Beautiful Musician (11 page)

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. It
almost seemed as if Seven had just gotten a reading on my
experience with Duncan. But that was impossible. The rocker wasn’t
standing off to the side, morphing into a genuine
psychic.

“
What do you think his
name is?” Abby asked.

“
What? Who?”

“
The warrior. He has to
have another name when he’s here. People in this world have regular
names.”

“
I have no idea what he’s
called.” Nor did I want to continue this conversation. “Can we
please talk about something else?”

“
You’re acting
weird.”

Look who was calling the kettle black.
A schizoid who didn’t know reality from a hole in her head. “You’re
always weird, so we’re even.”

“
When the warrior shows
up, he’s going to prove that everything I said about Room 105 is
true.”

“
He isn’t going to show
up.” Duncan was already here, but he wasn’t the warrior.

“
Do you think that’s why
he hasn’t appeared yet? Because we never gave him a regular name?
Maybe that’s what he’s waiting for.”

I didn’t reply, hoping that if she
remained quiet, this discussion would go away.

No such luck. Abby persisted. But she
was always relentless in her pursuits. “Seven thinks we should do
it now.”

“
I’m not helping you give
him a name.”

“
Then I’ll do it myself.
Let me have your phone so I can get on the Internet.”

I shook my head. I didn’t want any
part in this.

“
Give it to me or I’ll
throw a fit and make everyone else stare at us. Then I’ll tell them
how mean you are.”

“
Fine.” I removed my phone
from my purse and handed it to her. I wasn’t in the mood for one of
my sister’s tantrums. Besides, what difference would a fake name
make?

Abby got online and dallied around,
taking her time, scrolling from site to site.

I coaxed her to hurry things along.
“Come on, sweetie. Just pick one and be done with it.”

“
Don’t try to butter me
up.”

“
By calling you sweetie?”
I often used endearments for her. I leaned sideways, gently bumping
shoulders. I didn’t like it when we fought. “I said that because I
love you.” I gave another little nudge. “Even if you’re a pain in
the rear.”

My sister laughed and the tension
between us faded. We sat in companionable silence, with Abby making
her slowpoke search.

Then she said, “I’m trying to find a
name that means warrior. How about Boris? No, that sounds too
harsh. Oh, here’s another one. Evan. No, wait. That means young
warrior, and our warrior isn’t a boy anymore. Oooh. This one is
perfect. Duncan.”

I flinched, my pulse jumping, my
breath catching. How could Abby have stumbled upon that name? How
was that possible?

My sister smiled, as bright as the
summer sun. “It means dark-skinned warrior. That’s part of why they
call him the dark warrior in Room 105. That and his big black
horse. Remember?”

Yes, I remembered. I’d created those
details. As far as I knew, there wasn’t a horse to speak of, but
there was definitely a dark-skinned man known as Duncan.

Confused, I clutched the arm of the
bench. I couldn’t handle any more coincidences. There were just too
many of them.

Making me feel as if I was going crazy
again.

***

On the day of Duncan’s art show, I was
still reeling from the meaning behind his name and the manner in
which Abby had chosen it. All I could think was that it was Smiling
Seven’s fault and that he’d interfered somehow, even if I knew
better.

“
Slow down or you’re going
to cause an accident,” Carol said, grabbing my
attention.

I glanced over at my aunt who sat
nervously beside me. Carol was always bug-eyed on road trips. Of
course I was anxious, too. We were on the freeway, en route to the
show.

Easing up on the gas pedal, I said,
“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to be a lead foot.”

“
I just want us to be
safe.”

“
I know.” Carol was our
dad’s older sister, and she still had nightmares about how he’d
lost control and flipped his car, sending it into an embankment. I
tried not to dwell on the crash that took our parents’ lives, but
Carol’s antsy behavior sometimes put it in the forefront. She was
even more nervous behind the wheel than as a passenger. Since the
accident, she’d stopped driving freeways.

I was grateful that I didn’t share her
panic. I had enough problems of my own.

We rode quietly, then Carol said, “I
meant to tell you how pretty you look tonight. You always take such
special care with yourself. It makes me proud.”

“
Thank you. You look
pretty, too.” She was wearing a tweed suit from the early House of
Chanel, embellished with a strand of pearls. I had gone retro, as
well, donning a brightly-colored 70s halter dress. Both of our
outfits had come from the consignment store.

Carol fussed with her hair. She’d
styled it in a poufy bob, reminiscent of the old Jackie Kennedy
‘do. “I considered wearing a pillbox hat, but then I thought it
might be too much.”

“
You’re perfect the way
you are.”

“
I’m not the artsy
sort.”

“
Yes, you are. Thrifting
is all the rage, and you own the best vintage store in the state.”
Not only did we carry sought-after clothes, we stocked tons of
shabby chic furnishings.

“
Lucky for me, my parents
were junk dealers. Of course it’s not considered junk anymore.
Either way, I learned the ropes early.”

I had never met my grandparents.
They’d been gone before I was born. I’d seen pictures of them,
though, and found their unconventional endeavors fascinating. “And
now I’m learning it from you.”

“
The store will be yours
someday.”

“
Let’s not talk about
that.” I didn’t want to think about losing my aunt. I’d lost too
much already.

“
Then let’s talk about
your young man.”

I gulped a quick blast of
the air-conditioned air. “He isn’t
my
young man.”

“
I can tell by the way you
talk about him that you like him. Plus, it’s nice that he
understands the disease. What you told me about his relationship
with Jack is touching. He’d be a good catch for you.”

