"Oh."
A shrug.
"Thanks."
"I didn't like you trying to hide parts of yourself from me." Vaughan stared at the wall. "I'm not like that asshole, picking and choosing which bits of you suit him and expecting you to change the rest. I'm into you, Lydia. All of you."
My heart felt huge. Out of control.
"It worked," I said, voice thick with emotion despite my best efforts.
He turned his head toward me.
"I'm standing here naked, not covering anything. That's not usually me." I shrugged, nervously laughing. Somehow having my pale wobbly ass and bumps and bulges on display hadn't sent me running for cover. Yet. A miracle, really. The earlier tug-of-war with the sheet had been more about fun than anything else. "I don't know ... I guess I trust you. I mean, I must."
Nothing.
Not a goddamn thing.
Ouch. When would I learn? Baring your soul sucked. I looked at the floor, the wall, at everything but him. It didn't even make any sense; I mean, so he'd told me a silly story. So he'd been kind, understanding. He was always being kind and understanding. This was nothing new. That he'd then screwed me senseless, giving me the best sex of my life thus far, meant we'd had a great night. But not some life-altering, perception-changing, stars-aligning experience. I just happened to be going through a growth period and he just happened to be a part of it.
That's all.
When would I learn? Just because my vagina was having fun didn't mean my heart had to get all clingy.
"Babe," he said. "Look at me."
Reluctantly, I did.
"Thank you."
I nodded.
"I've said it before, but ... I'm glad you're here."
"Me too." The smile on my face felt foreign, wrong. Time for a reality check. Things that shouldn't really mean anything were beginning to feel big and important, and that was neither necessary nor good.
Just friends having sex. Nothing more.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"What do you know about book work?"
I untied my apron, throwing it into the laundry hamper. "Inputting accounting data into a computer, you mean?"
"Yes."
"A little. I can type. I'm familiar with the basic programs."
We were out back in the small cluttered office, the lunch rush having finally eased. My fellow waiter, Masa, a young Japanese dude studying at the local tech college, had indeed been a delight. Working with him was fun. The Dive Bar might be a little light on staff right now, but those that were here were solid. Even Eric proved to be more than competent, keeping up with our drink orders while carrying on a conversation with a couple hanging at the bar.
"Why are you asking me this?" I inquired, schlepping myself over to the only spare chair in the room. "God my feet hurt. You're good with knives, chop them off for me. I don't want them anymore."
"Stop being a whiny little princess."
"Seriously, they ache. If I keep doing this, I'm going to have to invest in better-soled shoes."
Nell's head shot up. "You're thinking of staying?"
"What? No." My stupid mouth opened, closed. "No, of course not. I don't know where that came from. I already have a career, I'm a real estate agent."
"No, you're not. You got fired."
"Thanks," I replied drily. "Actually, I need to read over the settlement from the Delaneys tonight. Get that sorted out."
"So you'll be receiving a payout?" She set her elbows on the table and clasped her fingers together, watching me with bright beady little eyes. "How much, do you think?"
"Hopefully enough to buy me a decent used car and help me resettle somewhere else." I crossed my legs, getting comfortable. "I honestly don't know what it will be. I'm a little afraid to look. My savings are not immense."
"You have a job here, a place to stay."
"Nell, these are just emergency measures. You'll find a new waiter and Vaughan will be gone soon, the house sold."
She flinched.
Regret flooded me. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It's the truth." Her shiny red hair had been pulled back into a bun. It still seemed too bright against the pale of her cheeks, the shadows under her eyes. It was concerning.
"You're still looking a little off. Do you think you might have caught whatever bug Rosie's family has going around?"
"Maybe." She scrunched up her face. "I'm just so damn tired lately. Everything's getting to me."
"You've been dealing with a lot."
"Mm. Eric's apologized and is carrying his weight again, but Pat still won't step foot in the place. I don't see that changing anytime this century."
All I could do was frown on her behalf. Men sucked so bad sometimes.
