Night Shifts Black (5 page)

“I think I made it
sound more interesting than it is. Just the normal clichés. You know, bras,
panties, things like that.”

“Ok, but worse than
that?”

He gives me a
mischievous look and shrugs.

“Fine. I have a jury
summons in my purse, would you sign that?”

He laughs again and
holds up his hands. “No way. That puts me in prison.”

“What? No. A fine
maybe, but not prison. I do understand your fear, though. Prison is no place
for a pretty boy like you.”

His eyes widen for the
fight. “A pretty boy? Really.” He leans back and crosses his arms. “You don’t
actually know our music do you.”

“I don’t have to.
Teenage girls love you and want to marry you. That’s all I need to know.”

His eyes still hold
the rare amusement that makes me willing to do anything to keep it there. I
wish I had the courage to pat his hand, now resting on the table. It could pass
as playful with my teasing, but I’m not good at that sort of thing and don’t
trust myself to pull it off.

“Teenage girls love
and want to marry anyone they see on TV. You were a teenage girl once.”

“I was.”

“And?”

“And I would have been
happy to settle down with any one of seven different celebrities.”

“None of which was me?
Undeniably sexy frontman for Night Shifts Black? How’s that possible?”

I include an
apologetic look with my headshake. “Sorry. I was more into movie stars than
rock stars.”

“Really? That
surprises me.”

He’s not joking now,
and it catches me off guard.

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. You
take me as someone who charges off the beaten path, that’s all. Hollywood
crushes seem too cliché for you.”

“Now who’s judging a
book by its cover?”

“What? You’re offended
that I think you’re interesting?”

I can’t even begin to
respond to that. He’s got me all kinds of flustered. Stupid words. Stupid,
traitorous words. I’m about to say something horrifying like “you think I’m
interesting?”

Thankfully, I manage
to stop it.

“No comment, huh?”

His self-satisfied
smirk makes me want to smack him. And kiss him. I almost blush.

“I’ll have the perfect
comeback in about three hours when I’m back at my apartment cleaning out my
closet, don’t you worry.”

His smirk spreads into
another genuine grin, and I can’t help but return it.

“Fair enough. Make
sure you write it down so you can tell me tomorrow.”

He tosses a few bills
on the table and grabs his jacket.

I’m disappointed until
I notice he’s still smiling on his way to the door for the first time since we
met.

Day
Six: Part I.

I don’t even make it through the door before
Shauna is shoving me back into the cool April-morning air.

“You’re here! I
thought you’d never get here,” she says.

I’m not nearly as
pleased to see her. This can’t be good.

I try to peek past her
through the door, but I can’t see anything.

“What’s going on? Is
everything ok?”

She bites her lip and
glances behind her. “Not really, no.” She leans toward me. “He’s here and he’s
not good today.”

“Who’s here? Luke?”

I know the answer, of
course I do; I just need more time to process it.

She nods. “If Ailee
didn’t know he was Luke Craven of Night Shifts Black, he’d probably be dealing
with the cops right now.”

“Really? Is he causing
a disturbance? He’s bothering people?”

“Um…no, not like that.
But he’s been sitting there for, like, a half hour.”

“He’s freaking people
out because he’s been sitting for a half hour?”

“He’s…” she stops and
seems frustrated that she can’t explain. The thing is, she doesn’t have to. I
get it, and I wouldn’t know how to explain it either. I realize it’s better if
I just spare her the attempt and agree to take over from here.

“I’ll go see if I can
talk to him.”

“Really?” She is
clearly relieved. “Thank you! We’re all worried about him, you know.”

I nod to be polite,
but their concern doesn’t mean much to me. They weren’t worried until they
learned who he was.

I go inside slowly, as
if I’d startle him with a normal entrance. I know it’s silly. My guess is he
won’t even notice me. He’s probably not noticing anything right now.

I know exactly where
to look after I’m inside, and when I see him, I completely understand Shauna’s
hesitation. I’m not sure how you’d describe the scene to make it sound as
disturbing to the ear as it is to the eye.

It’s about the chair
again.

