The Crescendo (The Musical Interlude) (4 page)

Erin

“So, help me understand what you’re telling me,” Selene begins, tapping her chin, “You just left the hottest Russian-American man I’ve ever seen, and one who adores the not-too-stylish square toe shoes you stand on let me add, to come hang out with me? And all this happened because some girl in a bar claims she waxed him? And you bought her story?”

"Actually, it was Alek who told me about the blowjob. Gina just opened up the door," I explain.

"Did he sound confident while explaining?" she asks.

"I don't know. He says he was drunk."

"There you go!" she says, throwing her arms up in the air. "Sounds to me like nothing happened except for an intoxicated celebrity being railroaded by a groupie. Alek doesn't strike me as the type to just go black and let somebody take advantage of him that way. You should probably consider her motives before you decide to dismiss your man."

"Whoa! Call off the 'we support Alek' dogs, okay? I haven't dismissed anything," I correct.

"Sorry. Just sayin'. Here you sit with me while your fiancé's across the building all by his lonesome." She gives me an innocent smirk.

This is what I love about Selene. Not only does she aspire to turn herself into the next Angelina Jolie, but she also knows when to put things into perspective no matter how badly her words might make you feel when she’s done.

“I know. I’m being… I feel… I have no idea what’s going on with me. Sometimes I feel like I’m losing myself in all this.” I toss my arms, emphasizing my point because I don’t really know how to describe the way I feel these days. “I don’t know. It’s almost like I’ve given up on my own life and started living through Alek’s.”

“Listen to you!” Selene says so suddenly she makes me jump. “Methinks we found the real problem.”

“Methinks?” I repeat, a smile creeping across my lips. “Had any Lord of the Rings marathons lately?”

She rolls her eyes and says, “Methinks is Shakespearean style language, Erin, not LOTR. But still, Christopher’s obsessed with those movies. I cannot believe I said that word, either. The next thing you know I’ll be picking out swords for a medieval fair, or something.” We both share a laugh. That is, until I start crying for no reason whatsoever. It’s like somebody has planted a waterfall inside me and flicked the switch.

“Oh, baby, don’t do that.” Selene stands and moves over to my side, pulling me into her embrace. We stay that way for a few minutes, embracing each other, before Selene says, “Wait.
Are you getting snot all over my new Skingraft blouse?” I lift my head, brush her shoulder at the spot where my tears have left the stain and glance up at her, our gazes locking.

“Sorry,” I croak out. We both burst out laughing. “Since when did you get into Skingraft?”

“Since Angelina Jolie professed her secret fetish toward the clothing line,” she answers, playfully chucking my arm.

“Of course. I should’ve known,” I tease, my mood brightening up a bit.

“I know men, Erin. I think it’s safe to say I have a teensy weensy bit more experience in male motivations than you. That man you left back in your room loves you with all his heart and everything else, I’m sure. Although you won’t tell me a thing about what he’s like in bed.” Wagging her eyebrows, she stretches her eyes and smiles just as the door to the front room opens and Christopher walks in, his dark blonde hair tousled on top and the white polo shirt he’s wearing unbuttoned at the chest.

His hazel-eyed gaze rakes over me and my friend sitting on the couch and he stops in his tracks, frowning. “I’m interrupting something. Never mind me. Just putting away the goods.” He holds up a brown bag containing two bottles of wine for him and his new wife, no doubt; a celebration I’m obviously interrupting with my drama moment. They’ve been married for six
months now and there’s still no sign of the love affair they started years ago losing any of its steam.

“Nope. I’m the one who needs to be going,” I say, standing.

“Don’t even think about leaving,” Christopher says, his concerned eyes analyzing my appearance. “You rocked the house, Erin. I think you’ve found the right calling this time.”

A pang hits my chest when I think about Luca and Carla and everyone back at Black Butterfly continuing on without me. “Maybe so. I sometimes still miss my old life, though.”

Christopher sets his bag down on the counter built into the wall on the far side of the living room. He removes one of the bottles, heads our way, strolls over to Selene, kissing her first—a sloppy, quick kiss as they exchange glances—and then moves his long limbs to the couch opposite us, plopping down and releasing a long sigh.

“You’re a guy,” Selene says to her husband.

Frowning as though he can’t believe Selene just announced the obvious, he says, “Babe, have you been hitting the grappa early?”

Selene smirks and says, “This is serious. Erin has a problem. We need to help ease her mind.” I’m not sure how I feel about Selene telling Christopher about my problems, but then, she’s right; a guy’s opinion might help me put things into perspective. I’m already feeling the pangs of guilt I usually get when I overreact
over something silly. A part of me, aka Reckless me, wants to run out the door, find Alek and screw him senseless; while the conservative side of me, aka Righteous Me, is saying if you try to run after that man then I’ll make you fall flat on your face.

