11. Not Quite Right in the Head
11
NOT QUITE RIGHT IN THE HEAD
MAL
I played it very cool. I didn’t text her for nine whole hours.
Of course, seven and half of those, I was asleep.
Can’t believe you went into work. I just woke up from an all day nap
I’m nodding at my desk. How are you feeling?
So good. A little lonely but very relaxed. Easy in my skin
Sounds nice
Come over. I’ll tuck you in
God I would love that but there’s so much to do before we launch the project next week
So no dinner tonight?
Can we do tomorrow? I could use an all day nap of my own. Except tonight. You know what I mean YOU’VE MADE ME STUPID
You’re welcome! Tomorrow night. New Greek restaurant in Calvin Harbor. You been yet?
I hear it’s great. Kind of a long way for you though
Shhh. Go back to sleep. The work day isn’t over yet and you need your rest
The next evening, I waited for her in the parking lot of the restaurant, thinking there was no way she could be as pretty as I remembered.
Except she was. And better than that.
I was going to give her a gentlemanly little kiss hello, the sort of kiss appropriate to a man who wasn’t completely infatuated with his date. But I leaned down to say hello, she put her hand on my cheek, my arm went around her waist . . .
Yes, there was tongue. I wasn’t proud of it, standing there in front of the restaurant’s window where entire families watched me pull her hips to mine so I could press my swelling cock into her softness. But we all do stupid things from time to time.
“Hello,” she said, smiling, once my head cleared enough to let her go.
“I like the way you taste.”
“Well, I like the way you feel. Are we eating? Or finding a seedy roadside motel?”
“Hm. Tough choice.”
She took my hand, laughing. “Come on. I’m starving.”
Right. Food. Okay.
The hostess seated us and left us with menus, which I ignored in my rush to tell her. “I’ve thought of another one.”
She put her chin in her hand and regarded me. “Another what?”
“Time-of-day jewel. Like daytime diamonds.”
“Okay. What is it?”
“Sunrise sapphires. That’s you. Your eyes. When we were sailing back, the sunrise over the bow.”
I’d pleased and amused her. She chuckled. “Over the bow? All right, it’s poetic. I’ll let it stand.”
“What? The sun wasn’t rising over the bow?”
She gestured with her hand. “Starboard. And then over the stern, but the bow sounds better, so we’ll let it go. Thank you.”
“Your eyes were particularly beautiful yesterday morning. Or was it a lifetime ago? It feels like forever.”
“You are such a poet. Tell me more about me.”
I opened my mouth to gladly comply, but the waitress arrived to find out what we wanted to drink. Go away.
No, I was well-behaved. We did the whole ordering dance while I thought about how those long, elegant fingers holding her wineglass had also held my cock in a delicious vice.
Whoa. Think of grannies and baseball statistics and anything to break my train of thought. What the hell is in moussaka, anyway?
“You really do have a powerful way with words,” she said when we were alone again. “You write some of Aftermath’s music, don’t you? ‘Lizabella’?”
“Yeah, that’s one of mine. Simplistic, but . . .”
“No, I love that one. It makes me dance.”
I grinned. “Good. That was the goal.”
“Are you working on anything now?”
I sat back, considering my vast library of unfinished musical segments. “I’m working on one or two.”
“Will you record them?”
Balm to my ego—Prentice was a little starstruck. How satisfying. “Maybe. I’ll run a few of them past the guys and our new producer, and he’ll make the final decision.”
“You said Laser was producing you? That’s so cool. I looked him up. He did that hit album by Barton What’shisname, didn’t he?”
“Barton Thetford. I met him last summer when we were opening for Sheree. Hell of a nice guy.”
“You opened for Sheree. That’s right. She’s really the big time. What was that like?”
I rolled my eyes. “Eye-opening. I mean, it was amazing. She’s incredible. So friendly. She’s the one who gave us Charlotte.”
I sat back, lost in the memories. Our world had changed so dramatically since the day our then-manager told us Sheree loved Archer’s song “The Salesman” and was inviting us to tour with her for two months. “I told you about the gig five years ago, when we suddenly clicked? Without that moment, Aftermath never would have been more than someone’s Saturday-night bar band. But it did happen, and we did click. The miraculous band alchemy happened, and that was all about the music. But on tour with Sheree? That’s where we really began to gain momentum.”
“I tried to follow the tour as much as I could. I was so proud of you.”
I took her hand, touched. “Thank you. That means a lot. But the Sheree tour wasn’t all good. That was also when we discovered how na?ve we were about money and management and . . . I don’t know, everything except the music.”
She twirled the stem of her wineglass, and I was distracted by her fingers on something long and cylindrical. Nope. Bring it in.
“I guess it’s good you learned tough lessons about the music industry while you were opening for someone else, right? Not, like, when you were the headliner?”
“You have indeed seen the silver lining. Very good business sense, Prentice. Now we have this shark agent who takes a huge percentage of what we make. On the other hand, we’re making more for gigs than we would ever have had the nerve to ask for. Our music is on the radio all the time. And next week, we will be as one with Laser, the current mad genius of the producing world.”
“So all good!”
I loved her spirit. “Yeah. Well, we’ll see. Tell me what you did today.”
