The Girl in the Comfortable Quiet (16 page)

He sinks down on a chair across from me, and
takes a cigarette from his pocket. He doesn’t look at me. “I went to a party.”

“Until 11 a.m.?”

He looks up at me, his cheek twitching. “I went
for a walk after I left. I needed to clear my head. And sober up before I came
back here.”

Was he drunk last night? Was that what was
happening in the restaurant, why he behaved so bizarrely? I don’t remember. I’m
not sure.

“Is everything packed up, Chrissie? Are you ready
to leave? I rescheduled the plane. We can still get the fuck out of here
today.”

I tense.
Really, Neil? That’s how you want to
play this?

I stare at him with wounded and angry eyes. “I’m
not going anywhere with you until you tell me where you were last night.”

He stomps out his cigarette. “Does it even matter
anymore?”

My face flushes. My body chills. “I thought it
did. But maybe not.”

His eyes start to flash. He stands up.

“I’m grabbing my gear. I’m going. You do whatever
you decide to do, Chrissie.”

I watch him, stunned, as he packs up. He leaves
without so much as one look back at me. I hear the suite door slam.

Oh shit.

The morning slips into afternoon. I’m still
curled on the sofa in the sitting room. Lourdes has packed everything up. She’s
waiting in the nursery for me to tell her what we’re going to do. But I don’t
know what we’re doing. Too much is running through me. I can’t think enough to
get from here to there. I can’t even think enough to call someone to book a
plane for us to Santa Barbara.

Fuck, Neil just left us here.

I hear a knock on the door. Sniffling, I climb
from the couch. Maybe Neil came back. Maybe he’s ready to tell me what’s going
on with him.

I open the door. Alan is standing in the hallway
dressed in the type of clothes he wears to travel. Soft jeans, loafers, a loose
silk shirt, dark sunglasses and a hat.

“Everyone has cut out for the States, Chrissie.
Why are you still here?”

I step into the room. Alan follows me. I don’t
look at him. “Neil and I got our schedules fouled up. I thought I was traveling
back with him. I’m not. I was about to call someone to arrange a flight for
us.”

I sink down on the couch.

Alan stares. “Are you packed?”

I nod.

“Get dressed, Chrissie. You’ll travel back to
California with me.”

Oh no. That’s all I need. To kick up whatever
this is going on with Neil by traveling alone with Alan.

“Really, that’s not necessary, Alan. But thank
you.”

“Get dressed now or I will carry you from this
room dressed in your robe.” Firm. Imperative. “I’m not leaving you stranded in
the UK to travel back home by yourself with a nanny and a toddler.”

I glare at him, angry, though I’m not sure why.
“Jesus Christ, Alan. I’m not in the mood for your theatrics today. I’m a grown
woman. I can get from London to Santa Barbara on my own. You make it sound like
my husband just dumped me in the wilds of Africa or something.”

Oh fuck—
dumped me
—why did I say that?

His gaze grows sharper and my face burns.

He moves through my suite to the nursery door.
“Is everything packed? Are you two ready to travel?” he says to Lourdes.

“We are ready, Señor Alan.”

I roll my eyes. Two people on earth he lets call
him “Alan”—me and my housekeeper. God, Alan is frustrating, he makes no sense,
and I’m not strong enough to be alone with him in a private plane for fourteen
hours.

He comes back and stares down at me. “I don’t
have time for bullshit today. Get up. Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

I stand. “Fine.”

I go into my room, close the door, and put on the
unspectacular outfit I left out to wear today before Lourdes packed. Loose
jeans. T-shirt. An old, oversized cardigan sweater. And my UGG slippers.

I run the brush through my hair and shove it in
my tote. I brush my teeth and toss the brush into the trash. I grab my purse
and exit the bedroom.

My eyes widen. Alan has everyone waiting to go,
the luggage is gone, and he’s sitting there as if he’s anxious to leave.

“You ready?”

I nod.
God, this is humiliating.
Everything
going to hell with Neil in an obvious, public way so that I can’t pretend that
things are fine between us anymore. Alan seeing it. Alan being Alan in his own
weird way. Taking charge of me and everything, because I can’t do either. Like
in New York. Like always. Like today…
definitely a new Chrissie low moment.

