Punk and Zen (18 page)

∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

Save a
Prayer

Now I’m pretty—do you like me?

Now I’m smarter—do you like me?

Now I’m angry—do you want me?

Do you want to lead me on?

“
Lead Me On
”—
Life Underwater

∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

“Oh, God, Nina, what do you want?” she groaned as we
pressed into each other, kissing desperately as we lay entwined together on her
bed—shirts off, pants and shoes gone somewhere with the shirts. Don’t even ask
about the socks; I still don’t know.

I slid my tongue deep between her lips and was met by
hers. “You know what I want.” I broke off and caught a breath before I trailed
a line from her collarbone to her jaw. “I want you.” I gently bit her throat,
then scraped it with my teeth before sucking on the skin. “I want you…I want
all of you.”

I kissed her lips again, and the sensual fullness of
her response, the sincerity of it made me feel faint with rising desire.

“This,” she whispered and thrust her body up to mine
as she kissed my throat, “this is all I have to give, Nina, please…” Her
fingernails ran sharp across my shoulders, and somehow she flipped me onto my
back. She ground herself into me and my body responded, my hands on her hips
and aching need ABC returning her pressure. Her eyes drove, begging,
pleading for understanding, into mine. “This is all I have,” she whispered. Her
mouth was soft and achingly sweet on mine.

I splayed my hands and ran my fingers down her back,
sensuously massaging along the way as I wrapped one of my legs over her hip.
One of her hands ran down lightly along the curve of my breast, down my ribs,
and past my stomach to my waist, then grabbed my hip, bringing our bodies
harder together. The other repeatedly ran across my face and through my hair
until, finally, I lifted my chin and broke that soul-searing kiss.

She raised her head and leaned up for a moment on an
elbow, and I stared straight into her beautiful gray eyes. “Okay, Trace, you
win,” I told her huskily. “We’ll just give each other what we can.”

“You don’t know how much I…I want you,” she said
softly, tracing my face with her fingertips. Slowly, softly, she leaned in to
kiss me again, and I closed my eyes to the feel of her lips pressing blatantly
carnal kisses down my chest and stomach toward my…

∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

No, this wasn’t a dream, this wasn’t even a
stroke-fantasy, although it seems like it might have been a good one. This was
really, truly happening.

By late August, Candace had returned to Merry Olde
England, and after a good-bye that was harder than I really let myself feel,
I’d thrown myself into my work and my music: the band was going great guns, and
although we’d been through two drummers already and were searching for a
third—I swear, I’ll just never know what it is with drummers—we’d started to
write a couple of songs and were really getting to know each other, bond, and
have fun.

“All right, I’ve got to split in a few, I’ve got
dinner plans,” I announced to Jeremy and Stephie as the last notes of our
latest tune died down in the air around us.

Crunch
sounded through the room as Jeremy unplugged his
bass, along with the soft thud of Stephie putting the microphone back on its
stand.

I shut down my amp and unplugged my guitar, carefully
setting it in a stand, then began to disassemble my wires and pedal effects. I
shoved the pedals into my bag and stood to coil my patch cord.

Jeremy came over, bass slung in its bag over his back.
“Gonna ravish some poor innocent?” he asked me with a sly grin.

“Yeah, right,” Stephie came over and interjected,
punching my arm lightly, “like Nina ever has to work for it.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” I faced them both, placing the
now-coiled cord in with my effects. “I take offense to that!” I joked, and
picked up my guitar to zip it in the gig bag. “I work my ass off in here!” and
gave a little wiggle to emphasize my point.

“Yeah, like that’s not part of the attraction,” Jeremy
answered, staring pointedly.

All right, maybe I shouldn’t have done that. “Cut it
out, man.”

“You’re such a jerk sometimes,” Stephie reprimanded,
and smacked the back of his head.

“Ow! Hey! Ya didn’t have to go and do that!” he
protested, rubbing his scalp vigorously.