She shrugged. “It seems silly, compared to you.”
I shook my head, confused. “I play the drums. That’s it. We make music that people hum along to while they’re driving. Aren’t you clearing a path for kids to grow up happy and sane?”
She smiled. “That’s a good way to look at it. Thank you.”
“So tell me. You’re launching something next week, but I’m not even sure what that means.”
“Really? It’ll bore you.”
“It won’t bore me. And if it does, I love the way your lips move to forms words.”
She put up a self-conscious hand. “I know my mouth is too big.”
Oh no. This must not stand. I pulled her hand down gently. “Your mouth is perfect. It’s perfect.” Perhaps my sincerity got through to her because she blushed, and her smile came back. “Tell me. I’m interested.”
Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I’m steeped in statistics, so I’ll try to keep this very short. Without getting into the weeds, students who engage in the arts are more likely to stay in school, achieve more, graduate. They’re more likely to go to and complete college. And the rates get more dramatic the lower you go in socioeconomic status.”
“I’m with you so far.”
She smiled. Her salmon arrived. Had I ordered lamb chops? They smelled awesome, like they’d been grilled. What a good idea.
“But arts funding has been on a decline for decades. There are lots of groups attempting to revise the concept of core curricula in major school districts, and that’s good, but it’s an uphill battle. The goal of my nonprofit is to pilot a program that will encourage kids to get involved in after-school opportunities.”
“Hard to argue with that.”
She huffed in ironic laughter. “We’re not in competition with the schools—we’re in competition with YouTube and Reddit and whatever the hottest video game is. Our challenge is persuading kids to even consider putting their phones down and spend a few hours doing something else when they don’t have to.”
I chewed thoughtfully and considered my own situation. “Music looks great from the outside,” I offered when my mouth was clear, “but to achieve anything, there’s an endless amount of practice. It takes a lot of commitment.”
“But is it worth it?” She looked at me pointedly. “I mean, you went to a music conservatory for college. That’s pretty advanced. You had to have thought that was important.”
“Yeah, but now I drum for a rock band.”
She laughed. “Look, I can’t fix everything. The fact that you’ll make more this year than the average concert violinist will make in a lifetime . . . I can’t tackle that either!”
I grinned. “Theoretically. We’ll see if Laser lives up to his reputation.”
“He will,” she said with flattering confidence. “You’re going to be huge.”
I’d follow this woman through flaming coals. “So, what’s your plan for your program?”
“Well.” She put down her fork to focus. “We’ve gotten permission to run our pilot at my alma mater, and yours—Caumsett High. It’s supposed to be an easy win for us because this area has a ton of after-school opportunities and a generally middle-class status. If we can’t make it work here, you know?”
“Music classes? Painting? Like that?”
She nodded. “Music. Visual or studio arts, yes, like ceramics or drawing or stained glass. But there’s also dramatic arts, and creative writing, and dance. That’s the one I can talk about a little.”
“Dance?” The woman was full of mystery. But perhaps that explained why she was endlessly graceful. Just watching her walk across a room was a delight.
Or go anywhere naked. Yeah.
“Long years of ballet,” she said, unaware that I’d taken a brief and heady dive into pure lust. I reined it in again. “Not that it made a difference to my career, but it certainly gave me an outlet for the stresses in my life. The ones you didn’t champion for me.” She put her hand on my arm.
I felt like a knight in shining armor. With a staff at the ready, so to speak.
“Tell me who to beat up for you. Go ahead.”
Her smile softened. “I’m good. Really. I learned to stand up for myself, and I think the arts had something to do with that. The arts, and you.”
“You make me blush.”
“It looks good on you. Anyway, we’ve gotten the school district to give us an assembly next Friday. It’s the worst time—so late in the day that I’m sure most of the kids will ditch to begin their weekends, but that’s the only time they gave us, so we’re doing the best we can to put together an engaging presentation for the kids. That’s what has me hopping.”
Her brows were drawn in so far, she had a vertical wrinkle going up into her forehead. I smoothed the line with my thumb, and she smiled at me, surprised. “What?”
I shook my head. “Can I help? Is there something I can do?” An idea occurred to me. “Would it help to announce a quasifamous local celebrity as a guest speaker?”
She sat up straighter, startled by the thought. “You’d—you’d do that?”
“Sure. I can play them drum cadences from the marching band. Tell them about my time at Caumsett and how the arts made a difference to me.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Caumsett still has a marching band, and their music program is trying its best to succeed. You might actually help these kids decide their electives for the following year. I would love that, Mal. Would you really do that for us?”
“Not just for you. I’d do it for Caumsett. For the mission. It’s certainly one I can get behind. But wait, we’ll be recording next week. Let me make sure Laser will bust me out of the studio for an afternoon.”
“Is it likely?”
“Sure. There’s a ton of mixing and fiddling, and we all lay our tracks down separately anyway. I don’t think they’d miss me, but let me ask.”
She shook her head, her eyes shining. “That would be so great. Mal, thank you. Once again, thank you!”
Her reaction was so good for my ego that I began to develop a refinement to the plan. Why go small when you can . . .
Yeah. I needed to make some phone calls.