Authors: Carla Krae
“Okay.”
“Knew I could get a grin.”
“How do you know that? You can’t see me.”
“Hear it in your voice, love. You think I
don’t know every inflection after this many years?”
“I love you.”
He smiled. “Won’t get tired of hearin’
that.”
“People tell you every day.”
“They love me like they love chocolate.” He
knew better by now than to confuse fan devotion with genuine
feeling.
“I like chocolate, too.”
“Ha, ha. You and Mum and the lads are what’s
real. It’s the difference between steak and powdered sugar. Only
sugar I need is from you.”
“Charmer.”
Now he knew she was blushing. “I miss
you.”
She sighed. “One more week.”
“Six days, roundabouts. Bleedin’ time
differences escape me. We fly out of Japan on the first, I
think.”
“Let me know when you’ll land.”
“Will do.” He sighed. “They need to invent
teleportation.”
“Nerd.”
Leaning back in the chair, he smiled and
settled into their usual old banter. “Learned about it from you,
sweetheart. Who’s the nerd?”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
“In six days, I will!”
Really wished she would. It’d been one of his
favorite pastimes, years ago. “Play fighting is more fun when I can
snog you into givin’ in.”
“When are you going to talk like a
Californian? You were born here.”
He kicked on an exaggerated Valley Girl
accent. “Because, like, I don’t want to sound like a bloody
airhead. You know?”
“Okay, yeah, never do that again.”
He laughed. She laughed too. His PA walked in
and frowned at his lunch sitting mostly untouched. “The pup just
walked in, love. Think I have to go.”
“Okay.” The disappointment in her voice made
his stomach twist.
“I love you, Beth.”
“I know. Call when you can.”
“Promise.”
“Bye.” She hung up.
Jacob turned off his cell, slid it into his
pocket, and arched a brow at his fidgeting assistant.
“Sir, you’re needed at the venue.”
“They’ll wait five minutes,” he said, and
picked up a sandwich half.
“But—”
“If you’re gonna argue, do it outside.”
“Yes, Mr. Lindsey.” The minion turned and
left the suite.
****
December Twenty-seventh
Downstairs in the kitchen, I started the
coffeemaker for my roommate and grabbed my bowl of cereal to eat in
my room while I got ready. My day started at eight unless I had an
earlier appointment.
After Thanksgiving, I signed a co-lease with
Celeste to move into a tri-level building, one of those new designs
with an office on the ground and condo above it. Moving out of
Dad’s was hard. The first week, I went back almost every night to
have dinner with him. We were much closer than before Mom died and
neither of us knew how living separately would affect that.
“
Are you okay with this?” I asked for the
hundredth time.
“
Elizabeth, I couldn’t be more proud of
you. And at your age, you should be living on your own. As long as
you still stop by—”
“
Always. Thanks, Daddy.”
The business space below our home was my
gallery. Running a business was easy enough on the technical side,
the paperwork and crap, but my natural shyness struggled with the
customer service part. I spent the first couple weeks figuring out
how much attention to the browser was too much or not enough. The
gallery worked more as a sample of my work than actual revenue, but
that was okay—freelance assignments were covering my half of the
rent.
Working as a freelance photographer for
Nathan was more lucrative than I expected. He put me to work right
away in November, wanting fresh photos for his website and updated
bio. Flying all over the US made it harder to communicate with
Jacob while he was on tour, but the assignments were usually done
in a couple hours. If my results from New York Fashion Week were
enough of a hit, I could be going to Paris next for more shows. In
the meantime, I shot a couple high-end weddings, some private
portraits, and a few ad layouts. Nathan had connected me with
people who knew people.
Dressed and fed, I went down to my office by
the private stairwell. E-mail and voicemail were waiting from my
few days off, giving me plenty to do before opening to the public
at nine.
Light glinted off the silver fob on my key
ring, even under fluorescent lights. Locking my computer, I grabbed
my keys and headed for my car.
Jacob’s current house was in a more private
area of the hills than his last place on the celebrity bus tour.
Why did I have a dream about living here before I ever saw it? It
was a mystery I was still driven to solve.
