A Song for Julia (34 page)

“What do you think they’ll say?”

He chuckled. “Serena told me to be nice to you.”

“She what?”

“She said something along the lines of … I’m a hollow man. And that I needed to watch out and not screw up. Because you deserve better than what I usually offer.”

I don’t know why, but I found the idea of Serena and Crank discussing me … disturbing. “How close are you and Serena?” I asked.

He looked at me a little sideways. “We’re close friends. But not like that.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Yes, it was.

“What did you mean?”

“I’m just curious,” I said, lying. “I don’t know the rest of the band that well.”

“Well … Mark’s from Somerville. We met hanging out in the Pit, four, maybe five years ago. We used to get drunk in the cemetery.”

“Really?” I asked, trying not to laugh.

“Yeah. That’s like a right of passage where I come from.”

“So you guys have been friends a long time.”

“I wouldn’t say that … we beat the crap out of each other the first time we met. It was over a girl. She took off with me, and he didn’t like it.”

“Ouch,” I said.

“Yeah. Well, I was a real asshole. But he got over it, and we got to be friends. And we started the band together. Good times back then. We’d set up just … wherever, until the cops came and kicked us out. Dad would get completely bullshit, because I’d get in trouble, cops would pick me up, and then they’d call him. Embarrassing for a cop to have his kid in so much trouble all the time.”

“I like your dad.”

Crank smiled. “I’m glad. He’s a great dad. To be honest, I worship the ground he walks on. Even though we’ve spent half my life fighting. I just wish he didn’t have to go to Kuwait. That’s utter bullshit.”

I sighed. “It just occurred to me—what happens with Sean? When we go on the tour?”

He played with his fork for a second. “We bring him with us. He’ll be fine. I bet he’ll love the travel, he’s never been out of Boston.”

That would be a … challenge.

“You don’t think it’ll be too hard on him? He doesn’t deal with change very well.”

“There’s going to be change no matter what we do with Dad gone. And … even if my mom moves home, I don’t know that she’s ready to spend a summer with just the two of them.”

Maybe he was right. It wasn’t my place to say. But I had the feeling Sean and his mother might both have other ideas.

After breakfast, we still had time to kill, but not enough to do what we both obviously wanted. So we walked around talking, simply enjoying each other’s company, in what was to us, unseasonable warmth and sunshine. 

I could so see living in LA. 

Finally, we waved down a cab and headed back out to the airport, then went through the whole routine: checking in, going through security, then finding our way to the gate and waiting. We had about an hour to go and got into a conversation about music. Who liked what. Which bands were the most groundbreaking. He was very focused on the eclectic pseudo punk around Boston. I’m a little more broad ranging in my taste, so our conversation tended to wander all over the place.

He was staring at me in shock, saying, “No way can you like them,” when the announcement came over the intercom. Our flight was cancelled.

We made it to the desk first in line. We argued, pleaded, begged, but there weren’t any more flights back east that night. 

“All we can do is book you in a hotel for the night,” the attendant said. “We’ll shuttle you there, and then back in the morning. You can catch the first flight back in the morning.”

Not much choice. I didn’t even have a change of clothes. Yuck. I nodded.

“You’re traveling together? One room or two?”

“One,” Crank said, exactly when I said, “Two.”

The attendant’s mouth quirked up in a faint smile.

Crank spoke. “Whatever she wants. Two rooms are fine.”

Damn it. “We’ll take one,” I said, grinding my teeth.

“One room it is,” she said, typing in her computer. She was grinning now. 

I gave Crank a dirty look. He winked at me.

“You two are cute,” the attendant said.

Great. She thinks we’re cute.

“Well then … okay. I’ve got you booked in the airport Sheraton. Let me print this out, and you can catch the shuttle near the baggage claim. Just follow the signs. Your departing flight is tomorrow morning at ten A.M.”

That would put us back into Logan at ten at night. Which would put me behind in school, because I had a paper to write. Damn it. I guess I could write it on the plane tomorrow.

