Metal Urge (17 page)

“Homesick already?”  Maggi said sarcastically.  “I should have known you’d be a major drag.  You’ve always been such an uptight little momma’s girl.”

When she tried to explain that her tears were tears of joy, not fear or homesickness, Maggi huffed and turned away in disgust.  Maggi’s reaction on their first day in London would set the tone for their tenuous relationship as roommates in a new city almost half-way around the world from Phoenix, Arizona.  She lost countless nights of sleep as she considered going home for no other reason than to escape Maggi’s scathingly critical tongue.  Then Trevor Hampton entered Maggi’s life, and she was relegated to the background and left in harmonious peace until Maggi’s relationship with Trevor began to unravel at the seams.  The girls spent most of their spare time in loud, smoky clubs to satisfy Maggi’s feverish desire to please Trevor by reporting back to him which bands might be worthy rivals for Beastrage.  She wasn’t invited for the pleasure of her company---Maggi was
forbidden
to go out alone.  Trevor was insanely jealous and had actually demanded that she tell him if any other man had dared approach Maggi or flirted with her or, God forbid, had the bollocks to glance her way.  In his frantic mind he always had the upper hand as long as he was in control.

Now she held a letter from an equally frantic Trevor only this time it was Maggi who had the upper hand.  She thought about what Thom told her after Trevor resigned as band manager in order to check into rehab.  Thom's news and Trevor’s strange visit to the flat were the only reasons she was on a bus headed for Kentish Town.  In her heart of hearts she knew their meeting would end badly, but she was determined to do this one thing for that pathetic shell of a man who undoubtedly had to dig very deep to find the courage to ask such a favor.  Love compelled him to write a letter to a woman he had driven to extremes with his rage and madness.  How could she sit in judgment of him?  No one knew better than her what lengths love---especially obsessive love---could drive a perfectly sane person to, much less an out-of-control drug addict.  She shivered and rubbed her arms to dispel the chill, deciding to get off of the bus and walk the rest of the way to the Bull and Last pub on the corner of Woodsome and Highgate Roads.

There were only a few people inside the pub making it easy for Deanna to spot Maggi in the dim wood-paneled room.  She was sitting in their favorite snug at the back of the building, away from the long, wooden bar.  Despite the desperate urge to run as fast and as far away as she could, Deanna strode toward the snug trying hard to look bored and indifferent.  Before she could sit down, Maggi sprang up and enfolded her in a tight hug.

“Oh God, Deanna!  I am so happy to see you!”  Maggi started crying causing her mascara to run.  She picked up a napkin from the table and tried to wipe the black film away as it streaked down her face.

Deanna quickly took the opportunity to sit down, feeling as though ants were scurrying up and down her flesh where Maggi had touched her.  It took all of her self-control not to claw at her arms to rid herself of the awful sensation.  Maggi reached for her hand, but she pulled away, clearly unsettled by any more physical contact between them.  Deanna looked around to avoid her former friend’s gaze and froze as the interior of the pub faded away replaced by the image of Maggi’s bedroom where she and Nigel lay entangled on the bed, naked bodies slick with sweat.  He rolled onto his back and Maggi straddled him.  She threw back her head and laughed, staring directly at Deanna's stricken face as the sounds of their pleasure battered and bruised her ears, relentlessly echoing inside her head like a broken record.  “You bitch!” Deanna cried, digging her nails into Maggi’s tender flesh.  “I loved him!  More than anyone or anything in this world!  Do you have any idea what that means or what it feels like?  What kind of woman can't sense even the tiniest bit that her best friend is utterly and hopelessly in love no matter how much she pretends not to be?”  Maggi was trying to pull her hands away, but Deanna only dug her nails in deeper. “I’ll tell you what kind: an insensitive, self-absorbed slut like you.”

“Please, D, you’re hurting me!” Maggi sobbed.  Deanna let go, and Maggi rubbed the bloody crescent-shaped wounds on her hands, crying in shock and pain.  “I never should have slept with him…”

“But you did.”

Maggi looked away from Deanna and shook her head.  “It didn’t mean
anything
…it was just sex.”

