The Girl in the Comfortable Quiet (9 page)

I flush. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t say anything.
I didn’t even invite him. He just showed up unannounced.”

His jaw clenches and unclenches several times. He
shakes his head, angry and in disarray. “If that’s all that happened, why are
you telling me this?”

He looks worried. Afraid. I widen my eyes and
stare directly into his. “Because I wanted you to know.”

“Why? Why are you telling me this, Chrissie? For
once, tell me quickly what you think you’ve got to tell me. The faster the
better for me.”

I take a moment to rally my nerves and figure out
a way to say this in the least flammable way. “Alan listened to some of my
music while he was here—”

“How long was he here?” Neil interrupts me.

“An afternoon.” I sink on my knees between his
legs, gently rubbing his thighs, trying to calm and reassure him. “Alan is
going to record a song by me.”

There—I got it out. I stare up at him, waiting.

Neil has that look. Like I’m driving him crazy
and he needs to throw something.

“Why the fuck would you let him do that?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“What do you mean you don’t have a choice?
Goddamn it, it’s your material. He doesn’t have a right to any of it unless you
say yes. What aren’t you telling me, Chrissie? Why the fuck would you do this?”

“I have a contract with him, Neil,” I whisper.
“Since I was eighteen. Alan didn’t have to ask my permission to record my
music. But he did ask. I think he was trying to extend an olive branch, so we
could all just move forward. I don’t want to be enemies with Alan. So I’m
letting him record ‘Parts.’”

“You said yes?” Neil looks like I’ve punched him
in the stomach. “Who cares if we’re enemies?”

“I do.” My voice sounds weak and a hint
frightened.

He exhales slowly. “We have a perfect life
together. Don’t let the past ruin it, Chrissie.”

I say it without thinking. “What do you think I’m
trying to do, Neil? I don’t want to risk being enemies with Alan. Not now. It’s
important to us both that we’re not.”

Neil’s face hardens. Those green eyes lock on me,
wild with emotion. Oh fuck. I can see that Neil hasn’t missed what I’ve unintentionally
said.

“Neil—”

“Don’t say it, Chrissie.” His voice is anguished.
“You promised me we would never talk about it. Not ever. If you say it…I won’t
be able to…I don’t want to lose us…”

He breaks off, running a hand quickly across his
eyes. Damn, he is crying. The tears gushing out of him turn my mind blank. The
words are lost in my head as I wrap him in my arms and let him sink into my
breasts.

We hold each other quietly and I feel Neil slowly
calming, pulling back into something familiar and comfortable. He opens his
eyes. They are still filled with things that are painful to see.

“Are you OK?” I ask cautiously.

His eyes widen and he blinks. “I am if you love
me. If you love me, I’m OK.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

May 1995

I
stand in the front driveway, my hand gently moving against Kaley’s back, hoping
to keep her calm in the front pouch long enough to finish watering the potted
plants.

“Good morning.”

I look over my shoulder. Jesse Harris is walking
down my front drive—
again
—coffee cup in hand. He’s a nice guy, friendly,
but I’m starting to think Neil is right. He does drop in too frequently.

I smile. “No run today?”

“No run. Just sort of vegetating and trying to
get my thoughts organized before I start working.”

I move to the next plant and try to adjust Kaley
more comfortably against my achy lactating breasts that are still the size of
watermelons. Damn, when do they deflate and stop being sore?

Jesse quickly sets his coffee on the teak bench
and then rushes toward me. “Let me do that?”

“Thank you, but I’m fine. If you take this away
from me I won’t have anything to do for the rest of the morning. This is my big
excitement before noon. Go. Sit. Drink your coffee. I like watering my plants.”

His expression changes, half frowning and half
amusement. He shakes his head, but goes back to the bench, retrieves his mug
and then sits in a relaxed, sloppy way. He looks good today in leather boat
shoe type loafers, baggy khaki pants and a pale pink polo.

He lifts his cup and pauses. “So what do you do
up here all day other than water your plants every morning?” he says, curious
and confused by me.

“What do you do up here all day other than run
every morning?” I shoot back with heavy meaning.

“Touché. I guess it was a little rude how I
phrased that. I’m writing my next book. That’s why I like it here. It’s quiet.
No interruptions. I can hear myself think.”

I shrug. “I’m sort of trying to be a songwriter.”

His gaze sharpens on my face and his hazel eyes
start to sparkle. “Sort of?” He laughs. “Still not certain of anything, are
you, Chrissie? I remember you saying ‘sort of a cellist’ once. It was kind of
cute and a little charming.”

My cheeks flush. Second rude comment: bringing up
my embarrassingly low conversational skills during our talk in the kitchen at
Alan’s party in New York.

