Sweet Thing (7 page)

“Yum, that’s the best.” Will said, eyeballing the plate.

“Yeah, it’s great with wine.”

“Mia, it’s great with anything; it would be great with tequila.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“No, seriously, I’ll show you.” He disappeared to his bedroom then came strolling down the hallway with a big smile and a bottle of Patrón.

I took in Will’s appearance. He was wearing baggy, faded blue cargo shorts low on his hips along with his usual belt and a plain white V-neck T-shirt. He had just a tiny sprinkle of chest hair. Barefoot and unshaven, he looked hot.

He found glasses in the first cabinet he opened. He poured us each a shot, grabbed a piece of cheese off the platter, and popped it into his mouth. He swallowed, held his glass up, winked at me, then shot it back.

“That’s perfect! Now your turn.”

I grabbed a piece of cheese, ate it, and then drank the tequila, slower than recommended, I’m sure. “Gross! That was disgusting! Your theory sucks, Will.”

“I know, I just thought we needed an icebreaker.” I rolled my eyes at him and he playfully elbowed me.

I opened the bottle of red wine and poured us each a glass. Will put a Muddy Waters record on from my father’s collection. I stood in the kitchen while he sat at the bar on the other side of the counter.

“I would’ve never been able to find a room for this price, especially where I could play my guitar. I just wanted to say thanks again, I really appreciate this.”

“You’re welcome. It’s nice to have the company and I think Jackson will appreciate it too. By the way, I wanted to ask if you can take him out when you’re around if I’m not here?”

“Of course, I’d be happy to. I love dogs. I always wanted one growing up, but my parents didn’t need another mouth to feed, you know?”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

We continued chatting for a while. I went off to my room to change into sweats and my favorite old faded Clash T-shirt. When I came back out, he smiled at me and said, “You’re cute. This is gonna be like a slumber party, huh?”

I rolled my eyes. “Not exactly.”

We polished off the wine and I reached for another bottle. I wondered if it was a good idea, but we seemed to be getting along really well and we were keeping it clean, so I figured why not. During the song “I’m Your Hoochie Coochie Man,” Will pulled a harmonica out of his pocket and played along perfectly to the music. I felt inspired and a little tipsy, so I went over to the piano and played some slow boogie-woogie blues along to the song. He walked up next to me like he was going to sit, so I stood and turned the piano bench perpendicular, allowing him to sit behind me. For me it’s too hard to play when someone is seated right next to me at the piano. We sat back to back. When the song ended, I started right into a medley of famous blues songs while he accompanied me with the harmonica. We continued drinking the second bottle of wine on the couch.

He sat down next to me with his acoustic guitar and said, “This is a song called ‘Little Mia.’” Then he smiled really big. As soon as he started playing, I knew it was the song “Little Martha” by The Allman Brothers.

I laughed. “You’re a cheater.” He winked at me, but I was quickly distracted by his playing. I looked down at the angel wing tattoo as he plucked the guitar strings. I could see the muscles in his forearm moving; his strong and accurate fingers played the song perfectly. He watched me intently the entire time while I thought about other uses for his skilled hands.

When he finished the song, my chest was tight and I felt that familiar ache I got in his presence. “Play something for me,” he said.

“I think I’m too drunk.”

“That’s the best time.”

“Okay.” I stumbled over to the piano and sat down at the edge of the still-perpendicular bench. I couldn’t even see straight as I started fumbling over the keys. The melody for the Tori Amos song “Icicle” started to form and I leaned forward to concentrate. I played the haunting parts haphazardly and loud. I got completely lost in the moment and began mumbling something from the song about feeling the words. I was feeling it, that’s for sure. I was feeling it right on the edge of the piano bench until I realized Will was gawking. He looked completely stupefied and then he smiled really big. I felt my face flush and my heart race.

I immediately stopped playing and in a very determined voice I said, “I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Will.”

“Goodnight,” he murmured breathlessly.

As I stood up, I tripped over my own lame feet and fell smack on my face in the hallway. “Ow! Fuck!” He was at my side in a second, hoisting me up. When I stood, I noticed he had a curious look in his eyes. He grabbed my chin with his index finger and thumb and tilted my head up.

