My UnTrue Love (A Kinda Fairytale #7)

Chapter Nine

The coyote stood and called for aid,

Right at the crossroad’s core,

A woman appeared, a crone and a maid,

And even one face more.

Lyrics from the folk song “Crossroads Coyote”

Clementine was the only muse alive who sucked at enticing men.

Bill had not been overcome with desperate love, when she’d shown up at his job in her cutest top and most-expensive sandals. He’d been way more worried about the blisters on her feet and the sunburn on her neck.

Embarrassing in the moment, yes. In the long run, though, great info to have.

Clem was an optimistic person, so she was going to look on the bright side of the situation. There was no sense in squeezing into uncomfortable shapewear, if Bill wasn’t susceptible to fancy clothes. That was a real bonus. And there were lots of other ideas she could try.

It was breakfast on Monday. She and Bill were eating together at the kitchen island. This was a wonderful opportunity to test her feminine wiles. Maybe she could…?

Clementine blinked, suddenly distracted by the news feed on her tablet. “Bill, do you remember how I told you about Hot Biscuit Slim, from the Section 37 Bakery?”

“It rings a bell.” Bill flipped through her father’s notebook, which was opened on the counter beside him. He’d been quietly looking at it on and off for days.

“He runs the Annual Amateur Bakers’ Competition that I lost.” Clem recapped, in case he’d forgotten the embarrassing details. “Hot Biscuit Slim laughed at me and called my chocolate chip cookies ‘low-effort’.”

Bill made a tsk sound. “Why, I sure don’t appreciate his opinion. That man’s clearly got no aptitude for judging, a’tall.”

“He’s got no aptitude for driving a chuck-wagon, either.” Clem turned her tablet so he could read the headline. “The Section 37 Bakery was just stampeded by rabid bison.”

“That so?”

“Yes! It’s completely destroyed.” Clementine flipped the screen to face her again, scanning the article with a teeny bit of unGood satisfaction. That chef had really hurt her feelings with his mockery. “I had no idea bison could even get rabid. How in the world did Hot Biscuit Slim find a whole herd of them?”

“Oh, they’re around. Tracking them down just takes some… high-effort.”

Clem sent him a vaguely suspicious glance.

Bill ate a bite of cereal. “You look real comely this morning, darlin’. Have I told you that?”

Clementine beamed. Her feminine wiles must be working!

“You have mentioned it. Twice.” Bill looked comely, too. Just gazing at him made her insides fluttery. Clem forgot about Hot Biscuit Slim, because they had much more important business to discuss. “Do you want to talk about tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“Your performance.” She prompted.

Bill frowned a bit. “What’s there to talk about?”

He debuted at the Lone Prairie in less than twelve hours and he seemed very calm about it. That was unusual, considering he was about to perform for a crowd, and he was always so sensitive about appearing vulnerable. Maybe he was having second thoughts.

“You know you don’t have to perform, right? Sometimes artists aren’t comfortable bringing their work to the public. They’re satisfied exploring their creative energies, all by themselves. If that’s where you are, I totally support you.”

“You’ll stay with me, even if I don’t play?”

Clementine leaned forward on the counter. “ Yes . I’ll stay your best, best friend no matter what. Our connection has nothing to do with your job. This is about you and what makes you happy. I’ll be happy with whatever you choose, just so you’re artistically fulfilled.”

“But if I don’t play, I’m not an artist.”

“You were born an artist. Nothing you do could change that. It’s hardwired into your soul. Without an outlet for your creativity, though, you’ll be stifled. Music is where you feel free.”

He didn’t argue, which meant she was right.

“But that doesn’t mean you have to be on stage.”

“I like playing guitar.”

“I know you do.”

“I like it more than anything else I could do.”

“But you can do it in a variety of ways. Do you want to postpone your show and consider your options? That would be fine. If a career in music is your goal, I will push for you to get it, though. If I’m being too pushy about it, please say so.”

“No.” He shook his head, almost to himself. “I’m gonna play tonight.” He went back to eating his breakfast.

Clem wasn’t surprised by his choice. She’d just needed him to acknowledge that it was his choice. “Great! So onto the song you decided….”

“If you don’t favor it, I can pick something else.” He inserted quickly.

“The song is fine, so long as you’re happy with it.”

“I’m happy with it.” He ate another spoonful of Gala-Ohs! cereal. It was multicolored, and incredibly sweet, and featured a collectable plastic knight toy in every box. Ninety percent of Bill’s diet was sugar. “But I can play anything.”