“And you know, it’s not like any of them are innocent
anyway,” Stephie informed him, pointing to the small window in the studio door.

He and I both peeked out and saw some people out
there, trying to see in.

“That’s the next band, hoping we’re done,” I hazarded,
shrugging my shoulders.

“Yeah, that’s the next band,” Jeremy agreed.

Stephie rolled her eyes at our collective denseness, and
I grinned and shook my head in response, then returned to my equipment.

I slung my bags with their effects, cables, and guitar
strap over one shoulder, hoisted my guitar over the other, and we all reached
for the door.

“Right,” Stephie finally said sarcastically, “that’s
why they don’t have any instruments.” She opened the door and made a sweeping
gesture out into the hall.

Once out of the studio, it was pretty obvious that
Stephie had a point. It was three, no, four girls, um, young women, and she was
right—not an instrument in sight.

“Oh, hey, you girls a singing group?” Jeremy stopped
to ask one of them amiably, flexing his shoulders.

Stephie and I shared a look and kept walking toward
the store at the end of the hallway where the exit was, nodding polite hellos
as we passed.

“Yeah, we’re working on a single,” one of the girls
answered, laughing, and another giggled with her. Stephie and I slipped through
the exit and down the stairs that led to the store front.

“Think he forgot to tie a shoelace or something?”
Stephie asked in the companionable silence as we descended.

I snorted a laugh. “No, but how much do you want to
bet he ends up catching one?” I countered as I stepped carefully down—I didn’t
want to trip and hurt my guitar. “Those lines of his are pretty awful,” I
commented as I waited for ABC her.

Stephie rolled her eyes again. “God, he can be such a
jerk!”

I smiled but said nothing as we walked through the
repair shop and picked our way through the various disconnected and
disassembled instruments that littered the area. What was there to say? That
pretty much described everyone, anyway.

A bell tinkled as we entered the store and headed to
the register.

“Hi, Stephie, hi, Nina,” said the long-haired young
man behind the counter. He gave us each a big smile, but his eyes rested on
Stephie.

“Hi, John.” I smiled back, watching his eyes on
Stephie, and dug into my pocket for my money.

“Hi.” Stephie flushed and made a big production out of
digging into her bag for her wallet. I grinned at her but quickly hid it. I
knew she liked him, and I was pretty sure he liked her, too.

John waited patiently as I found my money and put it
on the counter.

“Stephie, we want the same time next week?” I asked as
she found her wallet.

“Yeah, let’s do that. Hey, do you have the jerk’s
money?” she asked with a smile.

“I don’t have jerk money,” I smiled back, almost
laughing.

The bell tinkled again as Jeremy stumbled into the
store. “Can you believe it?” he asked loudly. “They’re,” and he pointed with
his thumb over his shoulder, “doing a single for DJ Nina to play on Dominion
nights. That’s just unfucking believable.”

It was my turn to blush. “Got your share?” I asked him
and looked down at the money under my hands.

Since I’d done the sound check in the new back room at
the club, well, believe me when I tell you I blew it out; it was now mine. So,
Darrel and I both worked DJing Saturday nights; he was in the old room, and I
had the new one. And, yeah, Saturday was Dominion night in my room—that was
what everyone who attended called it, anyway, in tribute to that night with
Candace. In honor of that, I occasionally entertained company in the booth.
Everything has a consequence, right?

“Oh, yeah, here you go,” Jeremy answered quickly,
handing his money over to John. “Are we booked for next week?”

“We’re done, we’re good,” Stephie answered him quickly
and rushed out of the store and into the street.

“Oh yeah, yeah, we’re all set.” I smiled. “See you
next week, John.” I readjusted the strap of my guitar and stepped to the door.

“Cool beans, dude,” John answered. “Tell Stephie I
said bye,” he called to my back, the jerk, um, Jeremy, behind me.

“Yup,” he answered, and we were out the door and on
the sidewalk, the still-warm air smacking our skin in the early twilight.
Stephie waited for us, smoking a cigarette and enjoying the weather.

