The Song in My Heart (9 page)

Dess scrambled to her feet, the color still high in her cheeks. “More chicken?” she asked with false cheerfulness. “Wine?”

Erika shook her head. “Honestly, I’m a bit tired. Long day today. Long day tomorrow, too.”
Christ, I can’t believe I’m doing this!

“You’re right, and tomorrow’s going to be even longer. Sloane will be back in the afternoon and we’ve got a ton of songs to learn yet. I think we should get started first thing in the morning.” She reached above her head to stretch, then yawned. “I’m going to turn in. Goodnight, Erika.”

Erika rose and had to suppress the unmistakable need to hug Dess. Her arms hung loosely and inadequately at her sides, like they didn’t know what to do with themselves. “Goodnight, Dess.”

Chapter Seven

Dess had never before slipped her guitar on her back and cycled to a private place on the island to play, as she and Erika were doing now. It had been Erika’s idea, and the absence of tourists was the only reason it was possible. They’d have been mobbed if it were summer, which was why during the busy months on the island, Dess kept mostly to her own property. The islanders knew who she was and left her alone. But the “fudgies,” as the islanders called the tourists, would most likely recognize her, hound her for autographs and photos and lob uncomfortable questions at her like grenades. Like why hadn’t she returned to her career and why had she removed herself from the public eye. She barely discussed those topics with people she knew and loved, let alone with strangers.

The sun on her face, the wind sending her hair in six different directions, Dess felt a remarkable sense of not-giving-a-shit. There was nothing to care about, outside the fact that it was a gorgeous day to be outside playing her guitar. The sense of freedom lifted her, made her feel ten pounds lighter. Although it wasn’t enough to make her forget how badly she’d embarrassed herself in front of Erika last night.

God
, she thought with a cringe, her heart as heavy as a rock in her chest. She’d practically thrown herself at Erika, looking at her with puppy dog eyes, nearly begging to be kissed. And more. She’d acted like a groupie without any boundaries, and she should damn well know better. She did know better. She’d had plenty of men and women throw themselves at her when she was famous, having lost count at more than four hundred of the little come-on notes that had found their way into her pockets, her luggage, under her hotel room doors over the years. There had been many brazen propositions too and a few admirers who had even become pesky stalkers. It got so exhausting, so predictable, that there was nothing at all flattering about a stranger’s—or even a near-stranger’s—propositions. Erika, she figured, must have had a good laugh last night at her expense, and she didn’t know how, or even if, she should address what had happened. She wanted Erika to know it wouldn’t happen again, that they were professionals and that Dess would never act so ridiculous again.

It’s that damned voice of hers
, Dess decided. Deep as a still river, soulful as an angel’s, smooth as a weathered stone. And the knack Erika had for making it seem like she was singing only to you, that the words were meant only for you, that very special listener, was the
coup de grace
. Singing was more effective than alcohol as a panty remover, and she was sure Erika knew it too. Was sure, in fact, that Erika had seduced many women with her voice.

The only thing Dess couldn’t quite square away in her mind was why Erika had backed away from what she had been on the cusp of offering. Erika had made enough flirty jokes, had many times looked at her with obvious desire. Had Dess crossed up the signals? Or maybe Erika wasn’t single. Or she’d changed her mind about Dess. Or maybe she was one of those people who was all bark and no bite when it came to seducing. A tease.

Jesus
, Dess thought.
I’m spending way too much emotional energy on this
. It was going to be a long summer if she didn’t immediately drop this entire subject. It was time—way past time—to move on.

“How about this spot?” Erika called out from a few yards ahead. She’d stopped her bike at a rock formation beside a bend in the road, pointing toward a narrow trail that dropped down below the road and wound through some bushes for a few steps before, as near as Dess could tell, it opened up to a private spot on the beach.

“Perfect,” Dess replied. “Let’s bring our bikes with us so they’re out of sight.”
So we won’t be bugged
, she almost added.

On the sand Dess spread out a large blanket she’d stowed in her bicycle’s basket and pulled her windbreaker tighter around herself. She’d packed a couple of sandwiches and a couple of Cokes in a cooler bag for later, remembering how immensely guilty she’d felt this morning at Maggie’s big brown, pleading eyes. “I’ll take you for a long walk later,” Dess had promised her.

