Sweet Thing (28 page)

“Penny for your thoughts, kitten.”

“Meow.”

“That’s it? I thought you were deep,” he said, shaking his head with mock-disappointment.

“Is that song about me?”

“Which one?”

“’Lost on You.’”

“Not anymore.” He kissed me and then pulled me toward the Man Ray exhibit.

We stared at
Le Violon d’Ingres
for ten minutes. It’s a photograph of f-holes superimposed on a woman named Kiki’s naked back; her arms are folded in front so that you can’t see them in the photo. The armless shape of her body is that of a violin and it’s hard not to consider for a moment that Man Ray liked to play with Kiki in the same way. I pondered whether or not the photo was an example of female objectification or if it was simply admiration of the female form. “I totally get that,” Will said. There was my answer.

We moved from exhibit to exhibit, agreeing on everything. It was refreshing and a far cry from my time with Robert or visiting the Guggenheim with my mother. It was like we saw everything through the same lens.

Back at the hotel, Will said he thought the meeting would be boring. “Why don’t you just stay here and relax? I have to finish up the studio stuff anyway.”

“So you’ve made up your mind?”

“Yes. It was an easy decision.” His gaze moved to my lips.

“Did you think there would be a better deal out there from another label?”

“No, there’s not going to be another deal.” He kissed my nose. “I’ll see you later, sweet thing.”

After he left, I took a walk on the beach and found myself wandering into the boutique shops located off the boardwalk. I found a store with European lingerie, really beautiful, elegant, lacy pieces. I was more of a T-shirt kinda girl, but I thought it would be nice to give Will a treat, so I picked up a delicate black satin and lace camisole set. Back at the hotel, I took a long bath in the oversized tub. I thought about Will signing the paperwork, being a bona fide professional musician, not that he wasn’t already, but the world was going to know his amazing talent and for the first time, I was genuinely excited for him. I was with a man whose dreams were coming true and I would get to be right by his side through it all. I sat on the veranda looking out at the ocean, savoring the peace I felt for what seemed like hours. Seven turned into ten and when he still wasn’t back, I decided to lie down. I dozed off to the sublime sound of the waves crashing against the beach.

I was startled awake and glanced at the clock; it was two a.m. The bright moonlight shone through the wall of windows that looked out onto the ocean. My eyes darted around the room until I saw Will, who looked to be asleep in the chair next to the bed. He was shirtless but still wearing the jeans and boots. His head was resting on the back of the chair, his legs were spread, and he was slouching. His hand sat on the arm, clutching a highball glass with brown liquid—whiskey I assumed. His face was completely shadowed so I couldn’t see his eyes, but I thought he was sleeping because he didn’t make a sound or movement and his posture was thoroughly relaxed. I sat up and kicked my legs over the side of the bed, then pushed my thick mane of hair away from my face. I took a breath looked down at my lacy, satin piece and thought
Oh well, there’s always next time
.

Right before I stood up to take Will’s shoes off, he whispered, “So beautiful.”

My heart jumped to my throat; I slowly walked toward him until I was standing between his legs. He didn’t sit up; he didn’t speak. He just reached his hand out and ran it across my rib cage, playing with the satin between his fingers. I pulled his boots off, then his jeans, then… I was on my knees between his and his hands were in my hair, pushing himself deeper into my mouth. He stood up and simultaneously pulled my face up to his and kissed me hard, then whispered, “I need to be inside you.” He spun me around toward the bed while he pulled my satin shorts off and practically tore off my camisole. He pushed himself inside me aggressively from behind; his hand cupped my breast as his mouth went to my neck. He held me against him, making subtle but strong movements. He eased up for just a moment and mumbled, “You’re mine.”

I whispered “Yes,” but knew it wasn’t a question.

He reached around and pressed his hand into the space just above where he and I connected. The aching was unbearable, the pulsing, then quickening. He whispered, “Come for me,” and I did.

I collapsed onto the bed; Will positioned himself beside me and traced f-holes on my back. “Le Violin de Mia.”

I turned and smiled. “So I’m just a hobby?”

“No, you’re everything.”