He takes a cigarette from his pocket and lights
it. “You shouldn’t wonder about things in your life. Not now. You and Neil seem
to have everything all figured out. Looks to me like you’re doing it right.”

He sounds a smidge envious when he says that.
Some of my annoyance with him wanes.

I smile and move to the next plant.

He takes a puff of his cigarette and slowly
releases the smoke and I can feel him studying me. “So whatever happened
between you and Alan Manzone?”

That question takes me completely off guard. I
tense. Why is he wondering about
that
now? “Are you asking as my
neighbor or are you asking as a reporter?”

He reproaches me with his eyes. “What do you
think?”

I crinkle my nose. “It doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t
tell you either way.”

He lifts a brow as if that answer is interesting
to him.

He takes a sip of his coffee. “I don’t think I’ve
ever seen two people hotter for each other than you two were. I always thought
you’d end up married to him someday. Is it true that the hottest fires burn out
the quickest?”

The entire surface of my body burns. That was an
overly intimate question from a guy I’m on
occasional-chats-in-the-driveway-with terms. Fuck, what’s up with Jesse?

I turn away from him, pretending to focus on my
daisies. “I wouldn’t know.”

Silence. No response.

After a few minutes, I chance a peek at him. He
looks lost in his thoughts, staring off into the forest. It feels like he’s
thinking about something private and troubling. Maybe he asked me that last
question trying to answer something for himself.

Jesse is such a mystery. He likes to talk, but he
never says anything about himself except superficial shit. Oh, he enjoys slyly
probing me about myself, probably a reporter thing, but he hasn’t told me a
single personal thing about himself. Not one. Not ever.

The phone starts ringing in the house. I shut off
the hose and toss it on the side patio.

“Got to run, Jesse. If I miss the morning call
from Neil I won’t be able to catch him for the rest of the day.”

He nods and I disappear through the front door. I
maneuver down the foyer stairs, quickly but cautiously, and then grab a
cordless phone from the living room side table. I click it on as I drop to sit
on the couch.

“Neil, I just had the oddest conversation with
Jesse Harris in the driveway,” I say in a rush. “I think you’re right. I
shouldn’t be so friendly with him. And where the heck are you? Why didn’t you
call last night? I hate it when you don’t call me at night. You are in freaking
trouble, mister, with both your girls.”

Silence. Oh shit, maybe he thinks I’m really
pissed at him.

“I’ll call every night forever if you’ll explain
what that was all about, Chrissie.”

I flush. Fudge. I should have checked the caller
ID before I let loose, but no one ever calls in the morning except Neil. “Can
we just forget the last minute and start this call over again, Alan?”

He laughs. “Sure, Chrissie. For you, I’ll forget
every word.”

“Thank you.” My discomposure over making a total
idiot of myself is slightly soothed. I settle back against the seat cushions.
“So why are you calling?”

“I’m recording your song next week. I thought you
might want to be there.”

Fourth out-of-left-field, unexpected comment of
the morning. My nerve tips start to prickle. I’m not sure what I should say.
It’s flattering and risky and too much to dare.

“It is something songwriters sometimes do,
Chrissie. Collaborate on the tracks. I want you to be happy with what I’ve done
with ‘Parts.’”

I roll my eyes. Alan just gave me an out, a way
not to let my careening emotions propel me into doing something stupid. Like
going into a studio with him. Like being within a hundred feet of him. Like
admitting to myself that I want to do both. Friendship from afar, for a
multitude of reasons, is the only safe recourse with Alan. Fuck, what’s wrong
with me that I’m considering doing this?

I run my fingers through my hair. I exhale. “It
means a lot to me that you want me there, but it’s not necessary, Alan. Anything
you do to my song will be brilliant. And getting out of the house is a little
tough for me these days.”

A pause. A laugh. “I didn’t think of that when I
reached for the phone. How are you doing? How is Kaley?”

My pulse ticks up at the way Kaley’s name sounds
on Alan’s voice. “We’re good. Both good. But I’m still pretty much housebound.”

“Nothing is wrong, is it?” Alan sounds alarmed.

“No. It’s just more of a production than it’s
worth to go anywhere since Kaley was born so I don’t do it.”

“Well, then I understand your reluctance to be at
the recording session. Consider being there, Chrissie. I’ll work around your
schedule.”

The way he says that, sweet and kind Alan, kicks
up the temptation into a new hemisphere.

I sit up. “I’ve got to go, Alan. Kaley is
starting to fuss. Thanks again.”