A moment later, she handed Crank the reservation for the hotel room, and we were off.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

She might not (Crank)

I’m such a frickin’ idiot. It’s not like I hadn’t been making lewd sexual advances to Julia all day long. I didn’t think there was a chance in hell of her taking me up on it. But here we were, on our way to the hotel in the shuttle, and we were sharing a room, and she was leaning against me in a way that meant only one thing, and I didn’t have any condoms.

I repeat: I’m such a frickin’ idiot.

It had officially been something like six weeks since I’d had sex, not counting our almost there moment in her room a couple weeks ago. Which was awesome, but, seriously. I was like a blushing virgin at this point. 

Now that I thought about it, the last time I’d had sex was the night before I met Julia.

I’m not one to puzzle over great mysteries, or what it all means, or mental masturbate myself into a big tizzy wondering where my life is headed. But even I had to admit—somehow I’d fallen into a monogamous relationship. With a woman who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, commit. And who hadn’t had sex with me yet. Although, I knew it was going to be hot. Christ, just a kiss from her sent me over the edge, touching her made me crazy, and the one time we’d played around in bed had filled my dreams every night since. 

The shuttle pulled up to the door of the Sheraton, and we got out, trudging into the hotel. Both of us were exhausted. It was eleven o’clock, which meant it was two in the morning back in Boston. We’d been up almost twenty-four hours. Or she had, anyway … I’d slept in to a lazy four A.M. before Serena woke me up by throwing Mark’s basketball at me. But I wasn’t too tired for this. That wasn’t even possible. 

So when we finished checking in, I said, “I need to buy uh … a pack of smokes. Meet you up in the room?”

She leaned against me for just a second and kissed me. “Okay. See you up there.” I waited with her at the elevator, and the moment she got in and the doors closed, I raced back to the front desk. “Is the gift shop still open?” I asked, urgently.

The woman at the desk, who looked like she knew what I was up to, pointed me in the right direction.

A woman in her sixties was switching out the neon “Gifts” sign.

“Wait!” I called out, running to her.

“Sorry, I’m closing now.”

“Please? I’m desperate.” I tried my father’s smile. It usually worked wonders with the ladies.

“Well … if it’s desperate, I suppose …”

“I need a pack of Marlboro, and um …” I looked around, frantically, for condoms.

“And … what?”

“Um …” Crap. This woman was older than my grandmother. “Do you carry condoms?”

“Sure,” she said. Then she pointed to a rack. They were mixed in with the aspirin and tampons and hemorrhoid creams. No frickin’ wonder I didn’t see them. I grabbed a box and threw it on the counter, and she rung me up. 

“Bless you,” I said. “You’ve saved my life.”

The lady one-upped me. She winked, her expression lewd. “Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

First time ever a sixty-year-old woman made me blush. I smiled at her and said, “Um … thanks,” and ran for the elevators.

I wasn’t tired now. I was bouncing on the balls of my feet, ready to get the hell upstairs. The Musak was playing in the background of the atrium, hideously soothing. I could see a fountain splashing. I was immune to the serenity. I wanted upstairs now. And the elevator was taking forever. I could have taken the stairs quicker than this.

Finally, the bell rang, the elevator doors opened, and I was inside. I hit the number eight and turned around, looking out through the glass.

It was nice—I’ll admit that. Never stayed in a hotel before, though I’d hung out in the alley behind the Charles Hotel and gotten high with my friends. The lobby here was huge, with the big fountain in the center, and rooms facing inside. We were on eight. I needed to be on eight. Now.

Door finally opened, and I almost sprinted down the hall, swiped the keycard, and I was in.

Then I stopped and took a breath.

Julia had undressed, leaving on only a very sexy black lace bra, the blanket turned down. She was stunning. And apparently waiting for me. And while waiting, she’d fallen dead asleep. I sighed. Then I slid out of my jacket and hung it on the back of the chair. 

I walked over and kneeled down beside the bed, our faces inches apart. She looked peaceful, a half smile on her face. I wondered if she was already dreaming, and if so, what about. I wanted to be inside her head and know everything about her. But for now, I kissed her gently on the cheek, pulled up the blanket and tucked her in.

