"Works for me," said Ben.
"Cool. Where you thinking?"
"Hey." I snapped my fingers in Jimmy's direction. Rude but highly effective. "Stop it. I do not need you fixing me up with people."
"It's my pleasure, don't worry about it." He turned back to Ben.
"Jimmy," I growled, warningly.
People looked back and forth between us, faces rapt. So much for a nice Thanksgiving, this was fast degenerating into a war.
"We doing this or not, Lena? You said you'd try. You going back on that now?"
Oh, the guilt. He was such a manipulative piece of shit.
"You're embarrassing me," I said quietly.
He leaned in and lowered his voice. "No, look again. These people are your friends. No one's judging you or thinking badly of you."
"I'm judging her," called out Mal. "Ouch, don't hit me, pumpkin. I'm just being honest. She shouldn't want to leave us--we're the best."
"Lena," said Ben, his dark eyes warm. "It's okay, really. I would love to take you out. What do you say?"
Jimmy watched me patiently (along with everyone else). There didn't seem to be any malice in him, just the usual will to get his way. I had agreed to this four-step plan, it was true. But as far as I could recall, being turned into the night's entertainment hadn't even once been mentioned. If I had to date, though, Ben Nicholson was a damn fine choice. Attractive, could carry a conversation, rich as the Queen of England. The man ticked a lot of boxes and apparently, he did want to go out with me.
Always a plus.
At worst, it would be a pleasant night out with a friend. At best, my feelings would somehow magically detach themselves from Jimmy and turn to someone who (shock horror) just might actually want them. A win all around.
"Maybe it is time I started dating again," I said, shoulders back and boobs out. No point in being half-hearted about it. Go big or go home and all that. "But I can organize this myself." I turned to the bass player. "Ben, how would you feel about going to dinner with me sometime?"
"Love to," he said with a grin.
"Great. Okay, then." That wasn't so hard.
"Right." Jimmy continued, his arrogant air dimmed somewhat. He scrunched up his napkin and threw it onto the table. "Where you taking her, Ben?"
Mouth open, the bass player gave it some thought. "Ah, how about the sport's bar? Allen's?"
"She doesn't like sports and don't be cheap. This is Lena, you gotta take her somewhere good. Relaxed, but good. Mood's important."
Sweet baby Jesus. I sank lower in my seat. "Thank you for your concern, Jimmy. But Ben and I can discuss this later. In private."
"It's all right. Let me think." Ben scratched at his short beard. "How about the Japanese place we go to sometimes?"
"No," said Jimmy. "Not quite right."
"Well, where would you suggest?" asked Ben, amusement lighting his eyes.
"Why don't I book you a table at a place I know downtown?"
"Done," said Ben. "Thanks, Jim. Lena, I'm looking forward to our date on Saturday. Pick you up at eight."
"Right." My smile wouldn't quite stick.
Lizzy likewise gave me a strained look. I knew the feeling. Turkey and cranberry sauce currently sat like lead in my belly.
"You're looking forward to it, too. Aren't you, Lena?" Jimmy's smile seemed to waver slightly. Though it could have been my imagination.
My own felt oddly like it'd been pasted on. "Yeah. Absolutely."
*
"Catch."
A desert spoon was tossed into into my lap. "Will you stop throwing things at me? It's bad enough you feel the need to start the day that way."
Thanksgiving itself had been quiet, just the two of us hanging out around the house. I'd phoned mom and dad in the morning and had a nice long chat with them. Then Jimmy and I had gone to an AA meeting. Or rather Jimmy had. I'd sat outside in the hallway, sipping a hot cup of coffee. He'd come out calm and in an okay mood, always a good thing.
"You're a heavy sleeper. Got to wake you up somehow," said Jimmy. "You did a little better with the jogging this morning, by the way."
"Thank you," I grumbled, somewhat mollified. Praise from him didn't happen often. Though he'd said I was pretty the other day so perhaps it was on the rise.
"Yeah, you only hyperventilated twice. It's an improvement."
Or not. "Great. I appreciate the feedback."
"Move over, you're hogging the couch." He threw himself onto the sofa, crowding me. A bucket of ice cream and another spoon were in his hands.