I stopped at the gate to type in the security
code, then rolled through the open passage up the driveway. Though
smaller than his first big-time residence, it was still huge. A
typical formal new construction.
Maria was probably still with her family, so
after going in and disabling the alarm, I hunted down the mailbox
key. It would be just like him to not ask the post office to hold
his mail while he was gone. There were no envelopes, but UPS had
dropped off a box.
I set it on the kitchen counter and looked
around. Honestly, I didn’t know why he picked this house. Maybe it
was a steal or reminded him of his family estate, but there was no
sense he lived here, no air of it being a home. He told me he’d
been too busy to decorate, but unpacking personal touches didn’t
have to take a lot of time—I knew, I’d moved a lot in
adulthood.
Even in this big kitchen, I couldn’t tell
Maria had been using it since last summer. Maybe she didn’t expect
Jacob to stay.
From my last tour of the house, I knew only
two rooms echoed their inhabitant: his “office” and his bedroom. I
stopped in the office first, his base of creation.
The door had been left open. Little of the
neutral wall paint showed due to all the awards and records hung.
To the left, at least a dozen guitars sat on stands; to the right,
a simple metal leg desk and a full-size keyboard against the far
wall. The showpiece was the big window with built-in seat. He’d
left a pen and pad on the cushion.
I sat in his desk chair and the leather
released a waft of his scent. The chair was one of the few remnants
from the move. Closing my eyes, I breathed in his essence, faint as
it was from two months’ absence. My chest got tight.
This wasn’t helping. The pieces of Jacob just
made me miss him more.
I resumed a cursory check of the house,
making sure all was as it should be, reset the alarm, and left.
****
December Twenty-eighth
From Canada, the tour flew to Taiwan.
To
Beth Lawson: Just arrived in Taipei. Heading to the car now. Love
you
.
The Far East loved Western pop culture and
Jacob was their latest favorite American export. The band wasn’t
prepared for the reception they received leaving the airport. A sea
of fans was there to greet them.
“Holy shit,” Bob said.
The crowd was even bigger the next day in
Seoul. It was flattering and a touch frightening. Their minders
said only the pro video game champions received more attention.
Jacob smiled and waved, but his heart wasn’t
in it and he hoped it didn’t show. Wasn’t the fans’ fault he wanted
to be somewhere else.
The road was odd business, moving here and
there at odd hours cooped up in a plane or bus. No one let you go
anywhere in fear you’d get lost before they needed you again. Beth
thought English TV was weird, but they had nothin’ on this Asian
stuff. The lads enjoyed watching the cute girls on the screen,
though, after he muted the volume to save his ears from their
horrible singing.
“Don’t care what they call—that is
not
pop.”
“Doesn’t ‘pop’ just stand for popular?” Dylan
argued.
“Come on, it’s a bleedin’ insult on the ear
drums!”
“Doesn’t have to be good to be liked,” Aaron
said. “’Sides, they’re hot.”
“They dance well,” Mikey added.
“Like you’re one to judge,” Bob said. Mikey
threw a bottle cap at him.
“No offence, mates, but get out. We’ve gotta
stop hanging out in hotels.”
“Yeah, yeah, love you, too, Jake…”
Jacob shut the TV off and reached for his
guitar.
****
December Twenty-ninth
To Jake Lindsey: The crowds at the
airports made ET. Looks scary. Stay safe, please. I want you home
in one piece
.
After photographing a house for a realtor
this morning, I only had the gallery open a half day. The door
chime sounded while I was in my office.
“Liz?”
“Back here.” I stood from my desk.
My old college friend and
now-sometimes-my-boss Nathan appeared looking as polished as ever.
“What are you up to?”
“Previewing shots I took this morning. Didn’t
know you were in town.”
“You know how it is. Anyway, I’m hungry and
hate eating alone, so I’m darkening your doorstep.”
I locked my computer and turned off the
monitor. “Might as well. Dead this week, anyway.” If not for
working with high-end real estate agents, I’d be hurting these last
two weeks of the year.