“You okay, baby?” he said with a crooked, cocky smirk.
Oh, that sexy smile
. I couldn’t even respond. I just stared up at him, mouth slightly open. He closed his eyes and leaned in to kiss me, but instead his face met the palm of my hand.

“Jesus Christ, Mia, I was just gonna kiss you.”

“No, Will, this is what I mean. We have to keep it just friends.”

Then it happened. I said something I wished I could take back as soon as it came out of my mouth. “You’re not even my type!” He looked shattered and dumbfounded. I stalked off to my room feeling nauseous, embarrassed, but more than anything scared that I had hurt him for no good reason.

Track 4: Cheers, Baby

The next morning I was woken up by Jenny plopping down forcefully onto my bed. I covered my face with the blanket, shielding my eyes from the light. “Mia, it reeks of alcohol in here.”

“Yes, I had some last night,” I said, moaning.

“Is that why Will tried to kiss you?”

“What?” I shot out of bed, then collapsed right back onto it from the sudden head rush.

“How’d you know that? How’d you get in here?”

“Will buzzed me in and then he left. He left you a note on the counter.”

“Where’d he go?” I scrunched my eyebrows.

“I don’t know, but he looks dashing in a suit.”

“Will has a suit?” I directed the question back at myself. “I need to see this note.” I moseyed toward the kitchen. I was feeling my stupidity from the night before. Not only did I hurt physically, but I was also suffering from a major moral hangover. I shouldn’t have been so mean to Will. I could have told him how I desperately wanted to lick his arms while he played the guitar, or how tempting his mouth was during our moment in the hallway. I could have told him how I felt and then explained that I wanted to keep it simple and that’s why we couldn’t sleep together. Instead, I was a jerk.

Will’s note was on a coffee filter, printed in perfect block letters.

HEY, ROOMY, SORRY I TRIED TO KISS YOU LAST NIGHT, YOU WERE JUST SO DAMN CUTE. IT WON’T HAPPEN AGAIN. I HAD FUN, THOUGH. LOVED YOUR SHOW… WINK. I was relieved but strangely disappointed that he was relatively unfazed by my rejection. Visions of Will traipsing random, faceless women back to his room ran through my mind. I dry heaved, but I knew if we were going to be strictly friends, then I would have to accept him bringing women home. My mind wandered to where debonair Will in his suit might have gone that morning. Jenny came in and snapped me out of it.

“Geeze, what kind of show did you put on?” she asked, looking over my shoulder at the note.

“It was nothing. I just played a few songs for him.”

“Why don’t you like Will?”

“Jenny, I like Will fine, but I don’t want to date an almost thirty-year-old, struggling musician who rents a room from me for four hundred dollars a month.”

“Oh, so that’s what this is about? He doesn’t make enough money for you. Hmm, Mia, you don’t really seem like the type to care about that, but I guess you do.” She smiled sarcastically at me.

“Jenny, I’m just like everyone else. I want to meet a man who is a team player. Not someone who is swept up in his feelings and art. Besides, I don’t even think Will likes me, he’s just a guy in a band who will sleep with anyone.”

She studied me with a tolerant expression, then said, “Whatever you say, Mia. I’m going down to Kell’s.” Heading for the door, she glanced up at a picture of my father, stalked over to it, and kissed it. “See ya, Pops.”

I knew Pops loved Jenny; he had talked so highly of her. I felt like she was sort of my father’s parting gift to me. She was a good friend, a straight shooter. She didn’t kiss my ass because I was her boss. I would need that honesty in the weeks to come.

Later, I popped into Kell’s. It was another slow day for the café, so I took a seat and nursed my hangover with some herbal tea. I spent the whole afternoon staring out the window, people-watching and eavesdropping on Paddy and Joe.

“Have you been takin’ your pills, Paddy?”

“I have, Joe.”

“And have you had your levels checked again?”

“I have.”

“Jesus Christ, Paddy, are you goin’ to make me ask you a hundred questions?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m eighty-seven years young, can still move like the Lord of the Dance, and I haven’t smoked in twenty-five years. I’m fine.”

