Pucker Up (20 page)

“You
don’t have to tell me,” he said, laying a hand over hers, voice soft.  “My wife
is one of the most famous actresses in the world.  And I still don’t always
appreciate it, or get it, or even like it, but I understand that there are
reasons for secrets.  I’m sorry I asked.”

He
just had to be so damn nice, she thought, hoping he’d ignore the tear that
slipped out before she could blink it away.  “I was young and I was drowning in
pain, hemorrhaging heartache.  I tried to hide from it, and when I couldn’t do
it any longer, I succumbed to it.  Disappeared down a rabbit hole for two weeks,
and when I came up for air, I could breathe again.  Because every ounce of
sadness, doubt, self-loathing, pity, and despair I poured into those songs. 
Songs I had to write but could never, ever bring myself to sing.”

Faith
handed him the statue and removed the song from his grasp.  “And then Jackson
walked in, newbie lawyer sent to babysit me signing some papers late one night,
and those damn eyes of his saw way too much, just like yours.  But instead of
asking me questions or trying to change my mind, he showed me how to hide in
plain sight.  Convinced me that my words could have as much impact as my
voice.  I think I offered him more money than God to leave.”  She smirked at
the memory.  “He told me it would be wiser to hire him on the spot so we’d be
covered under attorney-client privilege, and then I could sue the pants off of
him if he ever slipped.  Though I’d never need to.”

“Sounds
like a good friend,” Trevor said.  “And a smart one.  Your songs do have
power.”

“Power
to send people into depression,” she murmured.

“Hey,
look at me.”  Faith didn’t want to and struggled to meet his gaze.  “You write
more than sinking down.  I hear the climbing out. 
Key of Angst
is the
most hopeful song I’ve ever heard.”

She
turned, the emotions struggling to spill out.  What was it with these kind,
boyish men that kept making her crack?  But she knew the answer to that – they
reminded her too much of the one she’d run from.

“I
don’t want people to ask me about how I write songs.  I sit on the floor with
my guitar, slice apart my heart, and bleed.  I don’t want to hear what people
think about them.  I don’t want to know that you hear hope.  Hope is the girl
that smiles and sings and tries to walk in the light.  That girl of the dark,
she doesn’t have any hope.  There shouldn’t be any hope.”

She
turned on him, couldn’t help it, soul laid bare by the fact he was standing
there saying things she’d tried a decade to forget.  “I don’t want her to have
hope.  Hope ruins her.  Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to just scream
at the damn word and make it leave?”  Her fingers crumbled the page in her
hand, wishing she still had the statue so she could hurl it at the wall.    

“My
life would be so much better off without hope.  I could have settled down with a
nice generic guy, had a blissfully content existence.  But no, I had to hope
for everything I lost to stupidity and fear.  That I keep losing.  I don’t want
it.  I don’t want to hope.  I won’t.”

Trevor
wrapped her up in a hug and let her cry, making comforting noises against her
hair.  He knew something about women on the verge of a breakthrough, daring to
want something that they thought out of reach.  He was good at being cried on –
he just hoped the guy she cried for was worth it. 

 
Dustin entered the house well after sunrise, surprised the kitchen was still
empty.  The whole house should be up by now, settling back into the familiar
routine of life without pop stars.  He opened the fridge and resisted the urge
to grab a beer, settling for the carton of milk instead.

“You’re
up early,” Peter said, unease in his gaze.

“I’m
up late.  Never went to bed.”    He could feel the weight of his brother’s
stare on his back.  “No, I’m not drunk.”  He’d reverted back to his most
effective distraction – exhaustive physical labor.

“Have
you decided?”

“Decided
what?” Dustin asked, turning to look at his brother and taking a long drink of
milk.

Peter’s
eyes darted to the stairs.  “If you’re going to sign the papers.”

He
shook his head and turned away, closing off the subject from discussion.  Part
of him wanted to make her suffer, make her feel some of his pain.  A long, drawn-out,
contentious legal battle might just be the trick.  Then again, the other part
of him just wanted to be done with her for good.  He was tired of all of this
bullshit, tired of letting her have any grasp on his heart.  Ready to evict her
and go looking for that happy ending he promised Harmony he’d find.  Speaking
of Harmony…

“Where
is the troublemaker this morning?” he asked.

Peter’s
forehead creased as he glanced at the clock on the wall.  “I don’t know.  You’re
right.  She should be down here by now.”  He yelled her name up the stairs. 
“Probably overslept what with all the hoopla this weekend.”

“Hoopla?”
Dustin asked with a raised brow.

“Yes,
hoopla.”  He tapped his fingers on the island for a moment before yelling her
name again, still no answer.

Peter
sighed and bounded back up the stairs.  “If she’s still in bed, we’re going to
be late for school, and I’m blaming you.”

“What
did I do?” Dustin asked with faux indignation though he was smiling inside.  It
felt like their life was getting back to normal.

