Alligators in the Trees (27 page)

Tobias scribbled a few changes to his musical notations and looked at his watch. It was 1:30 in the morning. He had been slumped over the piano for the better part of five hours, breaking only long enough to order and consume a steak sandwich. His eyes stung and his back ached as he slid off the bench.

He couldn’t remember feeling this way when he pulled all-nighters with Brody back in their glory days. It had been nothing to enter the studio at eight in the morning and not emerge again until late the following day. Of course, they were a lot younger then, and the thrill of taking the world by storm kept them firing on all cylinders.

Plus, there had been an endless supply of hangers-on to see to their every need, which included artificial stimulants and plenty of beautiful young ladies. There was no aphrodisiac stronger than success, as he’d discovered early on.

Back then, if you owned a guitar and had a recording contract, you were automatically a babe magnet. And if you were lucky enough to actually produce an album, you had to beat the women back with a stick.

But that lifestyle required a lot of effort, despite the seeming casualness of it. If he were going to be honest, that kind of distraction would only hinder his efforts to get back into the game.
I must be getting old,
he thought, as he stumbled off to the kitchen for a bottle of water.

Although exhausted, he felt too keyed up to sleep. He turned on the TV and flopped onto a sofa, staring at the screen without really seeing it as he flipped through the channels. After about fifteen minutes of this mindless pastime, he became restless.

He hoisted himself up—stiffly, as though rigor mortis were setting in—and staggered toward the piano. He executed a few haphazard leg and back stretches before reseating himself. Blinking hard, he focused on the notes he had penned, the musical accompaniment to Priscilla’s words. He played a few bars before jumping in with the vocals:

Just when you think you’re immune

You catch a whiff on the air

You can’t stop your heart as it races

To follow the scent up the stairs

It’s the subtle things that snare you

Subliminal signs that catch your eye

The crush of unknown bodies

The perfume in large supply

It’s the brush of silky fabrics

And the hints of luscious skin

Make eye contact with a stranger

That’s the way the game begins

Intoxicated by the night

Whether it’s wrong, whether it’s right

You just can’t fight the feeling

Of being intoxicated by night

Let’s face it, helpless lamb

It’s as addicting as heroin

What’s the point in trying to fight it

When you know you’ll always give in

Say you can quit it in a second

Walk away without regret

Turn your back on random seduction

But you’ve never done it yet

If your desire wasn’t all-consuming

And your willpower all too thin

You might still be standing by morning

But you think you’ll always win

Intoxicated by the night

Whether it’s wrong, whether it’s right

You just can’t fight the feeling

Of being intoxicated by night

“Damn,” he said, sitting back to reflect. This was an entirely novel experience for him, setting someone else’s words to music. It was a strange concept, one he had never contemplated undertaking. After all, it was the one area of life he particularly excelled in.
His
lyrics ran through a generation’s minds,
his
words had made an indelible mark on rock music.

The very idea that he would use another person’s lyrics instead of his own was in itself alarming, or at a minimum curious. It was the kind of admission he’d have to think very hard about before making to anyone.

He could just imagine what Brody’s reaction would be. He’d assume Tobias had lost his touch, even though he had created the music, which was
pretty fucking cool
, if he said so himself. And with Brody’s ear for embellishment, this baby could be a winner, right up there with their classics, like
Bagpiper’s Dreams
and
Many Ways to Lose
; songs that had put them on the map and kept them there for decades.

But it wouldn’t be the same, would it? Those songs meant something to him because his lyrics had brought them to life. It was a difficult quandary he found himself in. This song would have to remain his little secret for now, until he could find the right time and way to reveal it. It was a shame, too, because he really felt good about this piece. In fact, he couldn’t get it out of his mind.

He hopped off the piano bench and took his sheet music to the rented synthesizer and adjusted the settings. It was too bad he didn’t have any of his recording equipment so that he could accompany himself, but he’d have to use his imagination for the time being.

He tapped out a few bars, conjuring up a roomful of sound. He was grinning with delight as the words came together with drums, timpani and marimbas, horns and saxophones. He swore in frustration for not being able to hear everything together—with his piano and Brody’s kick-ass bass.

It went against nature to repress something so well put-together. Maybe he could introduce the piece without mentioning the fact someone else had written the lyrics. Brody would logically assume they were his, so there would be no need to divulge the truth, not right away.

In any event, it was probably time to reconnect with his old partner, smooth Brody’s undoubtedly ruffled feathers. It felt good to work and he was now raring to get back into a solid routine. Now that his juices were flowing again, he felt confident that
Absent Among Us
could recapture their past popularity.

