For Love or Money (10 page)

“Jesus!
You don’t mean Sweat?”

I
nod. “Yeah. Jimmy Sweat and the guys.”

“You
were there the day they were formed?”

It
hits me that my life is remarkable. I just didn’t know it. It still makes me
shrug though. “Yeah. I was pissed because I wanted to go somewhere cool for my
summer break and we wasted six weeks in Detroit.”

He
rolls his eyes. “You were watching stars be born. That’s cool.”

He
makes me laugh. “Yeah, but I didn’t know it was cool. I remember though, they
hadn’t ever played together and an R&B group has to be able to harmonize
better because they don't have instruments. Dad never forced songs on them. He
told me that they did better when they had fun with the music. They sang
because they loved it, and no amount of practice would ever compete with love.”

“You’re
giving me chills, Lana.”

A
smile crosses my lips again. “Yeah. I know, right? I just never knew how
awesome it all was.” I point up at the guys. “See the way Brandon hangs off of
everything James says and does? For him this is amazing—beyond amazing.
He’ll work hard because he wants to be here. Simon loves music. You can tell by
the way he moves with the bass when he plays. He closes his eyes and sways.
Nick knows this is going to get him epically laid, more than he already is and
it’s a way to disobey his father.”

Mr.
Sherman meets my smile with concern. I laugh. “Trust me, that’s better
motivation than anything I could say or do. Kids like him have been controlled
their whole lives. We just freed him by giving him the means to disobey in a
completely legal way.”

He
nods. “What about James?”

I
wink. “I got James covered. He has some serious incentive.”

“You
aren’t dating, are you? I thought I heard him say that.”

I
cough. “God no. He was kidding. We have a special blend of mutual hate mixing
with an end goal we both need.”

The
concern doesn’t leave his gaze but he seems content to leave it at that.

James
shouts back, “We want to play something, but we need you to play a violin.”

My
spine tenses. I look at Mr. Sherman, hoping to God he’s talking to him and not
me. But Mr. Sherman just stares back at me. “You play?”

My
cheeks redden. I look up at James, wondering how the shit he knows that.

He
grins like he won the war, but he doesn’t see it was just a battle and the
success is going to cost him dearly if he pushes this. “I don’t have a violin
here.”

His
eyes widen, feigning sarcasm and surprise blended perfectly. “Oh man. I forgot
to tell you. I have one.” He reaches into his oversized guitar case, producing a
smaller one making my stomach harden, like the time I ate at a roadside vendor
in Thailand.

I
twitch a no with my head. “I haven’t played in years and it’s probably out of
tune.”

“Nope.
I play fiddle style with it all the time. It’s perfectly tuned. Now get on up
here.” His stare hardens. “I insist.”

I
hate him.

How
the hell does he know? No one but my dad and the man who taught me know.

Shit.

I
leave my purse and shove my protesting, nearly frozen body off of the chair. My
legs feel like jelly.

Not
just because I hate performing, but also because I suspect this has been his
ace in the hole the whole time. He’s had this up his sleeve, waiting for the
moment to pluck it out. He must know this will hurt me more than any other
thing in the world.

He
must know about the stage fright. He’s such scum. We’re both scum but I’m more
disappointed in him.

I
drag my hands up and down my shirt, trying desperately to get the sweat off of
them.

He
pulls the violin from the case and tightens the bow.

Oh
God, even worse. It’s my old violin. I gag a little, fighting back nausea and
agony.

The
silver stars my mom put on the violin when it was new are peeling off with age.
She gave it to me in the hospital, just before she died. Told me it was bigger
than the one I was using and I could grow into it, and the stickers were so
that when she was gone I would know she was watching me from the sky.

The
day she died I played it too hard and too long, even though it was too big and
tore one of my shoulders a bit. One of the strings broke. My eyes can’t help
but glance down at the tiny silver scar that has long healed over from where
the broken string cut me as I played. I want to run and cry and curl up, but I
WILL not give him that satisfaction.

