G2 Chapter Ten – Captivated

One Week Later

After my New Year’s Eve release from the hospital, Jason remained in Starlight Shores with me for an additional month while I recovered from the flu and secondary laryngitis. In the weeks that followed, I wasn’t allowed to speak. Between the laryngitis and ventilator irritation, my voice was deep and husky, not to mention the sore throat.

To avoid permanent damage to my vocal cords, the doctors advised me to stay silent for an additional four weeks. All I had for communication were poorly formed hand gestures until Jason bought a dry-erase board for me to use. Jason was upstairs napping when Ernie let himself in through the front door. It was the first day back to work after a week-long break, and the first time I’d seen him since before the new year’s holiday.

“Hey Superstar,” he said. Ernie walked in like he owned the place and sat in Daddy’s rocker. The toasty warm fire flickered in the hearth. Poppy slept on my chest, and a mostly cold cup of chamomile tea sat on the coffee table. Ernie pulled the chair closer to me. “Got something for ya. I thought you might like to see the reviews for the New Year’s Eve show at Mick’s, even if they are a week old.”

The newspaper was the last thing I wanted to see. I tried to care about the person who took my show slot (I didn’t.) What bothered me was having to miss my first big show, but I wasn’t irritated with Ernie or Phil Trice. I was more perturbed with myself than anything else. It was no one’s fault but mine.

Ernie threw the paper onto my stomach and disturbed Poppy; she jumped down and slinked away to some unknown hiding place. Poppy didn’t usually mind company, especially Ernie. She didn’t, however, appreciate the invader that so rudely took her spot. Annoyed, I picked up my dry-erase board and scribbled on it in royal blue marker. “What page? What section?”

I held up the board for Ernie to read. I expected an answer. What I got was hysterical laughter. “You’re going to make a fine superstar someday with that penmanship.” He laughed through his nose, which started a slight wheezing sound. A quick inhale caused him to snort. I’d never heard that before; it started what was sure to be a messy giggle fit, but I couldn’t. Rather than chance forbidden laughter and the inevitable coughing fit that would follow, I bit my tongue.

I wiped off my previous question using a clean tissue, then scribbled another note. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Still chuckling, he took the newspaper from my lap and opened it to the first page of the entertainment section. “This guy,” Ernie said, pointing to the article. “Grant Nelson. Soundwave picked him up yesterday and signed him. Rumor has it Chandler was quite impressed.”

Grant…? His name was familiar, but why? I grabbed the paper from Ernie and looked for myself. The show photos at Mick’s didn’t appear until halfway down the page. I skimmed the article, but nothing clicked until I saw his face. I sat straight up, my brow furrowed and my nose wrinkled. Turns out, I knew exactly who Grant was, and where I’d met him.

“A good deed never goes unpunished,” I squeaked out, even though I shouldn’t have. Ernie cocked his head, then wagged his finger at me. I knew he’d say something about my painful attempt at vocalizing.

“Des, no talking!” he said, admonishing me in a stern voice. “How will you get better if you don’t keep your trap shut?” Ernie noticed my sour expression, even more pronounced, as I threw the newspaper onto the coffee table with an exaggerated slap. “What’s wrong with this dude, other than the fact that he scored a sweet contract with the biggest record label in the country?”

I wiped my last statement from my handheld white board, then huffed a lock of hair away from my face. “I know that guy,” I wrote. “We met at the park. I bought him lunch a few years ago.” Ernie read what I wrote as I scribbled it. “He was having a rough time of it back then.” Where was my ability to speak when I needed it?! My fingers couldn’t write on the whiteboard fast enough. “I can’t believe Phil picked him, of all people! That was my spot!” For emphasis, I capitalized “my,” and underlined it until I ran out of space under the word. I already felt rotten, and seeing who took my show slot—Grant, the shy boy at the park with no stage presence, the one who warned me about Priscilla and her brute squad—just made me feel worse. I fell back against the couch and sighed.

“Geez, I’m sorry, Des. Trice made it sound like he was a solid up-and-coming singer.”

I erased my chicken scratch using the sleeve of my robe, rather than reach for the eraser on the coffee table. “He was good when I saw him at the park.” Just not as good as I was, I thought, but didn’t write it. “Maybe Grant will jump through Aiden’s hoops. I won’t.”

Ernie chuckled. “You’re not even willing to jump through my hoops, Superstar. That’ll change someday,” he said with a wink. “But I’ll be patient while you’re on the mend.” He patted my foot and stood to go. “I’ll let the guys know how you’re doing. While you’re sick, write a few songs.”

“So much for being subtle, Ern,” I wrote on the board.

He pointed at me with a half-smirk, half-scowl on his face. “You’re still on my payroll, and since you can’t sing, write some music,” he said. “Give me a hit song we can use for the album.”

Rather than scribble anymore, I gave him a “thumbs up.” Jason’s footsteps in the stairwell acted as a deterrent for Ernie’s tendency to linger.

“Are you doing okay down here, kiddo?” Jason said. “I’ll toss him out if I need to.” He smiled at Ernie and winked. “I might be past my prime, but I can still throw down with the best of them.” Ernie laughed. Since the hospital, the two most important men in my life had gotten to know one another, and better yet, they hit it off.

“I’m on my way out, old man,” Ernie said, returning Jason’s light-hearted ribbing. “You,” he said, pointing at me, “write me a smash hit. Oh, yeah, and feel better soon.” He pointed back at Jason and winked. “Make sure she doesn’t utter another peep. She’s getting gutsy.”

“Will do, boss,” Jason said, teasing Ernie. “See you tomorrow?”

Ernie kicked the front door’s threshold with the toe of his perfect, shiny black boot. “Nah, I have some things to do at the studio. Make sure she picks up her song journal and adds some lyrics to it while she’s sick? She owes me some music.”

I sighed. No fair picking on me while I couldn’t defend myself. Jason, who would tolerate Ernie’s ribbing to a point, stepped up in my defense. “She’s under doctor’s orders to rest. Sorry, boss.”

Ernie grumbled and waved on his way out the front door.

Jason locked it behind Ernie. “He’s an ass sometimes,” Jason muttered. That made me laugh. “Would you like some of your mama’s famous soup, sweetheart?”

Would I ever! Since I couldn’t say it, my emphatic nodding would have to convey my message. Poppy, who’d been hiding under the window inside a side table’s cubby hole, came out and jumped back up in my lap. I shifted my gaze to Jason, smiled, and snuggled down on the sofa with Poppy curled up on my chest.

While I was recovering, I wrote eight new songs for my debut, self-titled studio album. Ernie loved them, but I felt they were lackluster in their composition, though I never said so to Ross. He had enough to deal with. Two band members took an extended leave during my illness, which left Ross and me scrambling to write the music.

The result was an album that sounded rushed and uninspired. It surely wasn’t the smash hit we’d hoped for; “Maybe It’s Better This Way” was the only top-ten song on it, peaking on the charts at number four. According to Ernie, the songs we released, and the album as a whole, grossly underperformed in a market ripe for the picking. Despite the vast number of songs I’d written over the years, I felt none of them were chartbuster material.

After the failure of my first album, my confidence hit an all-time low; I wasn’t recording in the studio. We did no live shows around town, mostly because no one wanted to hire a twenty-four-year-old washout with one hit song. I spent my days at work with my guitar, writing chords down I thought could go with lyrics I’d written. Nothing was clicking.

Ernie kept asking for new songs, new music, anything we could use for a follow-up album. My answer was always, “I’m working on it, Ern.” And his reply was always, “You’d better be.” We continued the game of cat and mouse through the summer that year and well past his dwindling good will. I was skating on thin ice, but I’d never had so much trouble writing a decent song as I did the year that followed my failed first album.

