I Love the 80s (33 page)

‘Fuck you, then,’ Richie raged at him. ‘Don’t you know who I am? I can make ten grand in ten minutes!’

‘Then you don’t need me to help you, do you?’ the thug threw back at him, obviously unimpressed. ‘And that’s big talk – last I heard, you were in a five-million-dollar hole.’

‘Go to hell,’ Richie snarled, and turned on his heel.

The thug watched him go for a moment, then turned around himself and disappeared behind the door again.

In her supply closet, Jenna tried to process what she’d overheard.

Richie in five million dollars’ worth of debt made him an excellent candidate for Tommy’s murderer.

In the dark, Jenna squeezed her eyes shut, and braced herself. She knew she had to take this new information to Tommy, as little as she wanted to see him. Which was itself a lie – because there was a sick part of her that didn’t care that he would be mean, that he hated her, that he would look at her in that awful way again. The sick part wanted to be near him no matter what he did, or said. She had become masochistic where he was concerned, and that appalled her.

But it didn’t appal her
enough.

So, after waiting a while to make sure Richie was gone, she fought her way out of the shop, back into the cold and sketchy neighbourhood, and headed back uptown towards Tommy’s place.

The good news was, she had spent that whole night watching Tommy’s building not so long before, so it wasn’t very difficult to sneak inside and make her way up to his apartment eventually, having long since figured out the schedules and habits of the doormen. She figured she’d camp out at his door, and try to reason with him when he appeared. The element of surprise would be her presence at his door – she assumed she’d avoid the bodyguards that way.

The bad news was, when she rang Tommy’s doorbell, he answered.

They stared at each other.

He did not look particularly worse for wear. Perhaps he
hadn’t spent the night weeping, or the afternoon creeping around in a ridiculous red sweater, subject to extremes of temperature and unwise hot-dog selections on street corners. Whatever
he’d
been doing with himself, it had led to tousled dark hair, moody green eyes, and those lips of his twisted to one side in a sardonic manner that should have been more insulting than sexy.

Oh, and he was wearing nothing but a pair of battered jeans with the top button undone.

It was enough to give Jenna heart failure. She wanted to press her face into the valley between his defined pecs, and kiss the hollow there. She wanted to feel the heat of his skin, and smell him all around her. She
wanted.

‘This is like a bad dream that never ends,’ Tommy snapped, breaking the spell. He glared down at her. Jenna tried to stop thinking about
want.

But then he walked away from the door, leaving it open behind him. Since he hadn’t slammed it in her face or notified his security detail, Jenna decided this comprised an invitation. She followed him in warily, shutting the door behind her.

Inside, Tommy stood over by the window with his back to her, looking out at his amazing two-storey view of Central Park. Jenna let herself drink in the expensive, if somewhat personality-less furnishings. The tasteful art on the walls, the spiral staircase to the next floor.

‘I told you I’d call the cops,’ Tommy said without turning around. Jenna wondered if he could see her reflection in the window, or only his own. ‘I wasn’t kidding.’

‘So call the cops,’ Jenna said, with unfeigned weariness. ‘I don’t care. But listen to me first.’

‘Listen to you.’ He let out a hollow sound, not quite a laugh. ‘All I do is listen to you, Jenna, and what happens? You get more and more insane.’ He turned, but his face was thrown into shadow from the afternoon light outside. ‘So why should I listen to some more of the same?’

‘I know it’s hard to get your head around—’

‘Your argument is based on you travelling back in time to save me from my tragic death, about which only you know,’ he interrupted, his voice arid. ‘Yeah. That’s a little
hard to get my head around.
’

Jenna sighed. She pulled the braid out from the back of her turtleneck where it was making her skin itch, and tilted her baseball cap back on her forehead. She felt sweaty and frumpy, and it irritated her to feel that way when he just lounged about in unfastened jeans and looked like some effortless god. It was so unfair.

‘Fine. Don’t get your head around anything. Just listen.’ She shrugged, and decided there was no point in sugar-coating anything. Not at this stage in the game. ‘I followed Richie today.’

