Chapter 13
My dress ripples against my legs as I dance toward Rex; my lips graze the microphone as I sing our final song of the set.
“I stare at the closed door. I thought those nights on the roof deck meant more,” I sing to the crowd. “Counting the stars, confiding, arguing, kissing. I thought you were the one. But now I’m left with longing. A cloud has blocked the sun.” I turn back to face Rex and sing the last line. “Don’t leave me now.”
I hold the last notes of “Don’t Leave Me Now,” letting the longing reverberate through the hushed hall. The lights fade out, and the audience erupts in applause. I let my head fall forward, wiped out. As the lights come back on, I stand straight.
The audience is screaming, “Miranda!”
I choke up when I try to talk, and Ling pats me on the back. All that love from the audience is making me tear up again. I smile weakly but rally my voice to give thanks to our fans and introduce Ling again on the guitar as I wipe away a tear. Rex takes over, saying it’s not a complete concert if I don’t cry.
A fan screams, “We love you, Miranda! Don’t ever change!”
Rex introduces Jamal as our drummer and Ayanna on keyboards. We all grab hands and bow again to another round of applause.
I made it through. If only I hadn’t cried when William was watching.
I head for the exit off the stage, my slinky, glove-tight, blue dress swishing against my legs.
Surprisingly, Rex follows me, brushing up against me on the stairs off the stage.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” he asks in a low whisper.
“To change.” I hope he doesn’t want to discuss some new song he’s thought of.
He follows me. I stop in front of my dressing room door, my hand on the door handle, my back to Rex, blocking the opening of the door. “I’ve got to get out of this dress and go home. It’s been a tough week. The crowd adored you. Don’t you need to go to them?”
“Don’t you need me to unbutton the back of your dress?” Rex leans against the door, his voice a silky whisper.
“No,” I say, annoyed. I definitely don’t want William to hear this.
I look over my shoulder at him and hold tight to the door handle, keeping it closed.
His hand covers mine as he pushes the door open.
“No,” I say. “Rex! I’ll be fine.” I step forward into the room. I don’t see William in the dark, but then feel a tingling. He’s right there, to the right of the door, leaning against the wall.
“I’ve been staring at those buttons all night. You never wore this one when we were dating,” Rex says.
“I don’t want your help,” I say firmly, spinning around to face him.
“Just one button,” he says, reaching.
Suddenly, a figure in all black blocks him, placing his body between me and Rex.
“She said she didn’t need your help,” William says.
Rex rocks back. “Who are you?”
The light from the hallway illuminates William. He looks sleek in all black, like a warrior. No accountant vibe now.
“You didn’t tell me you were dating someone new,” Rex says to me.
“I didn’t realize I had to,” I say. Even though we’re not dating, and I should say that. But standing behind William, I feel so warm, as if I’m being bathed in sunlight.
Rex looks at us and puts out his hand to shake William’s. “I hope you make her happy.”
William shakes his hand.
Rex salutes William. “I’ll be off then.”
William shuts the door.
I glance down, embarrassed. My cheeks flush. Why didn’t William correct him?
He steps away, and I back up as well to put some distance between us.
“Carrie is jealous of you,” he says. “When you sang the duet with Rex, she asked me if it looked like you guys were still sleeping together.”
I stare at him, surprised. “We’re not.”
He’s back to leaning as if he’s holding up the wall. His gaze meets mine.
“We’re acting up on stage. We’re supposed to be in love with each other in that song, and I pull from the attraction I did have for him. I think of what I did like about him. He can be a lot of fun, and he’s caring. He is a brilliant lyricist, and watching him come up with lyrics is amazing.” Until you realize you’ve got to cancel any plans involving him because he can’t interrupt his muse.
“I didn’t ask,” William says stiffly.
“You asked with your eyes. What did you tell her?”
“I said I doubted it. It’d be too messy.”
Too messy is so William. I raise my eyebrow. It had been messy, but that hadn’t stopped us initially. A chill slices through me. It would be even messier if I dated William and we broke up. That’s another reason he’s pulling away. Not that our uncles would ever choose sides, but what if they felt they had to? I’d tell Tony to blame me. I have to stop thinking about dating him. It must be from the sudden spike of adrenaline when he stepped between me and Rex.