Wild Horses Run was a country-western classic. Everyone knew it and everyone enjoyed it. And the song was about horses. Bill seemed like a guy who appreciated horses. The cowboy hat was kind of a clue.

Speaking of which… “What are you wearing on stage tonight?”

Bill looked down at his shirt and lifted a “this, I guess?” kind of shoulder.

“No, you’re not wearing that.” Clementine informed him, because he was absolutely not wearing that. “There’s a hole in the sleeve.”

Bill shifted his arm to examine the tear and nodded thoughtfully, still chewing his too-sweet cereal.

“You can’t wear a shirt with a hole in the sleeve to your performance, Bill. Do you own any blue shirts?”

“Nope.”

“That’s too bad.” She sighed, looking him over. “You’d look amazing in blue, because of how vivid your eyes are.”

Vivid blue eyes snapped up to meet hers. “I’ll buy a blue shirt.”

“You will? Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

“Don’t mind a bit. I’ll get it right after breakfast.”

“Thank you!” She laid a hand over her heart. “I really want to be a good manager for you, and I might be getting a little nervous about screwing it up. You can tell me if you feel suffocated by my hyper-attention.”

“I like your hyper-attention, just so it’s all fixed on me.”

“Oh, it is! I want tonight to go perfectly for my one-and-only client. You deserve that. But keeping you calm is also my job, so I will do better. I promise.” She poured a cup of morning tea. “Have some relaxing chamomile.”

“I’d rather have coffee.”

“Coffee is bad for your vocal cords.”

“I don’t sing.”

“You hum .” She slid the mug of tea his way. “I’ve heard it. Humming is like the singing that happens before the actual singing. I have hopes we can build on it.”

His mouth curved and he drank the tea.

Bill actually did like attention. No matter how smothering she got in the throes of her managerial-angst, Bill never ran out of the room screaming. All weekend, he seemed bemused and content, as she took over his apartment and obsessed over his life. It left her with the distinct impression that Bill enjoyed having her around.

She watched him, feeling a warm, excited feeling in her chest. Only Bill made her feel that way. They didn’t have to do anything special for their time together to be special.

Bill’s phone rang.

Clementine had never heard Bill’s phone ring before. No one ever called him except her and when she called, she didn’t hear the phone ring, because she was the one on the other end.

Clem was far too evolved to eavesdrop on any conversation he might have with another person. She realized that Bill still viewed them as strictly friends. Just because she was certain they had a future together didn’t give her the right to pry into his private affairs.

Oh shit, what if he was having an affair?

Bill could be engaged in an epic romance with a thin, brilliant, beauty queen. And they had to keep it a secret, because the mysterious titian-haired seductress was incredibly wealthy and relentlessly followed by the paparazzi. And so they were planning to run off to Neverland for a whirlwind marriage on the beach, where they’d make love in the sand, while fireworks exploded overhead, and then Bill would forget Clem even existed.

Clementine’s mind raced.

Other women had to be chasing Bill, too. They must be. He was so amazing! Thoughtful, funny, handsome, generous, loyal… He didn’t even complain when she played her decorating shows on the living room TV, although his sparse apartment made it clear that he understood very little about home decor.

Johnny had hated everything Clem watched. The only TV program he cared about was Home on the Range . Johnny enjoyed complaining how he was never invited on the star-making variety show, even though he was “much more talented” than all the featured musicians. Literally every single act sucked, according to him. It was exhausting to talk him down, every Thursday.

Bill didn’t care about the unfairness of the television casting process, though. He was perfectly content to sit right beside Clem and watch shows about the house-flipping market in Oz. He’d simply settled in and rested his arm along the top of the sofa behind her. He’d even offered to let her lean against his body, if she’d be more comfortable.

Which she was. Obviously. Because Bill was very comfortable to lean against.

He didn’t mind her using him as a pillow, either. He’d just let her cuddle closer, toying with her hair and nodding gravely, while she explained that the too-zealous munchkin couple had completely overpaid for a neighborhood so close to those poppy fields. He really seemed to enjoy learning about real estate.

How could such an ideal man be single?

Clem watched with a worried frown as Bill answered his phone on the second ring. “Hello?” His expression filled with quiet satisfaction. “No, not too early, at all. I was hoping you’d call. Sure. Tomorrow’s fine. What time? Yeah, that works. I’m looking forward to seein’ you.” He hung up and went back to his breakfast.

