in his bedroom.
I shoved the image—his face twisted with horror and disgust—out of my mind and snapped back to attention.
Camille and Ally were staring at me expectantly. “I am hungry,” I said finally. “But I’m very limited in what I can eat.” Shit, this made me sound like a total douchebag.