This time though, he’s
in it, seated casually, like he’s enjoying a relaxing meal with a companion.
The problem is, he’s removed it from the table and placed it in the middle of
the aisle. There is no companion. No meal. No silverware, napkins, or table.
Just Luke in a chair, in an aisle, sharing a silent conversation with a pretend
person. It is disturbing, incredibly disturbing, especially for someone who’s begun
to care about this person.

He doesn’t acknowledge
me as I move toward him. I don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t see me or just
doesn’t care that I’m here. I was so sure I had to help a moment ago, but now,
faced with the actual problem, I don’t really know what to do. I sense speaking
isn’t the right approach and will just turn a strange situation into a volatile
one. Instead, I decide to simply join his world like I’d done many times now,
and figure out how to navigate it once I’m inside.

I take a chair from
the neighboring table and position it across from him in the aisle. I can feel
the gazes of the other café patrons, but I don’t care about them right now. My fear
quickly bleeds into sadness as his eyes meet mine. He’s not crazy. He’s not far
away in some alternate universe. He knows exactly what he’s doing, where he is.
He’s just broken and lost and doesn’t care if he’s bending the rules about how
to behave in a restaurant.

“Did Shauna call you?”
he says finally.

I shake my head. “She
doesn’t have my number. I came on my own.”

He nods and leans
forward, resting his head in his hands. I think he might be crying, but he’s
not making any sounds so I can’t be sure.

I move my chair closer
to him. “Hey, you hungry?” I ask gently. It’s a pointless question, but it’s sound
and it’s safe.

He shakes his head.

I still can’t see his
face, and now I know it’s time. I can’t hold back anymore and have to take the
risk. Friends take risks for each other, and goodness knows I’ve played it so
safe up to this point that we still aren’t friends. I lean forward and easily
cover the remaining space between us. When I touch his hands they are warm,
like I thought, and so are mine. I expect him to recoil, maybe even snap at me,
but he doesn’t. He lets me peel his fingers away from his face and grip them. I
can feel the ring against my palm and squeeze harder. He looks at me then,
searching my eyes, and I catch my breath at my own glimpse into his soul.
There’s so much depth, so much pain, I’m paralyzed for a moment.

I don’t know which one
of us pulls away first. It’s probably him, but I react fast enough that it can
be construed as mutual. He rubs his face and closes his eyes. I know I’m
watching him recover from something, putting himself back together, so I just
wait for the process to complete. Finally, he sighs and leans back.

“We should order
something, huh,” he says.

“It would be the
polite thing to do,” I agree.

“Probably at a table
though?”

“Well, it would be a
lot easier.”

He smiles, and I
return it.

“You must think I’m
insane.”

“I definitely don’t
think you’re worried about restaurant etiquette.”

This time he laughs,
and I can almost feel the entire café collectively sigh with relief. Crisis
averted.

I signal Shauna and
point to our usual table. “Is this ok?”

Day
Six: Part II.

“You know they were ready to call the
authorities on you,” I whisper.

“I was a rock star for
seven years. You think I haven’t been acquainted with ‘the authorities?’”

“Oh right. Street cred
and all. You get that ink in prison?”

He smiles before he
leans back and closes his eyes. I don’t know what kind of silence this is, just
that he needs it, and commit myself to respecting his retreat for a while. We have
returned the chair to its table, and this time I’m pretty confident Ailee will
leave it unoccupied during the duration of our visit. Unlike many of her
customers, she is probably a Night Shifts Black fan. At the very least, she is
a fan of famous, rich people.

I glance around and
notice there are more guests than usual. I would have expected the opposite,
given Luke’s behavior a few minutes ago, and now, I can’t help but fear word is
beginning to spread about his presence in our city, at this café. I don’t want
them to know about the chair. I don’t want his suffering on display and wish I
could figure out a way to explain that to him. I’m suddenly wrapped in a sense
of urgency to solve this chair problem before it destroys him.

“You know how
sometimes you feel like your life isn’t yours,” he muses out loud. “Like you go
through the moment, but it could be happening to anyone, not you?”

I do know that
feeling. I nod, but don’t speak.