He
is a son of a bitch and I’m going to kill him.

“I
can’t play, James.”

He
nods. “Oh, I know all about can’t, Lana. Like sometimes people do things that
you can’t believe they would.” He shoves the violin at me and the bow.

The
smell of the fresh wax on the strings makes me remember a thousand things I
have pushed away. The small wooden instrument nestles into my neck where I
learned to play it so I could sing with it. It’s like it has never left my
arms. It’s a bit small for my body now, but it doesn’t matter—my arms
remember every detail of it.

James
turns the page on a songbook he’s brought. I swallow hard.

I
have two options. Play and then throw up, and then tell him to fuck himself. Or
I can run out screaming and crying and throw up now.

I
glance down at the songbook as I make my choice.

The
Lumineers.

Great.

I
lick my lips, trying not to stare at the guys who are all watching me like cats
do a canary.

I
hate him.

I’m
going to murder whoever told him this. I can’t help but wonder if it was my
dad. But how? It doesn’t matter how as much as why. James knows the story, and
yet he’s blackmailing me to play. I didn't realize he hated me as much as I
joked about. In fact, I had kind of thought he sort of liked me. This would be
the nail in that coffin.

I
close my eyes and try to gag back the heavy feeling in my throat. It’s so thick
I feel like I can’t even get air.

The
music sheets blur and I feel the stage fright hitting me. My hands are pools,
but James puts a hand at the small of back and leans into me. “You okay?”

I
shake my head. I want to stab him in the eye, but I don't want him to know he’s
gotten under my skin.

He
sighs. “It’s just a violin, Lana. There is nothing sexier than a girl who plays
a violin. I know you can do this. I know you were a prodigy.”

He
doesn't know the rest of the story then?

I
look back, studying his eyes and I know the answer to that question. He truly
doesn't. He thinks I just gave up violin or something.

He
presses a soft kiss into my neck and my body forgets the stage fright. Instead,
my sex addict ways creep back in, forcing my back into his hand, praying it
lowers to my ass. I freeze up, closing off those feelings.

“As
much as you believe in me, I believe in you!” His hand leaves my back and
starts picking at the guitar. The violin is meant to come in right away, but I
miss my cue. My hands are shaking so badly I can’t play yet.

He
plucks in a circle until I push the bow across the strings, making a sound that
stands every hair on my body on end.

They
all chuckle but James mutters. “Just relax. Close your eyes and remember how it
felt to play. Just imagine we’re alone.”

I
slide the bow again, moving my fingers slowly. When the sound hits right, I
open my eyes, fixing on the pages of music.

“Stubborn
Love” is a song that features the violin all the way through. Of course he has
to pick that one.

“Back
at the top now.”

We
all circle back to the beginning and James starts singing with his guitar. His
voice distracts me from the feeling of stage fright and paralysis. The guys all
sing together, like we’re in a bar jamming away.

They’re
having fun. But I can’t look away from the pages. My body is playing like it
knows this song better than any, but there is still a panic inside of me.

He
shouts the chorus with everyone. I can see Simon hopping with the song in my
peripheral.

We
end the song and something tingles all through me. It’s James’ voice. The soft
end to the song makes me relax a little. It’s over. It’s over and I made it
through..

“Hot
damn, Lana. I didn’t know you played so well. That’s amazing. You play both
ways? Violin and fiddle?”

I
nod weakly at Mr. Sherman.

“Apparently,
there are things about Miss Webber we don’t know.”

I
turn and give Nick a smug look, trying desperately to get a grip on myself.
“Not everything about me is in the papers, and what’s there is hardly ever
true.”

Mr.
Sherman claps. “Brava.”

James
comes back over to me. “Guess we found the fifth member of our band.”

My
heart stops, I swear it does, and my mouth gets thick. I can’t even argue
because I’m going to throw up.

The
Violin

James

I
put my guitar away, watching her from the corner of my eyes. Mr. Sherman waves
as he leaves. “Thanks for the show, guys!”