“There’s this little issue Erin and Alek are having. He
, uh… well, he kinda did something a while back,” Selene stammers, but Christopher obviously knows his wife very well.

“Let me guess,” he begins, “he cheated on you.”

My face flames. It’s bad enough that Nikolai was around to make the situation somewhat humiliating, yet then I recall he was the one who set all this up. A small part of me gets angry at Nikolai, too, because he must’ve known how badly doing something like that would hurt me. But then, once again, I remind myself how I sent Alek away. What right do I have to get angry at his momentary relapse?

“Not really cheated,” Selene answers. “He just kinda relieved himself of some stress.” She winces as she finishes saying this and glances at me.

“So, he had someone give him a blow job while you two weren’t together?” Christopher asks, his face calm. Heat fires through me and my mouth goes dry. “It was nothing. Don’t worry about it, Erin. The guy loves you. I’ve seen how crazed he acts whenever someone looks at you. Guys do stupid shit all the time when they think the woman they love doesn’t want them anymore. Give him a break.” Shrugging, he picks up the bottle of wine and pours himself a glass.

“See, baby. It’s nothing. Leave the past in the past. Don’t let this ruin your chance at happiness. You deserve to finally be free of pain,” Selene says, smiling. “
I’ll tell you what; you, me and Christopher will hang out together tonight and watch horror movies. There’s nothing like seeing some TSTL person getting chopped up because they’ve done something that’s well… too stupid to let them live, right?”

I can’t help but to grin. “I hate horror movies. I’ll have nightmares for weeks.”

“So what? Mr. Muscles will keep you safe.” Selene’s the best friend a girl could ever hope to have. Her dark humor makes things that shouldn’t be funny sound hilarious even when you’re hurting.

“I don’t want to be a third wheel,” I
respond, glancing at all the wine Christopher has brought back with him.

“Threesomes are always a good thing,” Christopher chimes in, smiling wide, highlighting his one dimple. Selene turns to him and narrows her eyes. “What? Just kidding.”

“Yeah, right,” Selene scolds.

We choose to forego the threesome idea, of course. Instead, I settle down on the couch and Selene creates a bed on the sofa opposite mine. We watch movies
while we talk about our lives before and after Italy—the constant whirlwind of change we’ve gone through since becoming sought after designers, and in my case, an overworked singer as well. It’s like we’re roomies back in school again, and before long, I’m starting to feel the ache in my chest. It’s a feeling I usually get when I know I’ve overreacted on something that could easily have been solved if I would have only trusted in myself enough to know the past can only come back and kick my ass whenever I allow it to do so. Eventually, sleep and wariness takes over.

A
ll at once, thunderous noise booms through the room. Both Selene and I shoot straight up on the couches. We’ve just dozed off to the sound of Christopher’s guitar music and the insanely soothing lull of the Canal’s waters outside the hotel room. Only it’s not a storm brewing outside in the Venetian sky; someone’s about to pound in the door to Selene and Christopher’s hotel room, and I have a sneaky suspicion about the identity of the tornado on the other side of it. We glance back and forth at each other, stretching our eyes as we move our gazes toward the door.

“What the hell?” Christopher’s music ceases as he abandons his seat on the balcony and heads toward the door, his lithe frame covering the small room in a matter of seconds.

“Maybe we should call security,” Selene suggests, standing as her husband gives her a disbelieving look.

“I got this, babes,” he assures her. I’m almost certain that calling security wouldn’t do a damn bit
of good, and I’m pretty sure that Christopher doesn’t have anything on a Dostovsky’s temper, and I just know that Alek is the source of the tornado threatening to blow us away in its winds.

One last set of knocks echo through my chest, startling me. Selene moves to my side and takes my hand. I’ve been pretty jumpy all night and the scene developing here in my best friend’s room is not helping me.

“Maybe you shouldn’t, baby,” Selene suggests as she passes a nervous glance at me.

I know what she must be thinking, that anybody strong enough
—or maybe I should say someone who’s angry enough—to make a three-inch thick, solid wooden door sound hollow as they bang on it might want to be handled with a little bit of caution. Of course, Christopher, being the male of our “show Erin some pity” trio gathered here tonight, doesn’t listen. He opens the door and the storm rolls in with every bit of power behind his gust as I imagined it would have. However, it’s not really a storm. It’s the Maestro.

Alek

I
lie in the bed, tossing and turning. Each time I wake up and find her side empty, I tell myself it doesn’t matter. Who the fuck am I fooling? I can lie here and jack off until my balls turn blue, but the fact remains that I love the woman who’s spending her first night away from me in months.

After finally falling asleep and dreaming about
a giant phoenix rising out of piles of red and black silk fabric—Erin’s favorite combination of colors, I wake up, giving up on sleep for the night as I shove my covers away. Tomorrow we have to be right. My shit has to be straight. Houses all over the country have started calling on our mysterious new manager—the Swansea guy Mother has hired and won’t tell me why—to set up dates for Requiem. No one is going to put up with or forgive me if I fuck things up because I’m acting insane as Mother likes to say.

