Dissonance (18 page)

Eli looked a little somber. “You might have a slight problem.”

“What?”

“I can’t go tomorrow.”

Fuck. “Why not?”

“The salon is having a party for the staff and loyal customers or some shit like that. I completely forgot about it. If I’m not there, Alex will castrate me without a second thought.”

Despite the fact that I had yet to own up to the deep, burning feelings I was harboring for his baby sister, Eli seemed inclined to help me. He promised to get Charlotte out to the show, though his motivation wasn’t entirely clear. I had not heard another warning about staying away from her. Maybe Eli did not understand my ultimate goal, but I doubted that. I considered asking if our friendship would be alright if things developed with Charlotte, but it would be useless if I couldn’t convince her in the first place. Dealing with Eli’s feelings about it would have to come later.

When I finally got home close to midnight, I was irritable to say the least. After a full day of worrying about getting her to come to the show, the guys would not stop giving me crap about my plan for Charlotte. When Tyler made a crack about her pussy being made of gold, I walked out.

As I made my way past Charlotte’s room, I could hear the gentle strains of a guitar. I paused, and then there it was: the voice that I had been dreaming of all week. I was frozen on the spot. Knowing that she wouldn’t let me in and that she would stop if she knew I was listening, I just stood beyond the closed door. There was no chance of me leaving. I had this vague sense that if I tried walking away from the hypnotic sound, it might actually have killed me. Eventually, I just sunk to the ground right there in the hall, my back against the wall, listening. It felt like God was speaking to me through that damn door. My salvation, so close, yet so far away.

In less than 24 hours, I would – hopefully – get through to her at last. I would tell her what I felt in a language that we both understood instinctually. I knew that if she was the person that I thought she was, I would be able to reach her. If not… I tried not to think about that possibility too much. I was starting to think that I could fall in the love with the girl I saw in her, and I could think of nothing more fucking monumental.

She made me want to fight my way through Hell to prove my worthiness. Not that I actually thought that I
was
worthy, but I would rather die in the attempt than give her up.

Step one down that road was officially ending things with everyone else. Kayla, Aly, Jessica, Amanda, I told every one of them that those days were over. Just making the calls made it obvious why Charlotte doubted my intentions. Of course I knew I was a mess, but I’d found it easier to ignore before Charlotte came into my life. She made me see my many short comings with vivid clarity. She made me want to be as close to perfect as I could manage, for her and for myself.

Friday at the office, Eli told me he wasn’t sure what Charlotte would do. Apparently, she’d been pretty stand-offish about the whole idea. I sat at my desk for over an hour accomplishing absolutely nothing, thinking only of how desperately I needed her in that club. I knew she was not working and would probably spend the entire day coming up with a list of concrete reasons to just stay home. I couldn’t take that chance. I gave in and called her myself.

She answered on the second ring instead of letting it go to voicemail like I expected. “Hello?”

“Hi.” It was the first thing I had said to her since the ill-fated conversation over Wednesday’s breakfast.

“Aren’t you at work?” she asked dryly.

“I just wanted to make sure you were coming tonight.”

She hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“Please, Charlotte.” I wasn’t above begging. I wasn’t above much of anything anymore. “I’d really like you to be there.”

“Oh?” She didn’t have to add
“Why should I care what you want?”
It was clear in her tone.

“Please,” I repeated.

“Fine.” Not as enthused as I would have liked, but I’d take it.

I ended the call relieved. She was coming. I still had my shot. Plus, Eli wouldn’t be there for me to contend with. I returned to my work, my mind traveling back to our night together and hoping I would have another chance to kiss her before the night was over.

After Logan’s unexpected call, and my even more unexpected concession to his request, I decided to spend the afternoon being pampered. I called Alex’s salon and asked to speak to her.

“Do you have an opening this afternoon?” I asked.

“I don’t have anything booked yet, I was just counting on walk-ins. Why? What do you want done?”

“Everything.”

Alex was ecstatic, as I expected. “I’ll block off the afternoon! This is going to be awesome!”

So, I found myself in the chic, white, and yet still welcoming entrance of Salon 54 a few hours later. The white walls were paired with chrome stations, muted-color photography, and black accents. While the receptionist, a petite woman with copper-colored hair, went to grab Alex, I admired how perfectly Alex fit in here.

“Earth to Charlotte,” Alex called, reaching her arm out to lead me to her station.

“You are way too excited about this,” I commented, noting the buzz about her.

“Hey, you came to me. You can’t fault me for enthusiasm.”

On her station was a silver frame with a picture I was horrified to realize I recognized. It was taken at my high school graduation. Eli, brimming with misplaced pride, insisted on getting a picture with me in my gap and gown, even thought all I wanted was to get out of the hot sun and the ridiculous get up. “Lottie,” he’d said, “the valedictorian is obligated to take a picture with her brother. Just shut up and smile.” He’d sealed a copy of that photo and brought it to our mom’s grave a week later.

