Chapter 9
Nine
“There’s so much I don’t understand,” I said. “So much I still don’t know, that I don’t remember, that I don’t get. And it seems like there’s never time to just sit down and make someone tell me everything. And even if I had the time, who would I ask?”
“Roberta,” Phillip said thoughtfully, running the guitar strap through his long fingers. “She’s the obvious one, and I suppose your mother could fill in the blanks. Maybe Lee or Benny too.”
“But it’s getting all of them in a room together when we’re not all fighting forces of evil or trying to locate a missing person that has proved to be the trial,” I said, aware that my voice was verging on whiny. I looked at him curiously. “Don’t you think it’s kind of goofy to put that strap on your bass?”
“Why?” he asked, looking at me with a surprised expression.
“Because you bought it at Guitar Center,” I explained, scratching Blinken under the chin. He wriggled in my arms, wanting free. I’d been forcing a lot of love on both him and Nod since we’d returned, and they were sick of me. “It’s commercially made fan merch, basically. And you’re going to put it on your bass and play a show. It’ll just look…I dunno, basic.” I placed Blinken down on the carpet, and he sauntered off, tail swishing.
Phillip shrugged, his face bemused as he set to hooking the strap onto the bass. He looped the strap over and connected it via the little leather-bound holes on the ends. “I actually thought that was the appeal. It’s funny, you know, and very unassuming. I figured the fans might get a kick out of it.”
We’d been back from Panama City Beach for three days, three blessed, uneventful days. For three days, I had done no magic, had hunted no missing people, had not smelled even the faintest whiff of danger or mystery. All Phillip and I had done was hang around the house. We’d cooked and eaten some decadent meals, had loved on the cats, listened to music, caught up on some TV, and stayed up for hours talking. Much to my happiness, we’d done much of it naked in bed.
I now knew that my lover not only made a mean vegan spaghetti, which I discovered in Boston, but that he could seriously rock a batch of lemon-blueberry muffins, and that he poured one mean gin martini. Both of which were sitting on my coffee table right now, just waiting to be enjoyed.
I reached for the muffin first. “There’s nothing unassuming about coming back from the dead and playing a huge rock reunion show,” I said, peeling back the paper on my muffin. I sounded judgy, because I was. It was hard to stop being nasty when I felt like this. “I mean, is there any possible way you could show off more?”
Phillip looked at me, his brows furrowed together. We’d been round and round the conversation over the past three days, and we always seemed to come back to square one.
I shouldn’t have been surprised when Phillip told me the first night we were back that he and the rest of the guys in the band were thinking about playing a reunion show. I had known it was coming; he’d pretty much told me it was. From the way the interview had gone off without a hitch, to the reporters and fans camped outside our hotel room in PCB, to the impromptu signing he’d done at The Naughty Clam (once I’d gotten over the initial shock of Tess’ passing, I’d learned it had been a much bigger event than Phillip had initially let on; he’d signed hundreds of autographs and gotten himself trending for the second time in a week), it was obvious that Phillip was planning a comeback.
We’d been in bed, me lying in the crook of his shoulder, both of us naked under the soft, clean sheets, when he’d twirled a strand of my hair around his finger and said, “How would you feel about a Bloomer Demons reunion?”
“You’ve already had one,” I’d answered, but then it hit what he was really asking me. “You mean like a show?”
“Just a little one,” Phillip said, still twirling my hair. His voice had the quality of someone trying to hide their excitement, going a little too hard for nonchalant. “Just the one show. Would you be okay with it?”
I’d told him yes automatically, and he’d pulled me into his arms and done things that had made me forget about my feelings, at least for the time being. And every time he’d asked me since, I’d parroted the same answer. And yet, he knew how I really felt, which was why he kept asking me over and over. He knew it, and I knew it, but neither one of us wanted to be the one to say it.
“Do you not want me to play the show?” Phillip asked yet again. His voice was casual, and he was looking down at the guitar, tuning the strings, but I could feel his anxiety.
“I didn’t say that,” I said evenly, biting into the muffin, the turbinado sugar crunching satisfyingly under my tongue. “I’ve told you several times?—"
“I know I keep asking, but I feel like you’re not being honest,” Phillip said, finally looking up at me. “Stormy, do you not want me to play the show?” His eyes met mine. “Tell me the truth.”
I sighed, sitting the rest of the muffin down and picking up the martini. “If I said I didn’t, would you cancel?” I thought of the implications. They hadn’t issued tickets yet, but there was already a date. Plans were being set in motion—the venue was being booked, the promotional staff had been hired, and Phillip, Jason, and Ollie were trying to hire a drummer to take Kim’s place. They’d started hinting at it on social media. Jason had created an all-new social media presence for the band, and combined with all Phillip’s latest publicity, it meant that their followers were growing by the hour, and it would be very hard to take it back now. The inevitable, instantaneous backlash that would happen on social media. All those fans disappointed. His furious bandmates. The dream of playing music again, this experience he’d been looking forward to ever since he’d sat for that interview, gone in an instant.
“Yes,” he answered, looking back down to the bass. He plucked the G string and tightened it. “Without question.”
“But why?”