Clementine stared at him.

Bill didn’t seem to notice.

Thirty seconds ticked by.

He chewed his cereal.

Clem waited some more.

Bill flipped a page in the music notebook, like nothing odd was happening.

Clem crossed her arms over her chest.

Bill slowly raised his eyes to her face, the spoon halfway to his mouth.

Clem scowled at him.

Bill blinked, as if he had no idea what was going on. “Something wrong, darlin’?”

“Are you dating anybody else?” She blurted out.

His head tilted to one side.

“Because you shouldn’t.” She rushed on, before he could answer. “You should focus on me.”

Russet-colored eyebrows soared.

Clem flinched, hearing her own words. “I mean, on your career . You know? All your energy has to go to that, right now. …And maybe forever. Probably forever. Like other girls should not be a thing, ever again .” She nodded. “Think about it.”

“Okay.”Bill agreed.

What did that mean? “Okay,” he’d think about it or “okay” he wouldn’t date other girls? Usually, she could understand his barely-words just fine, but now she was too panicked to even try. She opened her lips, ready to press the issue, but there was a knock at the door. Good Lord! Phone calls and now visitors?

“Who’s that?”

“Don’t care.” Bill stayed focused on her face. “They don’t matter to me.”

“How do you know they don’t matter, if you don’t know who they are?”

“You’re the only person who matters and you’re already here.”

Clem’s heartbeat sped up. Bill didn’t talk about his emotions without a lot of prompting. He didn’t talk about anything without a lot of prompting. He wouldn’t voluntarily tell her how important she was to him unless he was feeling the feelings that she was feeling. Right?

She chewed on her lower lip.

Bill’s head tilted to one side, like he was surprised to see her sudden apprehension.

More knocking.

“Just ignore it. Whoever it is, they’ll go away.” He leaned closer to her and smiled in reassurance. That made her feel better. “You and me are having a real important conversation.”

“Are we?” She asked breathlessly. This was going to be a good conversation. She could tell by the intensity of his expression. Whenever Bill focused all his passion on her…

“Yoo-hoo!” Rosalee called from the other side of the door. “Bill, are you there? Oh, B-iiiiill?” The long sing-song-y cadence to the word was as abrasive as chewing cactus spines.

Bill and Clementine both turned to look towards the sound of her voice, frowns on their faces.

“What the hell is Rosalee doing here?” He muttered in annoyance.

“I was just about to ask you the same question.” Clementine went marching towards the door, back to being pissed. “You didn’t invite her?”

“No.” He sounded insulted she even needed to ask. “What are you doing? Don’t open the door. I want to finish our important conversation.”

“Rosalee isn’t going to just leave. She’s probably here to lure you back to The Yellow Roses. She’s smart enough to know how important you are to the band.”

“Then she’s smart enough to know she’s not the one I’m aiming to get lured by.”

“Ever since you were flirting with her that time, Rosalee has had her eyes on you.” Did Clem sound accusatory? Yes. Could she help it? No.

He looked surprised and then guilty. “Darlin’, I swear to you, I have no interest in…”

She wrenched open the door, before he could finish that thought. Rosalee stood on the doorstep, wearing a stylish poncho-dress. Her dark hair was twisted into an elegant chignon and her makeup was flawless. She looked rich, and professional, and gorgeous.

“It’s early to drop by.” Clementine informed the paragon of graceful beauty, who really needed better manners. Sure, Clem had gone knocking on Luke’s door at 9 am the other morning, but that had been so, so different.

“Clementine.” Rosalee gave a disinterested kiss to the air beside Clem’s head. Her perfume smelled like a bouquet of plastic flowers. “Johnny told me Bill’s giving you a place to stay, while you’re recovering from your… issues.”

“The issue of you and Johnny firing me, you mean?”

Rosalee blinked at that unexpected show of assertiveness and then quickly moved past Clem into the apartment. “Bill, we must talk.”

“Nah.”He scoffed.

“It won’t take long.” Rosalee’s eyes skimmed around the room, visibly unimpressed. “You just have to issue a tiny little social media statement.”

“I don’t have any social media.”

“Yes, you do.” Rosalee insisted, her hard eyes belying her friendly smile. “You’re on Ti-Yi-Yo like everyone else in town. Your last post has gotten quite a response.”

