Chapter 9 Monk
NINE
Monk
February
Working in the studio this semester has been mind-numbing.
Somehow I’ve become the “it” engineer for several mediocre pop stars who’d never get played in public if not for the magic of knobs and levers.
The musicians are generally pretty good, but they’re nowhere near the caliber of the band I play with Friday nights here at The Vibe.
When the bandleader Tony kicks it to me and the small stage’s spotlight swings over to the keys, I give the solo my full dedication.
There’s an alchemy to jazz—the collaborative magic of playing with other musicians within a structure but with the freedom to improvise.
To soar above and then fall back in line, yielding the sky to someone else with wings.
And with great musicians like the ones here tonight, everyone flies.
“Thank you all for coming,” Tony says into the mic at the close of the set. “We’ll be back next Friday.”
The only thing I need more than good music is my girl.
I search the dimly lit crowd for Verity’s pretty face and riot of curls, but I don’t see her yet.
She told me she’d be at the library late, but she would make it by the end of my set.
Between her regular class load and that screenwriting project, she’s been working around the clock and barely sleeping.
“You guys were on fire tonight,” Tony tells us. “I actually booked a last-minute thing I’m doing across town if you wanna roll.”
The trumpet and sax players eagerly accept, but I already know I’m not doing it.
“Nah.” I grin wolfishly. “Gotta see about a girl.”
“Alright now.” Ollie, the drummer, whistles and clacks his sticks together. “I known you since you was a freshman and ain’t ever heard you talk about a lil’ shortie like that.”
“This one’s special,” I say with no shame or self-consciousness.
I’d tell virtual strangers on the street how I feel about Verity. We’ve only been dating four months, but I know the real thing when I feel it. I didn’t think I would, or that after the catastrophe with my parents, I would so easily trust it, but I do. I trust Verity.
“A good woman waiting for you at home,” Tony chuckles, “beats hanging out with these ugly motherfuckers any day.”
“Look who’s talking,” Ollie lobs back. “Ringleader of the ugly motherfuckers.”
We all laugh, finish packing our gear, and leave the stage.
“See you next week then,” I call, pulling my phone out to check for missed calls. Not seeing anything from Verity, I text.
Me: Hey, babe. Where are you? I thought you were meeting me here at The Vibe?
No bubbles. No reply. Nothing.
Me: If you’re still at the library, I’ll come scoop you. I don’t want you walking across campus by yourself this late.
“Well, well, well,” a vaguely familiar voice drawls from behind me. “Look who we have here.”
I turn, surprised to find Petra and her girlfriend.
“Whassup, P?” I fist-pound her and turn a neutral smile to her girl. “Randi, right? We met at the party briefly.”
“Oh, I remember you.” She eyes me up and down, and I can’t tell if she wants to fuck me, slap me, or both. She’s definitely Petra’s type.
“Good to see you guys again.” I glance at the door, anxious to catch Verity before she walks here from the library. “Well, I better—”
“Wait a sec,” Petra cuts in. “Hey, sweetie, could you go check on our drinks? It’s been a minute since we ordered.”
Randi rolls her eyes, apparently seeing through Petra’s obvious ploy for some privacy.
“Sure thing, sweetie,” Randi says, squeaking when Petra gives her ass a little pat and kisses her temple.
Petra and I consider each other as Randi heads to the bar, weaving her way between tables packed with patrons.
“So I heard you’re with Verity now,” Petra says.
“Yeah,” I say, my brows dipping into a frown. “I am.”
“Don’t get all grumpy and jealous.” Petra chuckles. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“What am I thanking you for?”
“Making it easy for you. It was obvious the first night there was something there with you two. Didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out you were into her. You barely took your eyes off her at that party.”
That’s probably true. I don’t comment, but wait to see where this is going.
“She’s a great girl,” Petra continues, the usual mischievous glint leaving her eyes. “Be good to her.”
“You don’t have to tell me that. You don’t have to worry about her.”
“I do sometimes.” Petra slides her glance away for a second before looking back to me. “When she first got here, she was still finding her way, ya know? Whatever happened at USC had her kind of fucked up.”
Verity told me she was under a lot of pressure her junior year out in Cali and ended up having to withdraw, but it’s always obvious she doesn’t want to discuss it. I’ve never pressed.
“What are you saying?” I ask more sharply than I’d intended because I’m losing my patience with this veiled discussion. “Or not saying?”
“She’s brilliant and beautiful and hilarious once she feels comfortable, but she can be fragile, too. Just make sure she takes care of herself.”
