Sweet Thing (26 page)

“Yeah?”

“Did you say that… because we were…?”

“No.”

We dozed off again, still tangled in each other.

* * *

The bed was empty when I woke, but I could smell French toast cooking and I heard Will singing faintly to a Pearl Jam song. I became positively turned on by the combination of those things. My shirt was nowhere to be found, so I darted across the hall in my underwear.

“I saw that!” he yelled.

I giggled and grabbed a T-shirt from my collection before heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth. When I got to the kitchen, I hopped up on the counter. Will came over and stood between my legs, resting his hands on my thighs. He was shirtless, with his jeans hanging low on his lean, narrow hips. I followed the dark happy trail down to the silver-studded belt; there was no sign of boxers.

“Good morning, baby,” I said with brazen smirk. He grinned and then closed his eyes and kissed my lips delicately… for a long time.

He pulled away just an inch and whispered, “Morning,” before kissing me again. “Time to eat.”

“I can’t wait!”

We sat at the table and ate the best French toast ever made. Andrew Bird was plucking away and serenading us with weird words over the iPod speaker.

“I think this song is about one of those tumors that has teeth and hair,” Will said.

“That’s disgusting. I think it’s about love and kittens.”

“Nope, it’s about a teratoma,” he said, smiling.

“Well whatever, let’s not think about that. Are you done in California?”

His mood dropped through floor like an anchor. “Let’s not think about
that
.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened, but I have to go back and finish what I started in the studio.” He turned toward me and grabbed my hand in his. “Come with me.”

It took me a millisecond to decide. “Okay.”

* * *

He seemed calmer than usual before our flight to LA, except that he insisted on being one row behind the exit aisle. After we got off the ground he was back to his usual shenanigans. Leaning over me, he said, “I need to make sure the landing gear is retracting,” but he didn’t look out the window. He took a deep breath through his nose and then kissed me deeply. We kissed for minutes or maybe hours before resting our heads on each other and falling asleep.

AT LAX we were whisked away in a town car while Will updated me on the current status of his career.

“Honestly, I don’t understand why they’re paying for the studio time. I haven’t even signed a deal; it makes no sense. Frank finagled some
sign your life away
contract with them, I know it.”

“They really want you, I think that’s why.”

“No, it’s something else, it has to be. I hate feeling indebted to these people and I’m tired of their fucking input. They want a hit, that’s all. They keep asking me to change lyrics and simplify whole parts of the song; who does that? If they think I’m so great, then why do they want to change everything?”

“Don’t screw it up, just do what they say,” I said, opening my eyes wide to urge him further.

He narrowed his eyes and jerked his head back. “Why? What’s going to happen if I don’t?”

“Go ahead, throw your life away because the label wants you to take out a couple of swear words?”

“I don’t even know if this is what I want.”

“What?” The Twilight Zone theme song was on repeat in my head. “People would die to be in your position. Isn’t this what you’ve been working toward your entire life?”

“NO! I have not been making music to get famous and have shitty things written about me, or to be stuck on a bus for months, or to be told what to do by some schmuck in suit who listens to fucking modern jazz all day. I’ve been making music because that’s what I love doing. What’s going to happen, Mia, if I turn my back on this shit now?”

“Career suicide, you’ll probably have to work at the Montosh for the rest of your life.”

“No! I mean what’s going to happen with us?”

“I don’t even know what
us
is yet.”

With his mouth open in awe, he shook his head frantically.

Here comes neurotic Will
.

“Singing a different tune now, are we? I seemed to recall you saying you loved me, but maybe that’s only when you’re on your back.”

“How dare you,” I said, trying to prevent the tears from welling in my eyes. “I just lost my dog… and my father. I’m not capable of making any decisions right now.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said immediately with a purely penitent look on his face. His eyes darted back and forth, searching mine. I let him squirm for few minutes while I thought about what could have happened to the real Will. I considered asking the imposter what he had done; if perhaps my sweet Will was in danger somewhere or maybe the imposter was actually wearing Will’s body like a suit. I burrowed my laser gaze into his corneas and waited a good thirty seconds before speaking. He must have anticipated some catastrophic melt down on my part because he took a deep breath and held it. But instead of anger, I just felt disappointment.

“I think you’re the one who’s singing a different tune. You got me in bed, so now you can be a jerk, right?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it. Please, Mia, I’m crazy about you. I’m under a lot pressure and I need you on my side.”

I stared out the window without a response. When we pulled up to the studio, he ran around and opened my door, but I didn’t take his hand. I was surprised to see so many suits in the place. Live Wire was sending in the big guns to set Will straight and it looked like Frank was eyeballs deep in apologies when we walked in.

“What’s she doing here?” Will said to Frank, gesturing toward Sonja, who was sitting in the corner with her entourage

“Will, we need to talk. Let’s go outside.”