I
nod. “See ya round, Pete.”

Simon
looks at his watch. “I have some studying to do for tomorrow so I have to go,
but I wanted to thank you guys for letting me be part of this. It’s pretty
awesome.” He smiles brightly. He’s a little too excited for my comfort level.

“See
ya tomorrow, man.” I wave.

Brandon
plays it cooler, but I can see the sweat stains and gleam in his eyes as he
follows Simon out with a wave. “See you guys tomorrow.” I have a terrible
feeling they’re going to gush.

Nick
left first, going on about a hot date but staring at Lana like she was the last
chip in the bag. Unfortunately for him, she didn’t see him. My little tactic at
fulfilling her father’s wishes has her near comatose. She hasn’t left the chair
since I made her play.

I
almost feel bad for making her play, but I’ll be damned if I’m suffering
through all this shit alone. Especially when I know she was a prodigy on the
violin. I know plenty about Lana Webber, and I am enjoying the fact she has no
clue.

She’s
holding the violin, dumbfounded maybe?

“You
okay?”

She
shakes her head. “How?”

The
grin on my lips is shit eating and cocky but I don’t care. I love the
freaked-out look on her face. I feel like Houdini. I’m actually bummed I never
did this before now. I could have had years of peace of mind, knowing the
unshakeable Lana Webber was a front. A full front. “You sure you want to know?”

She
nods blankly.

“When
I was sixteen my mom got hurt at work. We didn’t have insurance so I went
downtown and started playing on the streets, trying to make a little extra.
It’s what us colloquial types call panhandling.”

She
snaps. “I don’t want to hear some bullshit sob story. How did you find out
about the violin?”

She’s
a piece of work, and yet I find myself increasingly inclined to torment her
like we’re friends, even if I know we’re not. Not even close. “I’m getting to
it. Now shut the hell up and let a man finish his story.”

She
rolls her eyes but doesn’t open her lips except to sigh.

“One
day the owner of one of the more popular bars heard me on the street. He asked
if I could fill in for his singer. Guess the guy had tonsillitis and couldn’t
do the show that was planned. I was over the moon. I skipped soccer practice,
which was a big deal to me, and headed for the bar.” I hate the story in some
ways, and I hate that I’m sharing it with her, but at the same time I told her
dad I would help her, and the good lord knows she needs tons of that. “So when
I got to the bar and practiced with the band, they let me in on a secret. That
night Lars Webber was coming down to hear the guitarist play. The guy was
amazing so it made sense. That’s why the bar owner had been trying to find a
lead singer, so the guitarist wouldn’t miss his chance.” Her eyes lift making
me nod. “Yeah, your dad came to my first show. It wasn’t my show though, your
dad was there for the guitarist. We played our hearts out, I was a great fit
for the band. So I’m drinking my soda afterwards and your dad comes and sits
down next to me. He hands me a card and says he wants to sign me. My heart was
beating out of my chest.”

She
scowls. “My dad tried to sign you?”

I
nod again. “Yeah. Offered me the sun, the moon, and the stars. But I said no.”

Her
jaw drops, with her shoulders. She’s relaxing a bit.

“I
have stunned the infamous Lana Webber. Thought you were beyond being shocked?”

“So
did I. Why’d you turn him down?” She shakes her head.

“Harvard.
They have a sneaky program, or had rather. It was for athletes with the grades
to make Harvard but without the finances to go. There are no scholarships for
athletics here. I’d been accepted and was praying I would get local
scholarships and a student loan. When Harvard offered me a free ride with
soccer, I took them up on that.”

“You’re
an idiot. My dad would have you touring the world right now and making
millions.”

A
moan escapes my lips at the thought of it. “I know that. But ‘what if’ was all
that drove me to decline the offer. What if I got hurt or addicted to drugs or
screwed by some celebrity girl who won my heart over? What if I lost the money
in a lawsuit and I was back at square one? If I finished my undergrad I had a
shot at making something of myself, even if the music thing didn’t work out.”

