Authors: Emma Bull
Carla whistled and cheered, and Danny sprang out of his fortress and ran over to thump her on the back. Hedge looked judicious, and nodded.
Willy wiped tendrils of damp hair off his forehead and licked his lips, catching a bead of sweat that sparkled near the corner of his mouth. Eddi's shirt was sticking to her back.
Willy grinned suddenly at her. "Thank you, ma'am."
"Wanna join a band?" she said.
Willy nodded. "Good idea."
None of them could resist trying a few more. They did the Beatles, "I'm Happy Just to Dance With You" as the Ramones might have covered it. As they came out of it, Willy said, "Oh, hell," and cranked up the characteristic lead line for "Johnny B. Goode." When they were done, they did it over as snaky blues. At last Eddi declared them officially off duty, and Carla suggested going out for coffee.
"Not Embers, not Perkins, and Chester's is too far away," Eddi said.
"Nope, nope, let's go where everybody goes to gossip about everyone else's band. The Ediner. Calhoun Square."
"They got room to sit six people?" Dan asked.
Eddi remembered the phouka, and looked around. He was not in sight. She propped her guitar in its stand and went the way she had seen him go earlier, around the wall of sheets.
He was looking out the grimy windows at the passing lights of traffic on Washington Avenue, one forearm against the glass to pillow his head. He looked up when he heard her, and smiled.
"Sounds wonderful," he said.
She licked her lips. "Are you okay?"
"Always, my primrose. What, have you decided that I'm in need of protecting, too?"
"No, I just . . . I wondered where you'd gone, was all."
He stepped forward and took both her hands. "You missed me," he said. "Admit it. Tell me you cannot live without me." His lips were twitching.
"You're a jerk," she sighed.
"And you love it."
Willy looked around the sheet. "Sorry to disturb," he said. "I'll meet you at the restaurant."
"Right," said Eddi, and drew her hands out of the phouka's loosened grip. "You've got a ride?"
"No problem." Willy smiled and disappeared behind the sheet.
"You want to go for coffee?" she asked the phouka.
"No, I have to wash my hair. Of course I want to go for coffee, my pet. I never leave your side, after all." His lips curved in a taunting smile.
Eddi blinked at him. He never left her side. A new wrinkle to that sprang suddenly to mind. "Oh," she said.
"Oh, what?"
There was no delicate way to address the question.
Why didn't I think of this before
?
Because I gave Stuart the boot, that's why, so little things like privacy didn't matter. Oh, lord
. "Nothing," Eddi croaked, and hurried back to the band equipment.
"He gave Hedge a ride," Carla told her, not needing to say who "he" was. "And Danny already left." Willy's guitar was in its stand,
his amp turned off, his effects rack pushed neatly to one side, and the violin lay ready in its case. He'd left his equipment. It was a sort of silent promise.
"Jeez, you say 'coffee,' to this bunch, and they're gone," Eddi said. "Well, let's go see if the wagon has rusted away yet."
"Hey!" Carla squawked.
The phouka looked thoughtful. "It
is
downhill to the restaurant. Isn't it?"
"Oh, God, not you, too. Leave my car alone!"
Eddi and Carla plunged down the stairs giggling, and the phouka followed more slowly. He was quiet in the car while Carla and Eddi talked band. Eddi went from feeling nervous about him to being annoyed. The blasted band had been half his idea, after all; now that it was assembled, did he want to spoil her pleasure in it?
Dan was standing guard over a table for six and a pot of coffee when they arrived. Carla plunked down next to him. Eddi and the phouka squeezed behind the table and onto the banquette.
Willy came down the aisle with Hedge close behind him, and Eddi was suddenly embarrassingly conscious of the empty seat beside her. It didn't seem to embarrass Willy; he slid next to her. The phouka leaned forward and beamed at Willy. Willy only nodded at the phouka and snagged an empty coffee cup.
Eddi turned to the phouka and whispered, "What are you doing?"
"Me? Nothing at all."
"Good. Keep it that way."
He batted his eyelashes at her.