It was a wintry, late January Monday morning, the year following my first album’s release. I’d been awake all night pacing the floor, scouring my old song journals, searching for that one elusive hit. It was something I’d done more than a dozen times since the Snowflake Day holiday. A pencil was stuck in my ponytail and, with my notebook—completely devoid of song lyrics, but heavy on inane doodles—lying on the coffee table in my living room, I came up blank… again.

“Come on!” I said out loud, emphasizing (almost screaming it, really) the word ‘on’. “There’s inspiration in there somewhere!” But the question was… where? For the umpteenth time that night, I plopped on the floor and drew the pencil from my hair. “Think, Des. THINK!” I’d been stricken with writer’s block other times, sure. But this time seemed different, maybe because my career advancement depended on my ability to snap out of this songwriting funk.

The embers in the fireplace were dying out—wisps of smoke lingered around the last glowing coals—and I’d just caught a groove with creativity when my alarm sounded upstairs on my alarm clock. Dammit! Was it really five in the morning already? I threw my pencil down on the coffee table and sprinted up the stairs, my thundering footsteps waking Poppy in the process. My time to write had run out; a warm shower and the dreaded rat-race awaited me. Poppy followed me into the bedroom and watched as I stripped down and walked into the shower.

I ran the water cooler than usual, trying to wake myself up. This staying up all night was for the birds. My dilemma dwelled in my mind as I rinsed shampoo from my hair and let the suds slalom their way down my back. I drizzled a bit of vanilla-scented shower gel onto a washcloth and started washing at my neck, working my way down.

A thin film of lather remained on my head and, when I leaned over to wash my legs, a bit of it trickled down into my eyes. I shrieked and jerked upward, banging my head on the shower door. Between the burning in my eyes and the pain of the impact, I imagined a huge gash on my head and a torrent of blood blossoming on the shower floor like something from a horror movie. I stood under the stream of water, rinsing my eyes and hair and, upon inspection, found no bumps, bruises, or cuts anywhere. Thank God!

I was a total wreck. What would I tell Ernie if I had nothing new for him? Deflecting his questions had been pretty easy, especially when I was sick. But that was a year ago; my inaction only prolonged the inevitable. A deep schism had formed in our working relationship. We used to laugh and have fun at the studio. Now it was tense and uncomfortable; I didn’t know how to fix it.

I stepped from the shower, deep in thought, right onto Poppy’s tail. Her screech startled me and I jumped a foot. She cowered in the doorway—her tail bristled like a baseball bat and her back arched—as though I’d tried to kill her, and it made me feel horrible. I leaned forward to call her; she was always a forgiving soul, once again proven true by her rumbly purrs as I scooped her up and cuddled her. When I set her back down on her feet, she seemed uninjured.

By the time I got downstairs, I was running late, so I skipped breakfast. The office coffee maker brewed the same brand of coffee Jared served at the coffeehouse. I kept a bottle of caramel for the flavor component, even though I had no way to froth the milk for my caramel macchiato. It still made a decent cup of coffee, which was a good thing because the Flying V was no longer an option.

Poppy followed me down the steps to make sure I gave her breakfast before I headed out for the day. I popped a can open and spooned a slurry of what smelled like decomposed fish into her bowl. She loved it, but the stench made me gag. I fed her just before I walked from the house in the morning, so I didn’t have to smell it. With my little sweetheart fed and watered—and all of my song journals tucked into my backpack—I stepped through the door into the garage.

Though it was cold, my trusty little convertible started on the first try. I pulled out of my garage into a dusting of dry, powdery snowflakes that settled on my driveway. The forecast called for heavier snow that night, with flurries expected on and off through the day as a cold front from the north pulled through the area. The approaching snowstorm didn’t faze me. No one ever believed the weather forecast when it called for heavy snow, as those storms seldom materialized in the Shores. The altitude was too low, and the temperatures too warm for accumulation.

Despite the flurries, my drive to the studio took ten minutes that morning. I parked my car in the garage under the building in my assigned spot, locking it behind me. At least twenty others waited for the elevator with me, and I’d already had the Monday-est of Monday mornings. There was no desire to be cordial to fellow elevator riders. I just wanted to be left alone. Lucky for me, customary small talk about the weather didn’t happen, which was unusual, given the forecast.

Little by little, the crowd waiting for the elevator thinned out until it was my turn to board. Four others walked into the lift with me. Ernie’s office and studio occupied the top floor of the busy high-rise building. By the time it reached the penthouse, I was alone in the elevator.

The moment the door opened on the twenty-first floor, the scent of fresh coffee enveloped me. Perhaps the rich, nutty aroma emanated from the brewer in the breakroom, or it could have been from the cup Kerry sat and sipped while waiting for her computer to power on. She smirked and waved as I walked past her desk. Ernie’s secretary was accustomed to seeing me walk through the elevator door without a word, and into his office first thing every morning.

“Good morning, Des,” Kerry said. “He’s expecting you.” She gave me a solemn look, then motioned me over to her. “He’s on the warpath this morning,” she whispered. “Be aware.”

Oh great, I thought. Just what I needed was more Monday nonsense to pile on top of my morning. “Thanks for the heads up,” I said, walking toward Ernie’s office door.

Kerry took another sip of her morning brew and stared at her computer. She muttered something I didn’t catch at the monitor, then sunk her head into her hands. “I see how today is going to go,” she said, staring at the screen in front of her. Poor Kerry, I thought. It seemed I wasn’t the only one having a Monday.

Ernie was busy staring at his own laptop when I opened the door. I closed it behind me and made my way to the sofa. “Good morning, Superstar,” he said, not looking up from his cup of joe. Ernie preferred to call me “Superstar” over every nickname others used. I thought it a misnomer; “Superstar” didn’t come close to describing me.

“Hey Ernie. I’m still having problems…” (he rose from the chair where he sat and started walking) “with…” (his long strides brought him to the sofa as I spoke slower with each step) “this—” He plopped down on the sofa and interrupted me. It wasn’t like him to be intense right from the start. It was a good thing I didn’t have my coffee, because I’d have taken a second, hotter bath in it. “—um, songwriting… thing.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “I need to run something past you. Do you remember the prop from the private club where we had your party?”

“Of course I remember him. Why do you ask?”

“He needs an act for Wednesday night. His usual gig canceled on him, and Arthur’s in a bind. He asked for you.”

Wow, I thought to myself. I didn’t know Arthur Atwood well, and I didn’t expect that, out of all the professional singers in the city, he’d choose me to fill that spot. It both flattered and humbled me. How could I say no, especially when I needed the gig and, more importantly, the exposure?

“Okay, what’s the catch?” I said, half-joking and half not. In my experience, if things seemed too good to be true, they usually were.

Ernie laughed, which surprised me, given Kerry’s warning. “No catch. However, he wants you to see him at the club tonight for an audition. He says it’s a formality; Arthur wants you for this gig, Des.” He sidled up to me and nudged my arm. “Besides, I have it on good authority that he’s into you.”

“And there’s the catch. Ernie, I’m not interested in another man who will break my heart. I’m ready to go with this next album,” I said, lying like a rug. I wasn’t ready at all. “If you want to do another one, that is?” My fingers twirled a length of hair around them; my nervous tic still drove me crazy.

He walked back to sit at his desk, propping his feet on it. “I’m glad you brought that up, because that’s next on my agenda for you today. Des, I know you have wonderful songs written but, for some reason, you’re holding out on me. Why is that?” He sneered and chuckled, but the pleasantry faded as he stared at me.

I shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know.”

“Sure you do. You promised me a particular song a year ago, and yet, I haven’t heard it. I’m not listening to another one until you bring me that song.”