“I posted that.” Clem chimed in. She left the door standing open, as a not-so-subtle hint for Rosalee to leave. “I run your social media, Bill. Remember?”

Bill clearly did not remember. “Huh.” He said with very little interest. “Yeah, that sounds good. Whatever you want is fine, Clem.”

“The last post is not fine.” Rosalee interjected. “You’ll have to delete it.”

“He isn’t deleting anything.” Clementine shot back.

“That’s up to Bill, isn’t it?” Rosalee said with a patronizing sneer. She had no respect for muses, so she tended to condescend whenever Clem disagreed with her.

Bill ate more cereal. “Whatever Clem wants is fine .” He reiterated with total inflexibility.

Clementine was bolstered by his faith in her managerial decisions. Rosalee, Dinah, and Johnny might think she was ditzy, but Bill always supported her.

“When you joined the band, I asked if you wanted to use the social media team Johnny hired for the rest of The Yellow Roses.” She reminded him, so he’d know she hadn’t just hijacked his online life. “You said no, because you didn’t want some stranger ‘making up bullshit’ about you. Your exact words.” She crossed over to stand beside Bill and picked up his phone.

Bill gave another “huh” sound, this one meaning he now recalled that series of events.

Rosalee made a face, like this explanation was taking too long.

“It’s good for artists to promote themselves.” Clem knew Bill’s passcode, because she was the one who’d bought the phone for him in the first place. He didn’t even blink as she unlocked it and started going through his apps.

Who didn’t have a phone? Bill, before he’d met her. That’s who.

“You have a lot of followers, actually. They especially like the videos where you teach people how to play certain songs.”

“Is that why we do those?” Bill inquired, as if he’d previously had no clue why she’d asked him to shoot the instructional videos and he’d only done it because she told him to.

Clementine flashed him an exasperated look. “Yes, Bill. That is why we do those.” Not only did he not have his own social media linked to his phone, he didn’t even have the app to access it. Clem downloaded it for him, so he could see his Ti-Yi-Yo account. …Apparently for the very first time. “You’ve really never looked at yourself online?”

“Why would I?”

“Because it’s important for your career. Just like I told you the last time you asked that.”

“A lot of our early conversations are lost to me forever, because your smile wiped out my language skills. It took me a while to learn how to deal with it.”

Clementine positively melted, forgetting she was still slightly miffed at him. Bill was so cute when he teased her.

“Well, I said I’d post stuff for you, just to make sure you had some exposure. And you said I could do anything I wanted, so long as you didn’t have to ‘deal with nobody.’ Again, your exact words.” Finally getting his profile open, she handed him back his phone. “I’ve got you up to ‘whoopie’ status, by the way.”

“Huh.” That sound meant he had no clue what “whoopee status” was.

“It’s very high engagement.” She translated. “People like you. A lot.”

Bill stared down at the screen, which featured dozens of pictures of him hanging around the studio, and videos of him playing guitar, and a lot of close-ups of desert vegetation, just because Clem thought they were pretty.

His mouth curved. “I sure am partial to black-and-white shots of plants, aren’t I?”

“You love them. It’s like an addiction, I think.” She leaned forward on the counter, her expression full of mock gravity. “Stop with all the arty cactus pictures, Bill. Please. It’s getting embarrassing.”

His smile grew wider, because he liked it when she teased him back.

“You see the problem, right?” Rosalee prompted with no consideration for the maybe-kind-of-flirting happening around her. “Retract that statement about you leaving The Yellow Roses. It’s completely inappropriate.”

“How is it inappropriate?” Clem demanded. “I explained that Bill was going to be embarking on a solo career, and invited fans to see him at the Lone Prairie.”

“You made it sound like he’d been fired! That isn’t going over well. Apparently, Bill is very popular.”

“Well, I’m at ‘whoopie’ status.” Bill bragged, scrolling through all the posts he’d never seen before. “Look how I’m always online, interacting with folks. Says here, I’m teachin’ an after-school music class every Tuesday.”

“Wednesday.” Clem corrected. “It’s so important to encourage young talent. Your videos really inspire them.”

Rosalee ignored that truth. She probably hated children and animals and old people. “The Yellow Roses’ social media has been inundated with complaints. Even Vulture Valente is starting to cover it.” Vulture Valente ran an internet account, disseminating gossip about the local music scene. “Fans are threatening a boycott in solidarity with Bill.”