“What just happened?” I rolled over on my stomach and propped myself up on my elbows so I could see his face.

“What?” he said playfully.

“That was a little rough.”

His expression turned somber. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.”

“You didn’t like it?”

“No, I loved it.”

He rolled me over onto my back and spent twenty minutes kissing every inch of me. When he got to my stomach he paused. “Are you going to give me lots of babies?” His voice was smooth and wistful.

The sound of a car screeching to a halt played in my mind, or maybe it was a needle being pushed off the record right in the middle of my favorite song. Whatever the case, my body tensed up. I lifted his head to look into his eyes. It was undoubtedly the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me, but it freaked me out.

“Whoa, whoa, buddy, slow down.”

“What?” he said, looking dejected.

“No. I’m sorry, that was really sweet, but there are a few things that should happen before that, don’t you think?” I said it gently, but he still looked crushed.

“I know, Mia; I want to marry you first.” He said it like it should have been obvious to me, but that wasn’t my concern.

I literally had the two most conflicting feelings in that moment. I wanted to have a million of Will’s babies, but at the same time I couldn’t believe that he would expect me to raise him a tribe while he traveled the country on tour.

“Will, don’t you want to see what it’s like to be on tour before you start bringing children into that world?”

He looked completely baffled. “What are you talking about? I’m not going on tour. I turned them down, I thought you knew that.”

“What?” My voice suddenly got high. “Well, then, what were you doing in the studio and where the hell have you been?”

“I gave the song to Sonja, I helped produce it. I’ll still get paid for the writing. I’m so confused. Are you mad?”

“People would die for the opportunity you were given. You won the fucking lottery and you’re gonna throw it all away?”

“If this is about the money, Mia, then I don’t know you at all. You said you were worried about me getting big and forgetting about you, now you’re yelling at me for turning down the deal?”

My jaw dropped. “You turned it down for me? How stupid are you?”

He winced at my words, then his expression turned to anger. “Don’t fucking flatter yourself. I turned it down because I don’t want to be, what did you call it… big and famous? I just want to make music.”

“Oh good, so now you want me to give you lots of babies while you live in my apartment and work for pennies at the Montosh?”

He didn’t say anything; he just narrowed his eyes and slowly shook his head back and forth. I wrapped myself in a blanket and stormed off to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. Falling asleep on the bathroom floor, I thought about the hurtful words I had just spoken. I didn’t apologize because I didn’t know how I was going to move forward with Will. I felt like the earth had shifted on its axis—I was trapped in the gravity of my own mind, spinning out of control. I love him, he loved me. It’s too bad I didn’t believe love was ever enough. Throw love in the pile with faith and destiny and it would pretty much sum up how I felt at the time.

I stumbled out of the bathroom the next morning and noticed that everything “Will” was gone except for some words scribbled on a napkin.

A CAR WILL PICK YOU UP AT 10 AND TAKE YOU TO THE AIRPORT. -W P.S. YOU’VE RUINED ME. Tears began pouring from my eyes; the last thing I wanted to do was hurt him. I picked up my phone and dialed his cell, but it went straight to voicemail. I called Frank and he told me Will had gotten on the first flight back to New York.

Track 19: A Cautionary Tale

My flight was delayed due to a mechanical failure. It was the first time I felt an irrational fear of flying. I thought for sure that I would be going down in a fiery ball of flames and never get to tell Will how sorry I was. I called his cell phone twenty times while I waited at the gate. Every time it skipped to a message saying that his voicemail was full. I couldn’t wait to get back to the apartment and apologize, but I still wasn’t sure what I would say and I didn’t know if I was willing to stay with him after his catastrophic decision to throw the deal away.

It didn’t matter; I wouldn’t get a chance to make that decision. When I got to the apartment all of Will’s things were gone. There was check for five thousand dollars on the counter. In the memo he wrote “for whatever.” I fell to my knees and sobbed.