“Wait, what song?” What the hell was he talking about? I had an excellent memory, but no idea what he meant.

“Don’t play dumb with me. You know damn well what song.” Ah, now I see the bad mood, I thought to myself. That’s the end of Mr. Nice Guy today…

“No, I don’t know what song you mean, Ernie. I have dozens of them—”

He grunted his displeasure. “That one you always said Dean ruined for you.”

“Dean?” Who the heck is ‘Dean?’ In my mind, I was scrolling through the contacts on my phone to jog my memory. Stephen…? No. Jared…? Oh, hell no. Think, Des! Evangeline…? Now I’m just reaching. Jason…? Obviously not. Jeff—Oooh, you are stupid, Des, I thought. I smacked my forehead. “Oh, Jeff!” As far as I could remember, no one ever called Jeff by just his last name. I propped one foot on the coffee table and huffed.

“Of course, Jeff. Who did you think I meant?”

I sneered at him and ignored his question. “I haven’t thought of that song in a long time, Ernie. It’s been dead for a while.”

“Well, get out the paddles, because we’re going to revive it.”

I clicked my tongue at him. “Oh, come on. You’re not serious, are you?!” I waited (and waited, and waited, and waited…) for a response, but got nothing but a smirk and a low growl. “Oh my gosh, you’re not kidding.” I couldn’t believe it. “You realize that song needs a complete overhaul, right? It’s not worth my time or effort.”

Ernie rolled his eyes. “You realize I hired Ross for this purpose, right?” Touché, Ernie. Well played.

“Well, yeah, but… Ernie, this song’s been DOA for a long time.”

“Do you have any other smash hits in the hopper?” His fingers rapped on the desk in a syncopated rhythm, becoming louder with each tap.

I stammered. “N-Not really…”

Ernie’s irate glower could’ve stopped a train. “Then save the excuses for someone who gives a fu—”

“Shh!” I said, interrupting him and closing my fingers together with a ‘shush’ gesture. I knew what he wanted to say, and I didn’t appreciate it. Daddy would’ve read him the riot act for saying “that word” in front of Mama or me, and his language wasn’t always appropriate.

Ernie’s expression evolved from angry to furious. “I swear if you do that again, I’m going to lock you in the studio until that song is done, audition or not! I won’t hear another song until you bring me that one. The demo, on my desk by Friday. Am I clear?” His hand slammed the desktop with such force, I was sure he’d broken either his hand or the desk. “I’m done mucking around with you, Destiny.”

Remember how I once said that Ernie could be savage when the situation warranted it? Well, I found out what it felt like to be the target of his ire, and it sucked. Ernie had reached the end of his patience with me. “No” was no longer an acceptable answer. I took a deep breath and huffed. “Who peed in your cornflakes this morning?” That elicited a sullen scowl and a clenched jaw. I risked overplaying a hand I figured wasn’t at all welcomed. “Okay, okay,” I said. “I’m sorry. You win. I’ll work on it tonight—”

He stood from behind his desk, making his stature even more imposing. With every word, he jabbed his index finger into his desk. “No, Des, NOW!” Ernie said, growling through his teeth. He saw me cowering and toned himself down for the briefest moment. “If I let you slide until tonight, and you see Arthur for that audition, it will never get done.” He pointed toward the studio door; his temper was back, and his voice was firm. “Now!”

I threw my arms up in frustration, then bowed into a sardonic curtsy. “Fine! Have it your way, Mr. Big.” My voice dripped with sarcasm I knew he couldn’t mistake. I didn’t yell, but I wanted to; I bit my tongue so hard, I tasted blood.

“That’s more like it. You’re going to thank me someday for my persistence.” He sank into his chair, victorious, with a self-satisfied grin. He knew he’d won this battle. Ernie – 1, Destiny – 0.

I growled under my breath as I walked away from him. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

“I heard that!” he yelled, laughing as I stomped from his office, heading toward the studio.

I was outraged at Ernie’s demands that I resurrect “It Hurts Both Ways.” He didn’t realize the history it had; my daddy passed away listening to me sing that song to him, which in itself made me ache thinking about singing it again. Jeff rewrote the lyrics and chords as a duet; as much as I hated to admit, my arrangement sucked compared to his. Sputtering under my breath as I walked, I opened the door to the studio’s sound booth. I didn’t see Ross there when I slammed the door and growled, “Ugh!”

“Well, good morning to you, too, Miss Grumpy Pants,” he said, snickering. I have to admit he startled me with his cheery greeting; I jumped a foot, and my heart skipped two beats.

“How much of my grumbling did you hear?” Should I have been embarrassed or miffed that I got caught being grumpy? I didn’t know.

“Enough to know you’re having a Monday.”

“Why are you here so early, Hampton?” I said. “We don’t have studio time until Thursday.”

“Ernie called me last night to help you with a song he wants remade.” He played a melodic guitar riff, then turned the amp down a notch when he noticed my dour expression. “I guess it’s a bit early for loud music. Sorry about that, Des.”

I shrugged. “It’s okay.” Other things—more important things, like Ernie’s animus—were on my mind. “He isn’t letting me off the hook with that song.”

Ross chuckled, continuing to pick at the guitar strings. “No, and he shouldn’t, either. I’ve seen your songs, Destiny. You’re a gifted lyricist.” He set his guitar down on the amp, unfolded a chair for me to sit, then patted it for me. “So, show me this masterpiece. How can we improve it?”

I wrinkled my nose and breathed a deep sigh. “I’m not sure we can, and it breaks my heart. My daddy loved this song.” I paused, hopeful that Ross could be the genius I needed to correct Jeff’s revisions. “Will you help me fix it, Ross? The last time I sang it was with my ex-fiancé. He remade my treasure into something it was never meant to be, and I can’t unhear his version of it.”

“Where’s the song, Des? I’d like to see the lyrics before we start.”

I reached into my backpack and pulled out my oldest notebook, the one with songs scribbled in ten-year-old chicken scratch. “First page. Don’t mind all the cross-outs and scrawled writing. I was only ten when I wrote this song.” I placed the journal, with its torn, dirty pages but worth its weight in gold, into Ross’ hands as though it were an infant needing tender loving care. “This is my baby. Ernie thinks we can revive it. Do you think we can?”

“Most certainly.” He nodded and flipped the notebook open to the first page; his lips moved as he read the words. On his third time skimming through the song, he looked at me and grinned. “You were only ten when you wrote this?” I nodded, noticing his shocked expression. “Hot damn, girl! This song is chock-full of potential!”

Ross’s compliments flustered me. “Yeah, I was. Katie Price advised me to keep this song to myself until I recorded it. She saw a lot of potential in it, too.”

He sat back in his seat and stared at me. “You know Katie?”

“Mmhmm. She let me open a concert for her back home when I was sixteen.” I smiled, remembering my first time on stage. “We’ve lost touch since then.”

“She’s a busy gal, that’s for sure,” Ross said. “Back to your song. Sing it for me? I need to know how you hear it, because I have specific chords in mind when I read those words.”

“Sure.” I strummed the first chords of Daddy’s song for Ross as he sat there, listening to each note I sang. He started making notes in his own journal as I played. When I finished, Ross was smiling, but I didn’t know if it was because he liked the song as written, or if he was forming his own ideas.

“Des, that was fantastic! I think we can tweak it a bit, and make this sound phenomenal. I hear the chorus and the bridge a little differently in my head, though. If you’ll bear with me, I know we can make this a killer song.”

“Of course, I’ll bear with you. Anything is better than it is now.”

Ross nudged my arm and grinned. “We’re going to show that ex-boyfriend of yours how country music is done.”

For the first time in years, “It Hurts Both Ways” gave me hope. I imagined Daddy smiling down on me from Heaven, nodding and affirming that we were finally on the right path.