In her sleep, she looked so innocent. Except I could see the scars. She’d made a pile of bracelets on the nightstand, leaving on only the worn pink and white friendship bracelet. Her lips were slightly curled at the edge of her mouth, and asleep, she looked carefree, young. 

My eyes dropped to the scars again. I’d kill anybody who hurt her. 

I should wake her up.

No. I shouldn’t.

She might appreciate it if I did.

She might not. 

She needed the sleep. I sighed and walked to the sliding glass door, then slipped out onto the balcony and lit a cigarette. It was quiet up here, though I could see the traffic on the highway below. I took a drag, and glanced back through the window. She’d rolled to her side, pulling the covers around her. 

I didn’t know how to do this. I didn’t know how to be in a relationship. Especially with someone who didn’t believe in love or relationships. It’s crazy. I’m the guy who grabs a girl out of the crowd and screws her, then sends her home in a cab in the morning. If that much. In a lot of ways, I’ve spent my life being a complete prick.

I didn’t want to be a prick any more.

Which didn’t mean I didn’t look at Julia as a sex object. I’ve not suddenly turned into a saint, and looking at her, it was inescapable. But she was also smart as hell and determined, and she took on those record industry guys like no one I know could have. She cared about Sean, and loved music, and even though she wouldn’t admit it, even to herself, I was starting to think she might love me.

Plus, as of today, I was officially a rock star. So screw it.

I tossed my cigarette, watching the coal as it flew out of sight and slid the door open. There were two hotel toothbrushes, one of them still wrapped in plastic in the bathroom. I sloshed water in my mouth and slid into bed with her, instead of in the other bed. 

I curled up behind her, put my arm around her and went to sleep.

Are you serious? (Julia)

An unfamiliar alarm clock was screaming at me. And someone’s arm was wrapped tight around my waist.

I struggled to open my eyes and figure out just where the hell I was, when it came back. Los Angeles. That was Crank wrapped around me. And the alarm was going off. Which meant we needed to be at the airport in an hour. I stretched out and switched off the alarm.

I groaned, then rolled over and faced Crank.

Twenty-four hours of stubble had sprouted on his face, shading his chin and making me want to miss that plane. But I had class on Monday, and he had to work, and there wasn’t time, and damn it. I leaned forward and kissed him, hard on the lips. His eyes popped open immediately, and I said, forcefully, “You suck!”

He was startled.

“Get up,” I said. “We’ve got to get to the airport.”

“Oh, shit,” he said. “Are we late? What did I do?”

“Left me hanging,” I said. “So you could buy cigarettes.”

I turned away and sat up. My head was swimming, my body clock all out of whack now.

“Actually,” he murmured, very quietly, “I went to buy condoms. But you were asleep when I got up here.”

I leaned forward and laughed, but that made my head start hurting. “Are you serious?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, sheepishly.

“I’m going to get a shower,” I said. 

I got up and stumbled to the shower, while he groaned and sat up. Then I walked over to my purse near the door and tore open the box inside. His back was to me, so he jumped when I threw the first packet at him, whacking him in the back of the head with a wrapped condom.

“What the hell?” he said, jerking. The next one caught him on the side of the face.

“Condoms, punk,” I said, throwing another one. That one he caught. He lifted it up and shook his head and groaned.

I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth. God. I couldn’t believe he’d gone to buy condoms. Why didn’t he just say something? 

I turned on the water, fiddling with the temperature until it was right, then slipped out of my bra and panties and got in the shower.

I stuck my head under the stream of water, closed my eyes and sighed, already feeling my headache starting to clear. I needed that. Usually I keep regular hours, and while I’m not prone to jetlag, staying up for 24 hours straight isn’t normal for me.

I’d have gladly stayed up a couple more, if he’d made it upstairs. I felt stupid: I’d carefully arranged the room, and myself, as provocatively as possible. Then stared up at the ceiling, getting more and more frustrated, as my eyes became heavier and heavier. Next thing I knew, the alarm was going off.

I pulled my head out from under the water and started to reach for the shampoo when I heard his voice.

“You’ve got ten seconds to say no, or throw something at me, or yell or whatever. Otherwise, I’m coming in there.”