The Song in My Heart (11 page)

* * *

Erika peeked around the stage curtain one last time. It wasn’t at all like the meager start to last night’s concert, thank goodness. This time, throngs of people sat patiently waiting for them, their necks craning, their eyes darting about in anticipation. Word about Erika, Dess and Sloane must have spread, because this time, the shouts and squeals drowned out the emcee’s introduction. Dess was giving her a thumbs up, Sloane was grinning like a kid. Erika smoothed her hands down her leather vest one last time—it was warm enough tonight not to wear anything beneath it—and checked that she was showing enough cleavage to be tantalizing, but not so much as to be obscene or cheap. She’d been around the block enough times to know that sex helps sell the music.

One last deep breath and she was running onto the stage, her guitar slung over her shoulder. The crowd cheered and wolf whistled as she greeted them, and she had to yell into the mic to be heard. The audience collectively laughed when she teasingly asked them where they’d been last night when she needed them, then Sloane and Dess launched into the high-energy “Anyway You Want It.”

Dressing the part—the tight leather vest, the form-fitting jeans, the leather ankle boots—helped Erika act the part of sexy rocker-blues chick. It also made her feel the part in those moments when she swaggered across the stage like she owned it, like she owned the audience too. The stage wanted to be possessed, shown who’s boss, and so did the audience, she firmly believed. But she didn’t want to think about it more deeply than that, about where it came from inside her, because too much self-examination might be self-defeating, she feared. What she was doing seemed to be working for her. In spades.

Heeding Dess’s advice from last night, Erika focused her attention on a young woman dancing on the grass below the stage. They locked eyes as Erika sang only to her, swayed and shimmied and strutted only for her. She was so immersed in singing and feeling the music, she couldn’t even remember what the woman looked like once the set was over.

Later, as Sloane and Dess packed up their instruments in the backstage area and Erika lingered over a bottle of water, the dancing stranger approached her.

“You were awesome, Erika,” she gushed, introducing herself as Hailey. “I swear, it was like you were singing just to me! Oh my God, will you pose for a picture with me so I can post it on Facebook?”

“Sure,” Erika said lightly and let Hailey lead her a short distance away. She put her arm around Erika, pointed her phone at them and snapped a photo.

Hailey prattled on about the warm, beautiful night, about what the music—and specifically Erika’s voice—had done to her. Her voice was low and breathy as she tactlessly whispered how turned on she was, how wet Erika had made her. Her perfume was the scent of mango on warm skin, her touch against Erika’s arm promising that she was a sure thing.
Jesus
, Erika thought,
could this woman be any more obvious?

Hailey leaned closer and dropped any pretense of decorum. “Please. I want you so much. Outside. Under the stars, up against a tree. Just like that, baby, I want you to do me.”

Yep, apparently she
could
be more obvious.
From the corner of her eye, Erika thought she caught a disdainful glance from Dess. Of course Hailey and her pawing proposition was crass and crude and so predictable. But as ridiculous and unprincipled as the idea of fucking this stranger was, there was a forbidden, alluring quality to it too. Erika was still keyed up from the performance, and what performer didn’t like to hear nice things about her music, especially from an effusive, sexy young fan? And who didn’t want to feel desired? The truth of it was, she was a bit turned on too—not just from the energy of the performance and Hailey’s detailed proposition, but from the last couple of weeks of being near Dess. Dess and her frustrating push-pull behavior. Dess, the queen of hard to get. The sexual tension inside her needed an outlet and soon.

“Let’s go for a little walk,” Hailey whispered, and Erika found herself being tugged along a stone path that led away from the backstage area.

Just off the path, in the shadows, Hailey unceremoniously pushed her up against a tree and stuck her tongue down her throat. The idea of getting off as quickly as possible, so she could get rid of Hailey, held particular appeal. Although being groped by a young woman against a tree wasn’t her proudest moment.

“Whoa,” Erika murmured. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

“Hell no. I like it hard and fast.”

Hailey’s lips locked onto hers again, their mouths joining unromantically like two locomotives hitching together. Hailey came hard at her like a train too, her hands all over Erika’s thighs, her waist, her breasts. So hard, so fast, that Erika figured the train was going to jump the tracks any minute. And strangely, she began to welcome the idea of a derailment, because the appeal of a quick fuck was fast losing steam. She could do better than this. Deserved better than a five-second orgasm with a young stranger in the shadow of a tree.