‘Terrific’

But Jenna ignored that acidic tone, and told him. What she’d seen, what Richie had said, what the thug had said. When Tommy only stared at her, and the silence stretched out between them, she reminded him that dead legends sold a ton of records – much more than living stars who faded into obscurity. As Tommy himself had pointed out,
in that town-house garden, what felt like ages ago. And Richie had every reason to cash in. Five million reasons, apparently.

When she was finished, she could tell it didn’t matter. He hadn’t moved, and she couldn’t see his expression, but she knew. She could feel his disgust.

‘You have to stop stalking the band,’ he said, much too quietly, when he finally spoke. ‘I really will call the cops the next time I see you.’

Jenna sighed, and looked down. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, though she had no memory of doing that. She ran her tongue around her teeth and fought for calm – but it wasn’t that she felt angry. Anger would be easy. This, she feared, was defeat, and the panic that went along with it.

‘I know you don’t believe me,’ she said into the shadows where he hid his face. Because she had to say something – anything – or accept the despair that threatened to suck her under. ‘I know you can’t. I even understand why. But I know that you’re going to die tomorrow if I don’t do something to stop it.’ She heard her voice crack. Tommy moved forward, out of the shadows, so she could see that he was frowning.

‘Jenna—’

‘I have loved you my whole life,’ she said, stopping him with a raised hand. ‘Since I was a little girl. I remember sitting in my bedroom when I was eleven, listening to “Lucky Penny” and
just knowing
that you understood me. I loved you so much that I wrote my diary entries to you, like
letters. After you died, I hid in memories of you my entire adult life. Every time something went bad for me, I had you to make me feel better.’ She sucked in a shaky breath. ‘I mourned you, and I didn’t even know you. All I knew were interviews, posters, videos. Your public face. But I loved what I knew. I listened to that song that Bono sang at your funeral for decades, and it always made me cry.’ She laughed slightly, her eyes filling. ‘I mean, Bono and Sting? Singing an acoustic version of “The Unforgettable Fire”? It gives me chills just thinking about it.’

Tommy made a noise then, and Jenna assumed it was something cynical or derisive. She wiped at her eyes with impatient jabs of her hands, curled into defensive fists again.

‘The thing is,’ she said quickly, afraid he would interrupt her again, and knowing that she had to get it out before it was too late, ‘I know that everything I felt was infatuation. I knew it once I met you, here. Once I got to know you. And I’m so glad I did, Tommy, because …’ Jenna’s voice cracked again, and she couldn’t bear to look at him. ‘Because you’re really so, so much more than I ever imagined you could be.’

‘Jenna.’ His voice was harsh, but no more than a whisper.

‘It doesn’t matter if you believe me,’ she continued, ignoring the command in his voice. She realized tears were streaming down her cheeks, but she ignored them, too. ‘It doesn’t matter if you think I’m crazy. I love you so much, I love you enough for the both of us.’ She thought she ought to be afraid to say that so baldly, with so little hope of a
reply in the same vein, but she was past that, anyway, so she kept going. ‘Someday I hope I get to hear you play your guitar and sing, all alone on the stage, with no costumes or mascara. I believe I will, if we can just make it through tomorrow. And it doesn’t matter what happens between us, because I’ll still love you. I just want you to live.’

Her voice seemed to echo for a moment, but then was gone. Jenna heard a ragged sound, and realized it was her own breathing. She looked at him, but quickly looked away, because everything felt too intense. Too raw.

He stood there, so close but still so unreachable. He was silent.

That was it then. She’d extended herself as far as she could go. What more could she do? Say?

She turned, because there was nothing else. She was empty. Her head felt light, and her skin felt almost feverish. Her feet were unsteady beneath her, but she headed for the door.

She didn’t hear him move, but suddenly he was turning her around, and his face was tormented. She saw only the glitter of his green eyes, hard and almost angry.

‘Tommy—’

But she never knew what she might have said, because his lips came down on hers, and he kissed her like a desperate man. Like he was drowning.

Like he felt the way she did, and hated it.

Tommy didn’t let her speak.

He didn’t speak himself.

It was only flesh. Only mouths connecting, the scrape of lips and teeth against skin. The sigh and murmur of two bodies coming together, again and again.

He made love to her fiercely, desperately. As if he might die the next day, as predicted. As if she might disappear.