"I just wish I had the money to buy him out," she said, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. "My share of the tattoo shop doesn't account for half of what I'd need. Going all out setting up this place is biting me on the ass."
"If you hadn't you wouldn't have the booming growing business you've got. The investment was sound."
"Yeah. Just a shame my marriage wasn't." Her eyes were glossy with tears. "I'm so proud of this place, Lydia. I can't lose it."
It was a hard situation. False promises wouldn't help, so I kept my mouth shut.
A heavy sigh. "At any rate, how would you like some more work? We had a great bookkeeper, but she retired last Christmas. I was hoping between all of us we'd be able to keep on top of this, but it's not happening. Joe's got the computer and program all set up, ready to go. What do you say?"
I pinned my lips shut, considering the consequences. More money. Less time with Vaughan. A very sad thought indeed.
"It'd probably only take you a day or so to get us up to date," Nell wheedled, flopping back in the seat. "And you'd be sitting down the entire time. I guarantee it won't hurt your feet at all. Please, Lydia?"
"You already used 'please' on me today."
"Pretty please?" The face she made was truly pathetic. Some sort of cross between a hound dog and a depressed redheaded sloth. It wasn't pretty. "I'm willing to beg. Kissing your smelly feet I draw the line at, but begging could definitely happen."
"God. Fine," I said, slowly rising. "But you start looking for a new bookkeeper."
"Absolutely."
"And a new waiter."
"Yep."
"I mean it, Nell." I waved a pointy finger at her.
"I know you do." She smiled beatifically.
I didn't trust that smile one bit. "I have to go meet Vaughan."
"Speaking of which." She delicately scrunched up her nose, eyes alight with mischief. "Can you please use more concealer on the hickeys next time? Either that, or ask my bro to stop using you as his chew toy. You're bringing down the class of the place with your kinky sex play. It's not okay. We're a serious, well-respected establishment."
"Oh, yeah," I said sarcastically. "Playing punk music all day definitely reinforces that image."
"It was Boyd's turn to pick the music. He says he chooses punk to soothe the ghost of Andre Senior."
"Do you really think the place is haunted?" I asked, curious. No ghost had ever crossed my path, but you never did know. There was a lot in this world I could neither explain nor label.
Nell just shrugged. "Might be. The old man was definitely married to the place. He hardly ever went home, ask Andre Junior about it. His mom was a model, always traveling for work. Eventually she met someone else and settled in New York. Andre traveled back and forth a bit, but he basically raised himself."
"Tough childhood."
"Yeah. Andre Senior loved this place so much it didn't leave much room for anything else."
"Some people shouldn't have kids," I said, sounding more than a touch bitter. Memories poisoned my present, the same as they ever did. "Self-absorbed assholes, it's ridiculous."
"Yes."
"It's not like you have to. There's no legal requirement to reproduce. But people with no real intention of actually bothering to be
a parent keep doing it just the same."
No response apart from a sad smile.
"Anyway." Ugh. The lid on my emotional shit needed fixing, pronto. "I better go."
"Thanks for coming in again, Lydia. You saved our asses."
"Sure." I pasted a smile on my face and made for the exit.
"And thanks for listening to me whine."
I stopped, then retraced my steps, sticking my head back into the room. "Ditto, Nell."
The smile she gave me made a lot worthwhile. It was nice having a friend.
*
Outside, the afternoon sun beat down, baking the top of my head. An occasional car swept past and a few shoppers lingered. Mostly, however, it was quiet. As if the whole area had fallen into an afternoon lull. Siesta time. I shook off the lingering remnants of my bad-parenting rant. Seeing Vaughan would work wonders. I swear my body started tingling at just the thought.
A sign sat out on the hot sidewalk advertising how Inkaho would be open until eight. Distantly I could hear the buzz of the tattoo needle doing its thing. I hadn't seen Pat since the night of the great fight and I certainly didn't stop and wave through the front window. God knows what I'd say to the man.