An intake of breath, sharp as steel, caught Erika’s attention. She cast her eyes toward the noise, saw that it was Dess who’d halted in her tracks a couple of yards away. Her eyes were wide and so was her mouth before it snapped shut like a gate.
Aw, shit
, Erika thought, not really sure why she should feel guilty, except she did.

She jerked away from Hailey as Dess turned on her heel and stalked off. Sloane slid into view, her hands in her front pockets. “We were just going to tell you we’re heading back to the trailer. Dess…I mean Dora, wants to let Maggie out.” Her wink was her way of giving Erika permission to have her few minutes of fun. “But since you’re busy, don’t feel you have to join us.”

“No, wait, I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

Sloane melted into the dark, and Erika created more distance between herself and Hailey, whose mango perfume now smelled more like sickly sweet bubblegum.

“How old are you, anyway?” Erika blurted out.

“Twenty. Why?”

Hailey looked up at her like a shiny new penny, her eyes eager and her smooth skin almost translucent.

“Forget it,” Erika said, shaking her head dismissively. “Look, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go, okay?”

Hailey pinned her with an unforgiving death stare. “You’re into that older chick, aren’t you? You like cougars or something? That it?”

“Maybe I do.” Erika turned and picked her way back to where Sloane and Dess had emerged from, refusing to give any more thought to Hailey or her cougar comment.

Chapter Nine

“Want to tell me what’s going on between you and Erika?”

Sloane sat across from Dess at their trailer’s cramped dining table, the remnants of breakfast omelettes pushed to the side. Erika had set out on a long walk with Maggie.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sloane, and if you’re trying to turn something into a soap opera, you can forget it right now.”
Yeah, that’s it, the best defense is offense
, Dess decided. Besides, there was nothing to say on the subject, because there was absolutely nothing going on between her and Erika.

Sloane laughed as she cradled her coffee cup in hands made knobby and swollen from decades of pounding on drums.

“I don’t find any of this amusing, in case you’re wondering.”

“Oh, the only thing I’m wondering, doll, is when you started getting that groupie look in your eyes over our hot, studly singer.”

The blood rushed to Dess’s face, instantly warming her cheeks. Sloane couldn’t be serious. She did
not
look at Erika like some infatuated teenager. What a horrifying, embarrassing and ridiculous thought that was!

“Yeah, you heard me. Close your mouth before you end up swallowing a fly.”

Hot needles prickled her cheeks. “Are you on something? Because you’re imagining things that aren’t happening.”

Sloane leaned closer across the table. The teasing twinkle was gone from her eyes. “Look, I don’t mean to get you all riled up. Hell, part of me is ecstatic that you’re hot for Erika, but the other part of me is worried, because I know this isn’t like you. And I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Sloane, you’re reading something into this that isn’t there, okay?”
Please, please don’t let it be there.

“No. I don’t think I am. I saw how shocked and pissed off you were when we stumbled across Erika making out with that groupie last night.”

“Well, of course I was. A little. I don’t want you and Erika tomcatting around all summer. We’re here to work, not to play around.”

“Yeah, I get that. And so does Erika. Doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun now and again. But you looked like you wanted to kill that girl, the way she was mauling Erika. And Erika looking like she was enjoying it a little too much. Man.” Sloane leaned back, spreading her arms along the back of the bench seat. “You sure looked some pissed off.”

Indignant, Dess swore under her breath. “I was not pissed off. And I don’t have a thing for Erika, so you can get that thought out of your perverted little mind.”

“Well, you
should
have a thing for Erika. Christ, she’s like sex on a stick, walking around in those jeans and boots. And that vest!” Sloane whistled. “Notice how she spills out of that goddamned thing on stage? Woo-ee! What red-blooded dyke wouldn’t be salivating over her?”

Sex on a stick? Is she kidding?
“Sloane, you’re nuts, you know that?”

“Of course I know that. And you’re finally hot for someone for the first time in years. Admit it. And tell me you didn’t have a wet dream about her last night, after seeing her up against that tree.”