Over the next few weeks, I called his phone hundreds of times with no luck. I kept replaying the words
You’ve ruined me
over and over in my head. I did nothing but the bare minimum in the café. I showered rarely and wore the same clothes practically every day. I had no energy, my apartment was a mess, and I didn’t even open my mail. Every day just blurred into the next and I fell deeper and deeper into a surreal fogginess of grief and sorrow. The worst part was that I knew it was entirely my fault. He was done with my fickle bullshit; how could I blame him?

He took everything that was his in the apartment, even the T-shirts I would wear; it was like he never existed. I would look for him on the street and through store windows. I went to the Montosh, where Bradley, the other bartender, told me he quit in typical Will fashion.

“Yeah, the place was packed the night he left. He stood up on the bar and said, ‘I love every single one of you.’ He was pointing and yelling ‘I love you and you and you and you’ and then he pulled out a sheet of paper from his pocket and read a prayer he wrote. I don’t remember it word for word, but I remember the last line was ‘Save your souls and stay away from love or you’ll be a madman like me’ and then he said, ‘That’s it, I’m done, I’m outta here! Gonna go sleep and drink!’ Maybe not in that order, but at least he seemed happy, in a crazed kind of way.”

The words stung, I knew Will wasn’t happy, he was never neurotic like that when he was happy, it was just his coping mechanism.

I walked out feeling like the world was folding in on me. I gasped for a breath, but the weight of my mistake was crushing. I thought Will must have been completely insane to quit his job; it wasn’t like him to be that irresponsible. I imagined him in some storage closet somewhere, drinking himself to death.

I begged Sheil to try to find him through the mutual friends they had, but she told me no, that I needed to learn my lesson. She’s a tough cookie. Martha was a little more sympathetic; she gave me a copy of
The Prophet
by Kahlil Gibran, complete with her own highlighted notes. I sat in the back of the café, scanning the book for some answers, advice, anything I could use; I was grasping at straws. Most of what I got out of it was just a reminder that I’d fucked everything up.

I ran my fingers over the quote
Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
I squeezed my eyes shut, cursed myself, then threw the book down and screamed.

Martha came over and put her arm around me. “You need to eat—you’re disappearing on me and you’re scaring the customers.”

“I deserve it.”

“You’re wrong. Will is a deeply sensitive young man and he knows what you’ve gone through this year and he’s been patient with you. I don’t think you deserve any more heartache, but this is your own doing and you know it. You’re not being punished; you’re punishing yourself. You can’t fault a man for loving you, Mia.”

“That has nothing to do with it.”

“Are you sure about that?” She sniffed me. “Child, you need a shower. Go home. I’ll close up.”

I went home and decided to skip the shower. Instead I found an old Sinead O’Connor cassette, covered the top hole with tape, stuck it in my father’s ancient stereo, got a microphone, and put it next to the piano where I composed, then recorded, the saddest piece of music I’ve ever heard. I timed the song “Nothing Compares 2 U,” and recorded my wretched song right over it. I thought
Sorry, Sinead, my sorrow knows no depth; my song is so much more pitiful than yours
. My song is so pathetic; there is only one suitable title for it… “Hell.”

Having spent almost every day at the Kell’s for an entire year, I started declaring Sundays as my official day off. Although my hope was that I would use my free days for some form of self-improvement, either exercise or composing more pieces, I did neither one of those things. Instead I slept away nearly every moment I wasn’t at the café. I lost weight and felt exhausted all the time. There was a growing distance between Jenny and me. While she worked on starting a family, enjoying her marital bliss, I was focused on surviving a monumental heartbreak. Because Will stayed away and avoided me, I felt robbed of the opportunity to right my mistakes, which made me grow angry toward him. The memories of him were so heartbreaking, I couldn’t bear idle time in my apartment, so I would just sleep, or sit at the park and watch the children play. I envied the simplicity of childhood and let my mind wander to memories with my father in that same park. That was my only solace as the anniversary of his death passed along with my twenty-sixth birthday and Will’s thirtieth, all events that I essentially ignored. I got a few “Happy Birthdays” from people at the café. Martha made me a casserole, insisting that I eat half of it in front of her. Jenny made me a cake and Tyler did a comedic birthday slam for me on poetry night. On Will’s birthday, Jenny asked for the night off but didn’t tell me why, not that it wasn’t obvious.