Undone, Volume 3 (23 page)

Once she’d left me?
All shadow of doubt vanished. I wanted Ana. I needed Ana. Nothing
else mattered. And if she gave me an opening at this awards show, I’d
take it and tell her myself.

Nervous, I sipped some
water and surveyed the room. People came over, said a word or two,
but I was looking for one woman and one woman only. These parties
were a lot easier when I’d been drunk, or had an easy lay at my
side. One I was interested in, at least. I still had the easy lays
all around. A woman standing eagerly in front of me gave me a sultry
smile and not-so-subtly plumped up her ample breasts. It wasn’t her
fault I didn’t find her attractive. Last year, I would have been
all over that. Now? She wasn’t Ana and I wasn’t interested.

I was talking with a
guy I didn’t know too well when she arrived. He was about my age, a
Brit, and I liked his music. He had an original voice and a
down-to-earth way about him. He’d only just broken out in the past
year or two and didn’t seem like he’d become much of a wanker.
Yet. I hoped he stayed that way.

Funny thing, we hadn’t
spoken a word about Ana, not at the party or any time before then,
but all of a sudden he leaned in and said under his breath, “She’s
here.”

I tensed up. How did he
know I was waiting to see Ana? But I guessed it was common knowledge,
our romance, every step recorded and broadcast.

I turned and saw Ana
across the room. I guessed she was wearing a shimmering dress, but
she was what shone in the crowd. She looked amazing, radiant, and my
breath caught in my throat.

The guy I’d been
talking to clapped me on the back. “Good luck.”

Ana looked over at that
moment and met my gaze. I guess maybe other people talked to me,
maybe they didn’t. I couldn’t pay attention to anything or anyone
else besides Ana until she finally made her way over to me. Her long
legs in that dress, stretching down into high, high heels. The
hemline barely hit her mid-thigh. I could reach my hand between those
thighs and part her legs so easily.

She stood in front of
me and swallowed, licking her lips, nervously.

“Ana.” My voice
sounded husky.

“Hi, Ash.” She had
a hard time meeting my eyes now that we were standing close. It took
all the willpower I had not to scoop her into my arms, sink my mouth
to her neck, carry her off out of the room like a caveman. She was
mine. We belonged together. Didn’t she feel it, too?

Someone came up and
started babbling to us about our song, congratulating us on our mega
hit. There was talk of nominations for VMAs, the Grammies later in
the year. I never took my eyes off of her.

“Red carpet time,
people!” Lola arrived, right on cue. “Oh, look. You’re here.”
Lola didn’t sound happy about it, but she could kiss my ass. She
probably considered Ana a liability. Loose lips sink ships and all
that. But I considered Ana my future, if she’d give me a shot.

“May I?” I extended
my hand, hoping Ana would take it. In front of all those people, we
hadn’t had even a second to talk. But she looked up into my eyes
and with a soft smile, she put her hand in mine.

Ana

My parents and I
arrived in L.A. two days before the awards show. I thought about
calling Ash, of course I did. Especially since I’d found out that
my crazy roommates had destroyed a letter he’d written me many
months ago.

I didn’t know what
was in the letter, but a letter wasn’t usually what you sent when
you didn’t care at all about someone. After a break up, if you were
psyched about it, you tended to let communication die down. You might
get back in touch if your ex had something of yours, a favorite shirt
or a bag you’d left behind. But that you’d take care of with an
awkward text, not a long letter.

I didn’t have any of
Ash’s stuff, and I figured if he’d somehow misplaced something he
cared about but didn’t care about me, he had many minions to do his
bidding. He could task any number of handlers to do his dirty work.
No, I didn’t think he was missing his favorite pair of headphones
or socks. He’d had something he wanted to say to me in that letter.
Unfinished business.

And then there was, of
course, the song. The song of love and heartbreak and longing. In the
airport, my parents and I had stopped to buy coffees. Not sandwiches,
mind you, my mother insisted on packing those from home instead of—as
she put it—paying through the nose for that sawdust and cardboard.
While we were placing our orders, Ash’s voice came out from a
speaker behind the cashier.