Seeing him so happy and proud made my heart ache. I loved my brother, and he had given up so much for me over the years. I wish he had never needed to step up that way. He used to get so upset over how self-sufficient I was, but all I wanted was to lessen the burden on him. Sighing inwardly, I returned the photo to its place.

Alex was looking into the frame from over my shoulder. “I love that picture. Eli looks so happy and you’re all sass. It’s perfect.”

“He’s so frustrating.”

“Yeah,” Alex grinned, “I love him, too. Now, what are we doing with you?”

When I left the salon that evening, I felt like a whole new person. I’d had my eyebrows waxed, my nails and toes done, my hair cut and styled, and, for some reason I couldn’t begin to explain, a bikini wax. Alex had eyed me suspiciously – though gratefully kept her mouth shut – when I made that request. Bizarre decisions aside, I felt fabulous.

Logan returned, unbidden, to my thoughts. The last thing I wanted was to go to his show. After all, images of his hands on my body still haunted me. What good could seeing him onstage with a guitar do? It was no secret that I was attracted to musicians. There were few things as hot as a guy with an instrument if you ask me. Did I need that image of Logan on top of the back log my mind already kept on record?

Still, I did have fierce willpower on my side. Stubbornness may not be endearing, but it had gotten me that far. I would go to his show and I would make him see what he was missing out on. I’d make him see how little he affected me.
No
. I’d make him see that he hadn’t affected me at all.

My plan of attack was already in progress. My hair looked perfect, and when I got home I would find the best outfit I could. I’d get his attention and pretend I found him as interesting as the paint on the walls. Trying to shake off the negative thoughts about how I wasn’t hot enough to make that kind of impression, I walked back to the apartment with new purpose. Alex would have been proud.

When I got in, I saw that Logan must have stopped by after work. His acoustic guitar was gone and there was a note on the counter.

Charlotte,

Please take a cab tonight. I don’t want to worry.

Yours,

Logan

Yours? Since when?

Under the note was cash to pay for the cab he insisted I take. His note pissed me off like nothing else. He didn’t want to worry? Why the hell would he worry? We were nothing to each other. He had no reason to worry about me.

And yet, he said he would anyway.

I slammed the note down in frustration, but decided to grab the money he’d left. A cab honestly did sound better that waiting around for the bus.

Come 7:30, I was ready. I had spent more time than I wanted to admit staring at my closet, trying to decide on what to wear. My eyes kept being dragged back to one particular item, though. I just could not seem to stop considering the white dress I had bought on my “date” with Leo. Justin’s words kept playing in my mind.
“Just think how great it would be to be able to pull all of his attention to you; to leave all of those other bitches helpless… That is what you could do with this dress.”
Eventually, I could not leave it hanging there. Wearing it did the trick, though. For once, even I would have said I looked good. I actually felt confident enough to face what was coming. It was an unfamiliar sensation, and exactly what I needed.

The club Logan’s band, Scoundrels and Saints, was playing at was a regular hole-in-the-wall; the type of place where you felt unsure about touching anything with your bare skin. I was only placated into ordering a drink when I saw that they were served in disposable plastic cups. I wouldn’t have trusted glasses to be clean.

Beer in hand, I moved toward the stage and grabbed a table off to the side. It was relatively secluded and I liked that. I fingered the pass Logan had left at the door for me which got me unlimited drinks and access backstage. I had no intention of using it for the latter purpose, but a few drinks would probably be helpful.

The band meandered nonchalantly onto the stage a little while later. I can’t honestly say I noticed anything about Logan’s band mates as they entered, because when he stepped into view and began tuning his black Gibson, I was enraptured. Calling on more control than I would like to admit, I forced my eyes down to my hands. Just the sight of Logan with a guitar in his hands was overwhelming to me.

Logan took the mic. “Thanks for coming out,” he said with a sincerity that betrayed his cocky eminence. His eyes scanned the room and I squirmed gracelessly, knowing somehow that he was looking for me. He locked in on me a moment later. “This first song may be a little rough. We haven’t rehearsed it much. It’s dedicated to the voice that has been haunting my dreams,” he said without looking away. “Hopefully, we’ll do Robert Smith justice.”

With that I knew, even before his pick struck a single string, what song it was. My breath halted in my lungs as the band began a cleaner-sounding version of The Cure’s “Charlotte Sometimes.” Logan’s voice entered like a lament. I was completely lost in the sound, completely at sea in the the rough quality of his voice. I remembered Eli telling me that Logan was talented – and Eli was never one to judge musicians lightly – but this was beyond anything I had ever heard. Despite the hundreds of times I had heard it in the past, the song seemed brand new when he sang it.

When the song ended, I fought to fill my lungs, to clear the blinding fog in my mind. The rest of their set was made up of original songs. I wondered if Logan wrote the words that were painfully laden with truth and movingly emotional. Beneath the music that lived between folk and alt rock were lyrics with real substance.
How could he write them?
I thought to myself. Logan with his Spartan detachment from the women he fucked and hung out to dry. What could he know about that sort of emotion?