A strangled laugh escaped Deanna as her hand shot out and slapped Maggi hard across the face.  The barkeep started toward their snug, but she held up her hands signaling that there would be no more trouble.  Grasping the wooden table for support, she struggled to stand up, staring deeply into Maggi’s teary, mascara-smudged eyes.

“It meant
everything
to me.”  She removed the letter from her purse and threw it on the table.  “You don’t deserve this.”

The handwriting was obviously Trevor’s, but Maggi didn’t touch the envelope.  She rubbed her cheek where Deanna’s hand had left an angry red imprint before downing her drink and wiping her mouth on a napkin smeared with globs of wet mascara.  She looked up at the trembling blonde girl, a sneer of defiance on her tear-stained face.  “Well, it shouldn’t matter now that you’re sleeping with Metal Urge's gorgeous lead guitarist, Thom McCordy.  Tell me, is he better than Nigel in bed?”  Maggi stood up, towering over Deanna in her black leather platform boots.  “My guess is that Thom can't really satisfy you,” she said with a nasty smirk.  “I get it, D.  I mean, Nigel is a first class pro.  The guy has incredible skills. The way he uses his…,” she grinned maliciously at Deanna’s mottled face and added, “Well, I don’t have to tell you about
that
now do I?”  She flicked the mascara stained napkin towards Deanna and leaned over the table with a spiteful glare.  “He's a total stud.  Too bad you weren’t woman enough to keep him interested.”  Maggi picked up the envelope, stuffed it in her purse, tossed her glossy brunette locks away from her face and strode out of the pub without a backwards glance.

It was impossible for Deanna to stand any longer; her body was shaking so badly her legs felt like melting rubber.  She slid down onto the soft seat of the snug and signaled the barkeep for another drink.  He gave her a funny look when he set the whiskey in front of her but said nothing.  She sipped the potent liquor, hating herself for letting Maggi intentionally wound her.  No matter how hard she tried to stand up to the evil witch she always ended up the loser, crushed and damaged almost beyond repair.  She finished her drink, paid the tab and left quietly, not daring to glance up Woodsome Road towards her former home.  She boarded the first bus that growled and rumbled up to the bus stop, grateful that it was crowded so no one would notice her silly tears.  She didn’t want to cry, but Maggi’s cruel, disgusting comments had cut into her like a surgeon’s scalpel, opening all of her old wounds.  Every hateful word forced her to re-live agonizing memories which was exactly what Maggi had wanted.

She knew it was vile and unfair to use Thom, but she had to move on, forget Nigel, and come to terms with losing her baby.  Sometimes it was easy to pretend the miscarriage had never happened.  But in the wee hours of  morning as darkness surrounded her heavy and suffocating, she still jerked awake with a scream building in her throat, and her heart thundering madly in her chest from the nightmare image of her child's life ending in a pool of blood on a cracked and reeking linoleum floor.  No matter how selfish it seemed, she needed Thom to help her heal.  Being with him made the pain bearable, and he made her feel safe and cared for.  Giving her body to him was a fair trade-off wasn’t it?  Suddenly she was unable to breathe under the weight of all of the swaying bodies hovering around her, pressing into her with their hot, heavy flesh.  Deanna panicked, pushing through the standing-room only crowd, gulping in mouthfuls of air by the main door.  The bus driver told her to stand away from the door, but she didn’t hear him.

After she stumbled out of the bus at the next stop, she searched for a place to sit and try to compose herself.  She didn’t want Thom to see her in this state.  He had no idea she had gone to see Maggi, and he certainly wouldn‘t understand or approve.  She hadn’t told him about Trevor’s visit or the letter either---she knew it would upset him.  He thought she was meeting a school friend for lunch and it was best if he didn’t know the truth even though she hated lying to him.  Deanna dragged her aching body off of the park bench, anxious to get home and take a long, hot shower to wash Maggi’s filthy taint from her skin and her mind once and for all.