“That’s your song,
Anya,” my mother murmured.

“That’s the song my
daughter wrote.” My father lacked her subtly, announcing my
accomplishment to the cashier. He proudly told anyone and everyone
who’d listen about my song, bulldozing right through people’s
confusion (I thought that was Ash Black?) and my protests (Dad, not
everyone needs to know). I had to admit, after a lifetime of trying
to live up to their high expectations, it did feel good to have done
something that made them so proud. Even if they didn’t really seem
to fully understand what was happening.

“Our baby, a big time
record producer in L.A.,” they’d sigh. I’d protest that that
wasn’t what had happened, but they’d shush me with a, “we know
what you’ve done.” It was pointless to argue.

On the night of the
awards ceremony, they accompanied me down to where the show would be
held and televised, but they steadfastly refused to head into the
pre-party or have anything to do with the red carpet arrivals. I
didn’t think I’d be walking the red carpet, either. I was just a
songwriter. And a part of me really wanted to go hide in the back row
seating with them.

But another part of me?
That part of me said I was there for a reason. I wasn’t just Ash
Black’s pretend sham of a girlfriend. I was a musician and a
songwriter, and my song was receiving a hell of a lot of recognition
that night. I also had an assigned seat, right up close to the stage.
Front and center.

I gave them a kiss
good-bye, took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. I knew Ash
would probably be at the pre-party. The number and size of the
bouncers guarding the door and demanding to see invitations attested
to the VIP nature of the event. And Ash was the most VIP of VIPs.

With more strut than I
truly felt, I walked into the party. I had no idea what would happen
that night, but it felt good to be there on my own terms, for an
honest reason. And who knew? I might get a moment to talk with Ash,
find out what had been in that letter. My curiosity could have killed
a room full of cats.

For a moment, I thought
I saw him across the room, dressed all in black and dripping with
models. But that turned out to be John Mayer. I looked away quickly,
tucking my hair behind my ear, hoping he hadn’t seen me checking
him out.

Then I found Ash. He
stood facing away and talking to another guy. There were a few women
with their eyes on him, but that described every waking moment of his
life. No one hung from his arm.

Then he looked up and
right over at me. My breath caught in my throat. He was so impossibly
handsome, clean-shaven in a white jacket. He still had that somewhat
rumpled look, the casual sexiness that made him world-famous, but he
looked older, somehow. Less posturing, more rugged. Impossible to
resist. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to come after all.

I thought about ducking
away, but I didn’t. He drew me like metal to a magnet. I’m just
glad I didn’t trip on anything as I made my way over to him in the
room. I certainly wasn’t aware of my surroundings. He mesmerized
me.

I think he said my
name. I might have managed to say his. We may have said hello, but
maybe not. People talked around us, to us, but I couldn’t have told
you a damn thing any of them said. I could tell you the color of
Ash’s eyes, such a warm, deep brown they looked like melted dark
chocolate. Then he held out his hand. I took it in mine.

Ash. God, I’d missed
him. The grasp of his warm, calloused hand, the warmth of his body,
the feel of his tall, solid presence by my side. We didn’t have
privacy, none at all, so we couldn’t exactly talk. But there with
him, I wondered if we needed to. Standing with him, holding hands,
that’s where I belonged. I could feel it with such certainty. You
didn’t need to talk about the sky looking blue on a sunny day. It
just was and everyone knew it.

With camera flashes and
hustling and bustling, we were ushered away and out onto the red
carpet to make our official entrance. I was not red carpet ready. No
stylists had groomed me, no makeup artists had had their way with me,
but Ash wrapped his arm around my waist, hugged me to him, and it
didn’t so much matter.

He led me down to a
seat next to his. I didn’t know if that was the one I’d been
assigned to, but I figured no one would argue with Ash. What he got
he wanted. He was nominated more than any other artist that night. He
kept my hand wrapped in his, tight, as we sat down.

“I can’t believe
you’re here.” He spoke in hushed tones, almost reverent, and
leaned into me.