*****

At noon, Ross and I stopped for lunch. Ernie, either out of generosity or sheer determination (maybe both) catered lunch for everyone in the office so we wouldn’t need to leave the studio. Before the delivery arrived, I excused myself to call Arthur. I had an audition to schedule.

Ernie was nice enough to scribble Arthur’s number into my notebook. I walked into the breakroom and dialed the phone; beads of perspiration formed on my forehead. I told myself I wasn’t nervous.

Was I?

Nah, I thought. It’s in your head, Destiny. The phone rang a few times, and I was getting ready to hang up when a sleepy voice answered the call.

“Uh, questo è Arturo,” he said in Italian. I had no clue what he’d uttered.

“I beg your pardon?”

There was a deep, raspy chuckle, and then he cleared his throat. “This is Arthur. And to whom am I speaking?”

“Hi, Arthur, this is Destiny Hill—”

“Ah, sì! Miss Destiny! I’ve been waiting for your call. Ernie kept his promise, I see. It’s so good to hear from you.”

His genuine warmth flustered me. It was something that didn’t happen often. “Um, yeah,” I said. “Ernie said you wanted me to drop by the club tonight?”

“Sì! My regular act for Wednesday evening canceled this week, and I’m in a jam. I’m hoping you’re available. Can you come by for an audition, say around nine, maybe nine-thirty? It’s just a formality, you know. I need you for this gig.”

Though the hour was late, and though I hadn’t slept a wink in well over twenty-four hours, I accepted. “Um, sure. Sure, that’d be okay. Do I need to bring anything?”

Arthur laughed on the other end of the phone. “No, pretty lady. Just bring that beautiful voice. You remember the club, sì?”

“Yes. By the coffeehouse, right?”

“Sì! I can’t wait to see you again, Destiny.”

“Likewise, Arthur. Nine o’clock?”

“Tonight.”

“Tonight.” There was an uncomfortable silence; I tried to think of something else to say, but I came up empty. Ross’s arrival in the breakroom brought the excuse I needed to hang up. “I-I should get back to the studio. Ross is waiting for me.” Ross heard me invoke his name and laughed. I heard him say, “Don’t blame that on me!” as he walked away.

“Ah, yes,” Arthur said. “Don’t keep him waiting! I’ll see you tonight.”

“Tonight,” I repeated. The call disconnected; whether or not he heard me say ‘tonight’ was a mystery. “Well, that was weird,” I said out loud, slipping my phone into my back pocket. I thought I was alone.

I was wrong.

“Arthur?” Ernie said, startling me. He snuck up behind me; the caterer was five steps behind him. Somehow, he’d tiptoed into the break room without me noticing. He couldn’t help himself.

“Yeah. How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough to see your expression when you hung up. What happened?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, except a little awkward toward the end.”

“How’s the song coming along?” he said, changing the subject. Ernie wasn’t letting up on the song, that much was clear.

“Ross and I are working on rewriting some of the chords. He hears the song differently, so I told him I’d be open to anything at this point. It needs to be fresh and new, so it doesn’t remind me so much of Jeff.” Or my daddy.

Ernie nodded. “That’s fair. What time is your date tonight?”

I scoffed and huffed a lock of hair from my face. “It’s NOT a date! It’s an audition.”

“I don’t get that impression, judging by the look on your face and the blush on your cheeks.” He smiled for the first time since that morning. “You can’t wait to see him!”

It was a good thing Ernie couldn’t hear my eyes rolling. “Yeah, no.”

“I know something you don’t, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy.” Ernie side-eyed me, wearing a sly grin on his face.

“You’re a better agitator than my washing machine,” I said. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me.”

“You suppose correctly.”

“Not even a hint?” I knew he meant well, but Ernie was beginning to annoy me.

“You wouldn’t believe me, even if I told you. It’s something you need to discover on your own.”

“Ugh!” I said. “If you need me, I’m in the studio with Ross!”

“What about lunch?”

“What about it?!” I half-screamed at him and stomped away.

Ernie laughed. As I left, I heard him say under his breath, “I need to piss you off more often!” He closed the door to his office just as I reached the studio.

*****

Ross and I worked on the song together until six-thirty, stopping because I had the audition at Arthur’s club. I could have worked on it into the early hours of the morning. In rearranging the song, I’d forgotten how good it was, and how much I loved it. More importantly, I remembered how much Daddy loved it, too. My excitement about the song renewed. Maybe “It Hurts Both Ways” would be my first number one hit.

The cold temperature was numbing, typical of late January. The weather forecast called for snow flurries in the overnight hours. I shivered as I walked to my car; plumes of steam puffed from my mouth with each exhale. My icy hands fumbled with the key, trying to open the door to my ragtop. I needed to rethink this whole convertible thing; it was fine in the summer, but not so great in the dead of winter. Maybe I needed a pickup like Jason’s. He had his since he lived in the Plains and it still purred like a kitten.

The sky, which would normally be dark, had the telltale haze that foretold snow; tiny flakes already fell from it. If nothing else, the weather forecasters got one right for a change. Just my luck they’d make a correct prediction of snow on a night I needed to be somewhere. So far, the freezing precipitation melted on contact with the salt-treated pavement. If the temperature continued to drop, driving could get ugly. I’d need to make this a quick audition and get home before the roads turned slick.

By the time I pulled into my driveway, the snow drizzle had stopped. I reached for the remote to open my garage door—an upgrade Jared had talked me into buying, and on nights like tonight, I was thankful he did—and crept inside. A blast of warmer air greeted me when I opened the kitchen door; it comforted me to see Poppy waiting in her usual place. I bent to scratch her head. “Come on, sweet girl,” I said to her. She ran ahead of me, up the stairs and into my bedroom, where she perched on my bed.

After such a long, tiring day in the studio, all I wanted was a bath and a cup of tea. Instead, I needed to drag myself from the house and head to the private club on the Los Sueños strip. The payout on this gig would be worth the effort, I told myself as I stripped down and stepped into a warm shower. I did a brief once-over and washed my hair, singing as I did. When I was finished, I applied a light leave-in conditioner to my wet mop and stepped from the tub.

I wrapped up in a towel and stood in front of the bathroom mirror. My hair needed to dry first, because it was thick and would take the most time to complete. I reached for my hair dryer and brushed the natural curl from it, drying it section by section. When I walked back into the bedroom to dress, it was almost eight-thirty. I’d intended to have a nibble to eat—my first and only meal of the day—before I left for the club, but I had to hustle if I was going to arrive on time for a nine o’clock audition!

I didn’t have time for full makeup, so I brushed some chocolate brown shadow on my eyes and painted my lips with a warm coral lipstick. The black sweater dress I’d had for years was the perfect choice. It looked good on me, and I felt fearless wearing it. I needed to exude confidence for this audition, regardless of what Ernie and Arthur had told me. I was more nervous than I’d ever admit.

Pleased with my appearance, I grabbed my evening bag, placed my lipstick into it, and walked down the steps. Poppy sat at the kitchen door waiting for her supper, which I’d forgotten to give her in my hurried state. I filled her bowl with kibble, and I leaned to scratch her head again. “Don’t wait for me, sweet girl.” She mewed at me with the most pathetic look. “You’ll be okay,” I said, though I felt guilty for leaving her alone. If I didn’t risk being coated in fur, I’d have picked her up for one last snuggle. Instead, I patted her head before I locked the door behind me and walked to my car.

