Moving Neutral (23 page)

Brett looked at me, and I watched as sympathy gave way to amusement in his expression. Seriously, Casey? You really think your parents are going to not pay your college tuition because you left home for a few weeks?

I looked at him, trying to feel reassured. They’re pretty mad, I said, hesitating.

Casey, they’re your parents. They get mad, they ground you. They don’t take away college. Please, he choked on laughter as he said it, what would they tell their friends?

I gave Brett a half-smile, thinking about it. He was right, of course. I’d be lying to myself if I ever thought my parents would really go that far. But at the same time, not going to Columbia was my only hope of staying with Blake -- maybe that was why I’d let myself believe it.

You want? He held the joint out to me, the far end giving off a little wisp of smoke. I looked at it, not quite sure what to say.

Sure, I replied, feeling the words come out of my mouth like someone else had said them. I was ready to relax -- ready not care so much about everything, about college, about my parents, about my boyfriend disappearing with some random girl, about it all ending in just a few days, so quickly that I could almost feel it slipping away in front of me. I took the joint and sucked in as lightly as I could, feeling tense and curious and excited.

What’s it going to feel like? I whispered to Brett, just as the club started to seem different, softer and mellower and sort of funny at the same time. Oh, I thought. Just like that. I giggled.

Where is Blake? I said out loud, feeling like I wasn’t sure how quickly time was passing anymore. Can I borrow your cell phone?

Brett handed the phone to me, and I looked down at it, trying to remember Blake’s number. I stared at it for what seemed like an hour before looking back up at Brett, eyes wide and confused. I forgot, I murmured, my voice trailing off.

You can just come home with me, Brett suggested. It’s no big deal.

I felt like I should respond, but all I could think about was sinking deeper into the couch, and maybe closing my eyes for a moment. It’s late, I said, trying to remember if I’d already said it.

Casey, Brett smiled at me, finishing the joint and snuffing it out in a half-empty glass of champagne. He’s back, he laughed, as Blake came up behind me, sitting down behind me and wrapping an arm firmly around my waist.

Hey, Blake said, whispering into my ear. You ready to go? Where’s everyone else?

You disappeared, I turned my head to face him, pouting my lips exaggeratedly. Where did you go?

They took April home, Brett explained. She knocked over a table.

Blake looked a little guilty. Sorry, he said. You should have just come found me, if you wanted to go.

I tried calling, I said, feeling like I could get lost in his blue eyes. I rested my head on his shoulder. Or maybe I didn t?

Brett started to laugh, shaking his head at me as Blake looked down at me with a confused expression. Are you drunk? he asked, as if he couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

She’s high, I heard Brett say, but I’d closed my eyes again. I’m sorry, dude -- I didn’t know she’d never done it before.

Blake looked at me, his eyes widening in a way that almost seemed hurt. He didn’t say anything for a second, and then seemed to make a decision. Okay, he sighed, lifting me up off the couch. Let’s get you home.

We pulled up to Blake’s house after three a.m., the drive seeming to pass by in an instant while I stared out the window at the cars we passed. Blake carried me up to bed, hesitating for a second before taking off Sophie’s heels, and then tossed me a t-shirt.

Get some sleep, he said, starting to walk toward the door. Where are you going?

I’ll sleep in the guest room, he said, looking at me with an expression I couldn’t read.

Don’t, I caught his arm and pulled it hard, and Blake didn’t seem to resist falling into the bed. I put my arms around him and kissed his neck softly. Stay here with me, I whispered in his ear, pressing my body into his and feeling like I’d become someone else, just for tonight.

Blake inhaled deeply and stayed perfectly still as I kissed him, not conceding, but not leaving either. I unbuttoned the top of his shirt, hearing his breath catch as I ran my fingers over his chest. I kissed him on the lips, more urgent now, and felt him pull me closer as he kissed me back.

How many moments were there left for us, I wondered. Suddenly it felt like this would be our last, and I knew what had to happen.

I’m ready, I whispered, hoping he’d know what I meant, and held my breath.

But my words did the opposite of what I intended -- Blake’s eyes snapped open, and he looked at me angrily.

No, Casey, he said firmly, sitting up and pulling the covers over me. Get some rest, okay? He stood up, hesitated for a second and then walked to the door, shutting off the light switch with one hand and leaving me in the darkness.

As I heard the door shut behind him, I couldn’t help but start to cry.

I didn’t get up until after noon, and walked down the stairs to find Blake sitting outside on a deck overlooking the ocean. He looked up at me as I walked through the sliding door, sitting gingerly on one of the other chairs.

How are you feeling?

Fine, I said halfheartedly, curling my legs underneath me. All I could think about was the night before, how the one thing I thought he’d been waiting for didn’t seem to interest him at all. Did I? I tried to stop voice from shaking. Did I do something wrong?

Blake sighed heavily, looking at me as if I’d completely missed the point.

Casey, it wasn’t going to happen like that, okay? he said, his voice tinged with annoyance. Please. I’ve had enough of those girls.

The words were out before he could cut himself short, and I stared at him, feeling like I’d just been punched in the gut.

It’s just, he backtracked. I liked that you were different, he said quietly, looking part sheepish and part concerned. Last night made me think that I’m a bad influence on you.

I felt my muscles tense. You weren’t any influence on me last night, I retorted. You disappeared with some girl for two hours, remember?

He shook his head, unwilling to let me goad him into a fight. We’ve got a photo shoot for Nylon today, he changed the subject. We were supposed to do it in New York, but there wasn’t enough time, so they scheduled it for our first day back in L.A. You can come if you want -- or you can just stay here.