She
shakes her head. “You’re still an idiot.”

“I
know. But Nashville has some of the best talent in the world. Every bar has a
class act, and why they haven’t been picked up yet is a mystery. Some of them
have and they’ve blown it, and they’re back working in that same bar for tips.
I couldn’t do that.”

She
gives me a look. “The violin—Jesus.”

A
low chuckle slips from my lips. “You’re a pain in the ass. I’m pouring my heart
out to you.”

“You’re
only doing it so I will let you out of the deal.”

She’s
smarter than she looks and twice as cold as I thought she might be.

I
almost don’t want to say it. I know it’ll hurt but she needs to know. There is
also the dark corner of my heart that wants to hurt her. “Your dad was stunned
that I’d turned him down. He came to the bar the next night when I was playing
with the same band. Their singer was out for weeks so they asked me to help
them out for the whole time. Your dad came to the show again, he said he wanted
to hear us sing. It was an amazing compliment. But this time he had this tiny
violin case with him. It had pink stickers on it and ponies. It was weird. He
came and sat next to me at the bar again, sliding the case over to me. He
didn’t look at me, he just sipped his scotch and said, ‘You remind me of a girl
I once knew.’ Of course I started laughing. He told me his daughter, Lana, used
to play a long time ago. She was amazing but she couldn’t shake the performance
anxiety. He said she was a prodigy at music like me, and if she had been able
to do it, she could have had an amazing life instead of the one she was shaping
up to have. He told me that when I was ready to sign, to come and see him. He
said he admired my dedication to my education and would wait for me. He asked
me to bring the violin to Harvard. Then he asked me the weirdest thing ever. He
wanted to know if I would see if I could get a chance to meet you and return it
to you. I think he wanted you to play again because we’d be at the same school.
Then he wished me well and left. I never saw him again.”

The
silence is heavy and part of it is leaking from her eyes. The glistening tears
look silver in the dimly lit room. She is frozen like a crying statue.

I
almost feel bad, but I think everyone needs to know their parents love them.
And I think she needs to know it more than most people. He might have cut her
off but he did it because he loves her and I imagine if I was a dad that would
have been the hardest gamble ever.

She
stands slowly and leaves the room.

I
close my guitar and walk after her. She took the violin with her, but she also
took my case for my violin. Hers is back at my place. I didn't want her to see
it and bolt. I run after her, grabbing her arm. She’s a mess. Sobbing hard and
heaving.

I
drop the case, doing the last thing on earth I ever imagined I would do, and
wrap myself around her. She trembles but I hold her still against me. She feels
so tiny suddenly for such a big personality. I feel sick but I think I might
have done it. I might have finally cracked the shell of Lana Webber.

I
start suspecting we will be spending the entire night like this, but she
finally stops crying and looks up at me. “I won’t ever be able to play on a
stage. You can’t make me.”

I
smile. “Yes, I can. Because if you don’t, I won’t. Now stop acting like that’s
the part of the story you’re upset about.”

The
sniffles and tears don’t win me over so she lowers her lip. “I’m terrified of
performing. My dad tried everything to make me able to do it. I freeze up.”

I
drop one arm, pick my guitar up, and keep my other arm around her small
shoulders. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. But for practice, you’re
in with us or I’m out, and I don’t care who knows about what I’ve done.” It’s a
complete bluff but she’s too upset to argue or call me on it.

She
is no longer acting like that spicy bitch I despise, and if she keeps it up I
predict it will be increasingly harder for me to avoid the fact she’s the
prettiest girl I have ever seen. Her face, although puffy from crying, is still
perfect. And without the evil glare or shitty smug smirk, she’s vulnerable and
sweet-ish.

I
almost have to slap myself mentally, reminding my eyes not to be fooled by what
they see. This is still the throat-slitting ball buster who is blackmailing me.