I click off the phone and toss it on the couch.
Starting
to fuss?
I look down at Kaley sound asleep against me. Lame, Chrissie,
lame. To use the baby-fussing excuse when there is no baby fussing sound in the
room.

~~~

I
pull into Jack’s driveway and park. I stare at the house, telling myself to
turn around and go back to the mountain. I sigh. I’m here. I got dressed and
did my makeup. I’ve got Kaley packed up for a day with Jack. It would be stupid
to turn back now, though I’m still not sure why I woke up this morning with a
change of mind about hearing my song recorded. Creative attachment to the work?
Curiosity over what Alan is going to do with “Parts”? Or maybe it’s realizing
that the correct professional and friendship move is for me to be there? Each
is a reasonable and logical motivation for my flip of decision.

I groan, laying my forehead against the steering
wheel. Why do they sound like excuses to do something that I shouldn’t?

I open the car door and climb out. I unclip
Kaley’s car seat, lift her out in it, and then grab her overly stuffed diaper
bag.

God, I’ve packed for her like I’m leaving for a
week. I shouldn’t be gone more than six, maybe seven hours. It’s one song and
Alan steps into the studio with every track completed in his head before he
ever picks up an instrument. It won’t even be more than one roll of tape. It
will be perfect the first time. Just like it was when we recorded
Long and
Hard.
God, he is so brilliant.

As I hurry toward the front door with Kaley, I
tell myself that sitting in on the session is about me starting to behave like
a professional and nothing else.

“Sort of a songwriter.”

I scrunch up my nose, remembering my voice
exactly how it sounded when I said that to Jesse. Jesse was right about one
thing during his incredibly invasive chat in the driveway. Neil and I both know
what we’re doing, together and separately, and are getting it right. It’s past
time to dropkick the
sort of
from my thought processes, speech and life.

Jesus Christ, Alan is recording a song by me. You
can’t get any more official as a songwriter than that. Then the voice inside my
head, that one I can never shut off completely, reminds me that I may be making
this more significant than I should, that this might just be a kind gesture on
Alan’s part, that my song might suck, and his recording it might end up a
pathetically obvious
I did this for a girl I used to fuck
thing.

Oh God, I hope it’s not that.

I search through the house for either Maria or
Jack. I go first to the back wall of glass in the kitchen. Jack is sitting at a
table sipping coffee.

I open the French door. “Hi, Daddy.”

Jack springs to his feet and crosses the patio to
me, smiling. “Hey, you two. My day just got brighter.” He leans into the
carrier, kisses Kaley, and then takes the car seat from me. “You got time for a
cup of coffee?”

I shrug. “Sure.”

I put down Kaley’s bag and settle in a chair
across from Jack. He pours me a cup and hands it to me.

“I was really surprised when you called this
morning. I was wondering how long you’d stay up there alone with a baby before
you went stir-crazy.” He looks up from making faces at Kaley. “So where are you
off to?”

“Just stuff and junk, Daddy.”

He leans back in his chair, his eyes twinkling.
“Whatever it is I’m glad you called. I’m glad to get a little time with my
favorite girl.”

I give him a pout. “I thought I was your favorite
girl.”

Jack reaches for his coffee. “That goes without
saying.”

Now that I’m here, about to leave Kaley, I’m
starting to feel frantic and unsure. Not that I wasn’t already feeling that
way. Only now I’ve got the
why am I going
messy rolling with the
maternal
messy.

I stare at them, gnawing my lower lip. “Are you
sure you can handle her all day?”

He gives me the
are you joking
face. “You
don’t think I know how to take care of a baby? Who do you think raised you?”

He’s right. That was lame. Still… “Maria,” I
tease.

Jack shakes his head. “Maria will be here all
day. I’m not flying solo, if that helps you any.”

I smile. “It helps enormously. I’ve packed
everything she needs. You can reach me on my mobile phone. I should be back
before six.”

“Go. Have fun. Don’t worry about us.” He runs his
finger along Kaley’s dainty chin. “We’re going to be fine, aren’t we, Kaley?”

I lift her from the car seat, kiss her and then
cuddle her up against me. “Be good for Grandpa.”

Jack grimaces. “I’m never going to get used to
hearing that one.”

Laughing, I put Kaley into his outstretched arms.

As I straighten up his eyes sharpen on my face.
“Are you going to tell me where you’re going?”

I flush. “I told you.”

“Chrissie, you used to use the same excuse when
you were young when you didn’t want me to know what you were up to.” He shakes
his head. “Stuff and junk?”

My face darkens to crimson.

“Very funny, Daddy. Ha, ha.” I drop a kiss on his
cheek. “I’m twenty-four years old. I am married. I have a daughter. Don’t you
think it’s time to stop giving me the parental treatment?”

He reaches for his coffee and studies me over the
rim. “Nope. Got to keep my skills sharp for this one,” he says, nodding his
head toward Kaley.

I make a face at him. Jack was only teasing me.
God, why does he have to do that? It’s an emotionally taxing day without a dose
of Chrissie ribbing.