Kill Me (8 page)

The booth itself was perfect for the company and I made a mental note to compliment Ophelia when I had the chance, since the decor had young and spunky all over it. Freestanding half-walls made of planked lacquered wood were artfully arranged throughout the expansive rectangle. Each wall held a separate line of guitars that varied in options and finishes. They’d kept the products within reach and inviting, which was sure to increase the sell-through. Multi-hued spotlights angled down on the guitars, so each gleamed and sparkled under the hot lights.

To complement the large zebra-print area rugs, all the ladies were dressed in what I would call rocker-chic: edgy basic black with a kick of femininity. Joni, deep in conversation with the parents of a young girl, was clad in dark washed jeans, a black peasant top, and black heeled boots. Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid, allowing her silver and teal beaded necklace to stand out.

Vera, not surprisingly, had on all black, though her fitted t-shirt did have a pink cat on the chest. I leaned a little closer to read the phrase at the bottom. Vera chuckled, and when I finally read her shirt I realized why she’d laughed.

The shirt read, “Real Women Like Pink.”

I laughed too, as the tongue-in-cheek humor suited Vera perfectly.

“Choose your poison, Claire,” said Vera, sweeping her arm out to all the guitars I could choose from. There were so many, I took several minutes to wander through the display. One guitar called out to me above the others. It was baby blue and decked out with chrome, except for the neck which was made of rosewood and inlaid with delicate pearl butterflies.

“Ah, good choice,” Vera said coming up behind me and taking down the guitar. “C’mon. Let’s fire this baby up.”

I followed her to the center of the booth, where a small platform had been set up, with a couple of stools, a microphone, an amplifier and two towering speakers. I backed away, shaking my head.

“No way,” I said. “I can’t play the guitar Vera, putting me in front of people won’t help that!”

“Do you trust me?” she said.

I guess I did. Vera seemed like a trustworthy person and not the type to make an idiot out of me in front of half the convention goers. Still, I shrugged.

“You’ve got to have more faith in people, honey.” Vera patted the stool on the right and I sat down. She handed me the guitar and then stepped away to grab one for herself. She came back with striking all-black guitar with bright pink strings. Vera hooked long cables to both of our guitars, then sat beside me and showed me how to hold the instrument. She was so close that I could hear every intake of breath, close enough that I could swear I even heard her heart beat.

She gave me a quick overview of chords, guiding my fingers into the proper positions. Finally, she settled on one chord that she wanted me to play, only varying in how quickly I strummed the guitar for different effects.

“Okay, good. Now do it fast three times.” she said.

Careful to keep my fingers in their proper place, I did as Vera asked, and within minutes I was making music! It was a good feeling. Not as good as when I’d held the violin, but in a way this was better. Probably because it felt real in a way playing the violin had not.

“Now, put one foot on the floor and tap it to keep time with me. Keep the rhythm, one strum for one tap of the foot,” she instructed, “then, every time I wink at you, do the three. If I shake my head, stop. And when I nod wait three beats and start again.”

That sounded simple enough. Now, if I could just keep it up without looking like a fool.

Vera leaned over to the amplifier and adjusted the knobs. An electronic hum filled the air. “You ready?”

I gulped, then nodded, and watched as Vera began. Slow, sultry notes filled the area and conversations around us quickly died down. At least a hundred pairs of eyes turned to us. In my peripheral vision, I saw movement coming my way. Cassidy, with her fiery hair and short purple tutu skirt sauntered up on the little stage, claimed the stool to my other side and produced a second microphone. She gave me a
you-can-do-it
smile before singing the opening line to a Joan Jett classic. Her voice was deep and dangerous, and I almost forgot that I was supposed to be playing an instrument at all.

Vera nudged me with her foot, prompting me to look at her. At the appropriate time, with Vera’s nod, I began my rhythmic strumming. It was a little odd, having to stare at Vera so I’d know when to triple-strum. It felt more personal, more intimate than it should. Eventually though, I relaxed and let the notes take over.

