Dark Arts (20 page)

“All right,” Maxwell said, standing squarely
in front of Zachary and putting his hands behind his back. “Take
your shot. You think I fucked you over today, so go ahead. Take it
out on me. If this is the fastest way to get you back with us,
brother. Let’s get it over with and have some fun this week.”

Some of the anger drained from Zachary, and
Maxwell decided to use the opportunity to get the rest out on the
table. “Nickel City called, there’s no gig this weekend. Whatever
you’ve got in your pockets is what we end the tour with.” He said
calmly, his chin still held out for a punch Maxwell suspected may
never come. Bernie, Scott, and Miranda came through the back door,
and Bernie stopped the other two from going further.

“No way, they can’t cancel,” Zachary
said.

“They did,” Maxwell said calmly. “Call came
in this morning.” Maxwell cleared his throat and continued with his
next bit of news. “We’re not touring again either, I’m done,
Scott’s done, Bernie’s done. Road Craft’s just another rock band
that was lucky enough to get a record made as a souvenir.”

Zachary’s hands dropped slowly, and his
anger became sadness. “So, next summer’s off.”

“You didn’t hear me the first twenty times?”
Maxwell said, letting a little of his irritation come through.
Everyone in the band started talking about what they would be doing
after the tour weeks before. There had been no official band
meeting about it, but Maxwell couldn’t see how someone couldn’t
catch on. “You’re about as smart as you are punctual.”

“Fuck you!” Zachary shouted, his anger
resurging. The sound of Scott’s laughter from behind him didn’t
help, Maxwell guessed. “I bet we’d be hitting the road again next
year if you said you wanted to.”

“I’m sorry, Zach, I didn’t mean it. Listen,
it’s been a great time, but it’s just not good out there, we’re not
breaking through. The bars are becoming dance clubs; I don’t think
we could book enough to buy Kraft Dinner and keep fuel in the tank.
Time to grow up, end things right,” Maxwell said. He stepped
forward, starting to extend his hand to offer it to Zachary.

Maxwell was not prepared when Zachary kicked
as hard as he could, and thanks to Max’s forward momentum, his shin
impacted squarely between his legs. Maxwell fell to one knee and
held up his middle finger, barely able to stay up. The pain in his
middle seemed to throb and worsen, and he relented, falling over
onto the grass.

“Fuck you, Max. You won’t see me after this
week,” Zachary said as he walked away. “I want my share when you
sell the bus, too.”

“You didn’t pitch in when we got it,” Bernie
said to Zachary as he passed. “So you’re out, bye.”

Scott was about to step in front of him, but
Bernie stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Not worth it,” he
said. “If this is the exit he wants, then that’s what he gets.”

Miranda was at Maxwell’s side, helping him
up slowly. The pain was not lessening quickly, but he breathed
deeply and forced himself to his feet anyway, refusing to stay
down. “Oh, I wanted to pound that bastard until he was a stain,” he
said, exhaling. “Next time he puts his hands up, I’ll cave his head
in.”

“Doesn’t look like you’ll get the chance,”
Miranda said. “I’m sorry, I feel like I was the cause of all
that.”

“No, been coming for a while. Bugger’s just
not the kind that gets along with anyone who doesn’t worship him.
Can’t believe he cracked my nuts though,” Maxwell groaned.

“Are you going to be okay?” Miranda asked,
half smiling through her concern.

“Just need a few minutes, maybe a dip in the
lake,” he replied.

“I’ll get your guitar, put it in your room,”
Bernie said. “Just in case he gets brave and stupid.”

“Thanks, mate,” Maxwell said. “We’ll start
making our way to the beach.”

Scott handed Maxwell a smoke and offered him
a light. “He got you really good, huh.”

“Never been hit like that,” Maxwell replied,
shaking his head and exhaling a lung full of cigarette smoke. “Good
riddance to him. Wish it could have ended better.”

“I wonder where Darren is?” Scott asked.
“He’ll probably get all the news from Zack, I wouldn’t be surprised
if we never see him again.”

“Afraid you’re right,” Maxwell said. “No way
for a band to end.”

“It’s better than some,” Miranda said. “At
least three of you are still friends.”