I got into my convertible and started it, opening the garage door to a sky full of snow drizzling down upon the city. A light dusting had accumulated since I’d gotten home two hours earlier, which surprised me. On the drive to the club, the snow fell at varying rates, from heavy to non-existent; at the club, it was more on the lighter spectrum. As I pulled up to the club’s parking lot, I couldn’t help but notice the lights still on at the coffeehouse. At almost nine o’clock, it wasn’t usual for them to still be open. A sharp knock on my window startled me; a young man stood, dressed in a warm dress coat and wearing a wool cap, waiting for my attention. I rolled down my window.

“Can I, um, help you?” I said.

“I’m here for your car, Miss Hill,” the young man said. The name on his tag read ‘James.’

“Oh, no, but thank you.” I turned off the engine and opened my door; James stopped me from exiting.

“I insist. Mr. Atwood has instructed me to care for your vehicle. I promise it will come back in perfect condition.” James stood waiting, his hand extended and ready for my keys. “Please, Miss Hill?” He jutted his open hand out again, exaggerating the gesture.

“If you must, I guess I’ll let you,” I said, placing the key into his hand and watching his fist close around it. James politely offered his other hand to help me out of my car, which I accepted. I expected a claim ticket. Instead, the young man smiled at me.

“Your car is the only one in the valet tonight, Miss. You won’t need a claim ticket.”

I thought it odd that, on a Monday night, I’d be the only car in the lot. I decided, however, not to press it. “Very well,” I said. “Thank you, James.”

“Raphael awaits your arrival, Miss Hill.” James bowed before me and gestured toward a man at the club’s entrance. “Have fun this evening.”

I returned his bow and smiled. “Thank you again.”

As expected, a tall, heavy-set man stood at the door waiting for me. “You must be Miss Hill,” Raphael said. “Allow me.” He stepped aside, pulled the door open for me, and held it. I stepped through the door and looked around. There was not a soul inside the club. Granted, it was only Monday night, but there should have been others around.

The lights inside the club were muted; the only lights flickered from ceiling-mounted gobos and candles that shimmered in glass jars on the tables. Soft, sultry jazz music piped in from the overhead sound system. Though no one was there, the bar had every sign of being open for business. What’s going on?! I thought to myself. I felt like a fool, having fallen for an epic prank, when Arthur stepped from a back room.

“Ciao!” he said, his voice echoing through the club. “I didn’t realize you had arrived. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you.”

Boy, was I happy to see him! “Hi, Arthur,” I said. “I thought Ernie set me up.”

“Oh, no. No games or pranks here. The owner loses money by opening the doors on Monday nights during the winter, so we’re closed. This should be my night off.”

“Y-You shouldn’t have gone through so much trouble. I’m sorry,” I said.

He walked to where I stood. His piercing blue eyes were mesmerizing as he peered into mine. “Don’t be sorry. It was no trouble at all.” He winked at me and gave me a sly smile. “Besides, I’ll have more time to pay attention to your audition when no one else is here.” He walked to the bar and opened a bottle of wine. “Can I get a drink for you? Maybe a glass of sweet, red vino?”

I nodded. He had me figured out. “That sounds very nice, thank you.” I watched as he popped the cork from a pretty bottle of wine and poured a scant glassful of it. As he handed it to me, Arthur swirled the glass. “What kind of wine is this?” He showed me the bottle, with its fancy script: “Brachetto d’acqui.” It was dark red and smelled fruity, with floral notes. “I’ve never heard of… how do you say it?”

Arthur’s warm laugh made me smile. “Bra-ket-toe,” he said, articulating each syllable and rolling his ‘r’. He held the wine for me to see; the bottle was embossed with the name ‘Rossari’. “My brother in Monte Vista owns this winery. We are the only club in the Mainland to stock their wine.”

“I’ve never heard of Rossari before. Is it a small winery?”

Arthur nodded. “It was Mamma’s before she retired. My brother, Giorgio, owns and runs it now. He’s revived the old, worn out farmland, and I’m proud of him. This variety of brachetto is one of his new creations. Rossari is the sole winery in Monte Vista to make this blend. It’s quite good.”

He spoke of his family back in Italy with obvious affection. “Have you seen them since you’ve been away? Your family, I mean.”

He shook his head and sighed. “No, sadly. Someday, when I make my fortune, I’d love to go home to visit my family. Mamma and Papà are getting older, but I haven’t seen her since I was a young boy. I hope I don’t miss my chance to see her one last time.”

“I’m sure you’ll make it home someday,” I said. The conversation was increasingly awkward and uncomfortable. I recalled our brief discussion about music from the cab ride years ago and changed the subject. “How is your music coming along?”

His blue eyes sparkled in the dim light. “You remembered! It is going well enough, but this job pays the bills, whereas our gigs are few. I enjoy being a prop,” he said. “It brought us together, did it not?”

I blushed a deep red. “Yes.” My finger twirled a strand of long red hair around it. So much for making the conversation less awkward. “So,” I said, “about the audition—”

He put his finger to my lips and smiled. “There is no need to rush. We have all evening.” He poured a scant glass of a white wine for himself and joined me at the bar. “To a new business partnership!” he said, offering a toast. “Cheers!”

“Cheers,” I said. We both sipped from our glasses; the brachetto was sweet and effervescent on my tongue, and its warmth spread down into my belly. I closed my eyes and savored the taste of the wine, reminding myself to be careful, as I hadn’t eaten all day. More than one glass of this stuff, and I’d never be able to drive home. That thought reminded me of the business at hand. “Arthur, I appreciate you opening the club for my audition, but I’ve spent all day in the studio and I’m tired. Would it be a problem if—”

He sighed, but nodded his head. “It’s not a problem at all. But,” he said, “I would really love to take you on a proper date.” His hand brushed mine, which made me shiver. “Please, Destiny? I’d like to get to know you better.”

I hadn’t looked at another man or thought about dating anyone since Jared and I parted ways. The pain of heartbreak lingered, and I wouldn’t renege on the promise I made to myself. I set my wineglass on the bar and shied away from him. “I-I don’t know, Arthur. Work takes most of my time; I’m not sure there’s room for a relationship in my life.”

He looked as though he wanted to press it, but he patted my hand instead. “It’s okay. You know,” he said, “you don’t need to sing if you don’t wish. I know you’re talented, and I know I want you for the gig on Wednesday night. You came in and sang for me if anyone asks. Right?”

“Singing isn’t the issue. My heart isn’t in the right place for a relationship. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, Arthur. My life is complicated, and—”

“Mia bella signora, you don’t have to explain a thing to me. It doesn’t mean I won’t keep trying, though.” He winked and flashed a bright smile at me. “I like a challenge.”

That made me chuckle. “I will definitely be a challenge.” I winked back and returned his warm smile.

“Accepted!” We both laughed, the awkwardness of the moment vanishing the longer we sat.

How long we sat talking together, I didn’t know. The wine was sweet and fruity; the conversation was light and easy. Before I knew it, he was pouring the last of the Brachetto into my glass. The clock that hung over the bar read 1:37 AM, and I was feeling no pain at all. We sipped wine and laughed together for another half-hour before I looked outside.

The predicted snow flurries had turned into a bona fide blizzard, with near white-out conditions at the club. Snow plows hadn’t been down the side roads I’d need to travel, which would be dangerous when I wasn’t drunk. We’d both had too much wine, and I never sang for him.

“It’s late,” I said. “I need to get home.”

“It’s not safe for you to drive on these roads, and certainly not in your condition.” He stood and took my hands. “I live in a studio apartment upstairs from the club. You’re welcome to stay. It has little in the way of furniture, but you can have the bed. I’ll curl up on the floor.”

Did he really just invite me up to his apartment? “Oh, Arthur, I-I don’t know.”

“You’re not driving home, and calling a cab would be impossible. No taxi driver would risk their life for a fare in a snowstorm like this. I would know!” He chuckled and motioned me to him. “I promise I won’t take advantage of you.”