“That’s been the last
year for me. Every second of every day. I could recite any detail you want, but
I can’t tell you a single thing that’s actually transformed me or made an
impact. It’s like this is all happening to someone else and I’m really in a
whole other place right now.”

I’m quiet for a
moment. He’s not looking at me, and I know exactly what he means. Not just because
I can relate, but also because I’d had the same terrible suspicion about him
since our first conversation. He’s here, but he’s always somewhere else, too.
The rare magical moments are the ones where I actually have all of him for a
brief second.

“Is it the same reason
you lost your music?”

He’s staring at the
door now, and I wonder if he’s going to answer my question or flee again.

“Yes.”

“Your wife?”

He glances at the
ring. I do, too. He touches it. I want to touch it, too, but don’t have the
courage.

“I shouldn’t have asked
that. I’m sorry.”

When I look at him, I
suspect he is also. He’s not a bad person. At least, he isn’t now.

“Nothing personal,
right?” he replies with a weak smile.

I return it and nod.
“Right.”

It’s quiet again, and
I think I’ve lost him. He’s gazing out the window now, past our table, the
aisle, the chair. It’s almost like he’s looking for something, maybe someone,
but it’s the same haunted expression he has when he gazes at the chair. It has
to be the same ghost, and I want to help him find it more than ever.

“I didn’t used to be
this way,” he continues, still staring past the present. I’m not sure what he’s
referring to, nor am I sure he’s even talking to me. His tone is somewhere
between an apologetic confession and personal criticism. I can’t begin to
respond, so I wait.

“I used to be the life
of the party. Heart on my sleeve. I used to be silly.”

I can’t imagine him
being silly. I’m not even sure what he means by that. “We all change. Life
changes us.”

“Yeah?”

“I like to believe
that anyway.”

“Ok, that’s fair.” He’s
being polite again. He doesn’t agree with me.

He’s right of course.
We don’t all change. Life doesn’t force it equally. We don’t accept it equally
either. I was just trying to throw something out there to reassure him, and now
realize how pointless that was. He’s too perceptive to be reassured by
statements that don’t mean anything.

“What about you? Has
life changed you?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“The insurance
settlement?”

I can’t look at him.
It wasn’t exactly an insurance settlement. I wonder if he knows that as well
somehow. He can’t possibly, but then, I’ve underestimated him since the moment
we met.

“Kind of.”

He nods, but doesn’t
push for more. He guards his secrets and he’s not a hypocrite.

“So where do we go
from here?” he asks.

“We, as in ‘the human
race?’ Or we, as in ‘our friendship?’”

He smiles, and I
finally have him back. “You must think I’m a lot more introspective than I am.”

“What? You’re offended
that I find you interesting?”

This time I get the
real smile at my teasing. “Not offended, but concerned you’ll be disappointed
by the truth about me at some point.”

“Which truth? That you
used to be the life of the party and silly? It’s already out.”

 
He shakes his head, the grin still in
place. “True.”

“Fortunately for me
and my morning breakfasts at Jemma’s, I don’t think you’re as shallow as you
think you are.”

“I used to be
shallow.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you
used to pretend you were shallow.”

“I wasn’t pretending.”

“Then maybe we have
different definitions of shallow.”

“Obsessed with
celebrity and all that comes with it?”

It’s my turn to smile.
“Ok, maybe we do have the same definition of shallow.”

He returns it. “It’s
hard not to be shallow when you’re a celebrity and drowning in all that comes
with it.”

Another piece falls
into place. It’s the way he says it. The way his eyes change. The way the
circle just completed itself. Drowning. He didn’t have to use that word. I
start to understand what the media and masses could not. He had to walk away
from them because he couldn’t be a celebrity anymore. He didn’t want all that
came with it. I just need to find out why.

“I should probably go.
I have a long day ahead,” Luke says, and I regret letting the conversation die.

“Anything interesting
planned?”

“Nothing that isn’t
personal.”

“Sorry.”

But he’s smiling, so
he’s not really upset. “Don’t be.” He tosses some bills on the table and
pauses. “It’s mostly legal stuff.”

I nod like I
understand what that means.

I don’t.