I reach to take Kaley from Lourdes, but Alan
takes her instead. Oh crap. Doesn’t Alan ever think about the optics of things?
Marching out of this hotel through a horde of press, carrying Kaley and with me
in tow. Great fucking idea.

The tabloids are going to love this.

As we wait for the elevator, Alan asks, “Do you
have sunglasses and a brush in your purse?”

I nod.

“Put the glasses on. You don’t want anyone seeing
your eyes today, beautiful though they are. And try to do something with your
hair.”

~~~

The
sound of landing gear touching ground startles me. I jerk awake. Shit, how long
have I been sleeping?

I look out the window. We’re in Santa Barbara.
Alan didn’t just take me back to California, he made a detour to bring me home.

I quickly take in the scene of the plane’s interior.
Lourdes is sitting in the seat beside me.
Where’s Kaley?
I turn to see
Alan lying on a long bench seat with her tucked beside him.

They are smiling and laughing, talking about
something and my daughter gives every appearance that the flight was uneventful
with her. Second shock in five minutes. It looks like Alan enjoyed the flight
as well. He looks almost like
happy Alan.

I watch for a moment, my throat convulsing. The
door opens. The steps are put down. I unbuckle and stand.

I cross the plane to them. “I’m sorry I slept so
long and wasn’t any help. Was she OK?”

Alan stares at Kaley. “Tell your mum how you
were.”

Kaley stares up with her giant dark eyes. “I
didn’t do good listening.”

I can’t breathe. I’m numb. I can’t imagine how
many times Alan had to say that to her for it to have happened, but fuck, she
just mumbled with an accent.

Alan bites back a smile. “And why were you not
doing good listening?”

“I was kicking Alan’s plane.”

My heart stops. I need to get out of here
quickly. It feels like my life is careening out of control, events beyond my
will, and I don’t want that shock and confrontation, not today.

Everything speeds up around me, and before I know
it, I’m standing by the waiting Town Car, preparing to leave.

I turn, standing between the car and open door of
the plane, hoping to say something appropriate to Alan given everything he’s
done, but I lose my words.

My gaze locks with his. His eyes are potently
intense, but they are also gentle and worried. He looks like he has something
he wants to say to me.

I drag my gaze away and, as fast as I can, I drop
onto the leather seat and the door is quickly closed.

~~~

The car hasn’t even stopped before Neil is out
the front door. I anxiously look at him through the window and let out the air
trapped in my lungs. I can tell by the way he’s staring at me, the expression
on his face. He’s happy I’m home.

He opens the car door and pulls me from the seat,
holding me off the ground tightly against his body.

He paints kisses across my face. “I’m sorry,” he
whispers anxiously. “I’m sorry, Chrissie.”

He sets me on my feet. I stare up at him. “I’m
sorry, too.”

A ragged breath shudders from him. He holds my
face in his hands. “I’ve had Ernie clear my calendar for six months. We need to
slow things down, baby. Everything will be good again if I can slow things down
and be here with you.”

Tears burn my lids. “I think so, too.”

He takes Kaley from the car and kisses her. “Did
you miss Daddy?”

She nods. He hugs her tightly and then balances
her on his hip. He drapes an arm around my shoulder and guides me toward the
front door.

My heart stills.