Poppy would be okay, as I’d put food out for her before I left. I just had to convince myself that Arthur had no other agenda aside from letting me crash at his place during a snowstorm. He’d already confessed he had feelings for me (I hated when Ernie was right!) What did Arthur really want? That question swirled in my head—or maybe it was the wine—and made me dizzy. I stumbled into him face first; he caught me before I fell flat on my kisser. He wore a look of concern, and I supposed it was warranted. I was drunk and in a position I should’ve never been in. What would Daddy say? Or worse, what would Mama say? I could hear it now. “You know better than to get drunk with a man, Destiny. They only want one thing. Remember your promise.” My rebuttal? “Too late…”

“That settles it,” he said. “You’re coming upstairs with me.” He took my arm under his and steadied me on the narrow staircase that led from a storage room to a locked door. Arthur fumbled for the key on a ring that held twenty; when he found it, he turned it in the door and unlocked the apartment. “Ladies first,” he said, flourishing as he allowed me to stagger in ahead of him.

Arthur wasn’t kidding when he said he had few pieces of furniture. The studio apartment, as he called it, was about the size of my bedroom at home, if not a little smaller. I wasn’t sure the space was intended for occupancy; it looked more like a converted utility or janitor closet. The walls were constructed from cinder blocks and left bare. The floor looked like cement, covered by an area rug in the main living space. Chill from the outside crept through the walls, making me shiver. That, too, could have been the wine. Any light he had in the room came from lamps and barren light fixtures installed on the ceiling; there were no windows or any sources of exterior light.

Beyond the living area sat a toilet, a slipshod shower, and an industrial sink. A decorative divider separated the bathroom from the rest of the room and created the illusion of privacy. I guessed if it was just Arthur up there, privacy wasn’t a priority, nor was it necessary. The rest of the space held a loveseat with a matching chair, a bookcase, a mini refrigerator, and a microwave oven. A small lamp sat on an old fly case that functioned as an end table. The whole arrangement looked like an afterthought instead of being intentional.

He gave me a shy smile. “If you’d like, I have an old shirt you can wear to sleep in, and a pair of flannel pants that belonged to my ex-wife. You’re about the same size as Nicki. There’s a hanger in the restroom; you can hang your dress on the hook in there. I need to close the club downstairs. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Arthur pulled the clothing from a tiny wardrobe I didn’t notice until he opened it, and set them on the sofa for me. “Thank you,” I said.

“My pleasure, darling,” he said. “I’ll be right back. Give me ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes…” I picked up the outfit he’d set out for me and stumbled my way to the bathroom. Just as he’d said, a hanger dangled on a hook by the shower fixture. I stepped out of my dress and hung it, taking care that it was straight. His shirt smelled of cologne I could have sworn I’d smelled before, and felt like a warm hug when it slipped over my head. He was right, too, about the flannel pants being my size.

While I had the opportunity in Arthur’s absence, I thought I’d use the toilet. Bending forward nauseated me; I fell to my knees in front of the toilet, dropped my head into it, and vomited the last glass of wine I’d consumed. I retched twice more, but nothing came up. On shaky legs, I stood and flushed the toilet. Okay, so maybe staying here wasn’t such a bad idea after all, I thought, gazing at the reflection staring back at me in the mirror. I couldn’t tell if the dark circles under my eyes were the shadow I’d brushed on earlier that night, or from me being drunk and tired. Maybe it was both. I gathered some cold water in my hands and sipped it into my mouth, swished it for a few seconds and spat it out into the sink. The water that remained on my hands, I splashed onto my face, then patted it dry on the towel hanging in his shower.

Arthur was back in the apartment when I wobbled out from behind the screen. He smiled when he saw me looking at him. The sofa, it turned out, hid a Murphy bed that sat against the wall. He’d pulled it down, and was just finishing making it with fresh sheets, pillows, and a few plush blankets. “I want to make sure you’re nice and warm tonight. It gets chilly up here in the winter.”

“How long have you lived here?” I pushed some hair behind my ear, padding toward him and hoping I wouldn’t fall. I needed to sit. Maybe if I did, the world would stop spinning.

He sighed and looked to the ceiling, as though he was thinking. “Nicki and I have been divorced for two years, and I’ve worked here a few months longer. So, two years.”

“Do you bring all the young ladies up here that you audition?” In my drunken state, it seemed a valid question. As the words left my mouth, I realized how inappropriate it was. “Ooh,” I said. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

Arthur turned away from me and blushed. “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of me, Destiny. My papà was the ladies’ man. I live here alone, and after work, I return here alone. I haven’t looked at another woman since my wife left me, except for one enchantress who is a bit untouchable.” He spun around slowly, taking in the cozy room little by little. “I know it isn’t much, but it’s all I can manage for now. You know the saying, Destiny. Love is grand, but divorce is ten grand.” Arthur laughed, but in his expression, there was sadness. “She’s ensured I can’t live anywhere decent. I’m…” His words faded in sorrow. “I’m not used to living like this.”

The heartache my simple—but stupid—question brought him made me feel terrible. I never meant to cause him pain, or to dredge up old, hurtful memories. “I’m sorry, Arthur,” I said. “Please, forgive me?”

A genuine smile pulled across his face. “There is nothing to forgive. The wine makes me feel a little sentimental. I hope you don’t think less of me.”

“Of course not,” I said. I apparently hadn’t learned my lesson—or the wine had eliminated my filter—because I asked him the next forward question. “You mentioned you’re not used to living this way. If it’s not too personal to ask, what did you mean?”

Arthur peeled off his oxford, standing shirtless for a moment before he grabbed a long-sleeved pullover. I watched every move he made pulling the shirt over his head; his body was toned and well-defined, but not muscular. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, and he noticed me watching him. Whether out of modesty or sheer embarrassment, he covered himself. I, on the other hand, was captivated.

He padded over to the living chair and sat, inviting me to sit on the edge of the sleeper bed. I climbed up onto the bed and sat somewhat cross-legged, gathering my hair in my hands as though I was making a ponytail, but letting it fall from my hands and cascade down over my shoulders. Unfazed by my subconscious hair play, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Papà worked for the symphony orchestra before he retired a couple of years ago. He was successful and is a wealthy man. My sister Dani and I grew up in a mansion in the foothills, posh and well-appointed.”

“When I graduated secondary school, Nicole and I married that night. Papà warned me not to marry her, and that if I did, there would be dire consequences. I went against his wishes. He evicted us from the mansion, revoked the credit cards I carried for emergencies, closed my trust and all my savings accounts. Nicki and I were eighteen-years-old and penniless when he threw us out, but she wasted no time. She got a job waiting tables at the diner on the east end of town, and we rented a studio apartment no bigger than this room soon afterward.”

“I found some guys who were interested in working as a group, so we formed a band. The music everyone in town wanted wasn’t what we played, so we didn’t get gigs often. When we did, we weren’t asked back. Nicole worked two and three jobs to make ends meet while she allowed me to pursue my career in music.” He shook his head and rubbed his face. “She was much too lenient. I didn’t deserve her.”

“We existed that way for years. Nicki worked her fingers to the bone every day and night, while I wrote music and practiced for the next gig. She came home from work one afternoon and saw me lying on the sofa,” he gestured toward the one he’d moved, “and my darling Nicole gave me an ultimatum; I needed to find an actual job, or she would leave me. That afternoon, I started working for the cab company. But my efforts were inconsequential. Her heart was already gone, and she’d already decided she was leaving.”

“I’m so sorry, Arthur,” I said. “I didn’t mean to bring up awful memories.”

“It’s okay, Destiny. I’ve learned much from my mistakes. I’m more responsible now than I was, though I’m no better off. Spousal support will end soon; she’s marrying a wealthy man who will take care of her. Someone better suited for her than I was. Love doesn’t fix everything.”