“And because you were with her for what? Two months? You think you can tell me how to take care of my girl?”
“And how long you been with her?” Petra twists her lips. “Four? I did fuck her first—”
“Okay. I’m out.” I move to walk past her, but she puts a staying hand on my arm.
“Wait.” Something close to contrition lurks beneath the humor she doesn’t bother to hide. “I’m sorry. Just messing with you.”
I stop and look at her in the eyes directly. “You may have liked sharing her, but I won’t.”
“I know that. She told me she was with you now. She made it clear you two have a different setup.”
“Very different.”
“I respect that.” She chuckles and shakes her head. “You got it bad, and I don’t blame you. Verity’s great. She’s not made for what I need, and I’m not made for what she needs long term, so you got nothing to worry about.”
Some of the tension leaves my shoulders. I do have it bad, but as long as I have Verity, I don’t care. I don’t get the chance to tell Petra that because Verity walks into the club and approaches us, her eyes pinging between her ex and me with undisguised curiosity.
“Hey,” she says, and slips an arm around my waist. “Sorry I’m late. I was at the library.”
“I texted that I would come get you.” I frown. “Did you walk here?”
“It was fine.” Verity turns her smile on Petra and goes in for a hug. “How you doing, girl? Haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“I know.” Petra gives her a squeeze and pulls back. “Been a minute.”
“Is Randi with you?” Verity looks around the club.
“Yeah, she’ll be back in a sec,” Petra says. “I was just telling Monk here he better take care of you.”
Verity laughs up at me and leans into my shoulder. “We take care of each other.”
“Monk, I feel like you owe me at least a finder’s fee,” Petra says with a sly grin.
Verity smothers a laugh behind her hand and tries to look innocent.
God, these two.
“Now you pushing it.” I tighten my arm around Verity and manage a smile while the two of them giggle at my expense. “Ready, Vee?”
“Yeah.” Verity squeezes Petra’s arm. “Tell Randi hey for me.”
“Remember what I said, maestro.” Petra’s smile is belied by the touch of concern in her eyes.
I give a two-finger salute and steer Verity out to the street.
“What was that about?” Verity asks. “Remember she said what?”
“Nothing.” I tilt her face up so I can see her eyes under the streetlight. “You know how Petra is.”
“That I do. Missed you today.”
“Missed you, too.” I take her butt in both hands and squeeze. “Thought about this ass all day.”
“Monk,” she hisses, but grins and looks around self-consciously.
“How you gon’ be okay with a threesome,” I lower my voice, “but so concerned about me grabbing your ass in public?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs and smiles up at me. “I just like to keep my shit behind closed doors. Nobody’s business.”
“Did you eat?” I ask her. “You haven’t been eating or sleeping enough lately.”
“I had a little something. Can we just go to your place?” She presses her hand over my heart, the touch warm through my shirt. “The only thing I’m hungry for is you.”
I tangle my fingers in the curls at her nape and kiss her as deeply as I dare on the sidewalk, given her aversion to PDA.
“Then I think,” I say between kisses, “we should get you fed.”
In the middle of the night, I wake to an empty bed and run my arm in the space where Verity should be. Groggily, I reach for my phone on the nightstand.
“Three o’clock?” I groan, put the phone down, and throw the covers back.
My clothes are on the floor where I dropped them.
We shed those as soon as we hit my room and were practically making love before we reached the bed.
Four months and so far not once have I been bored or tired, or able to get enough of Verity. Not sure I ever will.
“Yo, Vee?” I call, grabbing a pair of sweatpants from the floor, not bothering with briefs. “You out there, babe?”
She stays at my place more than she does her dorm and typically doesn’t leave until she has class in the morning. The rustle of papers from the front room offers some reassurance.
“Baby, what the hell you doing?” I ask, rubbing my eyes and leaning against the bedroom doorjamb.
Verity glances up from her spot on my living room floor, surrounded by sheets of paper.
“Something finally clicked with this script for my project.” She sits back on her heels, her eyes darting across the pages laid out like some kind of disassembled treasure map.
“I think I figured out how to approach it. I was starting in the wrong place of the story. That’s why I was having a hard time. ”
“Mmmm.” I walk forward and glance down at the papers fanning out around her, a mix of handwritten snippets of scenes and dialogue. A grocery store receipt is wedged between the pages of Nikki Giovanni’s The Women and the Men.
I pick up the book and flip to the page Verity marked, Giovanni’s “Kidnap Poem.” “You incorporating this into your screenplay?”