They sat down and pulled their guitars onto their laps. Erika had said she wanted them to perform an acoustic version of the Guns N’ Roses song, “Sweet Child O’ Mine.” Dess would play the lead, Erika would play the rhythm chords and sing. Dess set the sheet music on the blanket between them, pinning it in place with a few well-placed stones. After a couple of stumbling starts, they transitioned smoothly enough into the song, Dess surprised that they were so handily able to turn a hard rock song into a folksy ballad.

“I like it,” Erika announced. “It’s different from any version I’ve ever heard. And it should satisfy any rock fans in the crowd.”

Dess fetched the cola and sandwiches from the cooler bag and spread them out between them. “We haven’t really touched anything jazzy yet. Or bluesy, other than the song we wrote. Got any ideas?”

“Yes, since you asked.” Erika grinned, her dimples locking Dess’s gaze onto them, her eyes like missiles on their target. “I want us to do ‘Don’t Cry Baby,’ although most of it will be piano accompaniment. And I want us to do ‘How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved by You).’”

Dess whistled. “The old Marvin Gaye song? What do you want to do to that?”

Erika waggled her eyebrows. “Make it so sexy and soulful that all the women in the audience will be creaming themselves.”

Dess nearly choked on the mouthful of Coke she was about to swallow. “Um, okay. Though that part is entirely your bailiwick, not mine.”

“Oh no. Even in your wig or hat or big sunglasses or whatever disguise you’re going to use, you’ll be a lady charmer, trust me.”

“Not with anything near the voltage you’ve got, young lady. You could sing nursery rhymes and still have women creaming their pants, as you so artfully describe it.”
Me included.

Erika somehow managed to look embarrassed, though it couldn’t possibly be genuine, Dess figured. Erika had to damn well know how her voice affected people. She was a smart girl and had been doing this too long to play dumb. Dess decided to challenge her on it. Mostly because it might clear the air about what had happened—or almost happened—last night.

“So. Tell me. How many women typically throw themselves at you after an evening on stage?”

Erika’s eyes widened reflexively. “W–what?”

“C’mon, you know what I’m talking about.”
The way I did last night
, she was too cowardly to say. “You must get phone numbers, out-and-out propositions. And if you claim you’re not, then you’re blind and deaf.”

After a moment, Erika shrugged. “Sometimes, yes, but not as often as you think.”

“And what do you do in the face of all that temptation?”
Please tell me you’re not promiscuous
, Dess silently pleaded. Sloane was bad enough; she didn’t need Erika behaving that way too. She couldn’t admit to herself that she cared about the answer for other, more personal reasons, too.

“Nine times out of ten, I go home alone.”

It was an honest answer, judging by the absence of any hesitation, and Dess heaved an inward sigh of relief. Then another to ground herself. “Look. About last night…”

Erika had the good grace to look uncomfortable. Like the blame was on her. “Yes?”

“I…”
Oh, shit. I don’t even know what I want to say, except that I’m supposed to be the adult here
.

“You did nothing wrong,” Erika interjected before Dess could wrench something intelligible out of herself. She could have kissed Erika for letting her off the hook so easily.

“I let the mood of the evening get to me,” Erika continued. “No, wait, that’s not quite right. I let my emotions get the best of me, and it was inappropriate of me to touch you the way I did. I apologize.”

“I appreciate the apology, Erika, but there’s no need. I think I let the mood of the evening get to me a little too, and I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”
There. Now she knows in no uncertain terms that I’m not looking for anything other than a professional relationship.
“I can promise you it won’t happen again.”

Dess meant it too, but she felt a pang of sadness at the thought. It was a hard thing for her to admit, but she got lonely sometimes. Not only in the absence of someone to talk to, to share with, to hang out with, but very much in physical terms as well. A hug, some snuggling, holding hands. And…okay, Carol was right. A little sex now and again would be nice too. But there was no place in her mind for connecting the dots with Erika. For a number of reasons, and all of them very good, Erika was not the woman to fill any of those voids. Erika, she reasoned, simply served as a reminder that some of the things she missed sharing with another woman were still important to her.