“Have you reconciled with your father since your divorce?” I said, and then cringed. “I don’t know why I’m asking you such personal questions.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “We’re talking again, which is good, but he tells me I need to earn his trust. I understand where he comes from. I broke his heart when I disobeyed him. He said he had sacrificed too much for me to marry a girl like Nicole. Though she and I had good years together, there were more bad ones than good. Will I admit marrying her was a mistake? No. But if I could do things over, I wouldn’t make the same choices.”

“I haven’t been married, but I was engaged,” I said.

“I recall,” he said. “You were going to meet him the first time we met. What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Turnabout is fair play, I thought. “He was a musician and singer with his own band, both in college and afterward. They started up in Bridgeport, heeding some good advice he’d gotten from an ex-band member. He was offered a record contract and a nationwide tour after a talent scout discovered them. I was jealous of his instant success when I’d spent a year struggling here. I couldn’t see past the envy, and I—in a bitter rage—sputtered the most awful words I’ve ever spoken.”

Arthur reached to hold my hand, and for some unknown reason, I let him. “What did you say?”

“I told him I hated him. Reality was far from it, but I wrecked our two-year relationship with those three careless words. I couldn’t forgive myself for the longest time.”

Arthur patted the hand he held in his. “You seem to be doing well now, even in his absence.”

“Mmhmm,” I said. “But men and I don’t get along. I’ve been hurt over and over with the same awful lies, which I keep believing.” I pulled my hand away from him and clasped them together in my lap. “My hesitancy with you isn’t personal, Arthur. I don’t want to be hurt again. I’m better off single.” Was it he or the wine that made me feel woozy? I didn’t know. The longer I sat up, the worse I felt.

“I would never hurt you,” he said with a smile.

I shook my head and made myself dizzier. “That wasn’t a good idea,” I said and closed my eyes. “Do you mind if I lie down? I don’t feel well.”

“Of course, darling,” Arthur said.

That was the last thing I remembered before I fell asleep.

My phone rang the next morning, but I missed answering it. The room was pitch dark—the only light came from the dimmed glow of my phone’s display—and I didn’t know my surroundings. The phone light turned off; again, the room was pitch dark. I knew things weren’t normal when I realized there was someone in the bed with me, AND I was snuggled up to him! The man next to you is the least of your worries, I thought to myself. If I’d done something unimaginable, it was Arthur and not some random dude I’d picked up at a bar. After his confession the night before, though, a stranger might have been preferred. I needed to know how I got here, and why. I was nauseated, my head was foggy, and my eyes were dry from a blistering hangover.

My phone rang again, but I was too lazy to reach for it. I already knew who it was; the ringtone was Ernie’s. Part of me was afraid to move, fearing that I’d turn my stomach and vomit on my sleeping partner. That was another problem—my bed partner. How the hell did he end up in bed with me? And where was I? Was Poppy here, too? And why didn’t I remember anything?!

I moved away from him—trying to not wake him—and grabbed my phone. Blink… blink… where was the moisture in my eyes? They felt like the desert. I pried one open, and through it, gazed at my phone. The light from the screen’s display was glaring, making me nauseated. I squinted through the haze of a headache and a hangover; five missed calls from Ernie G. Oh boy, I thought. This won’t be pretty.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?” Arthur said. Someone had some explaining to do, and he needed to do it sooner than later. What the hell?!

“Um… yeah, I guess? What happened last night? And why are you in bed with me?!” It was less a question and more a demand to know.

“How much do you remember?” he said.

“I remember drinking wine at the club. It was late, and I needed to get home, but I couldn’t drive.”

Arthur told me everything that had happened, and as he spoke, I recalled the events of the previous evening. Sipping wine on an empty stomach and talking for hours at the bar. I remember the weather being more than inclement, with snow that piled up while we sat together. His firm insistence that I stay here, safe and warm with him instead of driving drunk on impassable roads. I remembered throwing up in his bathroom and changing my outfit; even the warm scent of his spicy cologne on the shirt I wore. I remembered everything, right up until I passed out.

“I recall telling you I didn’t feel well,” I said. “Everything after that is blurry.”

Arthur smiled but had that same hungover look about him, as though he felt as awful as I did. “You laid down, and you were asleep before your head hit the pillow,” he said. “I covered you and took my blanket to the floor; that’s where I started out. But it was cold in here last night, and the blanket I had wasn’t enough. I couldn’t, no, I wouldn’t take blankets from you and leave you without. I guess my shivering and chattering teeth woke you, and you insisted I share the blankets—and bed—with you. At first, I didn’t want to, but I also didn’t wish to get sick.”

“So, we didn’t…” My mouth turned dry as sawdust, praying I didn’t do something stupid in my compromised state.

“Have sex? No, my darling. We did not. I already told you I wouldn’t take advantage of you. I’m many things, Destiny, but a treacherous man is not one of them.”

My cheeks blushed hot with embarrassment. “I-I didn’t mean to imply you were. I’m so sorry—”

He shook his head and smiled. “There’s no need to apologize.” Arthur stood and stretched. “I know you have things to do. You’re welcome to shower if you’d like.”

I glanced at my watch; 9:51 AM!? Holy cow, I was so late! “I appreciate the offer, but I have no time. I’ll freshen up at the studio.” The floor was cold beneath my feet and made me shiver. It was no wonder Arthur ended up in bed with me. Only a monster would have forced him to sleep on a cold, hard floor, and I was no monster. At least, not anymore.

I remembered hanging my dress and leggings in his bathroom the night before. I excused myself and walked to the hook where my clothes waited for me. The shirt came off, but before I set it down, I held it to my nose and breathed in one last time. I was certain I’d smelled this cologne before, but where? It tried to tickle my memory, but I couldn’t place it. Maybe it reminded me of Daddy’s spicy, woodsy cologne, that fading scent I smelled every night when I read his prayer book. That had to be it, I thought, pulling on my sweater dress and leggings.

My boots were by the bed, which Arthur had cleaned and folded up. He’d started a pot of coffee and offered me a cup, but I needed to get to the studio before I didn’t have a job. My hair was a disaster, but I kept a hairbrush in my car. That was another issue I hadn’t thought of before then. The club wasn’t open downstairs, and my car was in valet parking. I took a mint from my evening bag to suck on, hoping it would conquer what was sure to be horrible morning breath.

“I, um, need to go,” I said. “My car is in valet parking.”

“The key is locked up downstairs. I’ll walk you out, darling,” he said. I nodded. He opened the door and let me pass through first. The staircase was only wide enough for one of us at a time, but since the door at the bottom was locked, he needed to go first. He took his time, keeping watch over me as I navigated the narrow steps, making sure I didn’t slip.

He opened the door and walked into the club; it was dark and silent. The only evidence that we’d been there the night before were two empty wineglasses and two dry bottles that sat on the bar. Arthur walked behind the bar and took a lockbox from it; the key to open it was small, and he found it right away on his keychain. The key to my convertible hung on a hook inside the lockbox.

“Let me go get your car for you,” he said. “It’s a walk from the garage—”

“It’s okay,” I said. “If I’m the only car there, it shouldn’t be hard to find.”

He chuckled. “It isn’t about finding your car, darling. Please, allow me?”

I sighed. This wasn’t the hill to die on, not now. I needed to be at work three hours ago. “Alright.”

“Wait inside, Destiny. It’s frigid out there.” He walked to the club’s back door, which led to the staircase down to the garage. I peered out the windows at the winter wonderland outside the front door. At least eight inches of fresh snow covered the ground, though the streets and sidewalks were already plowed and shoveled. The thermometer on the marquee outside the club read twenty-eight degrees. The roads were passable, but they looked slick. Once I was in my car, I’d call Ernie and tell him I was on my way.