"What are we doing?"
"Think of it as more aversion therapy. Here." He handed over the goodies. Half-baked chocolate chip cookie dough in French vanilla ice cream. Oh, hell yes. My mouth started watering.
"Yum. I don't see me loathing you anytime soon if you keep giving me ice cream."
He flicked on the TV. Birds flew over water and arty shots of sunlight and a long winding river appeared on screen. It was as familiar as it was unexpected.
"We're watching The Notebook?" I asked around a mouthful of heaven. "Really?"
"Talking about my flaws the other morning didn't go so well. Figured we'd try again." He settled back in the seat. "Article said you should spend time with your girls, watch sappy movies and eat ice cream, bitch about me, and shit. But I know my flaws better than anyone anyway. So, here we are."
He paused. "Would you rather I got some of the girls over to hang with you?"
"No, this is fine." I swallowed down some more dairy-and-dough heaven. Truth was, we'd been hanging out in front of the TV of a nighttime for a while now. It was comfortable. Plus, it seemed a bit disingenuous and or pathetic to suddenly start accepting Ev's offer of a night out now Jimmy had announced my lack of a life to all and sundry. "You said you didn't play an instrument but I thought I heard a guitar earlier."
"Said I didn't play as well as the others. Not that I don't play."
"Do you write songs?" I asked.
"For the band? No. Davie does all the lyrics."
"For you?"
"Yes, Lena." His laughter was brittle. He tapped my spoon out of the way and dug in again. "I write myself love songs saying how hot I am. I'm that much of a narcissist."
I cocked my head, studying him. Well, I never. "It upset you. My saying that."
He scoffed. "I could give a fuck."
For a long moment, he stared at the TV and I stared at him. Things got to Jimmy, of course they did. I just didn't think my opinion of him was one of those things. It took a while for my mind to absorb the fact that he actually cared about something I'd said. There was intellectually knowing he had more emotions than a brick and then there was seeing them up close and personal. Until Lori's funeral, it simply didn't happen. Jimmy had been like Superman, bullets bounced off him so mere emotions never stood a chance. But these days ...
I needed to be more careful. He wasn't as tough as he seemed.
"I'm sorry," I said.
He gave me a weird look. "About what?"
"Saying you're a narcissist."
"I repeat, I could give a fuck," he ever-so-clearly enunciated the words. "Straight out told you I was vain, didn't I?"
Right, he had no deeper emotions, my mistake. The man was so repressed he made my teeth ache. Though when you thought about it, it made definite sense. Not only had his mother done a job on him, but he'd been hiding his drinking and drug taking since the age of fourteen or fifteen. A secretive reclusive nature must stem naturally from that sort of situation. I didn't need to look up stuff on Google to figure that one out.
"I looked up what narcissist means," he said, nearly reading my mind. "And I don't think I'm in any danger of spending days mooning over myself in the mirror. I think you seeing nothing but flaws every time you look in one is more of an issue. Maybe me being a bit conceited isn't such a bad thing."
"I don't see anything but flaws."
"But you're not happy. That makes no sense to me."
I frowned.
>
The movie went on. Nothing was said.
I passed him the tub of ice cream before I ate the entire damn thing. "Though I'm not convinced you are a narcissist after all. I think I was way off about that."
He gave me a questioning look.
"I thought about what you said, about how your looks are like a tool to you. And I think your appearance is just an area of your life where you're used to exercising extreme control."
The man just shook his head. "Lena, no more pop psychology, okay? It's for your own good."
He might have a point there. It wasn't my strong suit. "All right then, let's change subjects. Tell me about the songs you write."
"Didn't say I wrote any."
"You didn't say you didn't, either."
"I'm just the singer, Lena. That's all."
"You play guitar. I heard you downstairs earlier."
"Christ, you're annoying." He dug around, excavating another chunk of chocolate chip goodness. "I've been teaching myself how to play, all right? No more. I don't want to talk about it."
"Does David know?"
"No." His eyes flashed. "And you're not telling him either."
"You have my word."