Whatever, I said, not as ready as Blake was to let it go. I looked back through the open doors into the house, and noticed one thing that hadn’t been there the night before. Blake’s antique book of poetry -- the one he had bought the night we met -- sat on the coffee table where I could see it, its cover worn and fading. I thought about Keith’s promise, that night, to send it to Blake’s house, so he wouldn’t have to take it on the tour bus.

The book had made it to Los Angeles a lot faster than we had. I wondered where else it had been, over the last hundred years.

You’re not a bad influence, I said quietly, trying to smile. I’m not suddenly some druggie, please. I tried smoking pot. Even Madison’s done that.

He looked at me with a wistful smile. Good, he said, kissing me gently. I like you just the way you are. At least, he cracked a smile, before last night, I did.

I punched his arm in mock anger as he started to laugh.

I’m going to go take a shower, he said. We can leave in half an hour. If you want breakfast, I had the housekeeper pick up some bagels. He grinned. They’re not New York quality, but we can go out for sushi tonight. Sushi is best in Los Angeles.

Blake went inside, and I stared out at the ocean for a long time, looking down at the pier in the distance, the giant ferris wheel that reminded me of Chicago. It was so bright out that the water seemed to glitter in the sunlight, wave on rolling wave that lulled me into a kind of peaceful quietness. It was like the rhythm of the highway, the sound that I’d fallen asleep to every night.

It felt like we were at the edge, after a long time getting here. Like it was the last place we would ever go, I thought to myself. It still felt too early for it all to be ending.

April showed up to the photographer’s studio twenty minutes late. If you didn’t know that April had been drunk the night before, you probably wouldn’t have guessed it from looking at her. But I did know, and I could see that her cheeks looked a little drawn, and she had circles under her eyes, even with makeup. She walked to the side of the studio and sunk into a chair, not even saying hello as a hair stylist immediately went to work.

How are you feeling? Sophie asked tentatively.

April looked at her, faking a bright smile. Fine, she said. Should have eaten dinner last night, I guess.

Her makeup person laughed loudly. Bad girl, she teased.

Oh, I was awful, April said smugly, as if she was proud of herself. Sorry, Soph. I’ll be ready in a few minutes.

Sophie shook her head, looking exasperated.

When the shoot got started, I sat down in the chair April had been in, watching as the photographer took each member of the band aside for individual photos. April spent fifteen minutes trying on a dozen dresses, finally settling on a long red gown, her hair curled into loose waves.

Blake was wearing a blazer with a ripped tee-shirt underneath and dark jeans. They put Sophie in a short black dress, and Jesse wore a button down shirt and slim, hipster-y jeans.

You guys want to put on music? the photographer asked, turning on the stereo at one side of the room. He pressed a button, and I could hear the opening of an old Tom Petty song. He snapped pictures in the same rhythm as the song’s beat, reviewing them on a laptop and calling out orders to adjust the lighting.

Blake was next to April in every single picture. I tried not to be annoyed about it, but it seemed like the photographer was doing it on purpose.

Hey, hon, the makeup person said to me, coming over to the chair. You really shouldn’t sit there. We sometimes only get a few minutes with April while they’re reviewing, so we need to get her in the chair as quickly as possible. She said it as if she was explaining to a two year old that eating play-doh was a bad idea. I tried not to feel like an idiot as I stood up.

There are plenty of chairs in the waiting room, she said, snickering a little.

I looked over at where they were shooting. The photographer was having April lay down on the white backdrop, resting her head seductively in Blake’s lap.

I walked outside, not stopping in the waiting room, but walking all the way out the door of the studio. I needed some fresh air.

As I opened the door, I heard voices behind it. Still thinking about the photos, I was almost all the way outside before I noticed the group of photographers standing on the curb. But they had already noticed me.

Jessica-- One of them called, and once again, I was thrilled to have lied to that drunk guy in New Orleans about my name. So far, none of the magazines had been able to figure out exactly who I was.

I put on Sophie’s giant sunglasses immediately, debating for a moment whether I could just walk past them or whether it was better to go back inside. Blake’s car was parked a few feet away, but I didn’t have his keys, so that wasn’t an option.

I was just turning around to go back into the studio when I heard, from one photographer, his voice gloating and confident: Casey.

I whipped around, stunned into silence, and saw the photographer who’d said it -- an older, grubby looking guy with greasy hair and dirty sneakers. I tried not to give away any reaction in my face, worried that I already had.

Slipping back into the studio and closing the door behind me, I sunk down to the floor and sat there for a moment before I could get up, my back to the door, my breath still heaving in and out.

It wasn’t like they were going to put my name on the cover of a magazine, I reasoned. As long as nothing too interesting happened to Blake anytime soon, knowing my real name wouldn’t really be worth anything. The tabloid interest in his supposed breakup with April had died down faster than the buzz after his supposed bar fight, but as long as he didn’t get arrested or married in the next few weeks, he probably wouldn’t land on any magazine covers.

How did they figure out my name, I wondered to myself. I thought about all our friends in Rockland, wondered who Madison had told about me. Anyone could have done it, really.

I sat down in one of the chairs in the waiting room, trying to concentrate on flipping through fashion magazines. I didn’t really want to go back into the photo shoot and watch April sit on Blake’s lap or lick his ear or whatever the photographer was going to suggest next.

I stayed in the waiting room for twenty minutes, not looking outside, listening to Dashboard Confessional songs stream through the open door from the studio, until the photographer finally stopped clicking and they turned the music off.

Los Angeles was the problem, I decided. Everything was falling apart here.

April showed up to the show that night already tipsy, her voice sounding hoarse and overused after screaming in the club for hours the night before.

Keep it together, April, Blake muttered, loud enough for me to hear. There’s only one more show after tonight.