The talk was all business, but with an eager edge—what to name the band, what songs to do and in what way, what connections they could count on for bookings. Particularly what to name the band. They began with jokes like "Free Food" and "Girls in Lingerie 24 Hours" ("Hard on the lingerie," Carla said gravely), moved on to serious ideas, lost control and made more jokes. All the while Eddi stole glances at Willy beside her, seeing the way his green eyes squinted when he laughed, the way he bit a corner of his lower lip when he was thinking, the way his hands moved when he talked. Sometimes she would find him watching her.
Dan stood up at last and said he had to get home. "You're a party pooper, Rochelle," Carla said.
"Ain't my problem you can't have fun without me." He reached for
the check, but Carla twitched it away from him. "I love rich girls," he sighed, and sauntered away.
"Tsk." Carla shook her head. "Eddi? Want a ride?"
"We're closer to your place than mine. I figured I'd ride the bus or something."
Eddi could almost see Carla's thoughts. A raise of the eyebrows, a glance toward Willy—then a blink and a glance at the phouka.
"Okay," Carla said. "Last call for the taxi. Hedge?"
Hedge shook his head and mumbled, and wandered off down the aisle and out of the restaurant.
"He's cute," Carla said dryly. "He wouldn't be if he didn't playbass like that, but he does. Oh, well. See you tomorrow, kids."
She waved the check, and Willy snagged it from her fingers. He followed her as far as the cash register.
Eddi stood by the phouka for a moment, staring at the floor.
"I'll see you tomorrow morning," the phouka said in a tight voice, and Eddi looked up, startled. His face was expressionless, his eyes a little hooded. "Don't do anything foolish, my primrose."
"But what about—" she began. She summoned up a wobbly smile. "I mean, what kind of a bodyguard are you?"
"You'll be . . . protected," he said softly through his teeth. He ventured a bitter smile at her. "And I may be annoying, but I'm not stupid." Then he brushed past her and down the aisle. She saw Willy turn to look at him when he strode out.
"Anything the matter?" Willy asked when she joined him at the door. She shrugged.
They walked past the darkened stores to the stairs. The phouka was nowhere in sight.
He promised
, she wailed to herself.
He said he'd protect me, he'd watch for them, and he's gone away
—But would he leave her in danger now, after working so hard to keep her safe? She shot a cautious glance at Willy, trying to see him without prejudice. He, at least, must be safe, or the phouka would never have let him near her. Would he?
"How far away do you live?" Willy asked as he held the outer door for her.
"Loring Park. Fifteen blocks or so."
"Hmm." He scanned the clear night sky. "If you were up for it, I'd walk you home."
They wandered down Hennepin, through the Uptown streetlife.
They paused to listen to the man playing conga drums on the sidewalk outside the drugstore. They crossed the street to listen to an acoustic punk trio by the library, and even sang along when they covered the Replacements' "Kids Don't Follow." Willy admired a shirt in a store window on the corner of Twenty-eighth Street. Then they caught each other's eye.
"I've got to look," she said.
"You're right," he said.
So they went around the corner to Knut-Koupee to peer through the door at the handmade electric guitars on the wall. "Look at that," Willy said, pointing to a black-and-white checkerboard flying vee. "I won't last the week without it."
"Vulgar," Eddi declared.
"Well, yeah." He grinned sheepishly. "That's why I like it."
She laughed and ran back to Hennepin. He caught up with her just around the corner, and grabbed her hand to slow her down. He didn't let go when they walked on.
At Twenty-sixth Street she stopped. "Hey, how did you get from practice to here? Are you abandoning a car somewhere?"
Willy smiled and shook his head. "Borrowed transportation. I returned it on the way—the owner lives around here."
"Convenient. Oh, lord, are we going to have to get a van? Carla's junkyard dog can't transport the whole band."
"And we need a PA," Willy reminded her.
"Shit. And a PA. Why do you have to be rich to get rich?"
He swung their joined hands. "You watch. We'll make everything work." He smiled down into her face, and she felt butterfly wings in her stomach.
By the time they reached Loring Park, the wind was sneaking through the seams of her denim jacket.
Willy must have seen her shiver. "Cold?"
She shrugged. "It's not far now."
He slid out of his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. She could feel the heat of him still inside it, and when she shivered again, it was not from cold. He kept his arm around her shoulders.