“Oh
, fuck it!” I toss the covers back, stand and trudge across the hotel bedroom.

I can’t let things go on this way between us. What sense does it make to fight for what we’ve gained only to throw it all away in the end? My
jaybird belongs to me. Only me. And I belong to her. This silliness ends tonight.

Yanking on a pair of jeans and a white
T-shirt, I smooth my wavy, but unruly dark hair down, grab my strategy weapon, and head out the door to make my way to the opposite side of the hotel; the part where Selene and her husband are staying. With adrenaline fueling my every thought, my every move, I stop in front of the door, hesitating a brief moment. I then lift my hand and pound on the thick wood. I’m not sure if my temper tantrum—because that’s what I’m doing whether I want to admit it or not—is going to have the desired effect, but I want Erin to understand that, if we’re going to do this thing, she can’t run away at the first sign of trouble.
Who the hell are you kidding? You need to do the same damn thing.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

I’m not sure if it’s the wooden door that’s making my knocks sound extra loud or if I’m just that angry.
Or desperate.

“Shut the hell up!” I say out loud as soon as Christopher opens the door. Three sets of eyes are staring at me, and I can’t help but wonder if they caught the end of my little scold. I take control and storm into the living room.

“She’s coming back with me to where she belongs,” I announce as I stalk into the room.

Erin crosses her arms and gives me a hard look, the one
that I always get when she’s about to hold her ground against something I’ve said or done to put me in the doghouse, yet another concept foreign to me, the former swinger. She’s still dressed in the outfit she wore when we left Arnie’s rather unexpectedly, which leads me to believe Erin might’ve never have meant for things to go this far, either.

“I am not a piece of meat you toss around when convenient,” Erin says, folding her arms tighter. Standing beside her, Selene has already begun inspecting the object hidden by the sling across my shoulder.

“Is that what I think it is?” Selene asks, her eyes and voice both filled with excitement.

That is when
I pull out stop number two, the serenade plan. Surely not even my woman—hard to impress as she might be—can resist the charms of a man struggling to serenade his mate, and in my case, to regain his sanity because I know without a doubt that the three people in this room won’t ever let me live this one down.

"This song made me think of you," I say, gruffly as I struggle to remember the proper positions for my fingers.

Nikolai left the guitar as a gift for me. Among his many talents, including singing and a mean aim with a crossbow, my comrade has most impressed me with his ability to strum out a tune. I’ve learned as much as I could from him before life got in the way and we became distracted by ambition. Thinking of Nikolai preparing to leave in order to do God knows what and where sends a pang through my chest. It doesn’t feel right to face being apart from my friend this way.

I play the worst version of a serenade on a guitar I’ve ever heard
—a song by the Civil Wars called Billie Jean, which is actually a remake of the old Michael Jackson version, but with an updated arrangement. Erin loves that group and the song’s words couldn’t better express my feelings. When I’m done, three sets of eyes are analyzing my face as though they’ve never seen me before, including Erin’s. She’s a singer so I know she can understand just how hard it has been to stand here and humiliate myself this way.

“Hey
, man, I’m up for dishing out lessons any day,” Christopher offers, his blondish-brown hair reminding me of Nikolai’s locks.

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” I answer and turn my gaze back to Erin. I don’t wait for her to confirm that my botch up of a serenade has worked. I can see the conflict in her little body right now as she lowers her eyes and starts chewing on her bottom lip. Stalking toward her, I reach for her hands, hesitating a moment to make sure I’m not about to get the life smacked out of me, and pull her to a standing position. “I can’t sleep without you beside me. You know why. Come home.”

“I think they need a moment, hun,” Selene says to Christopher.

“Don’t you dare leave me,” Erin says to Selene, the first words she has spoken since my serenade ended.

“You’ll be fine, sweetie. Talk, and I’ll catch you later,” Selene says to Erin.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers, but the expression in her eyes tells a different story.

Glancing at my woman, I find her wiping her eyes. She’s been emotional this way lately. It’s almost as though she has become someone else altogether, and I can’t help but to wonder if I’ve taken her too far out of her element by ripping her out of her designer’s role and tossing her into a career tailored more toward my tastes than her own. That small bit of support from her friends is all I need to make my next move, though.

Lifting her body, I sling her over my shoulders and turn to leave, ignoring her protests the entire time. At the insistence of her friend, Erin gives in and allows herself to be man-handled, but I’m afraid the insecurity and mistrust issues have started. I fully intend to bang every single one of those doubts out of Erin’s head. By the time we’re done with each other
, she won’t have a single negative thought about us rolling around in that pretty little head of hers.