“Yeah, any time you want to play, Max, I’ll
get behind the drums,” Scott said. “Bernie’s the same, but on bass,
of course.”

“You’ve got me if you want me,” Miranda
said.

“I’ll play guitar for any of you,” Maxwell
said. “It’s good days again, music is fun again.”

“Yeah, about time,” Scott said.

The four of them returned to the main cabin
for a late lunch, and April was waiting for them on the bottom
floor, helping with cleanup. She pulled her apron off and greeted
Scott with a kiss that made Gladys stifle a smile and a few of the
older ladies coming from the kitchen shake their heads.

“She is not her father or her mother, this
one,” Susanne whispered to Miranda and Maxwell. “A light came from
the Sands family, she is a sweet girl.”

“I haven’t seen her in ten years, probably
more,” Maxwell said. “She’s the butter to Scott’s bread when
they’re in sight of each other though.”

“We left food out,” Susanne said a little
louder. “Barbeque on the beach again tonight.” She looked to
Miranda then and said; “The proper beach.”

“I’ll see you there,” Miranda said. Suzanne
was the last of the ladies who were working in the kitchen to
leave, with the exception of April, who grabbed Scott by the hand
and headed for the main stairs. “I left my bag in your room, I have
to change into my swimsuit.”

Maxwell popped a cherry tomato into his
mouth and enjoyed the tart burst of juices. Miranda picked up a
plate of cherry tomatoes, cut celery, carrot and quarter sandwiches
and started following the pair. “I have to change too,” she
said.

Maxwell was reaching for another cherry
tomato when she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “You
comin’?”

They were in his room scant moments later,
and he realized that none of Miranda’s things were there. He turned
in time to see her lock the door and put the tray down on the
dresser. Maxwell smiled, “What’s on your mind, luv?”

Miranda kicked her shoes off, ran two paces
and leapt the last four steps. He caught her, turned and fell
backwards onto the bed. The smell of her, vanilla, rose and
something a little spicy, was all around him.

He held her as he enjoyed playing past her
soft lips with his, Max’s hands slipped under her loose shirt, his
fingers pressing their way from her hips to shoulders. Her skin was
soft, and her braless back was a smooth track for him to run his
hands up and down.

Their lips remained locked until the sounds
of their excited breathing calmed a little. His hands wandered
down, under the hem of her jeans, and he kneaded the soft spot on
her back there. She moved against him, groaning against his mouth.
Maxwell noticed she was distracted, her kiss was slowing down, and
he took advantage of the moment, plucking at her full lips for a
moment before kissing her neck.

She sat up and pulled her blouse off, then
looked down at him, biting her lip. Maxwell ran his hands up from
her waist to her ribs and then pulled her down on the bed beside
him. He sat up and pulled his shirt off, then lowered himself onto
one elbow to look at her. His silver medallion dangled between
them. He rested his hand on her smooth stomach, gently tracing his
palm across her soft skin.

“It’s like I only forgot I loved you, Max,”
she said. “I remember now.”

Maxwell stroked her cheek with a feather
light touch. “I don’t have those memories,” he said. “But you’re
it, luv, the light I’ve been looking for.”

Miranda’s widening eyes and little smile was
a reward in itself, and he leaned down to kiss her. He felt a tug
on his belt, looked down then back up at her. Her smile had become
impish. She unbuttoned her jeans and began pulling them off. “I
don’t want to wait,” she said.

Maxwell rolled towards the end of the bed
then opened the trunk there so he could get to his saddlebags.

“Where ya goin’?” Miranda asked as her jeans
hit the floor.

“I’ve got condoms in here somewhere,”
Maxwell replied, rifling through his bags with reckless abandon.
“Think they’re under these things,” he said, pulling a pair of
leather pants he’d only worn once out of the bag and dropping them
beside the chest with a plop.

He felt her breasts press against his back
as she embraced him from behind. “I’m on the pill,” she whispered
against his ear.

Maxwell didn’t bother turning around, but
undid his belt and started pulling his jeans off. She helped push
them off with her feet as she kissed him on the cheek, behind the
ear, and down his neck.

He turned around and fixed her with a
devilish grin as soon as his jeans were off. Miranda was caught off
guard; her expression of surprised amusement encouraged him. She
had never been more beautiful, and he tackled her with an embrace
that made her giggle as they rolled across the bed together.