“I’m not averse to mess, but I’m not going to sleep with a guy who is dating someone else,” I say. “I’ll have to find a way to reassure her again that we’ve gotten it out of our system, and now there’s no risk of me getting back together with Rex. Ever.”
“It didn’t sound like Rex has gotten you out of his system.”
I smile mischievously at him. “I can be hard to forget.”
A slight flush stains William’s cheeks.
He’s cute when he blushes. It’s not fair. He’s undermining my good intentions.
He clears his throat. “More importantly, she said she wanted to go away for a summer vacation, and Rex said he didn’t have the money. She’d offered to pay for him, and he said he couldn’t accept, that he had to be able to pay his own way.”
“He does have his pride.”
“She said they were going to his father’s house in the Hamptons instead for a ten-day break. She also said that a music rep contacted him recently, so he is hopeful he’s about to get his big break.”
“That’s true. He mentioned that at our last practice. So your overall impression?”
William bites his lip and looks off to the side, considering. “It seems unlikely.” He glances at me. “Mostly because I think he cares about you and he’d still like to get back together with you.”
I frown. “Not based on just now?”
“And the way he looks at you on stage.”
I sigh. “He’s a flirt and an experienced performer. Remember, we started performing together in high school.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to get back together with him?”
“Yes. It’s not going to happen. I’m not in love with him anymore.” I slump into a chair. I really want to take off my constrictive dress. But I can’t undo the buttons by myself. Tessa buttoned it up for me before I left for the show. Rex was right about that. I take the pins out of my hair and pull it back in a ponytail instead.
“Should I meet you outside?” William asks.
I hesitate, then stand.
“Could you unbutton my dress?” I ask. “I’d really like to change into jeans and a T-shirt.”
He moves closer. I present my back to him, as my hands hold up the straps on my shoulders.
I tilt my head, exposing my neck to him. His fingers graze my neck softly as he uses both hands to unbutton that top button. I close my eyes. His touch is light and sure. I swallow as he works his way down the buttons, slight touches feathering my skin. My heart flutters. Can he hear it?
“It’s done.” His voice is almost a whisper. His warm breath caresses my neck. Sends tingles down my spine. Without thinking, I find myself arching toward it.
He clears his throat. The cold air as he moves away is like a splash of ice water bringing me back to reality.
I look over my shoulder at him. “Thank you.”
He’s turned around, facing the door.
I slip behind the screen in the corner of the room and quickly change bras and pull on my cotton T-shirt and jeans. When I step out from behind the changing screen, William has his back to me still. He’s studying our concert poster. Rex has his hand possessively around me in the group picture.
“In two days, it will be a week since the paintings were stolen,” I say. “And we still don’t know enough.”
“Anything from the police?”
“No. Takashi was right about creating a honeypot. I’ve thought of how to do it now that the article has made it clear that I can’t be in the Vertex Art Exhibit without Playing Around 1:30. If it is personal, I need to pretend that it doesn’t matter. That the loss of that painting didn’t hurt me. I shouldn’t have gone with Edmund to meet that guy.” I shake my head. “It just showed my desperation.”
“Did you find another painting that could work for the Vertex Art Exhibit?”
“No. Tomorrow I’ll see Edmund again at John’s fundraiser. I’m going to tell him I have another show.”
“Are you sure? I’m worried about what he’ll do in response.” He faces me.
“Me too. But if it’s him, he’ll react.”
William pats me. “You can do it.”
“I know. After all, what can they do to me, now that Playing Around 1:30 and the Kimimoto have already been stolen? Can you come tomorrow?”
“I really should work. Tax deadlines. But if you need me …”
“No, it’s fine. I won’t be there long. I’ll talk to Edmund and leave. We have another gig tomorrow night anyway.”
William nods and gestures to the poster.
“How long did you guys date?”
“A year,” I say. “But we also dated in high school.” He was my first boyfriend. I will always feel a little bit of love for him.