My stomach dropped. There was a doomsday atmosphere in the room; people barely acknowledged Will and I was definitely getting the stink eye from all directions.

Right outside the door, Frank grabbed Will by the shoulders, getting his full, undivided attention. “Listen to me closely.” He looked over at me and winked as if he had just noticed my presence. “Hey, Will’s Mia.” He abruptly put his attention back on Will. “Rady and some other execs from Live Wire are in the building. There are lawyers here; your lawyer is on his way.”

“I have a lawyer?” He was genuinely surprised. I tried my best to follow the conversation. I knew Rady was the A&R guy from Live Wire that Will avoided at all costs and I knew that Will was in hot water because of his lack of cooperation with the genius they hired to produce the song.

Supposedly Brent Blackton was this studio savant who had produced more hits than Jimmy Jam, but Will thought he was fake, in part because on the first day they met, Blackton asked what kind of music he played. He told me he his response was, “Christ, I’m fucked. You don’t know what kind of music I play. I play Swedish fucking folk music, get your goddam clogs.” Needless to say, Blackton wasn’t amused and first impressions can mean everything in the music business.

“They want you to sign the contract before they spend another dime on this song. Blackton wants Sonja to sing backup and the label is behind him one hundred percent.”

“No! No! No fucking way! You have to fight for me, Frank. That’s what you’re getting ten percent for.”

“I haven’t seen a dime, Will, and I won’t unless you sign this deal and cooperate with these people.”

“What happened to artistic freedom? I’m getting fucked!” He was screaming at that point. “You people are blowing me wide fucking open, you’re gonna make me sell my soul to the devil. I won’t, Frank, I won’t sell my soul.” Then he looked at me and pointed in my face. “I won’t!” Neurotic Will in full force.

“Calm down,” I said with authority. “I mean, who has final say? He hasn’t signed anything yet.”

“Listen, there’s a lot of hype about Will because of Sonja. The label wants to ride that wave.”

I could see Will splintering. He was on the cusp of making an irreversible and rash decision. “Give him one day. Ask the label if we can meet tomorrow. He’s been on a plane for five hours—let him sleep on it.” I smiled and shamelessly batted my eyelashes at Frank.

“It’s not up to me, sweetheart, but I’ll try.”

Frank left us outside. A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead. I was dressed way too warm for Southern California, even for it being wintertime. “It’s freakin’ January and seventy-five degrees, what a joke.” I looked at Will, who was clearly experiencing some sort of cosmic mental breakdown. His face was flushed and then he shivered as he stared aimlessly at the ground. He was wearing black jeans, steel-toed boots, and a gray T-shirt over a black, long-sleeved thermal. I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t roasting. When he crossed his arms and shivered again, I put my hand to his head.

“You have a fever.” I looked into his eyes, but he fixed his gaze on the empty parking space behind me.

His shoulders were slumped and his face defeated. “No, this happens when a man’s heart is ripped out of his chest and then kicked around by the people he trusts.”

I wanted to wrap him up in a blanket and put him in my pocket for safekeeping.

Just then Sonja sauntered out and threw her arm around Will’s shoulder. She glanced at me and smirked before addressing him. “Willie, what’s wrong? Are you mad?” Her speaking voice was shrill, nails on a chalkboard. I threw up in my mouth a little and then shook my head. Will kept his head down and ignored her. She wore a tight, pink lacy dress that left nothing to the imagination, but her shoes were what really got me. She had on white platform wedges that were at least twelve inches off the ground. The angle of her foot was so steep I thought she must have been double jointed or something. I gawked, wondering how it was even possible. Her short little body almost met Will’s at six feet tall.

“I think Will wants to be left alone.”

“Well, you’re out here.” She had a cute doll face, pudgy red lips, brown eyes, and thin black eyebrows that looked like strings. For having a decent singing voice, her speaking voice was barely tolerable. She arched the strings, waiting for my response.

“Well, I’m his girlfriend.” The moment I said it, Will looked up with just a tiny bit of hope in his eyes. One side of his mouth curled into an unabashed smirk. If I had to guess what he was feeling, I would say two things: he was happy that I said I was his girlfriend but more than that he was intrigued at the prospect of a catfight between Sonja and me. I rolled my eyes at him.

“Sonja, this is Mia. Mia, Sonja.”

“Hi,” I said with an obligatory smile. “I like your shirt.”

“It’s a dress.”

“Whatever. Ready, Will?”

He slowly took Sonja’s arm from around his neck and stepped away from her like she was a cobra about to strike.

“Wait! Hold on. I just wanted to say thank you for opening the shows. You did a great job and…” She looked at me and smirked. “Thanks for that night back in San Diego. I won’t forget it.” She said the last part in a sultry voice.

The way Will’s eyebrows pointed together like he felt sorry for her made it obvious that she was full of shit.