Cassidy crooned, “We’ve been here too long...” while I kept an eye on Vera. Finally, she gave me the wink I’d been waiting on. I did just like Vera instructed, providing a little pick-up right before Cassidy belted out, “Do you wanna touch...” and Vera chimed in with a seriously wicked sounding guitar lick. I was just fine playing background and I seemed to be doing an okay job of it.

Of course, whenever things seemed to be going good lately, they just had to take an abrupt left turn into Weirdsville. The fingers I had on the correct strings began to feel hot and twitchy. I fought to control them as long as I could, but when Vera was halfway through a guitar solo, I lost all control over both of my hands. I looked at Vera for help, but she was too busy looking at the audience we’d accumulated to notice my distress.

It wasn’t until my guitar solo took off that Vera turned to me with a look of surprise on her face. And just like with the violin, I kicked some serious guitar-playing ass. Vera joined back in, while Cassidy sung her little Irish heart out, “Won’t you please, run your fingers through my hair...”

A drummer from a few booths down joined in, taking the performance to a whole new level. The crowd started filling in the “Yeah...Oh, yeah” parts and it felt like every person in Florida was focused on our performance. I felt like a Rock Goddess and it was flipping fantastic!

When the music stopped, cheers erupted from the entire convention hall, all the way back to the stairs. I was a rock-star, beaming out at the crowd. Then I saw Bette standing off to the left of the stage with a smug look on her face. In hindsight, I should have known from the moment that my fingers went AWOL that Bette was nearby. It was disappointing to know that my performance, at least the part that had people cheering, wasn’t one of my own making.

As soon as the crowd began to disperse, I propped the guitar against my stool and hurried over to Bette.

“Why did you do that?” I gasped once I reached her, frowning.

“Do what, love?” Bette did look honestly confused by my question, I’ll give her that.

“Make me play all great! Like you did with the Violin?” I argued.

“Clara,” Bette took my shaking hands into hers, and I let go of some of my anxiety. What can I say, since I knew she had that effect on me, I decided to let her use it.

“We do have a lot to discuss,” Bette said, nodding to the stage, “but I assure you that I had nothing to do with that. You have more than one gift it seems. But we will have to figure all of that out later.”

I didn’t want to believe her, but the opposite of that meant believing that she’d somehow used magic or something to make me play, and that didn’t make a whole lot of sense either. I was thinking of how to respond when an arm draped over my shoulder.

“Dang, you little tease!” Vera said, shaking me playfully. “With finger skills like that, you could teach me a thing or two.”

I decided to let her double-meaning go and offered up a weak smile. “Nah, you’re just a great teacher.” I said weakly.

Vera wasn’t buying my bull, but she was more interested in Bette at the moment, so she didn’t press me any further.

“Who’s your friend, Claire?” Vera offered up her handsomest smile to Bette, who only nodded politely.

“This is Elizabetta. She’s got the best collection of antique instruments here,” I said, wishing Vera would take her arm from around my shoulder. I had a suspicion that it was irking Bette. That or she just didn’t like Vera in general.

“Cool,” said Vera, looking from me and back to Bette, clearly trying to decide what we were to each other. Maybe once Vera figured it out, she could clue me in as well.

The three of us stood there for a full minute, smiling politely without either of us coming up with something to say. It quickly moved beyond the acceptable silence rule, and I couldn’t take it. Awkward silence makes me say stupid things and this time was no exception.

“Bette’s great with her fingers too!” I said, realizing how that must have sounded a bit too late. My face flushed with embarrassment. “I mean, uh, you should hear her play the violin. It’s magical.”

Bette looked to me with amusement, clearly enjoying seeing me squirm.

Vera, always with a few brain cells in the gutter, said, “I’d love to watch you two play together sometime.”

I’d thought my face couldn’t get any redder, but I had been wrong. Bette had mercy on me finally and leaned in to caress my cheek.

“We’ve only an hour left before the car comes, so finish up your business here soon, mi dolce.” Bette quickly kissed me, the kind of kiss that skirted the line between culturally customary and sexually charged, before turning her attention to Vera.

“Don’t tire my Claire out; I have plans for her later.”

With her claim laid down, Bette glided away, leaving me with Vera smiling like the Cheshire cat. She slapped me on the ass, saying, “I just knew you were a Sister. Where’s Cass, she owes me five bucks!”