My
brain has its own balancing act on how things are rolling though. She is
blackmailing me to do something I love doing, giving me the opportunity to test
run it over the summer with a group of guys who seem alright. She’s giving me a
free ride and then paying me for my efforts at the end of the summer. It’s not
the worst kind of blackmail ever. Not really.

My
phone vibrates and I realize I have a date I need to cancel. I walk her to her
dorm quickly, excited the media seems to have backed off in the last couple
days. She’s no longer the top story, thanks to Weaver waking up. Fucking
vultures are probably stalking Nance and Leo, the people they should have
chased all along.

She
hugs the violin to her chest as she walks away from me, not even saying
goodbye. Damn! I think I broke her.

Maybe
I should have done it differently.

With
my lip in my teeth and worry smeared across my face, I wait until I see the
light in her room come on. It’s creepy that I know which one it is and I know
it, and yet, when the light doesn’t come on, I’m running up the front steps and
inside. Which is even creepier.

I
hurry up to her floor and open her door. It isn’t locked. In the dark of the
room it’s hard, but I manage to see her in the sliver of light coming in the
blinds. She’s on her bed, holding the violin.

I
cross slowly, trying not to be a creeper, and drop to my knees in front of her.
“I shouldn’t have told you like that. I’m sorry, Lana.”

She
whispers into the dark. “I started playing when I was three or four. My mom
loved violin and fiddle. She taught me at first, but then she went into the
hospital so I got taught by her friend, a master. I would try so hard to be
perfect so she would be proud. In case it was the last time she saw me play, I
wanted her memory of me to be the best one. The week I figure she knew she was
dying, she gave me this violin. She put the stars on and told me to look at
them when I needed to remember I was her little star. When she died I practiced
harder and harder and got more critical of myself. I played only for myself or
my dad or the master who taught me. I never wanted anyone to see me play. I didn't
think I was good enough. After Mom died, music was the only thing my dad and me
had. I stopped playing because I just couldn’t take the disappointed look on
his face whenever I froze up. He and I had nothing in common anymore. I didn’t
want to talk about musical performers. I just wanted to be a teenager and have
fun.”

Shit!

Her
dad left that part out of the story. No wonder she nearly stroked, seeing the
dammed thing. I feel like a first-class asshole and she just might be the
bravest girl I have ever met. “I’m sorry I forced you. I didn't know the whole
story.”

“It’s
okay. I didn't think you did, and if you did I didn't want to give you the
satisfaction of seeing me freak out.”

“Why
on God’s green earth would you even want to be in this industry if you hate
it?”

She
looks up. “I don’t hate it. I love music. For a long time music was my life.
But when I stopped I just didn’t want to talk about everyone who was succeeding
at it, and how they were such amazing performers.” She sniffles. “Why was my
dad carrying the violin with him to Nashville?”

I
can’t help but smile. “I think he brought it with him everywhere. Brought a
piece of you with him.”

“And
then he gave it to you because he was so disgusted with me.”

“I
think he gave up trying to reach you and he decided to try something new before
you ended up hurting yourself too badly.” With my free hand, I cup her face
like an idiot. Her gray-blue eyes glisten in the dark. I can’t help myself. I
want to know. I have to know. Instead of listening to the common sense in my
head, I lower my face, brushing my lips against hers. I hover there and
whisper. “He loves you and you are enough, Lana. I promise you that no matter
what, you are enough just being you. So stop trying so damned hard to be that
other girl because no one actually likes her.”

She
shakes her head, but I kiss her again so she can’t shoot her damned mouth off.
I can feel that moment where we both tear our clothes off and make a poor
choice approaching, so I stand abruptly, cutting the kiss off. My hand is
gripping to my guitar, in hopes of grounding me. I’m strong enough to back
away, but I can’t seem to shut MY damn mouth. “Just be the person I know you
are. I think she’s amazing and if you give her a chance, the whole world will
too.” My free hand is clutching to the doorknob for dear life and somehow I
find my way back into the hall.