Bounce (32 page)

Skyler:
Is Beth there?

I snap a quick photo of Beth, who has a goofy, love-struck smile on her face as she watches Titus, and hit Send.

Skyler:
OMG. Ew. What's wrong with her?

Grey:
Lots of action. Island status?

She doesn't answer for a few moments.

Skyler:
Okay. A little rainy. Jetlag is my nemesis.

She's not telling me something. I don't know what it is. I've got a nagging feeling, though. I start to type my reply, when Emilio, Shane, and Rez walk in with a late lunch. Or early dinner. Whatever meal you have at four.

“How's Blue Skies and Fairytales?” Emilio asks as soon as he sees the phone in my hand. For whatever reason, that's what he calls Skyler. He sets down a bag of sandwiches and Shane hands out drinks. Food isn't allowed in the control room but the studio owner is a guy Rez knows, and he's not only giving us dirt-cheap rates, but letting us cut some corners on studio rules. It amazes me how many people are helping us out. One of Shane's buddies who's a graphic designer is doing an overhaul of our band logo for us for free. And before they left, Kaitlin and Bernadette kicked down a bunch of great gear from past jobs they've done. Boots, jackets, jeans. We didn't think we'd use any of it. Everyone thought it was hilarious that we were getting designer movie crap. Poser-ish. But when we were going through it at my place, we kept everything. Even the belts and cuffs, all of it. I gotta admit, we look sharper now. Dialed in. It's like Kaitlin and Bernadette knew what we wanted to look like as a band, and they took us there.

My phone buzzes with another text.

Skyler:
I have to go. Send me a picture of you, too, okay?

“That's adorable, Grey,” says Emilio, who's reading over my shoulder. He snatches the phone out of my hand. “Hey, guys! Skyler wants a picture of our young Grey here.”

“Dude, give me th—” Someone grabs me around the shoulders from behind and suddenly I can't see.

“Pull his shirt off!” Shane yells.

They try, but I stop them. We come to a standstill with my t-shirt halfway off, over my head, and me trapping the arm of whoever has me in an arm lock. I'm swearing and laughing as I struggle, my rolling chair pushing around as I blindly fight four guys. We sort of settle down, and I hear Beth say, “Smile, you guys! Everyone say, ‘Hi, Skyler!' ”

They take the group shot then back away quickly, releasing me, because they all know I'm not above delivering instant payback.

Beth hands me my phone with a fake-mean look. “Don't ever take pictures of me without my consent again, Blackwood,” she jokes.

“Noted.” I leave the control room so I can do some damage control in private. I head outside and hop in my truck, which is my ride again now. No more Mercedes. It's weird that my truck reminds me of Skyler now. It still smells like her. Or maybe I just remember her smell when I'm in it.

I pull up the photo and laugh. My band is piled around me, making faces and obscene gestures. Titus is out of the frame except for his white-blond starter dreadlocks. I'm right in the center. A triangular, red t-shirt shape. I'm basically just a torso. A struggling torso.

Awesome. This is what she's going to see, halfway around the world. I type a quick message.

Grey:
Pretty great, right? They really captured my best side.

Skyler:
Love it.

A pause, then:

Skyler:
I want to be there.

I push the Call button without giving it a thought. It rings once, and she answers.

“Sky, I know you need to go—”

“It's okay. I have a second.” She does? I hear people in the background calling her name. Then it gets quiet, like she's shut a door. “Hi.” I can tell she's smiling.

“Hey.”

We sit on the phone for a few seconds saying nothing. Still, it feels different than the texting we've been doing. More revealing. Like we just took our clothes off or something. Finally, I make myself say what I called to say. “You doing all right?”

“Um . . . ​yeah. I'm just tired. But it looks like you guys are having a blast.”

“We are. We're working hard. But it's been fun.”

“I think I'm just working hard.”

Her voice breaks a little. I knew it. Something isn't right. I want to teleport to the Virgin Islands. “You're almost done, Sky.”

“I know.” Someone else is in the background, talking to her. I recognize the voice. Brooks. “I should go,” she says.

“Okay. See you, Sky.”

“I wish.”

“Me too,” I say, but she's already gone.

I think about our conversation for the rest of the day. I'm still thinking about it when I get back to the apartment at ten, drop onto the couch, and kick my designer grunge boots off. We spent fourteen hours in the studio today. Insane. I loved every second.

Usually, Skyler and I text at night, but I guess not today. Maybe I scared her off with the phone call? Shit. I don't know. What am I even doing? She could be with Brooks right now. I thought being away was going to help me stop thinking about her, but only a few days in and it's gone the other way.

It occurs to me that I have a roundabout way of checking up on Skyler. I send Adam a quick message, asking him how the production is going. If anything major is going on, he'll tell me. Then I drop my head back and close my eyes. Beth is with Titus again and the apartment is quiet. I smile, remembering earlier when I caught them stepping out of the studio bathroom together. Things seem to be going well for them.

I'm tired, but I'm restless. Nowhere close to being ready to sleep yet. Adam's response comes through. The production is going well. They're hustling, because there are some hurricanes developing that might affect the tail end of the shoot, but everything is fine. Garrett's right next to him, he says, and sends his love.