“As if you have to ask.” Phillip plucked the second string and smiled in satisfaction; that one was still in tune. “You’re more important to me, Stormy, than literally anything else. That includes the band, the music, all of it. If you asked me to cancel, I’d cancel.”
I sighed, feeling guilty. “And that’s precisely why I’d never ask you not to play the show.”
He tuned the third string, then peered at me. “But you don’t want me to play.”
“No, it’s not that,” I answered honestly. “I’m your biggest fucking fan, Phillip, remember? Nobody is more excited than I am to see you guys play. If you think that just because I know you now and that you and I…” His eyes flashed, and I felt my cheeks get hot, my extremities start to tingle. They always did when he looked at me like that. “…If anything, it’s made me even more of a crazed fan. I can’t wait to see you guys up there. I always wanted to see Bloomer Demons live, and now I can. The fact that all my friends will be there, and all those fans…that just makes it even better.” I felt a little thrill in my belly as I said it. I was really excited. “If anything, I guess I’m just annoyed that you didn’t tell me about it until after you guys had already decided, but…” That wasn’t entirely true. He’d been keeping me in the loop, but I’d been so distracted that I hadn’t taken it seriously. I’d just kept hoping things would die back down. I had only my own denial to blame. “But I know that’s not really your fault, either.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Phillip asked. “What’s got you all tied up?”
I sighed. Phillip knew when I was lying. It was better to tell him the truth than play this song and dance that was so beneath us. “I guess I’m just a little afraid. You know that exciting, exhilarating feeling you get when you ride a really scary roller coaster for the first time, or the first time you drive by yourself, or the first time you get on an airplane or whatever?” I swallowed. “That bundle of nerves in your stomach that feels good but also feels terrifying?”
“Sure.”
“It’s like that, but…bigger, I guess.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“I’m afraid that after the show, you guys will blow up and be huge again, and you’ll go on tour and cut an album and you’ll never be here. You’ll just leave me here, alone, with all this shit to deal with, and our relationship will fizzle out and that’ll be the end of us!” My words came out in a flood, and I felt deeply embarrassed as soon as I’d said them. I clapped my hand over my mouth in a childlike gesture.
Phillip was smiling. “Do you really think, after everything, that I’d let that happen?”
“Some things you can’t control,” I said. “Haven’t we learned that well and good?”
“We have,” he agreed putting down the bass and walking over to me. He took my hands in his own, which were large and callused from all the practicing he’d been doing. “But there are plenty of things I can control. That we can.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but his lips crushed mine before I had a chance to say anything. I kissed him back, giving myself over to the moment, letting his warmth, his strength, take me over. It felt nice to give into it. A part of me felt more than a small thrill at the thought of him being bigger than life again, a legit rock star, like he’d been in his heyday—with me on his arm.
Phillip pulled away from the kiss, his mouth curling up at the corners. “You on my arm, yes, that’s exactly what I want. So what do you think?” he asked, his lips still inches from mine. “Wanna be my manager?”
I looked at him curiously. “I’m not remotely qualified. Besides, I have a job.”
“About that.” Phillip winked at me. “Are you honestly planning on going back? Like for real? Because I think you’ve only worked two days at that library the entire time we’ve been together. And you’ve been back home for three days and haven’t even called your boss.”
“I was waiting until Monday. And it hasn’t been that long,” I said defensively. “And I do love my job…” I really did love working at the library. But Phillip had a point. With the way things had been going for us, and likely would continue to go, going back to a regular nine-to-five schedule was going to be tricky. Jean had been holding my job for me, and had been really understanding and empathetic thus far, but she wasn’t going to put up with my flakiness forever. And all that aside, the job didn’t pay me enough. Not enough to support myself, two cats, and contribute to all the meals and booze that my 6’5” hunk of lovin’ required to sustain himself, though at the rate he was going, he was going to be flush with plenty of money for the foreseeable future.
“I can take care of myself,” he said, and I pulled him close, planting another kiss on his lips. His breath held the faint scent of Listerine, the old-fashioned brown kind.
“I’ll think about the library thing,” I said in a soft voice, letting my lips graze his, enjoying the feel of his mouth. “But Phillip…I can’t be your manager. I wouldn’t have a clue where to begin. And as much as I love the idea of controlling the Bloomer Demons, I think being so close to the situation, so close to you…well, it might get complicated. A conflict of interest, you know? I’m not sure it’d be a good idea.” I smirked. “I don’t want to be the Sharon to your Ozzy.”
“You’re a lot cooler than her,” he remarked. “So if you quit the library, what do you want to do?”
“Honestly?” I looked him square in the eye, straightening my shoulders. “There is something I’ve always wanted to do, but I’ve never been brave enough to give it a try. I wonder if maybe now’s my chance.”
“What’s that?” Phillip’s face perked up with interest. “Tell me.”
I swallowed, suddenly feeling shy. “Well…I’ve kind of always wanted to be a writer.”
“Like books? Phillip said with a smile.
“Maybe, somewhere down the line,” I answered. “But, mainly…I think I’d like to write about music. You know, like a rock journalist. An interviewer, like the guy who writes for GOTHZINE and who interviewed you.” I smiled, embarrassed. “I think…I actually think I’d be good at that. Like, I know music, and I can string words together pretty well.”