Spending time with Nathan was easy, unlike
the rest of the people in my life. Career-focused, too, he’d make a
few polite inquiries about how I was, then we’d talk business or
culture or anything that didn’t matter. No baggage, no strings, and
no feelings. If he picked the restaurant, he paid; if I chose, then
I picked up the check. Simplicity I desperately needed since Jacob
came back into my life.
We walked to a late lunch. Downtown Santa
Monica had its perks.
“Have a nice Christmas?” he asked over
risotto.
“Sure. I was with my family. You?”
“Just on Christmas Day. My grandmother will
haunt me one day if I don’t show up.”
“You’ve got a big place—why don’t you invite
them over?”
“Tradition. And…I like my quiet after work. A
dozen relatives are
never
quiet.”
I nodded. “True enough. I do think it’s a
shame to hide that architecture from people, though. I loved
shooting that apartment.”
He smiled. “I remember.”
“Old buildings have character. Soul. While
it’s possible to kill it with a really bad reno, most of the time
the bones are still there. Your designer managed to update the
space in a tasteful way.”
“Glad you approve. My door is always open to
old friends.”
My phone buzzed.
Text message from Jake
Lindsey: On the way to hotel after packed gig. God, I’m tired. Miss
you
. I sent back:
Miss you, too. Sleep well
. Turning off
my phone, I told Nathan, “Sorry about that. You were saying?”
“That from the wayward boyfriend?”
“He’s not…’wayward’. Why?”
“You smiled when you read it.”
“I smile for a lot of things.”
“Not that kind of smile, Lizzie.
Dessert?”
I shook my head. “I should get back to the
office.”
He shrugged and flagged the waiter for the
check.
****
December Thirtieth
The crowds were huge, the energy fantastic,
but he was tired and homesick. Didn’t let it show onstage, of
course, but every chore seemed to take longer than they used to, an
endless delay to getting to L.A.
“It’s all in your head, man. We’re runnin’
like clockwork,” Bob said.
“Tellin’ me you don’t want to be home with a
certain redhead?”
“Sure. Tired of being intimate with my right
hand but I’m not whining about it. Listen to that crowd and tell me
our jobs suck.”
“Realize you’re in love, then tell me how you
feel about bein’ apart,” Jacob said. He headed to his dressing
room.
“Jake, you have to do the encore!”
“Give me a minute!” His throat was sore and
he didn’t think he could get through another three songs without
remedying it.
The short PA ran to catch up to Jacob’s long
strides. “Sir! Sir, you can’t just walk off. If you need something,
ask me to get it for you. The road manager is quite upset.”
He kept walking, opening the door to his
dressing room and going straight to his kit. Rummaging with one
hand, he found the small bottle of olive oil. “Unscrew the cap for
me,” he said, the neck of his guitar still in the other hand. With
the bottle open, he took a healthy swallow, feeling the oil coat
his throat, and shuddered.
Setting the bottle on the table, he headed
back to the wing of the stage. Bob spotted him first and signaled
Aaron to start drumming out the beat.
Jacob took his place at the microphone and
the roar of the crowd was deafening.
Just three songs and one more gig…
New Year’s Eve
Tokyo, Japan
The concert had been timed for the last song
to end a minute before midnight. The big screen behind Jake and the
band showed the crowd as the camera panned over the audience. They
screamed.
“Grab someone you love, and if you came
alone, make a friend,” he said into the mike.
A timer popped up on the screen counting down
the seconds.
He dialed a number on his cell phone, then
held it up to the shouting crowd.
“TEN…NINE…EIGHT…SEVEN…”
Her voice mail would pick up at this hour,
but it didn’t matter.
“FIVE…FOUR…THREE…TWO…ONE!!!”
He held the phone’s microphone close to his
lips to be heard over the celebrating crowd. “Happy New Year, baby.
I’m comin’ home.”
Bob was playing a guitar solo of
Auld Lang
Syne
, but Jacob doubted most of the arena could hear it. Didn’t
matter much—the concert had turned into one big party. He yelled
“goodnight” into the mike and left the stage.
Back in the dressing room, their crew was
popping champagne. There would be a wrap party at the hotel that he
was almost too exhausted to attend, but he owed it to them to show
up for a few minutes.