“I think you need to diversify your activities is all I’m sayin’. You know I’ve been doing that yoga stuff with Beverly over at the senior center?”

There was a long pause. I turned to read Paddy’s expression. He looked thoroughly disappointed. “But we’re Catholic, Joe.”

Suppressing laughter, I stood up, turned toward the two brothers and smiled. Joe grinned from ear to ear and then, loud enough for me to hear, said to Paddy, “Isn’t Alan’s girl a beauty?”

“That she is, brother.”

I mouthed thank you to my father’s old friends and then waved to Martha and Jenny before heading home. Robert and Jacob would be arriving shortly for the lesson, so I threw on a sweater, jeans, and some Converse. I cleaned the apartment a bit before sitting on the couch to wait. I noticed Will must have been home because he’d set the mail on the counter. I was surprised I hadn’t seen him walk by Kell’s. I wondered if maybe he was avoiding me.

When the buzzer rang, I hit the button to open the door immediately. I ran over to the phone and dialed Sheil.

“Hello?”

“Sheil, I have people coming up for a lesson; I just wanted to let someone know.”

“Okay, darling. Do you want me to come down there?”

“No, but if I don’t call you in an hour, send the troops. Love ya.” I hung up and ran to the door. I opened the door before Robert had a chance to knock.

“Come on in. Hi, Jacob, I’m Mia,” I said to the little guy.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mia.” Jacob was way too mature for a four-year-old.

“Hi, Mia.”

I looked up at Robert. He was wearing a sincere smile. “Ok let’s get started. Come on over to the piano, Jacob, and have a seat. Robert, can I offer you something to drink?”

Robert was standing between the two couches. He was looking down, examining the coffee-table books. He didn’t answer me for a whole twenty seconds and then his head shot up like he’d just realized that I asked him a question.

“Oh, no thank you, I’m fine,” he said as he pushed the books around on the table. Apparently nothing jumped out at him because he sat down and began scrolling around on his phone.

“
A Photographer’s Life
, The Annie Leibovitz one, is really good. You know her? She’s done a lot of work for
Vanity Fair
.”

He shook his head. “I’m fine, thanks.”

There were so many interesting options on the table that day; I was really surprised nothing sparked Robert’s interest. Along with the Annie Leibovitz book, there was
Cecil Beaton: The New York Years
and a book called
Def Jam Recordings: The First 25 Years of the Last Great Record Label
. On top of the three books, there was latest issue of
The New Yorker
along with a copy of
Guitar
magazine that Will had left. I shrugged, then turned around to stand behind Jacob at the piano.

“Okay, little man, let’s get started.” I showed him a couple of fun exercises to build dexterity in his fingers. He liked making the steady sounds, even if it wasn’t in the form of a song yet. He swung his feet under the bench and laughed as he pounded on the keys. He told me his mom really wanted him to learn to play. I said his mom was a smart cookie and that I’d teach him everything I knew. Just then Robert stood up and walked over beside me.

“Why don’t you play something, Mia? You know, so Jacob can hear a finished product.” The words “a finished product” struck me as odd, but I proceeded to sit down next to Jacob, who didn’t move from the center of the bench. I shimmied a bit, trying to get enough space to reach the pedals comfortably. Robert was clearly more interested in watching me play than hearing me play because he stood directly over me. With Jacob right next to me and Robert hovering, I decided on an easy piece since I probably wouldn’t be able to play well anyway. Just as I began playing Gymnopedie No.1, Robert spoke up. “Watch what she’s doing, Jacob.” Jacob looked like he was frantically trying to remember every move my fingers made.

In a low voice I said, “Jacob, close your eyes and just… listen.” Jacob closed his eyes while I played the slow-moving song with resolute attention. Even though Gymnopedie No.1 is an easy piece consisting mainly of a one-note melody and very little rhythmic complication, it has always evoked great emotion in me. I hoped it would for my audience as well. Jacob and Robert remained quiet while I continued. Once I finished, they both clapped, Jacob a little more enthusiastically than Robert.