While the Dive Bar shone like new and Pat's tattoo parlor appeared to be well maintained, the Guitar Den was of a simpler style. I stepped inside, grateful for the chill of the air-conditioning. Gray industrial carpeting that was worn down to next to nothing covered the floor, beneath a large battered metal and glass shop counter. Amplifiers were all over the place, a drum kit sat set up in the back, and the walls were covered by every kind of guitar--the bulk of which I knew nothing about.
A portrait of Bill Murray hung behind the counter. An interesting choice of patron saint.
From deeper within the shop came voices, the sound of music. I followed it into an open area hidden behind a wall of amps. It was a secret garden made for six strings. Sort of.
"Hi," said Andre, leaning against the end of a ceiling-high rack of guitars. How the man managed to look dapper in a bright red vintage Hawaiian shirt I had no idea.
Some people are simply born cool. I wasn't even remotely one of them.
"Hi, Andre."
"Check this out." He jerked his chin in the same direction the music was coming from.
Vaughan sat on a low stool, playing an acoustic guitar, while three kids of varying ages stood watching. Their faces were rapt. I completely understood why. Vaughan with a guitar in his hands would enthrall anyone.
He was magic.
The precision of his fingers and the dance of muscles in his arms. Jaw set and eyes distant, he wove the music out of thin air, filling the shop with its beauty. It wasn't anything fancy, full of finger picking and over-the-top showmanship. Just a simple old soft rock song. By Dylan, I think, though I'd heard it covered a million times. The care Vaughan gave it, however, the heart, made it special.
"C to G," said one of the kids, who looked like she was in her early teens.
"That's right." Vaughan smiled as he kept on playing.
"Then D," added another, pointing at the bottom strings.
"Yep. You got it."
The third remained silent, staring at his fingers.
"He's good with them," I said quietly to Andre.
"No, he's fucking great with them," he whispered back. "This has been going on for over an hour now."
"Really?" I stared at the group in awe.
Andre slipped his hand in mine, drawing me back so we wouldn't disturb them with our conversation. He led me over to the counter, giving my fingers a squeeze before letting go.
"The kids belong to the owner of the hair salon across the road," he said. "She's been over twice to check on them, wants to sign all three up for lessons with him. Already bought a half-size guitar for them to use."
"Don't you do lessons?"
His smile slipped a little. "Honestly, I'm not that great with children. Older teens, adults? Fine. But kids under sixteen generally have a two-second attention span. Annoys the living crap out of me. Plus they never practice."
I laughed. "Did you tell her Vaughan was only visiting?"
"Yeah. She said I need to talk him into staying."
In a swarm of noise and movement, the kids ran past us and out the door.
"Don't run!" Andre swiftly followed them, swearing under his breath. "Use the crosswalk! Hey, are you listening to me?"
A hot rush of summer air blew in then the shop door swung shut again, the bell above the door jangling. Andre's voice faded into the distance, still shouting orders at the kids as he escorted them across the street. Out of a shop across the way came a woman with bright blue hair. All three children basically fell on her, their excitement obvious even from a distance. She hugged them back with exuberance. Nice to see someone engaging with their kids, being affectionate.
An arm slipped around my shoulders, a familiar body stood at my side. Worn jeans, a pair of battered green Converse, and a tee. (Today's was the Clash. He would have enjoyed Boyd's punk music.) It was Vaughan's usual wardrobe, and damn, he wore it well. Ray-Bans sat on top of his head, holding his beautiful hair back out of his face.
Even fully dressed, the man made my mouth water. What he did to me undressed was best not mentioned in polite company.
"How was the bar?"
"Fine," I said, reaching up for a quick kiss. Being able to do such a thing? Best. Feeling. Ever. "Rosie had accidentally overbooked but I moved some tables around, asked a couple of people if they didn't mind sitting at the bar. All fixed."
"No one gave you any shit?"
"Nope. Just don't ask me where those bloody body parts in the Dumpster out back came from."
"Got it." He stole another quick kiss.
"I hear you've started giving guitar lessons."
He huffed out a laugh. "Unintentionally. It was actually kind of fun."