The
feeling was short-lived; the next moment Peter was running down the stairs
screaming his name.  “Dustin!  She’s not there.  She’s not upstairs.”

Dustin
ran outside and around the back of the house.  The jalopy he’d been fixing up
for her wasn’t in the yard.  “Her car’s gone,” he said, jogging back into the
house.

The
color drained from Peter’s face.  “That car’s still a death trap – she couldn’t
have gotten far in it.  What the hell is she doing?”

“Off
tracking down some mystery,” Dustin growled.  “She’d leave you a note, though. 
There’s a note here somewhere.”

They
searched the counters and computer desk in the corner and came up empty.  Their
eyes met, and understanding passed between them.  They rushed into the foyer
and there, on top of Peter’s bag, was indeed a note in Harmony’s cheery
scrawl.  Peter opened it and started reading, his brows getting closer and
closer together before he cussed.

“What
does it say?” Dustin asked.

“What
do you think it says?” Peter said, anger clear in his voice.  “I can’t believe
this.”

“What?”

“Went
to go find Uncle Dust his happy ending.  Sorry about school – me and Mel will
be fine,” Peter read.

“Fuck,”
Dustin said, barely restraining himself from punching the wall.

“How
much of a head start do you think she has on us?” Peter asked.

“About
to get smaller,” Dustin said, grabbing his truck keys. 

“This
is a really stupid idea,” Melody said, looking over at her sister in the
passenger seat.

“Probably,”
Harmony shrugged, her impish grin on full display.  “Just be glad I let you
take your test first.”  Harmony had showed up at the dorm before her sister had
even gotten up that morning but stayed, smartly, out of sight until after she
left for class.  When Melody returned later and saw Harmony sitting on her bed
reading, she thought she was hallucinating from too much studying.

“When
I encouraged you to continue on with this happy ending thing, this was not what
I meant.  Can I just get that on the record?”

“Fine,”
Harmony said, “then text Dad and tell him none of it was your idea.  Go on, do
it.”

Melody
looked at her phone, considering.  Dad had been texting them both all morning,
and none of it was good.  “He can’t ground you.  You’re in college.”

“I
kinda want to come home this summer and not be confined to bread and water.”

“Eh,
it’s not that bad.” Harmony grinned.

“I’m
serious.” Melody scoffed.  “And I really don’t think this harebrained scheme is
going to work.  At all.  So you’re dead for nothing.”

“You
just let me worry about that,” her younger sister said with a twinkle in her
eye.  “Romeo and Juliet died for love.  I think I can handle Dad.”

“How
did you get to be no nauseatingly optimistic?” Melody asked, her hand on the
door handle.

“I
know you love it,” Harmony replied, bounding out of the car with purpose.  She
squared her shoulders and walked into the building like she owned it, stopping
at the receptionist’s desk with a smile.  “Hi.  Faith West gave us her business
card and said we could come see her in the studio for a tour.  Here it is.”

 The
receptionist took the card and gave them bored expressions.  She turned it over
and yawned.  “Nice try, kids, but no.”

“She
seriously gave that to me,” Melody piped in, “and told me to come by.  It says
so on the back. ”

“Well,”
the brunette said with a barracuda smile, “that’s nice.  But she didn’t mean
it.”

“I
think she did,” Melody argued, her voice rising.  She snatched the card back
from the receptionist and glared at her.  “What now?” she whispered to her
sister.

“Plan
B,” she whispered back.  “We want to speak to Jackson Shaw,” Harmony said to
the lady behind the desk.

The
gatekeeper laughed.  “Mr. Shaw is much too—” 

“He’ll
want to talk to us, guaranteed.  Tell him an Andrews is here to see him.”  When
the lady didn’t move, Harmony put on her most winningest smile.  “Listen, I
know you must get people in here all the time that don’t belong.  Trying to
sneak their way in to catch a glimpse of a celebrity or the elusive Andy
Peters.  But that’s not us.  And wouldn’t it be a real shame if this one time,
you didn’t make one little phone call just to check, and you lose your job over
it.  That would really suck, right?” 

The
receptionist rolled her eyes and picked up the phone.  “Mr. Shaw, there is an
Andrews here to see you.”  She nodded for a moment before hanging up the phone
and giving them an annoyed expression.  “Mr. Shaw will be out in just a
moment.  Please take a seat.”

Three
minutes later, Jackson Shaw appeared in the lobby.  “You are not the Andrews I
was expecting.”

“We’re
full of surprises.  Let’s talk,” Harmony said, walking past him down the
hallway he’d just exited. 

“Hi,
I’m Melody, the saner sister.”

“Yet
you still let her drag you here,” Jackson said with a smile.

“Still
her sister,” Melody shrugged.

Jackson
led them into a spacious corner office with huge windows looking out across the
city.  He gestured at a couch for them to sit on and settled in an armchair
nearby instead of behind his massive desk. “So, Andrews, what can I do for
you?”

Harmony
cut right to the chase.  “We want to see Faith.”