My immediate agreement seemed to soothe him. He pressed back into the couch, exhaled hard. A muscle in his jaw moved repeatedly like he was grinding his teeth. "We're supposed to be bitching about me or something."
I groaned. "Can't we just hang out instead? All of this constant jogging and deprogramming is tiring. You're not half as interesting to talk about as you think you are."
He gave me one of his not-quite-a-smile smiles. "Works for me."
I grabbed the ice cream back from him. So sue me. It was good.
"Do we really have to watch this?" His nose wrinkled with apparent disdain. It was cute.
"It was your bright idea." I smiled. "What other movies did you get?"
"Titanic, Thelma and Louise, and Silver Linings Playbook."
"Interesting mix. Put Thelma and Louise on, I think you'll like it better. It's got a happy, uplifting ending."
"Done." He fussed with the remote and Brad Pitt's sexy voice came on the giant screen. Such a great film. But Brad Pitt really was a superb specimen of manhood.
"Can you put it back to the beginning please, King of the Remote? This is about halfway through."
He did so.
"Blondes have more fun, everyone knows that," I said. "You ever thought of bleaching your hair?"
He gave me a snotty look.
"Maybe I should go blonde instead," I said.
"No, don't," he said shortly, face creased with concern. "I mean, you're fine as you are. I've been telling you that for days." He stole back the tub and hoed in. "You don't listen."
Huh.
"I guess I thought you were just being kind." Melted ice cream dripped off my spoon, onto my jeans. I scraped it up with a finger, licking it clean. This was why I couldn't have nice things.
I looked up to find Jimmy staring at my mouth. His own lips were slightly parted, his eyes hazy. I froze.
No way.
He wasn't having those sort of thoughts about me. Impossible, and yet the evidence in front of me told a distinctly different tale. A knot twisted and tightened deep in my belly, a thrilling sort of rush pouring through my veins. Just that easily, he'd flicked the switch, turning me on. I don't think he even realized what he was doing.
"Jimmy?"
His gaze jumped from my mouth to my eyes and the frown descended. "I'm not kind. And I don't say stuff I don't mean. Stop fishing for compliments if you're not going to believe them. It's a waste of my time."
A curiously snappy response, even for him.
"Thank you," I said. "That's really very sweet of you ... in a strange way."
He watched the movie, giving me no response whatsoever.
"You know, if I do end up leaving," I said. "We can still hang out sometimes, do stuff together. I wouldn't just disappear on you."
He threw his spoon onto the coffee table where it landed with a violent clank.
"Jimmy?" I'd meant the words as a comfort. Clearly, they hadn't been received that way.
"To answer your question, I've been on the cover of probably hundreds of magazines. I don't know. Got a stack of platinum records and a current net worth of about sixty-two million," he said, voice flat and unfriendly. "Messed up some product endorsements and part of a tour with the drug use or it'd be more. I own this house and another in LA. That's where I keep my collection of cars. I also got a few paintings I took a liking to."
"Impressive. I have about four-grand in the bank in savings. My watch is a swatch. Probably not really worth anything." I dragged the sleeve of my sweater down over the poor unimpressive thing lest it get performance anxiety. "Why are you telling me all this?"
"Because, last time I OD'ed, Dave made it clear. Get clean or I'm out. Out of the band, out of his life. He'd had enough, they all had." He stretched out his arms along the back of the sofa, fingers kneading at the leather. It might look the pose of a man relaxed, but the reality was worlds away.
I'd gathered this from what had been said in Coeur d'Alene, but still, it was hard to hear. Those guys were his whole world, they meant everything to him. I couldn't imagine how he must have felt. No matter what he'd done, and I know he'd done a lot, I accepted that. It didn't change the facts. His mother had hurt him and left him, his father had failed him, his brother and best friends had threatened to throw him out of the band. And now I'd been talking about leaving. Whatever our relationship, for several months now I'd been a staple part of his life, one he apparently liked in his own way.
My wanting to leave was bound to get a reaction.
"So I got clean," he said. "Cut ties with everyone in LA., anyone who had anything to do with before. I came up here and started over. They've all been real supportive, my brother, the band. And I understand why they'd be willing to turn their backs on me, I do. Can't say I don't get resentful now and then, but I'm the one that pushed them to it."
