Playing For Keeps (14 page)

Would they believe me if I said I didn’t care? That I was going because I wanted to, because I was a sexual woman and Jimmy Keats hit all my right buttons? That maybe I was using him, too?

The worst, though, was the possibility that anyone would think I was sleeping my way to the top. My sisters knew I was talented. They praised me and my band all the time. But this was the kind of situation that would make even me, was I in their shoes, wonder.

No matter. That was life in the public sphere, right? Everyone questioning and always coming up with the worst-case scenario. If Ladies in Waiting made it, it was something I’d have to get used to. I slicked the side of my hair with the small shaved section back and brought the rest forward over my forehead. I was slowly getting used to the new cut. Appreciating how it allowed me to look both badass and flirty at the same time. One more sweep of mascara and a quick scrutinization and I stood to face my closet.

I pulled out two dresses. One, a form-fitting black mini dress with a lace panel inset at the stomach. The other, a strappy yellow dress with a filmy over layer that flowed to the tops of my knees.

Diya walked in. She paused when she saw me contemplating my outfit, her eyes sweeping over me with dawning understanding.

“Are you going out tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“With Jimmy Keats?”

“With Jimmy Keats,” I repeated.

“Does Bea know?”

“That I’m going out?”

“That you have, that you are.” She shrugged. “All that.”

“Yeah, Bea knows. It’s okay. I think.”

“You think?”

“It’s complicated?” I tried.

Diya nodded. “Yeah, I can see how it would be.”

I hung both dresses back in my closet and rubbed the back of my neck. “You don’t think I should be doing this, do you?”

She looked from me to the dresses, and something she saw made her eyes soften. “You should wear the yellow.”

I breathed a sigh of relief that Diya didn’t ask any more questions and grabbed the yellow dress. Except, she did have more questions, and these worried me even more than what I was going to wear to see Jimmy.

“How are classes?”

“Fine.”

“How are you keeping up?”

My mouth paused over the sound of “f,” because it would be dishonest to tell Diya “fine,” again. My classes were hard. They were intended to weed out those who aspired to really good MBA programs but didn’t have the chops for them.

With all the demands on my time, recently, between rehearsing with Ladies in Waiting, meeting with people, styling and photo shoots,
I
was getting weeded out.

“Not so fine,” I admitted, sinking onto my mattress. “I don’t know how to juggle everything, Diya. My classes, the band, this…thing with Jimmy Keats. I should feel excited or grateful or…some emotion that normal people who are actually achieving their farfetched dreams should feel. But mostly, I’m tired. Freaking out a little bit. But I keep racing for everything, because I want it all. Is that dumb?”

Diya sat next to me and put an arm around me. She was so good at taking care of other people. Everyone at Delta Gamma adored her for it, but sometimes I wondered where she got all that affection, and if it was a well that could ever run dry. Surely our random drama exhausted her. Especially since she was stuck rooming with me, probably the most difficult of the bunch.

“Not dumb. We all want everything. You can schedule your classes and your rehearsals and all of that. But you can’t control your heart. Or your desire. Those, you just sort of manage as best you can.”

“Stupid heart.”

She laughed. “The rest, though…I don’t know, Court. Your music career is picking up a lot faster than anyone thought it would, I think. That’s scary, but cool, too. I understand how nervous it makes you, but if you don’t chase this dream now, when will you ever? Business school will be there if it all goes to pot. If you never go for it, for all of it—the music and the man—you’ll never have to worry about failing. But you’ll never win, either.”

“Why are you so good at this? At knowing the right things to say?”

“It’s the mystical way of my people.” Diya laughed again.

I put my arms around her. “I like your people. Now, I’d better get moving before my hair goes flat. The last thing I want is photos of me showing up in random gossip mags bemoaning my terrible style.”

11.

Jimmy came for me at nine on the dot, and all the Delta Gamma ladies in the house when he came in and stood in the entryway, waiting for me, greeted him. It was probably uncomfortable for him, but he bore it well, letting me introduce him like he was some random guy I’d met and shaking hands in a professional manner, even though some of my DG sisters couldn’t keep the stars out of their eyes.

The way he handled everything so smoothly was a major turn on.

He held the car door open for me, then went around to the driver’s side. He loosened his tie slightly and unbuttoned the top button on his gray silk shirt and my body flared to life. I parted my lips. Would we even make it back to his place?

His gaze swept me and he flashed a smile. “I hope you don’t mind if I get a little more comfortable on the ride over?”

“Not at all. Are you glad to be back? From Louisiana, I mean.”

“I like visiting my family. But I’m glad to be back in L.A.” He searched my face. “For one reason, at least.”

Heat filled my cheeks and I looked away. “How’s your grammy?”

“Keeping excellent health. She had all kinds of questions about you. And, some interesting info for me. Turns out, she knew Local Jackson, back in the day.”

“I’m not surprised. He’d told me before that he’d played with just about everyone in Louisiana. I wonder if he remembers her.”

“You’ll have to ask. Let me know what you find out.”

“I will.”

