Chapter 43 Monk
FORTY-THREE
Monk
I know I’m going through all the right motions.
I’ve been rehearsing with Neevah for the last few hours, and her performance is improving, so I must be saying the right things.
I must be stretching her range and encouraging her to support the high notes.
Most of me is here, doing what I do better than most people in the world.
Music.
But there is a part of me cordoned off and still standing on that beach last night, watching Verity kiss Chris when he left her cottage.
That’s what I get for thinking I would surprise her.
It was late when Canon finally let us go.
Here on location there is no going to her place or mine without the risk of someone seeing.
The cast and crew are stacked on one another in the hotel and side by side in the cottages along the shore.
I knew it would be hard to see Verity, but two days into the shoot, and I was already missing that ass.
Or was I missing talking about our day until we fall asleep? Waking up and tickling her until she almost pisses her pajamas. Kissing her good morning and goodbye.
Clues that I was in deeper than I should have been because if it was supposed to be about a piece of ass, why was it the other things that I missed most?
There is more music in these sequences since this is the part of Dessi’s life when she and Cal and the band toured Europe.
That slice of time before the war when they frolicked on the riviera and did a residency at a luxurious French hotel.
It’s also when Tilda writes Dessi that she married a man, a nightclub owner.
The song I wrote for that scene, “Walk Away,” is what Neevah and I have been working on all afternoon.
“One more time,” I tell Neevah. “Last one, I promise.”
“You said that an hour ago.” She glares at me, but spoils it with a smile. “But okay.”
The song is in a minor key, and it is a haunting tune about a girl who tells her lover to walk away or she will.
As Neevah closes her eyes and delivers the song with as much heart and feeling as I could possibly ask for, I can’t help but think of Verity.
She walked away twelve years ago. Or I did.
We went our separate ways and it was a clean break.
Or as clean as a break can be when one of you is shattered.
But I just had to reach in the cookie jar again searching for something sweet. I lied to myself that I could settle for crumbs, but as soon as I had to share the cookie…
The final notes hang in the air, and Neevah wipes tears from her eyes.
Several of the cast and crew who have gathered around to listen have wet cheeks, too.
I give her a smile of approval. She’s the star of this thing, no doubt about it.
It’s not just her talent, but her character, that makes her exceptional.
“Now that’s a song,” Trey says, leaning his elbows on the top of the piano.
Livvie sits on the bench beside me and serves up a smile that practically simmers with invitation.
Was Verity right? Has Livvie been throwing hints like this the whole time?
If Verity wants to take advantage of our arrangement, maybe I should, too.
I run my knuckle up Livvie’s arm, caressing the warm skin and watching as she shivers.
I immediately regret offering her even that small encouragement.
Verity may be fine dragging other people into whatever this is between us, but I’m not. Somebody might get hurt.
Somebody already has.
Livvie smiles a little too brightly and leans forward so her breast presses into my arm. “It’s truly a fantastic script,” she says.
“Thank you.”
Verity’s husky voice travels across the ballroom from where she stands at the entrance.
Her hair is tamed into two braids that rest on her slim shoulders, and behind her black-rimmed glasses, her eyes fix on the place where Livvie and I touch.
She looks up, and there is some mix of anger and accusation and hurt in her eyes that she has no right to after what I saw last night.
“You know,” I say, “there was a song that was perfect for that scene when Dessi realizes Tilda was unfaithful. That she cheated and couldn’t be trusted.”
I look Verity in the eye and coax a few solemn notes from the piano.
“It’s called ‘Don’t Explain,’” I continue, my eyes still locked with Verity’s.
“Billie Holiday wrote it when she discovered her husband’s infidelity.
When she found out he wasn’t who she thought he was.
Or maybe he was exactly who she thought he was, and she had lied to herself. Either way, he was a cheat.”
Verity and I don’t look away from each other for long seconds, even when throats start to clear and people shuffle from foot to foot in their growing discomfort.
They’re innocent bystanders, caught in the net of tension stretched across the room between Verity and me.
Her lips tighten and I know her too well not to see that she is pissed.
And hurt.
“That would have been musically anachronistic, though, since this scene took place in 1939 and Billie didn’t release the song until 1946,” I say, playing a dark extended note. “So too late.”
I slam the piano lid hard, and Livvie jumps on the bench beside me.
“I came to tell you guys dinner is ready and down on the beach tonight,” Verity says, looking pointedly away from me. “They’re doing a bonfire.”
The crew disperses, their laughter and chatter coming fast at the end of a hard day.
“A bonfire!” Livvie says, gathering her bag and script. “You coming, Monk?”
My eyes slide to the empty door where Verity stood moments ago.
“In a little bit. You guys go on ahead.”
Her face falls, but she melts into the small group leaving the room and making their way down to the beach.
“You sound amazing,” I tell Neevah, standing from the piano and walking with her toward the ballroom exit.
“Gosh, it feels like it took all day to get it right.”
“You weren’t that far off anyway,” I say, scanning the walkway for any sign of Verity. “I’m just hard to satisfy.”
“Between you and Canon, I don’t know how any of us survive.”
“So, you and our esteemed director, huh?” I ask, slanting a teasing smile down at her. She and I haven’t discussed her relationship with Canon being exposed.
“Guess everyone knows now,” she says, but to her credit, doesn’t look ashamed.
I hold her elbow as we negotiate a steep set of steps leading down to the beach where the cast and crew have already started forming a line at an outdoor buffet. “I already knew. He’s never been like this about anyone else.”
“Thanks, Monk.” She smiles up at me, and it’s obvious she’s tired, but her happiness is just as evident.
She walks over to Takira, her best friend and on-set hairdresser, leaving me to stand on the shore, scanning the group for Verity. I’m reluctant to join them because I’ll be bad company. I always am when I know I’ve been an asshole.
And with a little distance and a few minutes, I know I was definitely an asshole to Verity.
In front of everyone.
Whatever she did with Chris last night, she didn’t break our agreement.
My reaction was unreasonable and unfair.
I had no right, but I can’t clear the image of Chris kissing her, his hands low on her hips.
He tasted her, touched her, and the realization that she did nothing wrong when it feels like a violation sits rank at the bottom of my stomach like rotting meat.
I’m right where she left me twelve years ago.
Jealous. Rejected. Angry.
Only this time I chose it. I played myself.
“I can’t do this shit again.”