by Lisa Gillis
My heart hammers with fresh suspicion, and I look to Ms. Dodge.
Perhaps figuring out I wasn’t going to simply sign and move onto the next, she is spreading papers out atop her briefcase for Sash.
When Sash signs the first and moves quickly on to the next, I blow out a defeated sigh and scrawl my ‘stage name’ with no further delays.
I thought I might feel relief, if for nothing else, just because it was done, and I don’t have to mull it over any more. Yet I continue to feel as if I’ve just made a deal with the devil.
The men take their leave first. Emily files the papers away in her briefcase and before closing it, she withdraws two envelopes. Handing one to each of us, she smiles. “Here you go, love. I look forward to seeing more of you both.”
The lock clicks on her case, and she drags it from the table. I stare after her as she lets herself out. Sash rips into her envelope, but I fold mine. The total is memorized from the papers we’ve signed.
An advance on our advance. Just another anomaly.
Sash dances around me with her check, and I grin, trying to absorb some of the excitement. What’s done is done. Why not celebrate?
We toss about ideas and decide on room service dinner.
Steak and Lobster. When I tell her I dreamed something like this, Sash smirks, wraps herself around me, and remarks that she is there to make all of my dreams come true. I’ve no doubt she can and will.
By the time we’re done with our dinner, I’m more relaxed. Even if I feel weird—like it’s possible I’ve signed my soul away for the next three Splynter albums—I also begin to feel good.
I’ve done what I left home to do. I’ve become my own person. In a very short time, I’ve accomplished something major on my own merit. If it’s in my destiny to become a successful musician, I won’t ever have to wonder if it was handed to me because of who I am.
Chapter 35
A Hunch
“You stay up all night?” Marissa placed the coffee mug on a table a safe distance across from the soundboard.
“What time is it?” Jack pushed the headphones back from his ears and reached for the coffee.
“Six-thirty.”
The expression on his face was familiar. It never surprised either of them when he became completely caught up in music, whether it was his own, or for a Jewelstone project, that he lost track of time. Stayed up all night.
“Sorry, Mariss. I didn’t mean to.”
She shrugged it off and moved closer. Plucking the headphones from his skull to hers, she settled the earpieces and raised her brows, seeking permission. He flicked a switch and as the tune vibrated her eardrums, she sat on his lap to listen.
While she listened, he skimmed his fingertips up her bare leg where the robe fell open.
“Track five?” She mumbled, and her eyes went to his for confirmation.
He nodded, and she smiled.
When J.J. left, all work on Jack’s current album had stopped. Even when he tried to get back to it, nothing had come of his sessions. Until now.
Jack’s fingers burrowed beneath the silky robe and glided from the outside of one thigh to the inside. With the music continuing to flood her brain, she touched her questioning gaze to his.
“I thought about you all night.”
“Huh?” She uncovered one ear.
“I gotta hit that, Mariss.” Both hands splayed the curves of her ass. “Been thinking about it all night. I was gonna come to bed after just one more verse… and then one more… Thinking about it was my muse…”
Automatically her body responded, her legs swinging apart to straddle his.
“What specifically was your muse?” She savored the roughness of his stubbly chin against the smoothness of her lips as she spoke and imagined that sandpaper feel rubbing against so many other places. “This?” Her fingers slipped into the slit of the cotton pajama pants he wore. “Or maybe this?” With her other hand, she pulled at the sash on her robe until the cool air hit her skin.
His eyes narrowed in appreciation, and one of his hands left the curves on her backside to close around the curvy mounds in his face. His mouth was too busy to answer, and her head tipped back in ecstasy. The headphones slipped, and she reflexively rescued them, holding them in one hand unwilling to interrupt the ministrations of his teeth and tongue to return them to the soundboard.
The next minute or so went by in a dizzying rapturous haze. Suckling tugs, heated tongue lashes, and the chill of cool air on wet skin as he abandoned one playground to move to its twin. When his fingers pulled her undies aside enough to slip inside, she whimpered.
Jack’s grown was simultaneous. “Mmh… so slickery…”
“I was… thinking about it… all night…”
“Were you?” Bringing his eyes level with hers, he rubbed his chin against hers.
“All night,” she promised. “When I wasn’t sleeping.”
A chuckle rumbled in his throat, and he sucked her bottom lip between his teeth for a punishing nip. Her next protest wasn’t from the pain; it was because he’d removed his hand from beneath the silk and lace.
His fingers brushed the inside of her thigh as he impatiently yanked the thin strip aside, and more than familiar with this quickie routine, she settled onto him after pausing for the barest few seconds to enjoy the rigid tease against her most sensitive flesh. Both hummed in satisfaction as they came completely together. With a thumb, he continued to hook the lacey garment out of the way as their rhythm picked up.
His breath was hot on her neck, and his other hand curved to her waist. Her fingers cupped his balls through the thin jammies, and the nails of her other hand curled into his shoulder.
Behind him, a huge pane of glass separated the sound box from the main room. She lost herself in it, watching the hazy reflection of his back and shoulders and her own blissful features.