“That was a pretty good rehearsal, guys. What did you
think?” I asked, looking at each of them and lighting a cigarette of my
own.< /font>

Stephie blew a few smoke rings just to prove she
could, then grinned back at me. “We’re doing fine, we’re getting stuff down!”

Jeremy shrugged a shoulder under his gig bag. “We’re
really starting to groove. If we could just find a drummer…” He trailed off,
frowning.

Steph and I shook our heads in chagrined agreement.
Where the hell were we going to find one, anyway? Ah, well. I had the next few
days to ponder that and discuss it with the two of them as ideas came and went.
For now, though, I had plans, and none of them included a drummer.

Despite the fact that Candace had left a few weeks
ago, I still rarely spent time at the apartment. I just couldn’t deal with
anybody except for my brother and the band, especially after the last time I’d
spoken with Trace. And I either made sure I was home at a time when everyone
was out, or staying somewhere else—either visiting my family or jamming all
night at Steph’s with Jeremy: composing, rehearsing, and making ourselves sick
on ice cream. Yeah, we were musicians that didn’t do drugs; sue me.

Maybe it was because of my absence that Cap decided we
needed a “roommate party.” He’d very assiduously combed through all of our
schedules and picked the one night everyone happened to be off, then asked us
all to meet him at Dock Street, another popular bar on Bay Street. The invite was
an open one. Bring anyone—siblings, friends, significant others, and outside of
rehearsal, well, that was all I had to do that night. I’d already invited my
brother Nicky—I mean Nico. He would meet me there later.

I was suddenly inspired. “Hey, do you guys want to
come with me? I mean, to Dock Street?” I asked Steph and Jeremy. “It’s my
roommates and their friends, and you guys haven’t met my brother yet—he’ll be
there. What do you say? Wanna go?” I asked in a rush. “I mean, if you guys
don’t have stuff to do,” I added awkwardly. This would be the first time we had
all hung out together—outside of rehearsal, I mean.

“Sounds good to me.” Jeremy smiled. “You up for it,
Stephie?”

Stephie pursed her lips and considered. “Trace gonna
be there?” she asked me in an undertone.

As Stephie and I had become better friends, we
discussed a lot of things, and of course, we discussed the weird mess that was
our lives. I had confided in her about the strange relationship that Trace and
I had and that I was trying to avoid, and yeah, Trace
would
be there,
and I hadn’t really seen her in a while.

“Yeah,” I answered. “I’m a little nervous about that.”

Stephie nodded. “I’m there, then. You need backup.”
She grinned at me.

“Thanks.” I grinned back in relief.

“Hey, no worries, that’s what friends do, right?” She
punched my shoulder lightly.

“Yeah, we’re your backup,” Jeremy confirmed, and
punched the other arm, quite a bit harder than Stephie had.

“Ow,” I groaned, rubbing the spot out. That really had
hurt. “Jerk!” I scowled at him. “I’m a girl, not your bass.” Then I elbowed him
in the ribs, ’cause that was all I could reach; he was darn tall, after all.

“I am so sorry.” He shook his head in
self-recrimination. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean—hey!”

Stephie had whapped the back of his head again. “From
now on, you’re the Jerkster, Jerkster,” she told him, then whapped him again
for good measure.

Jeremy, um, I mean, the Jerkster, kept rubbing his
head. “Fine, fine, just stop hitting me,” he agreed, scowling as he tried to
heal himself with his fingertips. “We should make you the drummer, you like to
hit so much.”

She and I both laughed, and we walked to Dock Street.

Cap had managed to get three tables pulled together,
and we all sat around laughing, eating, and drinking, and for the first time in
ages, I was having fun with my roommates. Jackie was being hysterically funny,
and even Trace, who’d shown up with Van, was being nice for once.

I sat with Nico, Stephie, and the newly christened
Jerkster, kidding around, sort of having our own party within the party until
the larger conversation caught up with us.