Eddi wondered if he could feel her heart beating. She looked at his white shirt front to keep from meeting his eyes, and said, "You'll freeze."
"It's not far now." Her words had changed in Willy's mouth to something tantalizing. His breath stirred her hair.
They stood for a moment looking out over Loring Park. Spring had come to the city like a bomb, and the trees had exploded into leaf in a matter of days. Now the wind made the park rustle, and the branches cast patterns of black lace across the orange globe lamps. Eddi remembered the phouka surveying the same view, his pleasure at it, and felt a sudden unfocused guilt. "Let's go," she said quietly, and they headed up the hill.
They ran up the front steps of the apartment building, and stopped at the door. Eddi fumbled slowly for her keys. "D'you want to come up?" she said, her eyes on the top step.
Willy curved one of his long white hands around her chin and tilted it upward. Even in the dark, his eyes were green. "Do you want me to?"
She stepped away and leaned against the bricks, trying to take deeper breaths. "I don't do this." She shook her head to clear it. "Not like this, so fast. And if we . . . if we don't work out, we might not be able to make music together either, and the band's important to me."
Willy nodded. "There's no way we can know what will happen. Not from here." He raised one hand as if to reach for her, and stopped. "Do you want me to come up?"
The butterflies threatened to shake her until her knees gave way, until the buzzing of their wings made her deaf. She wanted him to touch her face again. "Yes," she whispered.
They went up the stairs with their arms around each other. But they exchanged no kisses until her apartment door closed behind them. There was no comfort in it; when Willy's mouth left hers, she felt as if she were all pulse, and her skin ached to be touched. He took her face in his hands, smoothed the hair away from her temples with his thumbs. She turned her head quickly and kissed his palm. Willy inhaled sharply.
He picked her up in a single swooping motion, and she grabbed his neck in surprise. He crossed the living room and reached for the knob on the right-hand door.
"Huh-uh," she whispered. "That's the bathroom."
Willy eyed the door as if he'd never seen one. "Ah. No. I don't think we want the bathroom." He sounded as breathless as she was. She giggled into his collar.
He opened the bedroom door, and looked down at her. "Second thoughts?"
Her eyes widened. "What would you do if I had them?"
"Set you on your feet, kiss you chastely on the forehead, and leave."
"You could do that?"
Willy's laugh was shaky. "Just barely."
She reached up to trace the edges of his lips with her index finger. "No second thoughts."
"Good," he said hoarsely. "Offer withdrawn." And he carried her into her bedroom.
Willy didn't stay the night. He kissed her lips and her eyelids when he rose, and she heard him dressing in his leather and denim and silk. He whispered, "Tomorrow," in her ear, kissed her again, and was gone.
She fell back asleep. Her dreams were odd, restless ones, from which she woke with a start. It was still dark. She felt a sudden, dreadful conviction that she'd dreamed Willy and his music and his passion. Or worse, he was real, but irretrievably gone. Then she remembered his equipment set up neatly on the third floor, ready for his return. And she had the key to the rehearsal space. It was, she reflected, a very odd pacifier.
She fell asleep again, and didn't dream at all.
Eddi woke slowly, hearing kitcheny sounds from the next room. For a moment she wished that what she heard was Willy in the next room, but she knew it wasn't. It was the phouka. The knowledge brought comfort and annoyance in equal parts. She threw off the covers and went to take her shower.
It was like, and unlike, her first morning with the phouka. She spent a long time in the bathroom, avoiding him. He would make some rude comment about her social life, or her taste in men; or perhaps he'd leer, and be elegantly crude. Or he might be hurt. . . . No, if he turned a wounded face to her, it would be a contrived one, meant to tease. And why the devil did she think he might be hurt?
She took refuge in thoughts of Willy. The memory of him leaning over her, his eyes luminous green in the light of the bedside lamp, made her shiver pleasantly. He had made love with an overwhelming intensity, as if his attention was wholly absorbed in pleasing her and himself. There'd been none of the uncertainty between them that was natural to new lovers.
He'd said he would see her today. What if it was different between them today? Or fine between them everywhere but in the band?
Calm down, girl
, she told herself.
You knew all that last night, and it didn't stop you. It's time to live with the consequences
.