"Jimmy--"
"Just listen." His cold hard eyes never left my face. "You leave, I'm not going to fall apart and start using again. Know that. I'm not trying to blackmail you here, I'm just making something clear. The guys probably were right last night about you being my only friend apart from them. We don't always get along, but still, you feel like a friend."
Both of his hands moved from bullying the back of the couch to holding back his hair. He gave the dark strands a sharp tug. "You're a friend I just happen to pay to hang around, which is incredibly fucking pathetic and messed up, but there you have it."
"I can still be your friend. I would like to still be your friend."
Another sharp tug. "It won't be the same."
My mouth opened but I didn't know what to say. He was right, it wouldn't be the same. No more seeing him and talking to him every day, hanging out with him nearly every night. This part of my life, the time spent with him, would become a memory. The sadness inside me felt huge, overwhelming. I couldn't possibly contain it. Much more of this and I'd explode, decorating his pristine minimalist living room in messy emotional Lena.
Man, he'd be pissed.
My stupid tongue lay still for the longest time. "I don't know what to say."
"Did I ask for your opinion?" he snapped. "No."
"Hey," I growled warningly. "Watch it."
He turned his face away, his jaw shifting restlessly.
Stuff happened on screen, none of it mattered.
"Lena, the point I'm trying to make is, the list is important. And it won't work if you're not committed to making it work. So don't talk to me about us still being friends if you go, okay? Just ... commit."
I took a deep breath, studying his fierce features. Everything in life was so damn complicated, so confusing when it came to the heart. I don't know when that happened exactly, probably sometime during the early teenage years when boys overtook my interest in ponies and glitter.
&nbs
p; Resented the hell out of it some days.
"Fine, I'm committed," I said, the only answer I could give.
"Fine." He relaxed back, crossing his arms over his chest, satisfied apparently. But I already knew, the list wasn't working.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Is that what you're wearing?" Jimmy leaned against the bottom of the balustrade watching me descend. He wore a black suit and white shirt, very classy, very expensive. I bet it cost more than I made in a month. The man was such a show pony, one that I just so happened to be hormonally susceptible to. Blame it all on my girl bits, sure why not?
"Yes, this is what I'm wearing," I said. "Why?"
"No reason."
First chance I had, I was writing to Santa and asking for the ability to read people's minds this Christmas. Or just one mind--Jimmy's. Though I doubt I'd like what I found in there. "What's wrong with this?"
He took in my frilly navy-and-white polka-dotted blouse, black leggings, and boots. "Nothing. Just ... interesting choice."
"I like this choice."
"Sure, it's real nice. Just thought you might dress up more."
"We're only going out to dinner downtown. It's meant to be relaxed." I straightened my glasses. Black rims this time, fuck him, I'd even accessorized right. Plus, I'd painstakingly applied my make-up and straightened my brown hair. Long and thick, it was my one true pride and joy. But Jimmy seemed utterly unimpressed, Little wonder I had trouble believing his scant compliments when the very next day he looked down his nose at me.
"And you look relaxed." His car keys swung from a finger.
"Oh, shut up. Where are you off to?" I asked. "Thought you said you were staying in tonight."
"I'm driving you," he said. "Told Benny we'd meet him at the restaurant."
"What? Why?"
"No need for him to pick you up when I'm heading that way." He took my red coat, holding it open for me to slip into. Typical of the dichotomy in his behavior. He boggled my mind, insulting me one minute, then behaving the perfect yesteryear gentleman the next.
"Thanks," I said. "You're going to David and Ev's?"
"Mhmm."
"Well, that's good you'll have some company."
He nodded and led the way downstairs to the garage. The new, nearly finished, studio sat at the front of the building, the big open middle area cluttered with exercise gear and musical instruments. At the back lay the garage with Jimmy's two cars. The chrome on the black 1971 Plymouth Barracuda gleamed in the low light. I'd always wanted to steal the keys from Jimmy and go for a spin. But as always, he headed for the latest model Mercedes. So sensible this time of year.