I read his message a few times. It just feels so good to be reconciled with him. Then it hits me, and I know what I have to do. Why I feel restless. I'm not done mending bridges yet.

I send my mom a text.

Grey:
Can I take you to lunch tomorrow? I have a lot to say.

She replies instantly. Like she's been sitting by her phone, staring at it.

Mom:
Yes. I'm free all day.

I tell her I'll meet her at Geoffrey's in Malibu at noon. Five minutes don't go by that I get two more texts, one on top of the other.

Adam:
Good job, little bro.

Dad:
Shit, son! Took you long enough! See you soon, rock star.

I laugh, a little choked up. I guess good news travels fast.

Still not tired, I get up and grab my guitar. I'm still learning. I'm nowhere near where Titus or Sky is on the strings, but I can do all the major chords, some of the minor ones. My fingers are getting faster, surer. My favorite thing is finger picking. I like the classic vibe. For the past few nights I've been messing around trying to figure out one of Skyler's original songs, on the cello. Today at the studio I got Titus and Beth to help me nail down the rest. I butcher it, compared to the way she does it, but I like playing the song she wrote. And that's what I do until sleep finally seems possible.

  
Chapter 36
  

Skyler

I
'm in paradise with my feet burrowed into the warmest, softest sand I've ever felt, looking out at an ocean so clear I can see schools of fish darting everywhere, and I'm currently having my thighs oiled by two women I barely know.

Bernadette and Kaitlin have each taken a leg. While in the process of basting me like a turkey, they discuss my body with a weird dispassion. I feel detached, like my head's a balloon, barely tethered to the rest of me, just hovering there, watching the lacy white surf curl against the sand, while they tune me up, or polish me, or do whatever it is they're doing with the rest of me.

“Okay, she's a little smudgy over here,” Kaitlin says. She's crouched in the sand behind me, and I feel her tap a spot just above the back of my knee. “But they did a pretty good job with the tanner.”

“Yeah, not bad,” Bernadette says. “Feet are a little darker than the rest, but no one will see that.” She moves around in front of me. “Do me a favor, and bend forward.”

I'm already eighty percent out of this bikini top, but I bend so Bernadette can make some adjustments. I straighten and look down at myself. Make that ninety percent. I'd estimate that about one millimeter of hot pink Spandex is keeping my nipple from public display.

Crew walks by, dragging equipment and then brooming over the tracks they've made in the sand. Brooks stands with Mia, who looks over to give me a sympathetic smile every now and then. Her wild curly hair blows everywhere in the breeze stirring off the ocean, and in her white flowing sundress, she looks like a tiny goddess, risen from the sea to capture men's souls with the lens of her camera. I, on the other hand, feel like a hot, sticky blob.

“Okay,” says Kaitlin, tugging down the bottom of my bikini just a bit and then adjusting the strings at my hips. “Just stay exactly like that. Don't move.”

I stand there, feet apart, feeling a little bit unsteady. Probably, I should have had more than a piece of toast and half a grapefruit this morning. Plus, two cups of black coffee that I'm beginning to regret.

The two women step back and consider me.

“It's good,” says Bernadette, but something in her expression says the opposite. I try to stand up straighter, suck in a little.

“No, no, honey, you're fine,” says Kaitlin. “Just be normal. You look great.”

I wish I could see for myself. But then maybe not.

Not for the first time, I wish Grey had come after all. To joke me out of my insecurity, to look at me with that hungry expression that tells me that he, at least, likes what he sees. I smile, remembering our conversation about my diet. “You're gorgeous,” he'd said, and with him, it feels true.

Mostly, I've felt that way about myself my whole life. Maybe not that I'm gorgeous. But that I'm pretty. That I look fine. That, more importantly, my body did the things I wanted it to do—work out, run around, haul my cello. I felt good, and I don't feel good now, but I know I'll get used to this. It's all an adjustment. And I tell myself that a temporary bout of insecurity's a small price to pay to support my family. Support myself. Make everyone happy.

Speaking of which, I ask Bernadette and Kaitlin if I can get my phone, but they both tell me not to move.

“I'll get it for you,” Bernadette tells me. “Just stay put another few minutes. You're doing great.”

She gets my phone for me, and I punch in my mom's number, watching the crew set up light panels and boom mics with long escalating necks. Garrett sits under a huge white awning with some of the other actors, chatting up one of the local crew, and sipping cucumber water with a straw. The crew guy leans in and whispers something. Garrett laughs and slaps the guy's arm, keeping it there long enough to send sex vibes sparking in every direction.

Ladies and gentlemen: my leading man.

The call connects.

“I hear you spoke to your father.”

“Why hello, Mother. How are you?”

“Skyler
.
”

“Mom.”

“I'm fine.” Her sigh sounds like static in my ear. “Are you doing okay?”

“Yes,” I say, though I don't know if I'm telling the truth. Mostly, I'm okay. This place is gorgeous. Everyone's nice. I just don't feel exactly . . . ​right.

“So, I heard you talked to your father,” she says again.

“Yeah. He was playing in LA. Did you know that?”

“I don't follow his schedule anymore. What's the point? Anyway, he called me with his head on fire. Thinks I sicced you on him.”

“Well, you didn't sic me on him.”