That was gratifying to hear. “Bill should be missed by the fans. He’s a genuine, wonderful person and his guitar playing helped make the album a success.”

If Rosalee was packing a pistol, Clem would be shot right between the eyes. “Bill quit .” She hissed. “He needs to make that clear, so the rest of the band isn’t blamed for his own choices. If he doesn’t fix this mess, we might be forced to sue.”

“Sue? For what? Improper use of emojis? Typos with intent to…?” She broke off when fiddle music came through the too-thin wall. Clem’s head whipped around, her lips parting in amazement. “He listened to me!”

Bill was busily typing on his phone. “I always listen to you, darlin’. Except when your smile blinds me and…”

“Not you, silly. Luke!”

Bill’s attention jerked away from the screen, the second she said another man’s name. “Luke?” Russet brows compressed and his gorgeous voice went darker. “Who’s Luke?”

“The boy in 2B.” She tapped her ear knowingly. “His playing is already better, right? I knew it would be.”

Bill sat up straighter. “The coyote next door talked to you?” He asked like maybe he’d misunderstood. “Alone?”

“Honestly, I did most of the talking. But I think he might’ve listened. I got him a new bow and he’s actually using it.” Some of the notes were flat, but still she heard that touch of magic. That special ka-pow! in Luke’s distinct sound. “I’m so encouraged.”

“I’m not. I don’t want you near him.”

She made a face. “He’s about sixteen, Bill.”

“Teenage coyotes can be very dangerous. Believe me.”

“Well, believe me , Luke is a sweetie-pie. Just listen!” She gestured at the drywall. “He’s an artist.”

Bill rubbed at the back of his neck, as Luke’s fiddle screeched in a particularly high-pitched way. There was always a learning curve getting used to a new bow, but the essence of his gift was really shining bright.

“Can we focus on this PR disaster?” Rosalee complained, shooting a pained glare towards Luke’s apartment. She was obviously not picking up on the kid’s amazing potential. There was no true music in her soul. “What do you plan to do about that damn message, Bill?”

“ I am Bill’s manager.” Clementine snapped, refocusing on the duplicitous woman who was very possibly chasing after the same man that Clem was chasing after. “If you want to sue him, you can make your threats through our lawyers.”

Bill arched a brow at the idea they could afford lawyers.

Clementine kept going, full of righteous (slightly jealous) fury. “But you have no right showing up at his house like this, Rosalee.

“At our house.” Bill chimed in, back to typing on his phone.

“Our house.” She sent him a pointed look. “…Unless I want to talk to the harmless little boy next door.”

“Oh, it’s not just him. I’d prefer you avoid everyone in this whole building.”

“I want to meet our neighbors.”

“And I want you safe. This place isn’t safe. It lets coyotes become tenants.”

“Do you really think I could ever turn my back on someone with so much innate talent?” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the song Luke was trying to play from memory. He didn’t have a great memory. Not an issue. So many brilliant musicians used sheet music. “I’m a muse! I need to inspire artists, especially when I know in my heart they can redefine their genre…”

“Are you going to fix the social media message or not?” Rosalee interrupted.

“Already done.” Bill set down his phone. “That’s all you wanted, right? So you can go.”

“You clarified your earlier statement?” Rosalee seemed surprised it had been that easy. “What did you say?”

“What you wanted me to say. That I quit the band.”

Something about his tone had Clementine frowning over at him, just like she had when he’d made that smirking remark about Hot Biscuit Slim.

Bill stared back, his expression blander-than-porridge.

Clementine shook her head, now certain that he was up to mischief.

Bill was an emotional man, but he was wary of expressing those emotions in conventional ways. Sometimes he did things that ordinary people might consider --well-- Bad. Not very Bad, of course. Just being a bit of a troublemaker. It was perfectly understandable. His creativity needed an outlet, and he wasn’t ready to fully express it through his music.

Someone slithered by the open doorway of the apartment.

Clementine’s eyes swung around just in time to see Woody Shakes go past. The landlord was headed for Luke’s place, no doubt trying to evict him again.

Notifications started pinging on Rosalees’ phone. One after another, like an electronic chorus of really pissed-off digital insects. She grabbed for it, shooting Bill a look of deep distrust.

Bill smiled in polite inquiry.

Clementine headed out the door, not worrying about whatever her mischievous roommate was up to. Rosalee deserved it. Right now she needed to protect Luke from getting his very talented behind evicted.