A low rumble sounded in his throat, and she knew he was close. Closing her eyes, she tilted her hips just enough so that his taps would be directly against that magic inner button—
“Momma? Hey, Momma!”
Her eyes popped open, right into Jack’s wide-eyed gaze.
Jack froze as statue still as she, and she felt his hand ease the robe so that it covered her backside better.
Zoë was inside the room. She didn’t need to turn around to know it was true. The words had been too clear to be spoken from the hallway. And then there was the horror on Jack’s face before he plastered on a parent face. And sure enough, a toddler-sized reflection was in the glass.
“Zee Angel, go watch one of your shows until breakfast.” Jack’s command was gentle.
“Okay. But I need to ask Mommy—”
“Ask her in a minute.”
“Okay. But, Momma? When you’re all done hunching on Daddy, could we have cinnamon oatmeal this time?”
Hunching on Daddy?
Marissa’s mortified eyes touched Jack’s gaze and instinctively dropped down to assure herself that while bumping uglies, no uglies were exposed. Surely, from their child’s vantage point it simply looked as if she were straddling Jack’s legs, kissing as they often did—
And hunching…
“Zoë,” his voice was firmer. “I said you can ask her in a minute. When Mommy and I are done… talking.”
“Okay.”
Shocked, she locked stares with him after the tot-sized reflection had cleared the glass and the door behind her made a loud click.
“Damn…” Jack breathed the word and it caressed her face. “Shit, that was almost as bad as the time June opened the shower door…”
“Or the hotel room when we thought J.J. was asleep…”
The memories lay between them. A history of togetherness. Of passion and parenthood.
“Yeah. Well, it’s only fair I guess. No special treatment. If we damaged the other two, you know.”
Finally relaxing enough to giggle, she agreed. “Maybe we should start shopping around now. For a therapist who gives family
discounts.”
“Mariss? Is it bad if that awkward interruption didn’t kill it for me?” A slight flex of his hips got the point across.
“I hope not. Else, I win the baddest parent ever award too.” To emphasize her answer, she resumed ‘hunching.’
“We’ve probably got one minute before June shows up.”
“Stop talking about it and—oh yes! Mmh!” She came undone as his fingers moved, simultaneously ringing that doorbell of nerves from the outside as he slammed into it from the inside.
Her body went limp, her chin dropping to his shoulder as a primal groan tore from his throat.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Daddy? Momma? May I come in?” Their middle child spoke through the door panels, using the perfect grammar she always did when she was about to ask for something important to her. Like cinnamon oatmeal.
“No!” The word was a shriek from Marissa and a bark from Jack.
After dumping her from his lap, he kept his hands on her until she was steady. Then he beat it to the door where he leveraged a bare foot against it while tucking things away and adjusting the pajama bottoms.
Marissa tied her robe together and re-ponytailed her hair. He dropped a kiss to her lips as she crossed to the door. Taking a deep breath, they opened it to find June patiently waiting.
“What’s so important this morning, June Bug?” Jack walked, and their daughter fell into step beside him. Marissa followed behind, soaking up the paternal sight as she often did.
“Zoë said we’re having cinnamon oatmeal. But I want waffles. With blueberry syrup.”
“I bet we can work that out?” He sent a confirming look over his shoulder and Marissa smiled. “We can work that out.”
“Yay!” June hopped. Right before the hallway connected to the den, she slowed. “What exactly is hunching? Zoë said it.”
Chapter 36
Dragons
SENDER: Tristan1822
SUBJECT Hi
Mom and Dad, I really am sorry. I guess I’m old enough that unconditional forgiveness no longer applies.
Draft Status Unsent
The sensation is odd. I’ve woken to a lot of things in my life. Dogs licking my ear. Little sisters playing Barbies on my back. And new wakeup sensations have been added to the list since sleeping in Sash’s bed. But this is unusual to say the least.
A glide of wetness, too cold to be a tongue, streaks across my lower back, again and again with seemingly more precision.
At last, my eyes pop open, and I whiff in the comforting scent of raspberry vanilla. As my muscles flex in preparation to roll over, I feel the palm of a hand between my shoulder blades, staying me.
“Don’t move…” Sash protests.
More swishing, back and forth, up and down, in one contained area still on my lower back, sometimes dipping well below the waistline.
I relax, finding the sensation oddly soothing.
“What’re you doing?”
She doesn’t reply, and suddenly I realize what I’m feeling.
“Are you drawing on me?”
No answer.
I continue to obey. Lying still. Content to let Sash have her way with me—even when she’s apparently perma-marking my back and butt!
“I’m really glad Slade and Mark took the news so well.”
“Yeah. They’re cool guys. You’re lucky to have them. I mean, so many bands fight so much when it comes down to this stuff.”
Sash and I returned from L.A. the previous morning more than a little apprehensive about telling the other half of Splynter that they really weren’t an equal half in the eyes of the label. It was now up to Sash and me to see a lawyer and cut a deal with Sladen and Mark that would keep them on.
“Yeah,” she agrees with a swish here and a swish there. “You okay with everything, Trey-be?” It’s my turn to remain quiet as I contemplate what she’s asking and what I will divulge. “You’ve been quiet since L.A.”