“You could absolutely do that,” Phillip said assuredly, and pushed a tendril of hair behind my ear. He was grinning from ear to ear; he looked proud. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with. Have you thought about how to start?”
“A music blog,” I said a little too quickly, revealing that I had indeed already thought about it. “I actually, um…well, I wrote an article I thought about pitching, just sort of introducing myself, and introducing you— nothing too in detail, just a quirky little thing I thought might be fun.” I was talking too fast from equal parts excitement and worry that he’d be put off by the idea. “I won’t pitch it unless you give me the green light, though. I know you’ll want to read it first.”
“Don’t need to,” Phillip said to my surprise. “I’ll read it when it’s published. Pitch it where you want; I trust you.”
I was deeply touched. I swallowed, a large lump in my throat. I might as well tell him my whole idea. “I thought if it was well-received, then I might…chronicle our time on the road. Write about the tour. It’ll serve as a road diary for you guys, help promote you and everything, and maybe getting your fans’ eyes on it will sort of propel me into the scene? Maybe someone will notice my work?” I shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe it’s stupid. If you feel like it’s exploitative?—"
“Stormy,” Phillip cut in gruffly. “I just asked you to be my manager. To literally handle all the decisions for my band. Do you think I’d mind if you write some blog posts and articles about the band?” He grinned, pushing his large hand through his black hair. “In fact, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have writing about me. You’ll put me in the best possible light.”
I laughed and gave him a shove. “I plan to be unbiased, Phillip Deville.”
“Impossible. You love me too much.”
He was right about that. “You know who would make a great manager,” I said, the thought suddenly occurring to me. “Lee.”
Phillip furrowed his brow. “Lee Courtenay? What makes you think that? He doesn’t even have a background in that sort of thing, does he?”
“Well, more than I do,” I countered. “He managed his dad’s affairs for a while there, and I think we both know Guthrie wasn’t exactly an easy person to work for. Besides, he totally handled that crowd outside the motel room the other night. If he hadn’t stepped in, you would’ve been trapped in that spectacle for god knows how long.”
“I think our getaway was down to your stepmom and her shenanigans,” Phillip argued. “And it was just weeks ago that the guy kidnapped you, so I mean…”
“A lot of things have happened since then,” I pointed out. “If we dwell on each individual one, we’ll never get out of the maze.”
“Maybe,” Phillip said. “I like him, I do, but I don’t trust him like you do.”
“Just think it over,” I said. “Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.”
“I’ll think about it,” Phillip said thoughtfully. Then he reached forward and grabbed at me, his hands going under my shirt and tickling my stomach. “Right now, though, there’s a certain music writer I plan to ravish and manipulate into giving my next album a rave review.”
I sighed, immediately warming to his touch. My blood started to heat up as he pressed his soft lips to mine, and I moved to caress his face, my fingers tangling in his shaggy black hair. It was always so soft, so fine.
The kiss deepened, and I moved my fingers to the back of his neck when there was a knock at the door. Phillip groaned against my mouth. “One of your Wolfden kin?” he asked, pulling away with a mock grimace.
“Not likely,” I said, peeling myself off the couch and heading toward the door. “I think they’ve seen enough of us lately. Besides, I told them all to leave us the hell alone for a few days.” I put a hand on the deadbolt, then hesitated, calling out, “Who’s there?”
“Larry and Curly. We’re looking for Moe,” a male voice said from the porch.
I grinned and threw open the door. Jason and Ollie, Phillip’s bandmates, stood in the doorway. Jason had his guitar case slung over a shoulder, and Ollie had a six-pack of Yuengling in one hand and a six-pack of Jack and Coke, the kind in a can, in the other. He held both out to me with a leer. “Can we come in?”
“Hey!” Phillip yelled, jumping up from the couch. “You fuckers didn’t tell me you were coming to Georgia! You could’ve called, you dicks!”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Jason asked, clapping Phillip on the back. “We wanted to surprise you.”
“Yeah, we figured since you agreed to do our big reunion show in Boston, the least we could do is fly down to Georgia for rehearsals,” Ollie said as I took the drinks from his hands and moved into the kitchen. I smiled as I opened the fridge and shuffled things around to make room. I loved seeing Phillip with his bandmates. These guys were basically his family. They might not be blood, but they’d known him since they were all teenagers, and they loved him like a brother. I began to feel a small thread of excitement at the prospect of their reunion. To see the Bloomer Demons again after all this time…after years of assuming that would never, ever happen…well, it was going to be magic.
Seeing Ollie and Jason standing in my living room had shaken off my trepidation and worry. I grabbed a can of Jack and Coke, popped the tab, and stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching the guys. Phillip had already grabbed a pen and a pad of paper and was busy writing out a setlist as Jason tuned his guitar. Ollie was drumming the coffee table with his hands. I grinned, taking a swig of my drink. They were already in full band mode, and it hadn’t even been five minutes. Like no time had ever passed.
And just like that, Stormy Spooner, Bloomer Demons fangirl #1, was back.