Great. One naked groping session and I was already giving out the “L-Vibe”. If I ever actually had sex (that I could remember) with Bette, would it become transparent to everyone? I didn’t even have it in me to protest. I wasn’t sure that I could do it with a straight face, so I just shrugged.

Vera left me to seek out Cassidy and I stood alone in a sea of thousands. It seemed I was the only person for miles who was still unclear which side of the sexual fence I was on. At that point, I wasn’t interested in love, or even romance.

The bitter taste in my mouth from Pete was still going strong and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready to commit to someone again. It just didn’t seem worth the inevitable trouble later. Sex, on the other hand, wasn’t forever and didn’t have to be complicated unless you let it. In theory, that is.

Chapter 9

Two hours later, I was back in my hotel room with some time to kill. Bette said she was taking care of some business, and that she’d swing by to pick me up at nine. That left me with more than enough time to shower, dress, and flip through all thirty channels available on television, oh, about a million times.

I called home, praying that Quinn would answer. I didn’t want to speak to Pete any more than I had to. Naturally, he answered the phone. I tried to keep my voice even to avoid the obligatory long-distance fight. Phone arguments just didn’t yield the same satisfaction as yelling in someone’s face and I wanted to save up my anger.

“Put Quinn on,” I said, not even bothering with formalities. We were way beyond that.

“Claire. We need to...” Pete started before I cut him off.

Just hearing his voice spiked my blood pressure. I never pictured myself hating anyone with as much passion and tenacity as I hated Pete in that moment. If I had been home, I just may have choked him.

“No! You do not get to do that—end our marriage via voice-mail and then try to absolve yourself over the telephone. You…you sonovabitch!” I shouted.

Pete hung up on me somewhere between “sonova” and “bitch.”

Okay, so maybe I’d let my temper get the best of me.

But he really deserved a whole lot more than I’d dished out. He should be very nervous about facing me in a few days. I counted to one-hundred. Breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth. I thought of Bette’s calming touch and wished she were there to soothe me.

When I had better control, I called again.

Quinn answered with a shrill, “Mooommmyyy!”

“Hey bug. How’s my favorite girl doing?” I said, my heart skipping a beat at the thought of all she would have to go through as soon as I returned home.

“Good, how’s my favorite Mom doing?” she parroted.

“Your favorite Mom? I’m your only Mom!” I said with mock outrage.

“You are!” Quinn said, “At least until I buy a new Mom on eBay!”

I smiled at how she’d reversed one of our inside jokes, which started a year ago when I’d joked about selling her on eBay to buy myself a daughter that kept her room clean. The familiar banter with Quinn was comforting, like an old beloved pair of slippers.

But then I realized that she might very well have a second mother figure someday soon. Pete was inept when it came to taking care of himself, so I was confident that he’d find someone to fill my shoes fairly quickly, if he hadn’t already. That just made me angry all over again. Tears welled up in my eyes.

“I love you Quinn.” My voice wavered and I hoped that Quinn didn’t pick up on it. She was super-sensitive sometimes.

“And I. Love. You.” Quinn said. I could picture her doing the sign language while she spoke.

My eyes filled with water and I blinked to clear them, spilling tears down my cheeks.

“I’ll be home soon honey, be good for daddy, okay?” I blotted my face with a hand towel. When I pulled the towel away, I noticed red streaks on it. Startled, I hurried to the bathroom mirror, while trying to pay attention to Quinn.

“And then, we’re going to go to the zoo, okay?” she was saying.

“Mmm, okay honey,” I answered, trying to make sense of what I was seeing in the mirror.

My face was streaked pink, from my eyes all the way down both cheeks. Pink tears? What the hell was wrong with me? Who the fuck cried pink tears?

“Mommy, are you listening?” Quinn asked.

“Sure, sweetie. I’m here.” I stared at myself in the mirror. It was too freaky to wrap my mind around.

Pink tears for cripes’ sake.

“Then what did I say?” Sometimes that child was too damned smart for her age.

“You want to go to the zoo?” I said.

“No, after that?” Quinn asked, not even giving me a clue.