I thought so, too, except for my
confusion over the warrior stuff. Either way, I’d spent nearly
every waking moment bundled in the memory of him, wishing and
hoping. “There was definitely some chemistry between us. But that
doesn’t mean we’ll start dating.”

“
I’ll bet you will.” Carol
folded her hands in front of her, obviously trying not to fidget.
“How much longer before we get there?”

“
We only have twenty
minutes to go.”

We arrived in twenty-five. The gallery
was located downtown in a renovated warehouse. I wondered if
Duncan’s loft was nearby and what it was like. I wondered all sorts
of things about him. Would he ever remember who he was? Had he ever
been in a committed relationship? Would he take my virginity if I
offered it to him?

“
Ready?” Carol
asked.

I snapped out of my dangerous musings.
“Yes, of course.” I steadied my pulse, preparing to learn more
about Duncan, to see his artwork, to try to understand who and what
he was.

We opened the door and crossed the
threshold. The massive three-story gallery presented an eclectic
décor: rough woods, chipped iron, and painted concrete, combined
with classic elegance, like crystal chandeliers shimmering from
museum-height ceilings. Narrow stairwells with twisted banisters
led to the top floors. I noticed a gated elevator, too.

But mostly what I saw were scores of
urban-vogue people milling in and out of arched coves, corner
nooks, and glass-paned rooms, where I assumed Duncan’s art was
being displayed.

“
Look at this place,”
Carol said. “And what a turnout.”

I nodded. It was quite a show,
offering a spectacular reception with a glamorous buffet and
portable bar, where more guests gathered.

“
Where should we start?”
Carol asked.

“
I don’t know.” I was just
trying to take it in.

My aunt gazed in the direction of the
bar. “I think I’d like to get a soda. Do you want one?”

“
Sure.” I didn’t see
Duncan, but he was obviously here somewhere, socializing and making
connections. I gestured to a room off to my left. “I’ll just go in
there and wait for you.” I didn’t want to stand out in the open. I
was weird that way. I was weird in a lot of ways.

Carol replied, “We can try the buffet
later, after we see Duncan’s work and after you introduce me to
him.”

“
I’ll have to find him
first.”

“
He’ll probably find
you.”

“
I hope so.” I watched her
walk away. I was glad that we’d dressed appropriately for the
occasion. Our vintage garb blended right in. In fact, a
short-haired brunette in a rhinestone dress stopped Carol and
motioned to her suit. Apparently the shimmery girl recognized early
Chanel when she saw it. Soon a conversation between the two was
underway, with Carol opening her tidy little handbag for a business
card.

I ducked into the room, letting my
aunt bask in the glory. Our sodas were probably going to take a
while.

I glanced around the room and noticed
the walls were blank, except for one, but I couldn’t tell what was
being displayed because a small group of people blocked my view. I
held back and waited. After they moved on, I stepped
forward.

Holy mother.

It was the nude of Duncan. He stood in
the middle of a dusty road, his arms stretched in a sacrificial
pose, his leanly muscled body glimmering in the moonlight. The
lower half of him was shadowed, the mystery of his nakedness even
more compelling.

He’d depicted himself in what appeared
to be war paint, half of his face covered in red and the other half
in white, with a black line down the center. His long, loose hair
blew in the wind, and his head was slightly bowed, his eyes as
fierce as the clouds brewing in the sky.

His unknown identity was that of a
warrior.

I locked my knees to keep them from
buckling. In the background was the misty image of a black
stallion, fading into the night, big and powerful, much like the
horse I’d created for him.

Was Room 105 real? Did Abby and Jack
know something that the rest of us—the supposedly sane ones—didn’t
know?

Was Duncan the man who was going to
save Abby’s people? I couldn’t stop staring at his war-painted
face, at his bared flesh, at his primal beauty.

Footsteps sounded and I drew a sharp
breath.

The intruder entered the room and
walked forward, then stood directly behind me.

I sensed it was Duncan. I couldn’t
explain why, just that I could feel his tall, dark
presence.

He’d found me, here, of all places,
immersed in the warrior he’d painted. The intimacy between us was
evident: his naked image, my unsteady heartbeat.

Because I was too nervous to turn
around, I stayed where I was, my gaze fixed on his portrait. His
eyes, the ones in the artwork, were locked onto mine.

“
Vanessa.” His voice
traveled along my neck and down my spine, my backless dress leaving
me exposed.

“
Duncan,” I shakily
replied, still staring at the warrior.

He put his hands on my shoulders,
touching me for the very first time. I nearly pitched forward,
shockwaves dancing through my blood and streaming through my
pores.

“
I included that picture
for you,” he said. “I wanted you to see it.”

“
It’s beautiful.” So
damned beautiful. “I could look at it forever.”

He moved closer, brushing up against
me. “There’s no such thing as forever. Someday all of us are going
to be gone.”

The shockwaves turned to a chill. If
Room 105 was real, if he was the warrior I’d created, then he was
going to die within sight of a year. I turned, finally summoning
the strength to face him.

He looked different from the portrait.
His hair was smoothed into a ponytail and he was wearing jeans, a
white shirt, and black jacket. But it was his expression that
struck me the most. It was warm and ever so gentle.

“
I’m glad you’re here,” he
said.

“
So am I.” Giving in to
the temptation to touch him, I reached up to skim his jaw, praying
that I could change what I’d done all those years ago.

And keep him alive.

***

BEAUTIFUL MUSICIAN is a work of
fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products
of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead
is entirely coincidental. The Publisher does not assume
responsibility for third-party websites or their
content.