“I’m
sorry.  I don’t think that’s going to be possible.”

“She
invited us.  She gave Melody her business card last week and said to come by
and get a tour of the studio.  See.”  Melody handed him the card, and he turned
it over.  From the look on his face, they knew he recognized her handwriting. 
“And don’t say she’s not here because it says when we should come by too.”

“Girls,
I know you mean well.  But I’ve known Faith for a really long time.  And I just
don’t think seeing an Andrews, any Andrews, right now is a good idea.”

“I
just want to help her,” Harmony said, looking determined.

“That’s
all I want, too.”  He gave them a kind smile and stood, signaling the end to
the conversation.

“I
know,” Harmony blurted.

“Shut
up,” Melody whispered, glaring at her sister.

“Excuse
me?” Jackson said.

“I
know.  We know.  Everything.”

Jackson
sat back down.  “And what… everything… do you think you know?”

“I
don’t think I know.  I know.”

Jackson
turned his attention to Melody.  “Saner sister, please explain.”

The
girls exchanged meaningful looks before she answered.  “Harmony recorded the
conversation you had with our dad and uncle when you were at the house.”

Surprise
crossed Jackson’s face, and he leaned forward in his chair, eyes piercing
through both of them.  “You realize that California is a two-party consent
state, and it’s illegal to record conversations without consent from all
parties unless you have a court order.”

“They
don’t really cover that in history class.”  Harmony said before continuing on
as if he hadn’t spoken.  “But the point remains that I know.  Everything.”

“What
I think she means,” Melody said, “is that we know the whole story.  And we
really do think we can help.”

“Yeah,
I’m not blackmailing you about Andy Peters or anything.  Not at all.”

“Harmony!”
her sister said through clenched teeth.

Jackson
was quiet for a long time.  Finally he reclined back in his seat and smiled. 
“People underestimate you, don’t they?”

“All
the time,” Harmony said.  “It’s the grin.  Way too cheery to be taken
seriously.”

“I
won’t make that mistake again,” he said.  “Okay, fine.  Tell me what your plan
is, and then I’ll decide whether or not to take you to Faith.”

Melody
couldn’t believe it – they were in!

Faith
sat in the booth of the recording studio, alone, staring at the microphone she
should have been singing into.  She’d sent the rest of the personnel away.  Her
voice was way too ragged from all the crying she’d done the night before to lay
down any good tracks.  She’d tried to beg out of coming, but Jackson had
insisted blowing off her routine and wallowing was absolutely no way to move
on. 

Move
on.  He kept saying those words to her, like that hadn’t been what she’d been
trying to do for the last ten years.  The universe was refusing to let her. 
Every time she got to a place where she thought it might be possible, something
else reminded her it wasn’t.

She
reached for the glass of lemonade on the table.  It was halfway to her lips
before she stopped and reconsidered.  Maybe Dustin had the right idea.  How
could she move on if the taste was always on her lips, the memories just a
scent away?  She put the glass down, untouched, but shook her head ruefully. 
It would never just be the scent.  It was the song.  The song that had been
playing in the back of her head for the last twenty-four hours.  The song
Trevor and her tears had stopped her from finishing the night before.  Their
song.

Faith
shot up out of her chair and left the booth.  This was ridiculous; she wasn’t a
child and she could do whatever she damn well pleased.  And right now that
meant retreating back to her house where she wouldn’t be required to be Faith
West at all.

“Faith,”
Jackson called from behind her.

She
sighed and stamped her foot in agitation as she turned towards him.  “Jackson,
I’m done.  I don’t care about all the perfectly valid reasons I should stay.  I
just want to…”  Her voice tapered off when she saw who was with him.

“These
girls say you owe them a studio tour.”  Jackson was giving her a pointed look,
but Faith didn’t understand it at all.  “Let’s start the tour here,” Jackson
said, opening a door down the hall and waving them all into a cavernous room
sometimes used to shoot music videos or rehearse choreography.

“Is
he here?” Faith asked.  Her voice sounded fragile, even to her.  If he was
here, what did that mean?  Was he fighting for her?  Was it too late for that?

“No,”
Jackson said, laying a comforting hand on her arm. 

“We
didn’t tell him where we were going.  Though he’s probably figured it out by
now.”

“What
are you guys doing here?” Faith asked, slumping into a chair.

“You
guys talk,” Jackson said, backing away and out the door.

“You
didn’t say goodbye,” Harmony said, her smile understanding.

“You
tracked me down for pleasantries?”  Faith wanted to laugh, and give the girl a
hug for being just that damn precocious.  But she couldn’t do it, the act of
being Faith West without a care in the world was just too damn much today.

“No,”
Melody said, a contemplative look on her face.  She remembered Peter saying she
was the perceptive one, entered battle with calmness and a quiet stare.  What
did she make, Faith thought, of this singer before her, held together with song
lyrics and shoestring?  “We came to give you something.”