“I can’t believe
it, either,” I admitted.

“Did you think about
not coming?”

“A little.” I
paused. It wasn’t the right time to have a serious conversation,
not when we were surrounded by every famous singer I could think of
and then a whole bunch more I didn’t recognize but could tell I
would if I paid more attention to celebrities. But I couldn’t wait
for exactly the right moment. It might never come.

Leaning in closer, I
whispered, “Ash, I never got your letter. Back in January.”

“You never got it?”
he asked, confused.

I shook my head no. “I
never knew you sent it. My roommates just told me a couple days ago
that they burned it.”

“Burned it?” He
pulled back, looking at me as if to check if he’d heard correctly.

“I know. It’s
crazy.”

“They burned it,”
he repeated, clearly having trouble comprehending. I still didn’t
fully understand it, either, but that wasn’t the point. The point
was what had been in it?

“So, I don’t know
what you said in it.” I looked at him with probably too much
eagerness showing in my face. How awkward would it be if he told me
that the letter was about the fact that I still had his favorite pair
of socks? And knowing my luck, a cameraman would probably swing his
huge lens around and zoom in right when my eyes filled with tears.
But I had to take the chance, right then in the front row of a live
broadcast awards show. I didn’t know when or if I’d have the
chance again.

“You know what I said
in it. You’ve heard the song.” He looked down at me, his eyes so
warm on mine, his body leaning in so close I could feel his breath on
my neck as he whispered my name.

“Ana, I love you.”
He caressed my cheek, swept his fingers under my chin. I swayed into
his touch. It felt so good, after all those months, exactly what I’d
been craving every day and every night.

Clicks and flashes rose
from all around us, capturing us, capturing celebrities. We couldn’t
be in a more exposed setting. But I didn’t feel it. It felt like
just me and Ash, finally. Alone together in the middle of all the
craziness.

“I’m no good
without you, Anika,” he murmured in my ear, his hand weaving its
way into my hair. “Without you, I come undone.”

I was glad, then, that
I hadn’t had a stylist preparing me for my appearance that night.
It was much better this way, with my hair loose and natural. Then Ash
could weave his fingers through my hair, touch me, caress me, and I
leaned into his hand, my eyes fluttering closed.

Then applause rose from
all around us, snapping even the two of us from our world together,
as the show began. Huge name after even huger name walked across the
stage, some looking great in person, others one Botox shot shy of
becoming a plastic doll.

Then came the first
category Ash was nominated for, and he won. Then the next, which he
won as well. By the fourth time he won, he tugged my hand.

“Come on.” He
grinned at me.

“No! I—” But he
pulled and I followed and before I knew it, we were both up on stage
accepting the award for Top 100 Song.

“She’s the reason
for this!” Ash declared, holding up the award with one hand,
clasping my hand in his other. “She’s my inspiration. She’s the
genius behind the song.” Looking at me, he added. “This is for
you. Thank you, Ana.”

I couldn’t manage a
word. My eyes filled with tears and I think I was able to smile and
wave a bit at the massive attack of applause. If I’d had my wits
about me, I suppose I could have grabbed the mic and thanked my
parents. That would have been nice. But as it was, I could barely
manage to stand upright. I’d have to thank them later.

The rest of the show
passed in a blur. Ash won a couple more times, giddy with winning,
starting to get random in his thank-yous, going on a tangent about
his younger brother and how much he loved him. I felt so proud, so
happy to see him getting such praise for such a risky departure. That
song had been nothing like what he’d done in the past, open and raw
and real. A fresh start for him. Maybe for us?

Somehow, I found my
parents after the show. Ash and I never stopped holding hands, which
made it more difficult. To say he was mobbed would be a massive
understatement. Everyone wanted a piece of him, a picture, a glimpse
at the star of the evening. But he insisted on sharing it all with
me. And then he pulled my mom and dad in for a few photos.

“Oh, my!” My mother
patted her hair and pulled herself up to her full five foot two
inches. My father smiled as wide and proud as I’d ever seen him. I
even caught him wiping a tear from his eye.