There in the open doorway…

What the hell is Andy Despensa doing here?

~~~

The
house is filled with the smothering silence of tension and unspoken angry
words. For three months the main level of the house has been mine and Kaley’s.
Neil sleeps one floor below. And I don’t give a fuck where Andy is. Anywhere in
this house is too close.

I wait for the fax machine to finish doing its
thing. Fuck, it’s spitting out page after page today. Beep. I take the sheets.
It’s for me. What the hell is this? Why would Patricia fax me this many
publicity appearances to do for Neil?

No, no, no. Not doing it. I walk toward the door
for the lower level. The phone rings. I grab the cordless in the living room.

“Hello?”

There’s a pause. “Chrissie, is this not a good
time? You sound busy. I can call back later.” It’s Alan.

“No, I’m fine. What do you need?” I keep reading
the fax.

“I need you to do one more concert, Chrissie. LA
in June. BBC is filming for a documentary. I want you in it with me. You are
part of the band. Part of my history. An important part. Do this for me.”

I moisten my suddenly dry lips, still reading.
“I’ll do it. Have someone fax me the details.”

He laughs. “Not a no. I was prepared to argue
longer with you.”

I click off the phone and go in search of Neil. I
find him downstairs, thankfully alone, lying on a couch in the studio listening
to music. I switch it off.

He opens his eyes and looks up at me.

“I want Andy out of this house,” I say and then
cringe. Those weren’t the words in my head.

Neil’s eyes flash. “I want Alan Manzone out of my
life. That one isn’t going to happen either.”

I flush. Why am I arguing with him? It’s almost
survivable if we don’t argue.

“Patricia faxed this to me,” I say, handing him
the sheets. “She wants me to do more press interviews for you.”

Neil grimaces, inspecting the list. “I know how
you hate this. But it’s important, Chrissie.”

“No, it’s all right. I’ll do it.”

Neil tosses down the papers and closes his eyes.

“Alan called,” I announce abruptly.

Neil’s eyes flash open and grow opaque. “What did
he want this time?”

I search his face trying to discern his reaction,
but I don’t see anything. Emotionally blank.

“He wants me to do the LA concert of the US leg.
The BBC or something is filming. It’s the same week as some of the press hops
Patricia wants me to do.” I pause. There’s no reaction, so I say, “I told him
I’d do it.”

Neil nods. He says nothing but every nerve inside
me is frayed and raw.

I run up the stairs and I just want away from
him. There is something different in how Neil is not arguing with me. A painful
feeling of indifference.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

June
1998

I
hurry through the house, trying to find Neil.

I should have been on the road hours ago. I hate
driving in LA traffic after dark and Kaley’s sleep schedule is going to get
shot to hell. But it’s been impossible to get everything done without help
watching the baby.

OK, Neil. Where are you hiding from me this time?

Kitchen, nope. Family room, silent and empty for
a change. Living room, no one. How does Neil disappear in this damn house so
well? He’s probably with Andy.

I feel my anger stir. Nothing has been normal in
this house since Neil allowed Andy to move in.
Note to self: figure out a
way to get Neil to kick Andy out as quickly as possible.

In the very least, Neil should explain why, after
years of animosity, they are friends again out of thin air. And the years
haven’t improved my opinion of Andy. For some reason he still puts my nerves on
edge and remains at the top of my list of people to lose in your life.

Why does Neil like him?

I frown, shaking my head. It was almost better
back when Neil used to bring half the mob from the road home with him.
No,
Chrissie. It
was
better.
I liked those people. I will never like
Andy, and since he’s moved in there’s been nothing but tension here. He has a
way of making me feel like the outsider in my own home and I don’t like it.

Thinking of Andy fills me with agitation and
Kaley starts to fret in my arms. I gently pat her back trying to keep her quiet
until I can hand her off to Neil.

“It’s OK,” I say soothingly. “You can play with
Daddy while Mommy finishes packing.”

“No! Don’t wanna!” Loud. Obstinate.

The look that flashes in her giant brown eyes
makes me laugh, though it probably shouldn’t. I bite my lower lip and frown at
her. She frowns back.

“Hey, kid. Cut me a break. I’m having a rotten
day here.”

I kiss her on the cheek and she takes it as an
opportunity to grab a fistful of my hair. She gives it a sharp tug. Wincing and
trying to work free my curls from her clutches, I cut across the room and then
open the door to the stairs to the floor below.

From the landing, I shout, “Neil, are you down
there?”

I listen, trying to pick up sound. Nope, nothing.
Where the hell are they?

I whirl around and head for the garage. Well, the
