Chapter 12 #4
‘I’d been having these… I don’t know… moments of uncertainty, I guess. Like, I wasn’t sure any more what the point of it all was.’
‘The music?’
‘Anything. I’d just lost any sense of perspective.’
‘So you decided to see someone?’
‘Not straight away. Around the same time, we found out that my old man had dementia.’
‘I’m really sorry to hear that, Tommy.’ She had met his dad once at a concert and thought he was a true gent.
‘Yeah, it pretty much sucks. He’s already in a care home. Too much for my sister and my mom, and I’m never around much.’
‘Is that why you moved back to New York?’
‘I think so. Mostly. It’s easier to see him from here but I probably could have visited from anywhere.
I think the combination of everything just took its toll.
My writing started to change and it wasn’t a match for the band’s sound, but it felt right to me.
Natural. Anyway, through it all, I decided I needed to talk to someone who wasn’t invested in me.
It felt like no one would just talk to me on a level because they all wanted something from me.
The band wanted the rock star and the carefree lyrics.
My sister wanted help with Mom and Dad. The road team wanted me to stay on the road. ’
‘I wish… I mean, I know we’re not that close any more but I hope you know you can talk to me. I used to like you keeping me in the studio until the early hours talking my right ear off.’ The sincere turn up of her lips was reflected by Tommy.
‘I actually think having someone who didn’t know me at all and who really couldn’t give a fuck about my career was helpful.
It definitely was. It made me realise that there’s more to life.
I love music, but the trimmings – the parties, the booze, even the women – they mean nothing.
I don’t want to be lying on my death bed wondering why I went for one more lay or one more drink, and why I don’t have people I love around me. ’
She processed what he said. It was right, of course, and made her think, what would her last thought be?
Would it be that she wished she’d spent more time in the office or more time sleeping with married men?
She didn’t want to get into those thoughts now.
She brushed them aside and asked, brightly, ‘And the dog?’
Right on cue, the dog came back to them, wagging its tail at Andrea then jumping onto the sofa and curling up by her feet. Meh, he was kind of cute, even if she wasn’t an animal lover. If nothing else, her feet were warmer with him snuggled on top of them.
‘The idea is, he gives me responsibility, for myself. Now it’s strange being in this place without hearing his feet pitter-pattering on the floor.
He makes me feel like I have a home. And when I’m travelling, he comes with me.
I know he needs to be walked, fed, played with and so I have a reason to say no to another drink or another party. ’
‘He’s like a guide dog for the drunk.’
Tommy laughed. ‘Hey now, I’m not a drunk. And, on that note, do you want another?’
She looked at her glass, surprised it was empty. ‘Sure, but I’m not ready to move now that my toes are warm.’
‘How about dinner on the sofa?’
No Hunter. No work. Laughing. Lounging on the sofa with Tommy’s dog on her feet. Oddly, she was in.
Tommy insisted she stay where she was whilst he brought another round of drinks and – sans more skin burns – laid out the Indian meal: poppadums, naan breads, dips, curries, and all on a coffee table he manoeuvred to the rug in front of them.
‘Oh my God, this biryani is to die for,’ Andrea said, lost in a world of slow-cooked-lamb-bliss.
‘I told you, it’s the best Indian food in the city,’ Tommy said, not bothering to pause between bites.
They worked their way down 70 per cent of the meal before they called it quits and gave the dog the scraps he was allowed to eat.
They lay back on their sofas, groaning about their gluttony and consequent bloating, and bickering about which song they should listen to next.
Andrea couldn’t remember the last time she’d spent a night like this.
Fully relaxed, in company she truly enjoyed.
It was a shame it would be six-to-twelve months – based on historic experience – before she saw Tommy again.
She liked the new him, who was very much like the old him except a little more mature and worldly.
They were playing a game of one person naming an artist or band and the other choosing their best song. Currently, Bon Jovi’s ‘Bed of Roses’ was playing, which Andrea considered to be the band’s best track. Tommy wholly disagreed.
‘It’s hands down “Always”,’ he said.
‘No way. “Bed of Roses” is incredible. The melody, Jon’s voice. That build right before the chorus. Would you just listen to that, please?’
‘I’m listening, baby, and I’m saying you called it wrong.’
There was something about the way he called her ‘baby’ that made her think about Hunter for the first time in hours.
In hindsight, she couldn’t stand the way he had called her ‘kiddo’ all the time, especially in a post-coital moment.
What was that? Some kind of reference to her being his daughter’s friend? A power play?
The way Tommy called her ‘baby’ right then was nothing like the same. It was affectionate, familiar, not intended to be demeaning at all, despite the fact they were bickering.
‘Hey, you still here?’ Tommy asked.
She realised she had been lost in her own thoughts. ‘Sorry, yeah, I’m here. Ah, who next…? Chris Stapleton.’
‘That’s easy. “Millionaire”.’
‘I disagree. His best is “Broken Halo” but I’ll let you have it since I happen to have a soft spot for most Chris Stapleton music.’ She drained her drink as the song began to play into the apartment.
‘“Broken Halo”, huh? And I thought I had problems.’ He gave her a mocking look. ‘So, in the theme of being honest, are you going to tell me why you changed your mind to come here tonight?’
She pulled up her legs, needing the comfort of wrapping her arms around her knees in the absence of the dog on her feet.
She shouldn’t say anything about Hunter.
No one could find out. Wasn’t that the main reason she’d ended it?
But if anyone would listen to her promiscuous indiscretions without judgement, it was the man sitting opposite her.