How can I let her go? How can I ever let her go?

The afternoon turned into night, and eventually the dawn followed, and still it wasn’t enough. Still, he couldn’t hold her close enough or love her deeply enough to satisfy himself.

To keep either one of them safe.

When he finally fell into an exhausted sleep, the sky was far too light, and Jenna looked haunted. He refused to think about why.

And when he woke up, she was gone.

Tommy waited for her outside her apartment that afternoon, which was less fun than it might have been thanks to the cold October rain, and was pleased to watch her jump when she saw him. The heavy outside door to her apartment building slammed shut behind her, but she was frozen there on the stoop.

She was dressed in another bizarre outfit, although this one was better than the horrible sweater she’d had on yesterday. Today she had the great mass of her hair pinned up on the back of her head, and it looked like a tornado wouldn’t move it so much as an inch. She was also wearing jeans tucked into what looked like Doc Martens – which he was surprised she owned – and a dark sweatshirt. What made that combo bizarre was the grim way she moved, like she was a guardian angel on the prowl. He liked the way her eyes went huge as she looked at him.

‘You’re soaking wet,’ she said.

‘I would have come up.’ He straightened from the car he’d been leaning against. His car, as a matter of fact – because he might have a date with destiny, but the parking gods were still looking out for him. ‘I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to yell at you for taking off, or pick up where we left off.’

‘I know you’re supposed to go to that party thing at that hotel,’ Jenna said, as if he hadn’t spoken. As if he couldn’t feel the electricity sizzle between them. ‘You and Eugenia have a big fight there, that much I know. So I was going to go and be there, to, you know, keep an eye—’ She broke off, and walked down the steps until she was on the bottom one, putting her at his eye level. ‘What are you doing here?’ She smiled slightly.’ You can’t call the cops if
you
stalk
me
, right?’

Tommy closed the distance between them. He liked the way her lips parted in surprise, and he liked the way she tipped her head back to take him in. He didn’t touch her, he only stood close enough so they could both feel the sizzle.

‘Number one,’ he said. ‘That song, “The Unforgettable Fire”.’

Jenna nodded. She looked wary. ‘Bono sang it at your funeral. Sting sang the harmony. It was beautiful.’ She smiled as if she was trying to keep from welling up. ‘It was haunting.’

Tommy searched her face, looking for something – anything – that would prove her guilt. Her insanity. But there was only Jenna looking back. Jenna, who wanted so
badly to save him from a destiny only she could see. Jenna, who worried that he was out in the rain. Jenna, who knew a secret he’d never told another living soul – that he had forgotten about.

‘I ran into Bono earlier this year at the Brit Awards,’ Tommy said. Behind him, he heard the swish of cars down the wet street, but he could see nothing except Jenna. ‘It was only the two of us. We were standing backstage, and no one was near us. I told him that someday I wanted him to sing “The Unforgettable Fire” at my funeral, and he agreed. Said something about hoping it didn’t happen anytime soon, and that was that. I never told anyone. To be honest, I hadn’t thought much about my funeral before meeting you.’

Jenna swallowed. Tommy saw her throat move, and eased away, watching her chin drop as she followed him with her eyes.

‘So either Bono has spent the past few months racing around telling everyone about a completely throwaway conversation he’d have no reason to think about while enjoying the insane success of
The Joshua Tree
,’ Tommy continued. ‘Or …’

‘Or … ?’ Jenna prompted him, her voice barely above a whisper.

‘Which brings me to number two,’ Tommy said. He reached over and traced the shape of her cheekbone. ‘I’m in love with you.’ It felt good to say it. Right. ‘Even though I don’t think I should be, and even though I tried not to be.’

‘How romantic,’ she said with a wry smile, and he felt his heart thump in response, because that was so Jenna – so completely who she was, and he was a goner. Had he known that, even back at the start, when she’d made googly eyes at him and he’d been so much more cruel than he’d had to be?

‘And my major problem here is that I can’t come up with a rational explanation for it,’ he said softly.

‘Love?’ She smiled again, and looked away for a moment. ‘I don’t think it’s rational. I think it’s chemical. And then emotional.’