Oh, fuck.
Dess needed cold water on her face. Now! “Oh, God, you didn’t…hear something last night, did you?” She had the trailer’s small bedroom to herself, while Erika and Sloane slept in the two narrow bunks at the opposite end. There was a good amount of distance between the two sleeping areas, but Dess
had
had a sex dream last night. And it
did
involve Erika in that damned leather vest of hers, leaning over her, kissing her, pushing her thigh against Dess’s crotch.

“Ha, I knew it!” Sloane leapt up for a little dance and a fist pump before sitting back down.

“C’mon, I never said I had a wet dream about
her
. And besides, you’re making her out to be nothing more than a sex object.” Erika was much, much more than that. She could sing, like the goddess herself had blessed her throat with a golden caress. She seemed kindhearted too. She hadn’t pushed Dess too far into sharing her most painful memories, and Dess was grateful.

“I know she’s more than simply hot. I wouldn’t be on this tour if there wasn’t substance behind it, and neither would you. I just don’t want you to fall for her and get hurt, okay? You’re not exactly, you know, very experienced in all this dating stuff.”

Dess rolled her eyes. “So one minute you’re saying it’s okay if I have a thing for Erika, and the next you’re saying stay away from her because I’m too naïve and might get hurt?” It was a rhetorical question, because she certainly had no intention of having any kind of “thing” with Erika, serious or not.

“Dess, honey. If I thought you could have a simple fling with Erika without any complications, I’d be the first one to tell you to go for it. But I know you. You don’t do simple, uncomplicated flings. You put your entire heart into everything you do. And that can be risky sometimes, that’s all.”

Sloane had a point. She had been with Dayna for five years, lived with her for three. There’d been nobody to speak of since. And before Dayna? Dess could count on one hand the number of women she’d slept with, including Dayna. I’m a loser, she thought, momentarily ashamed of her innocence.
Not only in terms of experience, but when it comes to love as well. I do a crap job of choosing women.

To Sloane, she said, “You’re right. I don’t do simple flings. I don’t do any kind of flings or relationships these days, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

“But I do worry.” Sloane covered Dess’s hand with her own. “Dayna hurt you badly, and I don’t ever want to see that happen to you again. Not that Erika is Dayna—I’m not saying that. But she’s young. And she’s got dreams.”

Yes
, Dess thought,
she’s got big dreams
.
Dreams like I once had.
Erika deserved to try for that brass ring, even if it didn’t turn out in the end the way she hoped. If Dess could help guide her a little, protect her a little bit from the worst of it, it was as much as she could hope to do. She certainly wasn’t going to hold Erika back by trying to start anything romantic with her.

“I hear what you’re saying Sloane. Loud and clear. And you’ve got nothing to worry about. I promise.”

Through the window they could see Erika and Maggie striding toward the RV. Maggie’s tail was wagging with joy, and Erika…
Mmm-mmm
, Dess thought before clamping down on the thought and banishing it from her mind. She’d have to stop thinking of Erika that way. Immediately.

* * *

With three days to get to Des Moines for the next music festival, they meandered through Indiana and Illinois. Erika was hoping to use the time to pen another song with Dess, something a little slower, more contemplative this time.

The evening air was laced with a damp chill, not unexpected for May. They’d lit a huge campfire that sprayed sparks like raindrops, to keep them warm while they shared a bottle of merlot. Erika’s old guitar was on her lap. She’d been quietly picking a few notes, trying to find a melody that fit together, while Dess and Sloane gossiped quietly about people Erika didn’t know and didn’t care about. Maggie lay languidly on the edge of their circle, her eyes glazed over and half-lidded as the fire warmed her nose.

Moments later, Dess motioned for Erika to hand over her guitar. She didn’t even know Dess had been listening to her.

“How about trying it this way?” Dess said, plucking a pattern as she alternated between an A chord and a B minor, followed by a C-sharp minor, then a D. There were no words to the melody so far, so Dess hummed quietly.
I wish she’d try singing
, Erika thought, remembering how Dess sounded on her hit song “Try Harder.” Her voice had been so powerful and clear, spanning several octaves. She sang ballads like she’d been born to it, her voice soulful and mournful and delightfully hopeful at the same time. It was nothing short of a tragedy that she would never sing like that again.