Chapter 23

“What smells so good?”  Deanna breathed in the delicious scent wafting from the kitchen as she entered the living room.  Thom had headphones on, his eyes closed, head bobbing rhythmically as his fingers moved lightning fast over the strings and neck of his sleek black Flying V guitar.  Leaning against the wall she watched Thom play, studying the way his facial expressions changed with almost every chord.  She loved to watch him play his guitar.  His talent and techniques were powerful and sexy...extremely sexy.  Mims lay on her back, batting the guitar cord attached to Thom’s amplifier, rolling this way and that to keep up with the wildly swinging cord.  Suddenly Thom swept the guitar up in the air parallel to his body.  Throwing back his head, he held his V suspended in mid-air pulling rhythmically on the whammy bar, his body swaying with the music blasting through his headphones.  After one last sweep of his fingers over the frets on the long, streamlined neck, Thom rested the V against his thigh.  Opening his eyes, he smiled when he noticed Deanna watching him with admiration.  He removed his headphones, placed the guitar on its stand, and unplugged the amplifier.  Mims purred loudly as he gave her belly a thorough rub before heading toward the kitchen, gesturing for Deanna to follow him.

“Wow, what a performance!  You’re totally amazing.”

“Cheers, darlin’,” he grinned.  “I do love playing the guitar.”  He was tempted to add, “Almost as much as I love you,” but refrained.  “How was lunch?” He asked as he pulled on oven mitts.

“It was great,” she lied.  “What's that?  It smells wonderful.”

He opened the oven door and pulled out the top rack.  He poked a succulent beef roast with a fork, pulling a small piece of steaming meat out of the center and popping it in his mouth.  “This should be ready in another thirty minutes or so.  I hope you’re hungry because there's mash and your favorite trifle.”

“Mm…that sounds delicious.  I didn’t know you could cook like this.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Thom grinned and took Deanna’s hand, leading her back to the living room.

As soon as she sat on the couch Mims bounded up to her meowing for attention.  Deanna picked her up and gave her a kiss on the nose.  She cuddled Mims against her chest and watched Thom lift the amplifier, the muscles in his arms flexing with the weight.  She smiled appreciatively at the way his legs and firm, round bum filled out his form-fitting jeans as he carried his musical equipment into his bedroom.  Seconds later a familiar sense of shame washed over her, and she winced when the sanctimonious voice of guilt rebuked her selfish plan to seduce him.  Refusing to give in, she silently argued that no one would get hurt.  This time next year she would be thousands of miles away, out of sight and out of mind.  Thom would be traveling the world playing his music to throngs of adoring fans, all thoughts of their brief time together lost in the overwhelming attention of the media and the masses.

The hated voice of reason tried to undermine her plans but she was determined to move on with her life and forget Nigel in the only way she believed she could.  She told Thom she was going to take a quick shower and darted up the stairs, butterflies fluttering madly in her stomach.  Deanna turned on the shower faucets and peeled off the clothes she had worn to her disastrous meeting with Maggi.  She was tempted to burn them in the fireplace to obliterate all memories of Maggi’s repulsive touch.  She stepped into the hot spray and groaned as thousands of wet fingertips massaged her emotionally drained and aching muscles.  She thoroughly scrubbed her body and washed her hair, keeping her mind intentionally blank to avoid the vicious sting of Maggi’s hateful words and painful memories of an unhappy, lonely life that seemed intent to come back and haunt her.  As she rinsed the final layer of fragrant conditioner from her waist length curls, she realized that Thom was the only person who had accepted the real Deanna---flaws and all---and still cared about her.  Suddenly the idea of sleeping with him felt so right.  A tingle of anticipation and desire warmed her deep inside as she thought about what the gorgeous guitarist would be like in bed.

“Tea’s ready,” Thom shouted through the door.  When he got no reply, he knocked loudly and called, “What’re you doing in there?  You must be a shriveled prune by now, not to mention there won’t be enough hot water left to do the washing up.”

Deanna turned off the faucets and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around her petite frame.  She used a corner of the soft cotton to squeeze the excess water from her hair.  “Sorry!” she called out.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening the bathroom door.  “Did you say dinner is ready?”

Thom looked at the damp towel clinging to her shapely form and cleared his throat.  “Yeah, um, everything’s in the cooker keeping warm.  You might want to get dressed.”

“Nothing will burn if it stays in the oven a bit longer, right?”  She stepped closer to him and let the towel drop to her feet.  The heat of his gaze almost singed her skin as she slowly ran her fingertips down his neck, slipping them inside the banded collar of his T-shirt to trace his collar bones.