Frank came barreling out the door. “You’re good to go, kid. He handed Will a disk. “She already cut a vocal track, just listen to it.” He looked at Sonja. “It’s not bad, sweetheart, but I think Will wants to debut something more original.”

“Frank, you know you can’t talk to me; that’s what I fucking pay people for. Talk to my manager.” And then she made a shooing motion with her hand before turning on her giant heel and walking away.

“Let’s get outta here, I feel like crap.” Will said, yanking me toward the car.

In the back of the town car he nuzzled against me and began trailing light kisses across my collarbone. “What do you want to do?” I asked.

“I just want to get wasted with you and find out if there is a god,” he murmured into my neck before tugging on my earlobe with his teeth.

I shivered. He moved his hand between my legs and then kissed me gently, teasing my bottom lip with his tongue. “What was last night then?” I whispered.

“Progress, but I think I need more convincing.”

The car pulled up to our hotel overlooking the Santa Monica pier. As soon as I saw the giant Ferris wheel, I grabbed Will’s arm. “We need to go sit on that thing! Now!”

“Is it safe?”

“Come on!”

When the big red bowl swooped us off the ground, Will’s grip on my hand tightened. We were silent and spellbound by the orange and white Creamsicle-like sunset taking place over the ocean. The crashing waves were like glorious movements from some unfinished musical masterpiece. We sat transfixed as the sun played the ocean like a Steinway.

We looked at each other at the very same moment and then just stared into each other’s eyes, perfectly content. “Did something happen with you and Sonja?”

“No… who is Jason?”

“An old friend. He and his fiancé came over for dinner.” He huffed and I knew it had tortured him until that moment, but just like that, things were straightened out and we were finally communicating. I was a little hesitant to approach the Live Wire subject because it seemed like he was feeling better, definitely over the fever and chills. “Are you going to sign the deal and let her sing on the track?”

Without hesitation he said “No” and then kissed me passionately, pulling me onto his lap. His mouth was urgent and his hands gripped my face like a vise. It was a theatrical display that got everybody on the ground clapping as we swooped by.

Will was avoiding the topic and it sent me reeling. We were expected to meet the Live Wire execs the next day, but Rady had arranged for Second Chance Charlie and Will’s band, the managers, and whatever friends or family wanted to join to have dinner in a rented-out restaurant that night. It was sort of the period at the end of the sentence for the two groups who were parting ways. If Will didn’t show, it would be a real slap in the face, regardless of what his decision was going to be the following day. Plus, I think everybody wanted an opportunity to work on convincing him to sign the deal, me included.

Track 18: A Violin

I explored our gorgeous suite, complete with a baby grand piano and a stone fireplace. The marble floors were freckled with ornate Persian rugs and everything in the bathroom was white and smelled like Lilly of the Valley.

“Wow, Will, I can’t believe Live Wire paid for a room like this.”

“They didn’t. It’s my way of thanking you for coming with me.”

“You paid for this?” He nodded slowly like he felt a fraction of doubt about telling me that tidbit.

“Thank you. This is amazing and you’re sweet,” I said. “I think we should go to dinner with the group.”

“Fine, but first this…”

By that point we were mindlessly removing each other’s clothes. I pushed him down on the bed and lowered myself onto him. He sucked in a breath and smiled, so I leaned down and kissed him sweetly and then tugged at his lower lip before sitting up and moving on top of him. I went slow and savored the feeling of him filling me. He met my movements with the perfect amount of resistance, one hand gripped my hip while he ran his index finger down the center of my chest, slowly inching his thumb down to the bundle of nerves above where our bodies connected. He knew exactly what to do with his adroit guitar hands and I made a mental note to thank the nurse if I ever saw her. I jerked, writhing from the intensity; his other hand gripped my hip tighter. I arched my back and let my head fall while I got lost in the feeling of Will in me and all over me as we both cried out. A moment later he sat up, still inside me, and wrapped his whole body around mine.

“I love you, Mia.”

“I know.”

I couldn’t say the words because the feeling had unearthed a new sensation that I had no experience with in a relationship… fear. It’s a plaguing, unruly affliction that clouds any happiness born from real love. It’s a fool who thinks love will set him free. Love equals a morbid and relentless fear of losing the other person. It’s a freak-accident fear, a piece of space junk falling from the sky and obliterating him, leaving nothing but his smoking boots. It’s the unfortunate-organ-defect fear—suddenly, on his thirtieth birthday, the little crack in his heart that’s been there since birth will rear its ugly head and take him in his sleep while he’s spooning you. It’s the only way to know you’re really in love, when you ask the question would it be harder to watch him die, or to know he’ll watch me die? Is there more mercy in being the one who does the watching or in being the one who does the dying? It’s when you realize what mercy-killing actually means, it’s when you actually care to the point of tormenting worry. It’s not roses and white horses, it’s fucking brutal and it can send a person running for the hills. To love is brave and Will was the bravest person I knew.