‘Honestly? Please don’t take this the wrong way because I’m having a nice time tonight.’
‘But?’
‘I got out of a relationship of sorts this week and I thought maybe spending time with someone else would take my mind off it.’
He seemed to nod as he looked at her, not giving much away. Had she offended him? From memory, Tommy didn’t offend easily.
‘I get that,’ he said eventually. ‘I didn’t realise you were with anyone.’
She took a breath for courage. ‘That was part of the problem. No one could know.’
‘Ah. Got ya. Who ended it?’
‘Me.’
‘How long?’
‘Six months-ish.’
‘Messy?’
‘Very. Like, work-colleague-meets-father-of-a-friend-bad.’
He whistled. ‘That’s covering a lot of bases.’
‘Yup.’ She held up her empty glass. ‘My turn.’
She helped herself around his kitchen, making them drinks as Tommy talked to her from the sofa. ‘Would I know him?’
‘Would it matter if you did?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘I’m just curious to know if the scowl Hunter gave me as I walked past him in your office today is anything to do with this.’
She froze, mid putting the top back on the bottle of Macallan. ‘Was it that obvious?’
‘He’s pissed. He’s missed out on a great woman.’
She scoffed. ‘Yeah, for his wife. I should never, ever have gone there. It just sort of happened.’
She handed Tommy a fresh drink and he patted the sofa next to him. She sat with her back pressed to his shoulder, their legs stretched along different sides of the L-shaped sofa.
‘Do you think I’m a terrible person?’
He pressed his cheek to her head and she made no move away. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had comforted her. Not that she deserved to be comforted, she knew.
‘I think you made a mistake,’ he said. ‘That isn’t an automatic pathway to hell. God knows I’ve made plenty. We all do.’
‘Some are worse than others, Tommy.’
‘Yes.’ He draped his arm across her shoulder and she leaned deeper into him. ‘You’re no saint, Andi. You’re a human being. That means we fuck up, we recognise the errors of our ways, we make amends as best we can.’
‘That sounds like it came directly from your therapist.’
She felt his humour as his chest chugged against her. ‘Food, whisky and therapy. Baby, you can’t afford me tonight.’
She closed her eyes and hummed as Chris Stapleton’s ‘Tennessee Whiskey’ started to play.
She felt Tommy suck in a breath before he started to sing, ‘You’re as smooth as a Tennessee whiskey.’
Chris Stapleton and Tommy Dawson; she couldn’t have screwed up that badly because she’d been allowed into heaven. Stapleton’s words and Tommy’s voice traversed her veins just like the Macallan had been doing for hours.
‘Dance with me?’ he asked.
She shouldn’t. She had turned up at the new Tommy Dawson’s house. They had drunk liquor, too much liquor. Now, he was singing to her, and if they danced…
He stood and took her drink from her, setting both glasses down on the coffee table. Then he offered her his hand.
She looked up to him. An incredibly handsome man. ‘Will you keep singing if I do?’
One side of his lips curved up and she already knew how they would end the night before she slipped her hand into his and before he pulled her in close to him. Before he wrapped his arms around her and sang, as she laid her head against his chest.
She nudged into his neck, smelling his musk that was all man. When she pressed her lips to his skin, he lifted his head. As he sang, she kissed his throat, his jaw.
He swayed them in time to the music. ‘You should know, if I kiss you, tonight is only ending one way.’
She looked into his eyes and let him know she heard his intentions. She wanted him, too.
He pressed his mouth to hers and stretched his fingers into her hair. He parted her lips and she tasted the way he wore his whisky.
He swayed them again, singing to her as her hands roamed his back, his chest, beneath his T-shirt.
She slid the fabric up, kissing his skin as she went.
He raised his arms and took the T-shirt over his head, kissing her as soon as it was off, pressing his warm torso against her.
God, she wanted to feel his skin on hers .
He took off her blouse and expertly released her bra. When her naked breasts pressed against him, she moaned, the touch teasing her already hard nipples.
She felt his pleasure coursing through her own alcohol-rich blood. This felt like more of a sin than anything she had done with Hunter. It was the ultimate guilty pleasure and she couldn’t get enough.
Her times with Tommy had always been good, but this was… different. Slower, deeper, a smooth ride to heaven.
Afterwards, Tommy collapsed against her chest until their breathing calmed. ‘Stay?’
She nodded in response, knowing he couldn’t hear her answer but that he somehow knew it was yes.
Sometime later, they took the bottle of Macallan to the satin sheets of his bedroom and made love again, and again.
* * *
She had fallen into a sated sleep and woken under the weight of Tommy’s arm, with a head that felt like it was made of concrete and a throat so dry it felt like someone had taken a razor blade to it.
What had she been thinking? Nothing beyond needing to be taken out of her head, out of her thoughts of Hunter, for one night. Tommy had been a gentleman last night, but the saying went ‘a leopard can’t change its spots’, didn’t it?
Tommy had been the perfect hook-up. Now what she needed was a cab, an aspirin and a long black coffee.
She slipped out of his bed and found her clothes in the lounge.
She hushed the dog with a finger across her lips as she tiptoed past it, carrying her shoes.
Unhooking her coat, she snuck out of the door and back out of Tommy’s life.
This time, it would be for good. He’d talked about change; well, it was about time she made some changes too.
No more promiscuous Andi. No more sex until she meant it.
No more of the stuff that had her head in turmoil. Just no more.
At least not until she got her shit together.