cars are still here so Neil is somewhere. Rooftop patio? I maneuver between the
vehicles and pause at the glass doors out onto the widow’s walk.

I stare out. There they are. Lounging in chairs
facing the ocean, laughing and drinking again. The sight of them in guy-world isolation
together kicks up my irritation, though it shouldn’t since Neil deserves some
downtime.

Jesus Christ, I’m leaving for a week today. Neil
should have wanted to spend some time with me. Some time together in bed
wouldn’t have hurt our marriage. Jeez, how long has it been since we’ve had
sex? Four months? Six? No wonder I feel restless. I need to get laid. A
possibility now that Neil is sleeping in my bed again. But no, Neil has spent
most of the day with Andy.

I watch them laugh and it bugs the hell out of
me. Jerking open the slider, I step out into cool early evening air. Neither of
them notices me until I’m nearly across the patio.

The laughter stops. Neil smiles up at me.

“You ready to leave?” he asks and for some reason
the way he asks that is even an irritation today.

I set Kaley in his lap. “No. She won’t let me
finish packing.” Then, deliberately playful since I hate the way Andy is
staring at me, I tease, “Neil, this is your daughter. Say hello to Kaley.
Kaley, this is your father. The two of you play nice while I finish what I’ve
got to do.”

Neil’s eyes twinkle above a pout. “I guess I
haven’t been very helpful today. I’m sorry, babe.”

Babe
. Another
nails-on-the-chalkboard moment. I despise that endearment, and I’m not even
sure why he started using it.

My eyes widen with exasperation. “Can you keep
her entertained for thirty minutes? Just thirty minutes and I can finish
everything and we’ll both be out of your hair for a week.”

“I can do that,” he says, and his words are
followed by a sharp prick of distress inside me. The old Neil would have said
I
don’t want you out of my hair
and then taken me to bed. He would have known
without me saying it that I’m feeling worried and insecure and completely
unloved. He would have said something funny or lame or sweet. But no, not this
stranger.

I study his face. He looks the same since we finally
ended our feud over Andy. But he’s not the same. I don’t know why or what
happened to cause this change.

He kisses Kaley’s pudgy cheek and climbs from the
chaise. “Why don’t we walk around the yard while Mommy packs you up?”

“Thanks,” I say, struggling to get out the word.

Neil smiles. “Don’t try to load the suitcases in
the car yourself. Come and get me when you’re ready.”

I lean in and put a light kiss on Neil’s lips
since I can feel Andy watching us. I hate the suspicion that Andy can see all is
not right with my marriage. Worse, that Neil might be telling him things about
us.

I wonder if that is what they are always huddled
up talking about, and if Andy knows why everything has been so wrong between me
and Neil.

I step out of our kiss, frantically searching
Neil’s expression for things I don’t find. “I love you.”

“Me, too,” Neil says, dropping a kiss on my nose
before he wanders away toward the stairs that lead down to the yard, softly
talking to Kaley.

The expression on Neil’s face as he smiles at our
daughter soothes a measure of my unrest. He looks like
my Neil
when he’s
with Kaley. Maybe it’s me making him behave so strangely.

Without a word to Andy, I head toward the doors
into the house. An hour later, no longer distracted by Kaley every five
minutes, I think I’m almost ready to head out. I stand in the center of my
closet, trying to figure out if I’ve forgotten anything.

The phone rings, an irritatingly, slightly out of
sync echo sounding from each room of the house. Goddamn it. Why do we have a
phone in every room?

I start running my finger along the racks of my
shoes. What shoes did I pack? I can’t remember.

Ring. Ring. Ring. I tense. Crap, I’m already
late.

I hurry into the bedroom and plop on the bed. I
grab the phone. “Hello?”

“Everything all right, Chrissie? You sound upset
and out of breath.”

Alan
. “No, everything is not all
right. I’m still packing. I should have been on the road hours ago. Now I’ve
got to drive to LA in the dark. No one in my house knows how to answer a damn
phone and I’ve got only about thirty minutes left before Kaley starts screaming
for me again. Oh, and you’re calling me. Which usually means there’s a problem.
But I am full up. I can’t take another problem today. What do you want?”

Amused chuckles float through the receiver. “No
problem. I promise, Chrissie.”

I exhale a long, ragged breath. “You always say
that right before you add to the heap that’s burying me, Alan. Have a heart. Go
away. I’m not in the mood for you today.”

He laughs again and I flush.
Oh God, what made
me say that last comment?

“Be nice, love. You used to like me a little.”

“Very little,” I tease flippantly, but the sudden
sadness that spikes out of nowhere makes my throat tighten painfully.