While Jimmy’s eyes were on the road, I took liberty to look him over. The more time we spent together, the more relaxed he was around me. I liked hearing about his family, about the things that mattered to him.

I wanted to matter to him.

He’d worked long and hard for what he had and he had a humble appreciation for his gifts. I admired that about him. It made a difference to me to discover that he wasn’t the person I’d pegged him for all those months ago.

I had never heard about Jimmy’s mom’s restaurant because he’d never told a magazine. I hadn’t heard about his dad’s music or his uncle’s dirt bike track or any of those things because he kept those details to himself. They were sacred.

But he shared them with me.

We had a lot in common – and a lot of differences. I could see spending more time with him. I wanted to spend more time with him. Out in the real world, where everyone could see us together, and like this, away from cameras and scrutiny. In our own secret place. I wanted him to sing to me again and go out on dates with him and walk with him. What did he want? Any of those things? Was I just his newest fling?

I wished, now, that I knew more about Jimmy. Was he a player? Did he have scandals in his past? There was probably a ton I could discover with an hour-long internet search, and yet…they idea of doing that left a bad taste in my mouth. The whole point behind our spending time together was so that we could get to know the real Jimmy and Courtney, not some image or PR construct. He’d even said it was something he liked: he could be his true self without my having preconceived notions.

The image of the threatening letter floated in my mind. Being public with Jimmy made life more complicated than I ever thought it could be. Was it the same for Julia Wood? It is hard to nurse heartbreak when all eyes are on you? Perhaps it was easier to act anonymously, take out her pain on Jimmy’s next lover.

I bit my lip. “Your grammy knew about Julia Wood, right?”

I didn’t notice any particular movement from Jimmy. No jaw clenching or tightened shoulders. But tension in the car grew. It might have just been me, though.

“Sure,” Jimmy said.

“Did she like her?”

Jimmy shrugged. A nonchalant shrug? A forced shrug? A defensive shrug? “I guess.”

“Did she ever meet her?”

“No.”

I wanted to ask if Jimmy’s grammy would ever meet me, but my questions were already bordering on uncomfortable. Still, I
did
get a threatening letter and if Julia Wood was the one who sent it, she needed to back off.

So I went for it. “Is she the jealous type, Julia?” I blurted out.

“
Julia
?” He said it as though Julia was the last person who could possibly jealous. As though I was a fool for even thinking it. I frowned. It was normal to be a little insecure about a guy’s ex when she a flawless, famous actress, right? He didn’t have to act so disbelieving. I crossed my arms and looked out the window.

“Yes, Julia. People get jealous after breakups, you know.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Why not? Because she’s perfect and wonderful and gracefully moved on like a perfect fucking perfect person does?”

His lips twitched. It pissed me off even more.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“So you agree she’s perfect.”

Jimmy pulled into the parking lot of a retro ice cream parlor and cut the engine. He faced me. “Look, you began this conversation by asking if Julia is a jealous person. But now…she’s not the one coming off as jealous.”

I itched to smack that knowing look off his face. Or, at least, to punch the car door. Something…anything…to get rid of the horrible, dark feeling making me feel so insecure and stupid.

“I’m not allowed to ask simple questions without you becoming my shrink?” I sputtered. “She’s everywhere! People wonder why you broke up. How you’re handling it. How she’s managing, now. Saying you two were perfect together. And I’m--.”

“Nowhere?”

He took my hand. Pulled my arms apart. Entwined his fingers with mine.

“Courtney. Don’t listen to what anyone who doesn’t know me or you or Julia has to say. They make game of our lives, that’s all.”

“That’s not a game I want to play.”

“So don’t. Let it go. I haven’t seen or spoke with Julia since the night you met her. But where you are? Is right here. Just where I want you.”

Finally, my tense body relaxed. His words were the exact right ones. The way he was looking at me, with longing and ease, was the right way. This all felt
right
. He leaned toward me, his eyes capturing mine, proving to me, with a look, that he meant what he said. I took his face in my hands and kissed his luscious lips. He smiled. Grabbed his door handle.

“Now get out, woman! This place has the best shakes west of the Mississippi.”

We ordered, but as soon as the chocolate malt and berry trio shakes arrived, Jimmy herded us back in his car.

“Now where to?” I asked.

“My place.” He wiggled his eyebrows and I gave him a flirty look over the top of my straw. But when we arrived at his house, it wasn’t quite what I’d expected. He led me to his bedroom, where the T.V. was hooked up to an old school N64.

I almost dropped the rest of my milkshake in my excitement. “Please tell me you have Mario Kart.”

“You’re joking, right?” He slid the cartridge off the dresser and I squealed, climbing onto his bed and grabbing the gray controller.

“You are going to eat my Rainbow Road dust!”

“Dream on, Yoshi. My Bowser is going to flatten you like a pancake.”

“You talk to your Momma with that voice?”

Jimmy flipped the N64 on and joined me on the bed. We stared each other down for two seconds, intimidation flying in the air between us. We laughed. Started on the easy levels, but quickly worked our way up.

“Cheater!” I yelled, when he nudged me practically off the bed to get an edge on Choco Mountain, but I got him back soon enough as I flung myself into his lap, forcing his character to become an ice cube during Sherbet Land.