“And when did you break up?”
“About seven months ago. It’s been a while now.” My heels click on the floor. I didn’t bring sneakers to change into because that would have been a lot to carry.
“So not right after Uncle Takashi’s party,” he says.
“It wasn’t his fault that the fan kissed him. But I do get jealous, and dating a rock star is not a good match for me.” I open the door. I need to get out of this tiny room with William. “C’mon, let’s go.” Out in the hallway, I point to a back exit so we don’t have to go through the front crowds.
“But you’re a rock star.”
I laugh. “I’m not a rock star.”
“I’ve seen you sing karaoke, obviously, so I knew you were a good singer. But up there on that stage …” He seems to search for the right words, then goes with, “You were definitely a rock star.”
Did my rock star vibe work?I grin at him. “The magic of the lights.”
“Are you torn between singing and painting?”
“No, not really. They balance each other out. I get my alone time when I’m painting, and then I have the camaraderie of the band that satisfies me socially. And my close friends, of course. I’d like to give up the waitressing, but at least I get fed. And it’s social too. And sometimes when I can’t express myself in my painting, it’s a relief to have words. But Rex writes most of our songs.”
“You guys are good.”
“Yes, but we’re not good enough. There are a lot of good bands out there,” I say. “Maybe I’m not good enough with my art either, but that’s my passion. And I’ve got my whole lifetime to get better.”
I push open the back door, and we exit onto the street. Small circles of friends mill about on the sidewalk, chatting about the concert and discussing where to go next. I pull my baseball hat down farther to cover my face, even though my red hair is a dead giveaway. Rex is there, in the middle of a group of women. I walk swiftly past the crowds to the end of the block, William keeping pace next to me.
“How are you getting home?” he asks when we stop at the corner for the red light.
He’s killing me with his self-control. I’m used to waiting and having to work for it—my art career in a nutshell—but I don’t like it.
“I’ll bike.” I clip on my helmet. “It’s a good way to work off excess energy.” I glance at him.
“From performing?”
“And other things.” I hold his glance a bit longer than comfortable. “See you Monday.”
The biking didn’t work. I am too hyped up to sleep. That flame of desire that sparked when he unbuttoned my dress is still flickering, and I need to get rid of all this excess energy. I close the door of my apartment behind me softly in case Tessa is asleep.
Kicking off my heels, I put on my slippers and pad over the worn, wooden floor to my easel. I feel the urge to paint again, and that alone makes me happy. I want to portray that feeling of possibility but also that ache of unknowing I’d felt when singing “Don’t Leave Me Now”—the song I wrote with Rex. I should write another one called “Off-Limits.” But Rex is the lyricist. I just like riffing with him for words. Those were the best moments of our relationship. He’d scribble ideas on a napkin, feeding off the energy of all of us at the bar. And I’d interpreted that creative collaboration as the foundation for something more.
Am I doing that again? William and I have formed a team to track down the paintings, and again I’m thinking it symbolizes more.
I’m going to paint Off-Limits.
From my palette, I pick cadmium yellow—joy for how William makes me feel. Add threads of violet—uncertainty, contrasted with Payne’s grey for the wall between us. Maroon for that flash of heat when we argued. Silver for the snapping electricity underneath it all. A wash of blue—regret.
Because it can’t be.
I lay the canvas on a tarp on the floor and spray-paint a light-blue background, then pour the thicker yellow oil paint on top, layering hope. Perhaps the hope should have been spray-painted—lighter, more tenuous—but the buoyant exuberance has been more like being drenched by an ocean wave, knocked over even. With a brush, I paint heavy lines of gray. I flick silver to dot the canvas.
I stand back.
Depending on how the light hits it, the silver shines. It’s unexpected—captures that spark. I dab flashes of maroon here and there—flames.
I wash my brush in the stainless-steel sink and then look at the painting again.
It still feels too hopeful, the yellow paint overcoming the gray. But it’s accurate. I’m not resigned to staying behind the walls. I’m exploring the cracks, trying to see if there is a way this relationship can work.