I push up into a sitting position. “Was there a
reason you called? Really, Alan, I don’t have time for one of our marathon
chats.”

“I thought perhaps since you’ll have Kaley with
you, you wouldn’t want to stay at the Hyatt while in LA, and you might prefer
to stay at the Malibu house. It would be more comfortable for you both—”

My heart stops and the rest of his words pour
through the phone without meaning. I know he’s talking, but I can’t catch a
single utterance as panic and want pulse in me.

Did Alan just invite me to spend the week with
him?

Oh shit.
 

After all this time with our emotions safely
locked behind the wall of our friendship, is Alan making the first move to
cross the line?

I can’t tell for sure. I’m not sure what he’s
suggesting, but
it
is
always there, an unspoken thing between us.

The pull. The sexual tension. The love.

Has Alan in his elegantly ambiguous way just let
me know he wants more from me than what I will share with him? We’ve never
stepped over the line. He has never asked me to. Somehow we have managed to be
friends and to do it well.

No. No. No. Why is he trying to fuck it up now by
inviting me to stay with him at that beach?

I don’t want to lose our friendship. I don’t want
to have to give up Alan another time, and any attempt by him to change the
status of us would make that necessary.

My legs start to jiggle in time with my rapidly
increasing pulse. The twirling of my emotions accelerates. I’m shamed by how
tempted I am.

Belatedly, I realized he’s stop talking and there
is only silence from the phone. I struggle for a careful, cautious response
since I’m not really sure what Alan is suggesting.

“I’m not staying at the Hyatt. I’m staying with
Rene at her place in Brentwood. You remember my girlfriend Rene, don’t you?”

A long pause.

“Yes, I remember her. You went to New York with
her. The girl you accused me of fucking in the bathroom of The Blue Light.”

My face covers with a burn. I never expected him
to remember
that
or for him to say it. Weird, blunt, Alan honesty
delivered with a memory I don’t want—us in New York together our first spring.
I definitely don’t want to think about that, not now when I’m feeling so emotionally
messy 24/7.

“I won’t be in Malibu until Friday,” he says into
my silence. “I’m in New York so you wouldn’t be putting me out, Chrissie, if
you change your mind. The house is vacant. It’s yours if you want it. It would
probably work better for Kaley there.”

Now I feel like a perfect idiot. A vain,
emotionally volatile idiot. He isn’t asking me to come to the beach to be with
him
.
He is offering me an empty house.

Fuck.
Stupid, Chrissie. Stupid.
And
even more pathetic than misunderstanding him is the slow downward spiral of my
emotions that comes with understanding him.

My heart is aching. I feel like I can’t take in
air and I don’t even want to explore what that means.

I become slowly aware we’re silent again, each of
us clutching a phone on opposite sides of the country.

I scrunch up my face. “I need to go, Alan. I’ve
got a lot to do.”

I start to hang up when I hear his voice in the
receiver. I put it back to my ear.

“I hate that you believed when we were first
together in New York that I could fuck your best friend.” Alan’s voice is
different this time, a quiet rasp that moves through my veins as potently as
his words do. “I’m sorry that you thought that and I’m sorry I hurt you.”

I tightly close my eyes against the rushing
emotions and memories. Damn you, Alan. Why are we talking about this today? Why
apologize now? Why make me ache with longing and love and regret and need?

My mind screams to hang up quickly. My heart
forces me to listen. I don’t even know how to respond to that. An apology nine
years late, but an apology he shouldn’t have made because I was the one who was
wrong that day.

I wait and say nothing.

“I don’t know how you could have ever thought I
could even notice Rene when there was you. From that first night we spent
together on the beach, you consumed me completely.”

Oh God.
Effortlessly he turns my world
upside down. Every inch of my flesh is alive. My heart is pounding so hard
against my chest it is painful. My limbs tremble. Tears sting my eyes. A few
words and he takes command of my heart and I want desperately to be lost in
Alan again.

I struggle to organize my thoughts and find an
appropriate reply to get me out of this unclear and awkward moment.

“Do you want to hear something silly?” I ask
desperately, slightly breathless and in a deliberately comical way.

I hear a slow exhale through the phone and I
imagine Alan shaking his head and staring at me.

My throat clenches painfully.

Another excruciatingly long stretch of silence.

“Sure, love,” Alan says in a tender, amused way.
“Tell me your something silly.”

The words I say are not the ones in my head. “I
always thought it was
me
consumed by
you
.”