When all was said and done and my stomach hurt from laughing and our shakes were long gone and the last lap of Rainbow Road was only a memory, I stood on Jimmy’s bed and raised my fists in the air. “Victory is mine!”

Jimmy grabbed me around my calves and brought me crashing down to his level. “I let you win.”

“Ha! You would say that…Loser McLoserston.”

“I challenge you to a rematch. No cheating with your womanly wiles, this time!”

“My wiles, huh?” I rolled to my back and blinked up at him. “You think if I use my wiles hard enough I might get another kind of rematch?”

Jimmy Keats burrowed his face into my neck, inhaling my scent before placing a kiss on the skin there. His laughed was a gentle rumble through his whole body. “I have a better idea. I’m going to play you something.”

“What?”

“I want it to be a surprise. Close your eyes.”

I looked at the tie he’d removed and tossed on the floor sometime during Mushroom Cup. “Or, you could use that.”

He raised an eyebrow, but reached for the tie, wrapping it around my head. The scent of his aftershave filled my nose. Woody, like the earth, but fresh, sharp and salty, too, like the sea. Purely masculine.

With my sight taken away, my ears perked up. I thought about how many of my senses were incapacitated and how I loved letting them go and swimming in the moment. I heard the click of wood. The shuffle of socks on carpet. The metallic press of a button. A beat of static. And then, music.

Violin, with the first note, but immediately afterwards, a full orchestra recording in the background. I had no idea what piece Kevin was playing, I had no idea he even could play, but it was gorgeous. He was shattering my preconceived notions of boy band musicians and their limited abilities.

Minor notes with the tang of melancholy and romance led into a sprightly section of quick notes which built in tremor to a rich fullness of sound, once again. My body was like the instruments, moving in time, like the mouths blowing the woodwinds, like the drums, being thrummed by the percussionist. Music came over me in waves and I breathed in time, holding my breath in the crescendos, letting it go once we reached and went over the tip of drama.

The recording silenced and Kevin’s bow ran over the strings, his fingers picking out the melody with precision. When the tempo increased, so did my heart rate, running, dashing, leaping high as each note trilling at the very edges of what the violin could produce. I moved my hips forward, reaching for another crescendo. My skin stood at attention, shivering along with the vibrato Kevin commanded from his instrument.

The bed disappeared. The house disappeared. All that was left was my body, soaring in time to an ethereal sound that lifted me high, brought me down gently, then raised me up again. My clit swelled, throbbed. My lungs struggled to keep up with my need for oxygen under the perfect weight of his playing. With all my attention focused on the music, on my body, on what felt good to me, I discovered a new energy. Something entirely self-serving. Something wonderful. I didn’t need lips or fingers or anything physical to build my pleasure. The freeing way I couldn’t expend any part of myself on Kevin, even if I’d wanted to, because he was busy, because he wanted nothing more than to get pleasure from my pleasure was intoxicating and torturous at the same time. Warmth and moisture built between my legs as sound built for the final crescendo, and when it came, so did I.

I panted into the silence that was left when Kevin put his violin down and pressed that button again, turning off the speakers. He came back to me, unknotted the tie and gazed at me like I was his beautiful discovery.

When I took a breath of the air that had changed between us, become clearer and lighter, I said, “What were you playing?”

“Korngold’s Violin Concerto in D Major.”

“You’ve played it before.”

His eyes flicked to me, but he didn’t mention the slightly jealous tone in my voice. “Many times before. Never like this. Never with an audience. Of any kind. It was always my secret. My thing.”

“And you let me in.”

“Yes.”

I smiled. I had one thing from Jimmy Keats—Kevin—that no one else, no matter how many demands on him the public gave, had.

I stood and he tucked one hand behind my neck and kissed me.

“Can I have you for the rest of the night? Perhaps for more…typical things. Lazing around. Watching a movie.”

“Okay.”

We did more typical things. Sprawled on his bed and watched stand-up comedy. Kissed until I felt dizzy. The second time, I undressed him and we made love slowly, more of my attention on him as I climbed on top and rocked with his firmness inside me. We slept until dawn crept into his unshaded windows, then made love again, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on our bodies. We showered together and I laughed at his purple loofah and coconut scented body wash, then slept again.

*

Duncan Prospect folded his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes as Jimmy’s baritone voice came into the sound studio. “Again. From the top.”

“Again times ten,” Bea muttered. Kaitlin sighed and cleared her throat. I practiced my fingering without making a sound and wiggled my toes in my shoes. My feet were beginning to fall asleep. At least Jimmy had been right about giving me good sleep last night. I’d slumbered like a log after his solo concert and our chill-out time.

“We’ll get it this time.” Jimmy encouraged us. But he’d said that last time. And the time before, too. Still, Bea counted us in and we launched into what would be our first track, “Up All Night.” I was feeling the lyrics on a personal level, today. I knew Bea’s rhythm was perfectly in time, and Kaitlin was keeping the harmony well. And I knew I sounded great, my smoky voice carrying the words beautifully. I leaned into my mic to begin singing.