Some time later, they sat up together in
bed. The heat of the day was fully in the room, but Maxwell and
Miranda were too hungry to leave yet. They sat on top of the
sheets, nude, picking from the large plate of sandwiches and
vegetables resting between them.

“You’re full of surprises, luv,” Maxwell
said.

“Good ones, I hope,” she said, munching
through a carrot stick.

“I have to admit, I was bowled over when you
picked up that guitar. I think you’re better than I am.”

“No way, mister. I have technical chops,
maybe, but you have a feel for it that I never picked up,” Miranda
said. “It’s like a part of you, like your voice when you’re
playing. It’s still notes, and strings and technical stuff to me. I
like it, but I’d rather sing.”

“Where’d you learn?”

“Spain,” Miranda said. “My father had an old
guitar and he showed me a few things. I liked it enough to start
lessons the next week, and they set me up with a classical guy who
almost made my fingers bleed. I’ll never forget those
blisters.”

Maxwell caught her left hand and looked at
it. Her callouses weren’t as thick as his, or as hard, but they
were there, surprisingly small on the pads of her fingertips.
“What’s your father like?”

“He’s a deadbeat,” Miranda replied, absent
vitriol. “I like him, don’t get me wrong, but he’s more a boy who
got old than a man. Lives in a little house he and his family made
for him behind my grandparents. He rides a bike around, delivering
things in town, sells the odd thing he picks up here and there,
it’s more like having an older friend than a dad.”

“You miss having him around?” Maxwell
asked.

“You know, I had a big fight with my Aunt
Susanne about seeing him after we were in Italy for a while, I
wanted to go early because school was over. I think I screamed at
her for a week and she finally gave in. She said something it took
almost two years to realize – that I’d get tired of him just like
my mom did. By the time I left I was used to him borrowing money,
not being where he said he’d be, getting really down and drunk at
random times, then popping up out of no where as though he’s got
sunshine in his pocket, like life couldn’t get better. He was so up
and down, but never someone you could depend on, always taking the
lazy way through life. I think I was in New York a month before I
realized I didn’t miss him at all, is that terrible?”

“No,” Maxwell said. “I don’t think so, luv.
People can only change so much, my dad never did. Most of my
memories of him aren’t good ones, if I’m honest, and I think I only
miss him now that I’m starting to believe all his warnings. Even
still, he was a strict teacher, don’t think he treated me much like
his son most of the time, just an unwilling student. Our dads
weren’t the same, I’ll tell you, I think I’d trade for a while
given the choice. From what you’re telling me I think we both got
the short end. I bet you’ll miss him again in a few years.”

“Probably,” Miranda said. “Maybe I’ll write
him a letter, tell him I’m moving back into Mom’s house. Or maybe
not, he might want to come and mooch off me until Aunt Susanne
kicks him out.”

“What about your aunt Gladys?”

“She loves him, but she’s somehow missing
whenever he’s looking to borrow money, feeling down or too drunk,”
Miranda said. “I don’t know how she does it, but she did it for
about two years. I think she pushed me to stick with my guitar
lessons more than anyone though. Got me to play a little on the
piano in Italy too, but we didn’t have one, so it didn’t
stick.”

“We’ll have to get an acoustic in your hands
tonight,” he said. “I’d like to see you play,”

“Oh, no, you break out the guitar, I’ll sing
along. I’m not like that with the guitar, I’m not so good that it
can speak for me. I’ll use the spare, it’s better than the electric
I had in New York, keep playing with you guys, if that’s all
right.”

Maxwell laughed and chose a cucumber
sandwich from the plate. “I think everyone wants you on stage, luv.
I know I don’t want to play without you.”

A knock on the door startled both of them.
“We’re headed down to the beach,” April said through the door in a
singsong tone.

“See you down there,” Maxwell said with a
shrug.

“Wait,” Miranda said after swallowing a
mouthful of tomato. “Which beach?”

“Normal one,” Scott shouted through the
door.

“See you there.”

Maxwell took a bite of the last celery stick
and hopped out of bed. “Wait,” he said. He unlocked the door and
poked his head through. “Anyone around?” he asked Scott.