Chapter 11 - Separate Lives
Grace didn’t sleep well. She was not at all clear on how to deal with Robby and the lockdown.
She worried if she told him she didn’t trust herself to do what was best for her if he stayed, he’d leave to give her space and that would be the end of it.
And she couldn’t put the whole responsibility on him anyway, it was her life, so her responsibility.
But if he left, they probably wouldn’t get the chance again to see if they could make this work.
Nobody knew how long the pandemic was going to last. He could spend the rest of it some place else .
. . with someone else. It was so unfair.
She decided to let the whole thing simmer in her head and think about it later.
For now, she’d get busy with research for the next blog post. The deadline to Erika was Wednesdays by noon for Friday publication.
The first one had been published yesterday, but it was a busy time for readers with the upcoming lockdown, so there hadn’t been much feedback.
What there was, though, was positive. The post had included her introduction.
Grace was anxious about that, the reaction to her background, her not being from Minnesota, so she wanted to keep up with the responses.
She also had another interview scheduled back home this week with a college football coach about Covid and the upcoming season, but that wasn’t till Wednesday. So far, not that busy.
She discovered the note midday and felt like someone had punched the breath out of her .
. . physically ill. Maybe they would’ve come to this decision anyway, but to be presented with it as a done deal, to have no input, was awful.
She felt like Robby had stolen something from her.
Her power. He had made the decision. That made her mad.
Then she reread the note and could see he was, at least in part, thinking of her.
It was all confusing. She had to have some air, get outside.
She put on her jacket and walked down to the point, then up the road, noticing his truck was gone, which increased the emptiness growing inside her.
She veered off up the hill behind the laundry building and empty campsites and sat on the rock backbone of the peninsula in the sunshine. She could see the lake.
She had no one to talk to. She wondered if that was part of the feelings she had for Robby, that he was the first man who’d really listened.
He didn’t tell her what he thought she should do.
He wanted her to do what she needed, not what he needed.
She had no transportation and nowhere to go if she did.
She was going to have to stay here and go forward.
She had a history of making it through difficult, painful situations, so she could do it again.
And she knew Robby did what he did, at least in part, because he thought it was best for her.
But thinking about his finding someone else or going faraway was painful enough she knew she had to stay as busy as possible.
It’d be totally unproductive to dwell on those scenarios.
It also confirmed to her that what Robby had done was right.
She was too attached and needed to pull back.
She may have dodged a bullet. A relationship with Robby would be difficult at best. But all that did not make now any easier.
She stood up, walked back to the cabin, planning her afternoon as she went. As soon as possible, she had to find someone to get on the lake with or hike with. She was going to have to get physical exercise if she was going to sleep. She knew that from experience.
********
Robby spent most of his waking hours — which was most of his time — playing electric guitar, loud.
Anything not to think. He couldn’t yet. He had to put some time between him and his feelings before he could hope to figure out a way forward with Grace.
He realized he’d left the notebook on her porch.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been without it — years and years, but he pushed those thoughts away too.
He disregarded the lockdown entirely, and went back and forth between his house and Fond du Lac, where there was a studio he’d helped fund and design.
No one stopped him. Growing up, he and his friends had longed for a decent place to play and record, so when he had the financial resources, he got other people on board too, and Rez Studio was the result.
Kids could play and take lessons for free.
Adults paid. Casino acts and area bands rented space.
The only person he saw besides musician friends was Marie, not the rest of the family because there would be questions. He assumed Marie was telling them something. Margie had, no doubt, figured it out.
His manager contacted him with cancellations, which he was expecting.
He wasn’t worried about his finances. He had investments outside the music industry, but these cancellations affected far more people than just the band members, and he hated that.
There were local support crews for concert performances — lighting and sound people, food providers and servers, venues with ushers and bars.
There were the band’s own drivers, roadies, security . . . the list went on and on.
He had to stay busy. He didn’t want any free time.
He hadn’t, of course, foreseen the thing with Grace.
He’d definitely been the aggressor. She was right — he was bored, used to having sex, saw her, wanted her.
And Marie was right — he’d fallen for her, gotten to know her in a way he hadn’t known any girl since school.
On an intellectual level, he understood her not wanting to be locked down with him, but rejection was a new situation for him .
. . or an old one he thought he was done with.
A confusing mix of feelings was surfacing .
. . hurt, pride, anger, and he missed her.
What the fuck? Not a good place. He did feel like a teenager.
So, he had to keep busy. He’d seen new bands in the past, a couple that had opened for The Gulls, that he thought might be interesting projects.
Although working with them now, live, was out of the question, he asked for recordings.
And he contacted other artists about collaborating with him on projects.
Finally, there were songs he’d written that weren’t right for the band.
He started thinking seriously about a solo project.
He lost track of what day it was, focused on playing and the phone calls and email responses he was getting.
Marie worried about his weight. He’d always been thin, and now he didn’t think about eating.
She worried if he caught Covid, he wouldn’t be able to fight it off.
She tempted him with everything she could think of.
Margie sent a whole lemon meringue pie. He ate one piece the morning Marie brought it, but she ended up taking it to the nurses’ lounge at the hospital.
He was playing a song of his one night in the studio that didn’t fit the band’s style, when one of his old rez friends, George, a bass player, said, “Have you thought about harmonies on this? Female harmonies? I think that might sound good.”
Robby thought for a minute. “Worth a try, I guess. Do we know anybody here, though? Who’d come in now . . . with Covid? At least we could tell what it’d sound like . . . I don’t know when I’ve sung with a woman.”
“Do you remember my sister Windy? Probably not ‘cause she’s five years younger than us. I don’t think you’ve seen her since we were in high school. Anyway, she and her friend Rennie sing. We’ve sung together for years. I could see if they’d do it, just so we could hear it.”
“Sure. What do we have to lose? Can you get them?”
“Windy’s at work now in the office at the casino, but I can text her.
See if she’ll come by after. Rennie works there too, but I don’t know her schedule.
This is probably the last week the casino will be open for a while.
They were thinking about an exception to the lockdown, but there was almost no support for that.
” He put his bass down, pulled out his phone, texted, and in less than a minute, had a response.
“Windy’s excited and thinks Rennie will do it too.
If not, at least Windy will come by. Be here around 8:30. ”
“Sounds good.”
When the door buzzer sounded, George let in Windy and Rennie.
Windy was star-struck by Robby. Rennie was quiet.
Both girls were good-looking with long, dark hair.
They had come straight from work and were still dressed in their casino clothes — black slacks, white silk blouses, and black heels.
Robby could not get past thinking of Windy as George’s little sister, but when they warmed up with some songs everybody knew, he couldn’t help but notice Rennie.
She was sexy and she knew it. She had a good voice and knew how to use that too, and she could move.
The band played through his song a few times without the girls.
Then Robby asked them to sing wherever and whatever came to them before he said anything.
The girls talked, then sang parts that surprisingly added depth and complexity to the song.
Robby was encouraged. He asked them to try a couple other things, which they did after a few false starts.
Then somebody said, “Break time.” George and another player went to the kitchen. Robby stayed behind.
Windy talked to the drummer whom she had known for years. Rennie sat down in a chair next to Robby, bending over to undo the ankle straps on her heels. She took them off and put her feet up on his amp. As she leaned back, she looked over at Robby. “Okay with you?”
He nodded. “Sure.”