Tobias decided that if he was going to come out of hiding, he might as well make an appearance at his apartment. His alibi of being holed up at Brody’s country pad for purposes of composing could only hold so long before Monique got antsy and tried to make contact out there. He figured it would be prudent to make a quick check-in and out, and buy himself another chunk of time.

He didn’t expect to get away without some static from his wife; even if she hadn’t noticed his absence, she would needle him solely out of habit. It wouldn’t be anything serious, seeing how Monique had as much invested in their comeback as anyone. As long as he could play the moneymaking card, she would keep her complaints to a minimum.

That wouldn’t be the case with Simone, however, and the mere thought of the effort it would require to appease her made him wonder if it was worth it.

But he would deal with all of that in due course. In the meantime, a congratulatory beer was in order. He retrieved one from the mini-bar and sprawled out on the sofa again, one hand on the beer and one tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

It was in this sleepy and satisfied state that his thoughts turned to Priscilla. He had saved thinking about her as a reward, something to be savored once he had dealt with his more tedious preoccupations.

It was diverting to imagine how he would inform her of their collaborative work. His preferred method would’ve been to play a digitally mastered recording of the finished product and see how long it took her to recognize her own words. He would love to see her face!

But since that wouldn’t be immediately possible, and since he was hell-bent on spending time with her tomorrow, he would have to settle for giving her a private concert in his hotel suite, which held other interesting possibilities as well.

Okay, he might as well admit it: he did find something about Priscilla appealing, weirdly enough. She certainly wasn’t the type of female he usually gravitated to, but then again, maybe he had outgrown his old habit of falling for looks alone. The prospect of speaking to a woman about something other than restaurants and fashion stirred his imagination.

He felt a distinct thrill as he envisioned the two of them in rapt conversation, discussing matters only similarly-minded artists could understand. Finally he would have the opportunity to ask her all the questions that had pestered him since he first delved into her archived thoughts.

He would once and for all find out if he had a creative soul mate, someone who extracted glimpses of other people’s lives and converted these snapshots to songs. He couldn’t imagine this wasn’t the case, for no one—especially someone her age—could’ve had such plentiful and varied experiences, and certainly not as a waitress in a coffee shop. She had to be a snoop, like him: a voyeur with a deep need to understand.

He let his head loll on the top of the sofa and stared up at the ceiling while he imagined the conversations they’d have once they connected via their shared endeavor. In this dreamy fashion, his eyelids sagged and soon closed, sending him into a hard sleep, which he awoke from a couple hours later. Stiff and sore, yet too tired to make the short trip to any of the proper beds, he stretched out on the sofa, where he immediately drifted off, sleeping fitfully until sunlight filled the room.

Despite having slept on the sofa, Tobias found himself uncharacteristically alert and rejuvenated as he ate his cottage cheese and cantaloupe, while deliberating the best way to structure his day. His preference would’ve been to head straight over to see Priscilla, but he had to admit it would be impractical, as he had no idea how long their confab would last. It was quite real to him they might hit it off like twins separated at birth. And who knew what could happen when two like minds got together.

Going to Brody’s would most likely require several hours. After the initial unpleasantness of having to apologize for his inconsiderate behavior the last time they were together, he imagined they’d get in a few good hours’ work. It made more sense to stop by his own apartment first and get that out of the way.

This strategy had the added benefit of giving Tobias an honest excuse for an immediate departure from his wife’s quarrelsome company. Good plan: a brief stop at his apartment first, a few productive hours in Brody’s studio, swing by Priscilla’s when he was finished, maybe take her out to dinner, then retreat to his hotel for the big surprise.

He checked his watch and tried to guess Monique’s agenda for the day. He had been far too preoccupied with his own complicated life lately to be aware of her current schedule. He couldn’t remember what days she had her early morning Pilates classes or whatever fad exercise regimen she was into now, so he’d just have to take a chance, knowing he might find her in. If she wasn’t in, he would leave her a note.

But regardless of whether he had a chance to spar with his wife or not, he would definitely need to pick up a few more essentials: clothing, his laptop and guitar. For that reason alone, it made sense to hire a car for the day. He wished he could have his recording equipment, but that wasn’t feasible.

Too bad I couldn’t switch places with Monique,
he mused.
I could have my studio back and she could redecorate this suite to her heart’s content.

The closer Tobias got to his apartment, the more he hoped he wouldn’t find Monique at home. He had a moment’s hesitation before sliding the key in the door. He eased it opened, slowly at first, training his ear for any telltale sign of his wife’s presence. Hearing nothing, he slipped in and closed the door quietly and began creeping down the hallway like a burglar.