"I saw. You had them in the palm of your hand."
"Yeah?" Getting closer, he rubbed the tip of his nose against mine. The man was a perfect mix of hot and sweet. "I think I'd rather have you in the palm of my hand."
My mouth opened but nothing came out. Tongue-tied. Brain dead. Cock struck. He made me all of those things and more. Standing so close, looking at me like he was, the man rendered me next to useless.
"What do you think, Lydia?"
"I can't."
A frown. "You can't what?"
"Think."
His smile was pure carnal pleasure.
The doorbell jangled again and Andre entered, all smiles. "Those kids are your new biggest fans. You should have heard them going on about you."
Vaughan moved back a step. Thank god. I got the feeling mounting him on the shop counter in the Guitar Den might be a no-no. Public place, children had recently been present, et cetera.
"They're great kids," said Vaughan.
"No," corrected Andre. "You're a great teacher."
With a laugh, Vaughan moved his hand to the back of my neck and started rubbing. Sore muscles eased. Even my feet stopped hurting, mostly. I leaned into his touch, urging him on. Any and all contact with the man made things better.
"I'm serious," said Andre. "You've got a gift, Vaughan."
"No. Just a little more patience with children than you do."
Andre cut the air with his hand, suddenly serious. "Bullshit."
"Man--"
"I didn't need it, so I pretty much let the teaching side of the business slide. But it wouldn't take much for you to build it up again," said Andre, hand outstretched and expression earnest. "Soundproof room's out back, it's all there. Move back here and teach guitar. You can make decent money doing something you like."
"Come on."
"Don't tell me you weren't enjoying sharing the music with those kids. I saw your face."
The fingers fell from my neck and Vaughan turned away. "It was fun, sure. But it's not what I do."
"It could be."
"No." Vaughan shook his head. "Listen, I call
ed Conn earlier. You're not going to believe this, but Henning Peters wants to work with us. Isn't that fucking amazing?"
"Impressive."
"Right? Apparently he saw us play last year and liked what he heard. Thinks we could write some good stuff together," said Vaughan. "And get this, he's got record companies already lined up wanting to hear his next project."
"Is that what you want, to be someone's project?"
"Hell yes. Henning's on the verge of going big and we'll be right there with him. Come on, Andre. This is an amazing opportunity, you know it." Vaughan's grin was big, huge. "All I have to do is survive financially until we've got enough songs ready then we are going to make a shitload of money."
"That's what it's about now, the money?"
"It was always about the money."
"No, it wasn't," argued Andre "When you left here, you wanted to share your music. You wanted to play guitar, write songs and get them out there, perform live. That's what drove you."
I hung back, keeping quiet. Awkward. It seemed being caught in difficult situations was my lot these days. I only wish I knew how to help. Other than keeping my mouth shut and staying out of it, of course.
"Christ," breathed Vaughan, laughing softly. "Ease up, Andre. I'm still doing what I love."
"Then why are you so fucking unhappy?"
Vaughan's face was blank, empty.
"I've known you almost all your life. You put on a good show, but you're not fooling everybody."
"We've been going through some shit, that's all."
Face lined with frustration, Andre shook his head. "I'm not talking about we, about the band. I'm talking about you."
Nothing.
"Heading back out to the coast is not the only option you--"
"Are you insane?" Vaughan took a deep breath, visibly searching for calm. "This is the biggest opportunity of my life. I'm not stopping now."
"You played to crowds of thousands, got albums out there, songs on the charts. Sure as hell, you got further than I ever did," said Andre with a self-deprecating smile. "If your parents were alive, they'd be ecstatic."
"It's not enough."
"When something is no longer working, changing your plans is not giving up. It's not failure."
"Maybe not for you. But for me, it would be. Especially with Henning now in the cards. I'm not staying here, I've moved on."
For a moment Andre said nothing and the silence stung. But his next words, and the tone of his voice, was far worse. "Yeah, Vaughan, you moved on, and you left a hell of a lot of people behind."
Everything stopped as if someone had pressed "pause."