The marker stops as she awaits my reply, and with that simple motion, I realize it isn’t an idle question. She genuinely cares about the answer.
“My dad. That’s who I called at the hotel when Emma showed up.”
“You mean Emily.”
“Yeah. Emily Dodge.” The smothering softness of the pillow holds the warmth of my breath, but I don’t turn my head. For a second, that twist of the tongue causes a tide of déjà vu. “Anyway, he knows a lot about this stuff. Music contracts. Everything.”
I steel myself for her next logical question. My dad’s occupation. The reason he would know these things. But Sash always surprises me. Her drawing recommences, and she wonders on a compassionate whisper, “Did he ever call back?”
A lump in my throat threatens to choke me.
Why isn’t my dad returning my call? Is he that furious with me?
I’ve been tempted a few times to call Mom, but if Dad’s mad then I know she’s madder.
“No.” I concentrate on the strokes of the marker, because I’m dangerously close to crying. “I mean, I knew they would be pissed at first. But I thought when they calmed down they’d understand why I left.”
I realize I’m basically admitting to Sash that I’ve run away, and that I’ve had no real contact with my family since. I’m so close to telling her everything.
At that moment, she rocks back and slides down until she’s face to face with me. Her finger traces my bottom lip, and her eyes are soft with sympathy. “You should call him again. In a few days. After you feel better.”
When I’m not about to break down, she means.
She’s looking into my soul, seeing things that sometimes I don’t even see inside me. And it feels comforting. As if she’s infusing strength into me.
I touch my lips to hers and give myself over to the kiss, over to everything that is Sash. My elbows land on the markers as I roll enough to prop over her, and I pause. “You didn’t write rude stuff on me… Did you?”
“Look!” She pushes at my chest, grinning with excitement.
Lifting to my knees, I twist to my reflection in the dresser mirror across from the bed.
Rising up from my waist, with its wings spread wide is a black dragon. Not solid black, but textured with vertical and horizontal lines across the wings and down the body. Flames shoot from its mouth and nostrils in an array of color—mostly reds and yellows, but with green, blue, and purple streaked in.
“Damn…” My curse is reverent, an awestruck testament to her talent.
“Like?”
“Hell, yeah.” I continue to twist, backing up to try and see it even more clearly. “I’m going to call Sladen. See if he’ll ink it.”
It’s hard to take my eyes from the work of art, but I do so long enough to obtain my phone from the nightstand.
“Right now?” She sounds surprised.
“Right now.” I nod overcome with excitement. My mind has never been made up this quickly over anything, especially something so permanent.
I’ve always wanted a tattoo. Not just for the sake of getting one, but one that means something profound. And until now, I’ve never found something this meaningful.
For one, Sash drew it.
Two, it’s the dragon analogy she’d hit me with on one of my first nights here. What are your dragons Trey? Everyone has dragons.
Three, spewing from the dragon’s mouth onto its unseen foes are colors—and I realize I want music notes shadowed into the shades. Synesthesia
Music is my cure to any dragons in my life.
“Right now?” She repeats, and the challenge in her tone causes my thumb to pause on my phone screen.
Lifting up, she shrugs her tee shirt off, and her breasts spring free. The peaks are responsive to just my gaze—or maybe it’s the slight chill of the room. Whatever. I can already taste them as I toss my phone aside.
“Well, not now, now. Obviously, I meant now, as in a little later…”
She giggles when my lips touch her skin, and then groans when I take a tast
e with my tongue. I want to taste her all over, and so I do while she arches and writhes under and over me.
We are one and I pull her down so she is no longer conking her head on the headboard, and gaze into her face.
I see everything I feel for her, shining in her eyes for me—like a reflection of my feelings. Except I know they’re her feelings, and that’s humbling.
Her grip around my waist relaxes, her legs slipping down, and I close my eyes, dropping my head next to hers, enjoying the tingle of her skin to mine. When my strength begins to return, I pick my head up, and rest my forehead to hers. It’s a few minutes before her eyes open again, mirroring her soul—and my soul—back to me.
“I love you, Sash. Fuck, I love you so much.”
“I love you more, Trey.”
“Don’t even start that shit. It’s not possible.”
Her limbs tighten around me again, and I roll to the side, holding the embrace for a bit longer. Is it stupid to fall so fast?
Chapter 37
Sheer attack
“Marissa!” The phone trembled in his hand as he jabbed at it again, replaying the message. “Mariss!” He bellowed again, and tears welled in his eyes upon hearing his son’s voice in the voicemail box. “Mariss!” He rounded a corner of the studio adjoining his childhood home just as she stepped into the hall wearing an inquisitive look.
And that’s when it happened.
The pain shot through his chest with such crippling intensity that his knees buckled. The phone hit the tile floor with a crack only a split second before he hit.
Mariss was on him in an instant, his name leaving her lips in a panicked scream.
Chapter 38
Official Scribble
SENDER:
SUBJECT:
Mom and Dad,
Draft Unsent
“I think that’s your best work yet.”
“You would. It’s on your boyfriend.”