Erika flashed a grin that was far too playful. “Well, I wouldn’t hold it against you if you wanted to break that promise.”

Dess shook her head, not buying the act. “You’re an incorrigible flirt, you know that? Although I am flattered, so thank you for that. Now let’s get back to the music before you get yourself into trouble.”
And before this conversation strays into more dangerous territory
. “What else is in your repertoire that you’d like to play on the tour?”

“What about another original piece?”

“Like?”

Erika swallowed visibly but never took her eyes off Dess. “I know you don’t want me singing one of your hit songs from the past, and I respect that. But Sloane said you have binders full of songs you’ve written that have never seen the light of day. Why don’t we change that?”

It was a long moment before Dess could move her mouth. Shock gave way to outrage at the suggestion. There was no way in hell anyone was going to see those binders of songs, never mind sing anything in one of them. They were much too personal, harkening back to some of her darkest days—the breakup with Dayna, her battle with cancer, the loss of her career, the unspoken emptiness that too often filled her days and blackened her mood. The songs were a form of journaling, and even suggesting that she share her personal pain in the form of those songs felt like a betrayal.

Her jaw clenched. She could barely grind out the words. “Absolutely not. And I don’t ever want to hear that suggestion again.”

“But I don’t understand. Those binders could be a gold mine.”

“No,” Dess said in a voice sharp as a razor. “You’re right. You
don’t
understand, and I hope to God you never will.”

* * *

Erika could no longer maintain her mask of cheerfulness. The day with Dess had been an unmitigated disaster. Or at least it had become so as soon as she’d stupidly suggested using one of Dess’s compositions in her set. Dess’s freak-out had stunned and shamed Erika, and even now, hours later, she couldn’t jettison the memory of Dess’s clenched face—and her voice, which had sounded like ground-up glass—as she unequivocally nixed the idea. For the rest of the afternoon, they maintained their distance, with Erika retreating to a separate corner of the house until Sloane sauntered in after dinner like the prodigal daughter returning home. She regaled them with the highlights of her two-day Detroit gig with Taylor Swift, and her timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Sloane was the glue that kept them together whenever things became strained, and that was never more apparent than now, Erika thought dismally.

Dess slipped off to bed early, which was just the impetus Sloane needed to retrieve two glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniels from the cupboard. She poured herself and Erika healthy glassfuls, and they sat down at the kitchen island. They clinked glasses companionably before Sloane’s jovial mood dimmed.

“Tell me I’m imagining some frost between you and my best buddy.”

Erika shrugged. “It’s fine.”

Sloane raised her eyebrows but said nothing.

“All right. It
was
fine. Until earlier today when I suggested we use one of her songs that she’s got squirreled away in those famous binders of hers.”

Sloane sipped her drink, shook her head lightly.

“What?” Erika asked. “How was I supposed to know it was a stupid suggestion?”

“It’s not your fault. Dess is extremely private, that’s all.”

Private was one thing. But practically hostile? What the hell was that all about? “Sloane, I’m sorry if I’m prying. And I know you’re very loyal to your best friend. But I don’t understand her.”

Sloane held up her glass in a silent salute. “God knows, it’s no easy accomplishment getting to know Dess. Took me more than a decade, and even then, there are corners of her nobody is allowed to get near.”

Erika swallowed the fiery liquid and considered Sloane’s observation. “But we’re going to be working closely together for months. It’s impossible to do that and remain strangers.”

“Yes, and that means you’re going to have to figure out pretty quick what she’s sensitive about, what’s off limits, if we’re to have peace in this little marriage of three.”

A weight settled on Erika’s heart that not even the bourbon could lighten. Dess was so talented, so full of wondrous gifts. She was beautiful, funny, smart, had a wealth of knowledge and experience and possessed a generous heart. That she carried so much pain troubled Erika.

“It’s like she’s carrying a mountain on her back,” Erika finally said. “Why? Why is she so bitter? So closed up like a fist about certain things?”