“Well, if it isn’t my long lost husband,” Monique said derisively, causing Tobias to jump half out of his skin. She had appeared in the kitchen doorway as silently as a cat, oversize mug of cappuccino in hand, surveying her wayward spouse warily.

“Jackson, would you look who’s here—it’s the giant rat fink I married all those years ago. God knows why.” Jackson Smythie slid out of his seat at the breakfast table rather conspicuously, dabbing at the poached egg traces that clung to his lips.

“Tobias,” he chimed enthusiastically. He was the epitome of smarmy at any hour. Tobias barely acknowledged his greeting, his curiosity at this oddly domestic scene too distracting for pleasantries.

“Good morning, Mr. Jordan,” Lilliana said dutifully, conflicted by her employer’s sudden appearance. “Would you like some breakfast? I made Eggs Benedict for Mrs. Jordan and Mr. Smythie,” she offered diplomatically.

“No, thanks. I already ate.” Her services not being needed, Lilliana gratefully went in pursuit of other household chores.

“So glad she’s feeding you, whoever now has the dubious honor of your company,” Monique quipped. Tobias shot her a piercing look. It was unlike Monique to start blasting with both barrels so early in the match. She usually began their encounters with some pretense of wedded civility.

“Looks like someone’s been depriving you of your beauty rest, Monique. I know how grumpy it makes you if you don’t get enough sleep,” Tobias said, shifting his glance to Jackson Smythie. “Maybe you should send lover boy home after your fun and games so you can get some decent shuteye.”

“I think I’ll go make some calls,” Jackson said, as he tried to slink away from the table.

“Sit down, Jackson. Tobias won’t be here long,” Monique said.

Jackson was loath to stick around and serve as a lightning rod for Tobias’s abuse, but it didn’t look as though he had a choice. He was frightfully in awe of Tobias Jordan, but he was terrified of earning the wrath of Monique. Not only was she his prime benefactor, but she was also his main social connection. Plus, things were heating up between them on more than one level; where it would all lead depended on how much these two wanted to torture each other.

“Let the man go make some calls, Monique. I think maybe you and I have a few things to discuss,” Tobias said. Again, Jackson levitated out of his seat, only to be forced back down by the gravity of his benefactress’ glare.

“Oh, that’s a good one, isn’t it Jackson? His lord and master thinks we have some things to discuss. Oh really, Tobias—what is there to discuss? You’ve gone about your merry way without a single moment’s consideration toward me, yet when you saunter back here out of the blue and find that your long-suffering wife hasn’t curled up and died, you think you’re somehow the injured party? Give me a break.”

“You make it sound like I’ve been off on a five-day drunk or something. For your information, Brody and I have been working very hard on our new album. What’s that ugly look for? You were more in favor of getting our band back together than I was,” Tobias challenged her.

“Cut the crap, Tobias. I’ve spoken to Brody, several times as a matter of fact. I know all about your disappearing act. You ditched him before you showed up here last time. So don’t try to use him as your alibi. He’s totally fed up with your bullshit. I don’t blame him for wanting to drop you.”

I knew I had stayed away too long,
Tobias thought as his mind raced to find a reasonable defense.

“What did Brody tell you?” he asked. Monique merely glowered. “Look, I don’t know what you think happened, but we did go out to his place for a few days—” he scrambled, taking one point at a time.

“Only three,” Monique corrected him.

“Whatever—and we made some serious headway. But I needed to get back into town for a meeting with Marvin Stacks—”

“Which is why he’s been calling here every day for you, too,” Monique countered.

Tobias chewed the inside of his cheek while he considered this revelation. Monique had the distinct advantage of knowing what he had missed while holed up incommunicado
at the Amsterdam Hotel.

“Okay, Monique—let’s just cut to the chase. Why don’t you give me your best shot, and I’ll take my medicine like a good boy. Come on, tell me what’s got your nose so bent out of shape,” he said, affecting a pose of patient interest.

As is often the case with couples who have been married for a fair length of time, Tobias had developed the ability to sometimes read his wife’s mind. He heard the word “Asshole” as clearly as if she had yelled it in his ear. But that was the only message he could decipher. Instead of answering, Monique turned her back to him while she filled her cup with more coffee and steamed milk.

“More coffee, Jackson?” she asked pleasantly, as if Tobias had suddenly dematerialized.

“I’m fine, Monique,” Jackson said, the squeak in his voice surprising both of them. Tobias barked out a harsh laugh as he watched this surreal tableau.

“Are you still here?” Monique said sharply.

“I believe we were in the middle of a rather important discussion, dear. Perhaps it would help your concentration if your lover waited for you in the other room,” Tobias suggested caustically.