Ten minutes later, Arthur drove up to the front door with my car. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, but he took his time walking from the car to the door. “Ma’am, your chariot awaits you!” he said, bowing before me. Before I could start walking, he caught my hands in his. “Destiny, I…” he looked into my eyes and took a breath. “I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed spending time with you last night.” He placed a delicate kiss on my hand and released it.

I didn’t want to admit being with him was the most fun I’d had in a while. I couldn’t let myself entertain it. There was no room in my life for a relationship. I didn’t have the time or energy to devote, and it wouldn’t be fair to either of us. These were the things I was supposed to tell him. But the best intentions can go awry, just like this did. I opened my mouth and spoke my heart instead.

“I had a great time with you, too, Arthur.” I bit my lip and eked out a slight smile.

Arthur’s face lit up with happiness. “You’ve made my day, Destiny.”

“I’m glad.” A warm, genuine smile pulled across my face. I said it, I meant it, and there was no going back. We stood in silence, just staring at each other until my phone rang and broke the still. I glanced at the screen and confirmed my hunch; Ernie. I declined the call and sighed. “That was Ernie. I have to go.”

“May I?” Arthur said. I nodded. I thought he’d kiss me, and I’d have been okay with that. He leaned in and kissed my cheek, then stepped back; I was disappointed. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

It occurred to me I’d never asked when. “What time?”

“Same time as last night. Nine o’clock.”

“I’ll be here earlier.”

Arthur smiled at me. “I’ll be waiting.”

I stepped away, but I didn’t want to. “Have a good day, Arthur.”

“Oh,” he said, “I’ll have a great day, thanks to you.” He stepped in front of me and opened my car door. “I hope you have a day as beautiful as you.”

My cheeks blushed bright red. “Thank you.” He offered his hand as I got into my car, which was already running and warm. He stepped away, closed my door, and waved as I drove away from him and the club.

My first task was to call Ernie. I dialed the phone and waited for him to pick up. On the fourth ring, his frantic voice answered it. “Des? Where the HELL have you been? I’ve been worried sick, and I was just getting ready to go looking for you.”

“I got snowed in at the club last night.” I omitted the part where I was too drunk to drive home, but my pounding headache and queasy stomach weren’t about to let me forget.

“Thanks for the courtesy phone call,” he said. “Tell me about the audition when you get here.” He cursed as he hung up the phone. I couldn’t help but chuckle, but I also knew I had some explaining to do. I was in hot water with him and Ross, as we’d made plans to pick up where we’d left off yesterday.

The private club was a few blocks from Ernie’s office, and though the roads were clear of snow, they were slick with ice. I took my time out of necessity; an accident on slippery roads would make me even later, and I had no time for that. I parked the car in the garage and ran for the elevator. Unlike early morning, no one waited for the elevator with me. Four people stepped into the lift on the first floor, and two more on the second. By the time it reached the top, I was the only one remaining inside.

The door opened, Kerry noticed the bed head I never brushed, my evening attire, and my lack of makeup. “What happened to you?” she said. “Ernie’s been frantic trying to reach you.”

“Yeah, I got that. The snow caught me off-guard last night.”

Kerry eyed me and saw right through my flimsy excuse. “I hope you had a good time. By the looks of you this morning, you did.” She winked at me and raised her coffee cup. “There’s a fresh pot in the kitchen. Looks like you could use a cup.”

Instead of dignifying her remark with an answer, I grumbled under my breath and walked to Ernie’s office door, then swung it open. Ernie sat at his desk, the phone stuck in his ear, and rambling on about what seemed to be nothing. I flopped onto the sofa along the far wall and rested my head back until he said, “Yeah, Art, she just walked in. Thanks for straightening things out.” He smiled, and then nodded his head. “Yeah, she’s okay. It was good talking to you, too. See you tomorrow.” Ernie placed the phone back on the cradle and folded his hands. He didn’t say a word, but sat there at his desk with a smug look on his face.

We sat there for a minute, each waiting for the other to speak. Ernie stood from his desk, walked to the sofa, and sat next to me. He cocked his head and stared, then straightened his neck and gave me a coy grin. “How was your date?”

Not “How was your audition?” Or “Did you get everything figured out for Wednesday night?” How was my date?!

“Um, it wasn’t a date.”

He cocked his head again, stifling a chortle. “Destiny, stop lying to yourself. I see it all over your face. You had a great time with him last night, didn’t you?”

So much for my poker face. “I had a pleasant time with him, yes.” Ernie didn’t need the details.

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m sure you did.” He stood and paced back to his desk. “Ross is waiting for you in the studio. But you’ll want to brush your hair, and at least wash your face.”

I’d never hear the end of this. “Thanks. I’ll do that.” I got up and walked from his office to the kitchen, filled a mug with coffee, and walked to the studio. Ross was at the control room’s panel, fiddling with the settings, when I walked in. He didn’t look up from his work.

“Well, look at what the cat dragged in, almost…” Ross checked his watch, “…three hours late!” He spun in the chair and gawked at me. “Well, damn, I didn’t mean literally dragged in, but you look the part.”

“Screw you, Ross,” I said, getting annoyed with the ribbing, though I really had no right to be. This was my own doing, and I deserved it. “Sorry. I’m just—”

“You’re okay, Destiny. We’re just having fun with you.”

“I never do this. I’m always so responsible.” My guitar hung on the wall in the sound room. I walked in to get it, then sat down in a chair. “Are we doing the song, or…?”

“Yeah, but I have a surprise for you. Come in here and sit for a minute.” I put my guitar back on the wall and walked to where Ross sat. He pulled up a chair and patted it. “The guys came in and spent the night arranging the chords and music for your song. It still needs work, but I wanted to get your opinion of it.” He scooted closer to me, then started playback on the soundboard. “Sing along with it, Des. I want to get a feel for how it sounds.” As the track played, he manipulated the board to add artistic elements into the song, monitoring my reaction as it went.

The melody remained the same, though some of the chords had been improved, which changed the feel and emotion of my original lyrics. During the bridge, I stopped singing and listened to the band’s rendition of “It Hurts Both Ways.” On the final chorus, the music stopped; Ross paused playback and said, “This is where you’d sing the chorus playing your guitar alone. Then we’ll come in on the ninth measure and bring it home. Here, like this.”

He sang the words of the chorus when he resumed playback, and right where he’d noted, the whole band came in and blew my non-existent socks off. It was brilliant, and I loved it.

“You guys did this last night? In that blizzard?”

“Uh huh.”

“Did everyone make it home?”

Ross laughed. “No, they’re asleep in the back office on the floor.” He nudged my arm and leaned closer. “Don’t go in there unless you want to smell the funk of four guys who spent all night playing.” We both broke out in raucous laughter.

I leaned toward Ross and took a deep sniff. “You’re one to talk!” I said, laughing and holding my nose, more for effect than seriousness.

“Touché!” he said. “Hey, I’m gonna go wake them up so we can rehearse for the gig. Then once we know what we’re doing, it’s back to the song.” Ross winked at me and then jutted his jaw toward Ernie’s door. “Boss says so.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Go get them. I’m going to freshen up a bit.”

“Good idea!” Ross said and chuckled. I stuck my tongue out at him, then walked to the ladies’ room.

*****

The band rehearsed with me the entire day. Between the songs from the album we’d made, plus a few covers of current pop songs, we had enough music to fill the entire three-hour show slot. I couldn’t complain about any of their arrangements and performance; those guys played their hearts out. Ernie gave the band the following day off, with instructions to report to the private club by four o’clock. Ross and I weren’t as fortunate; Ernie needed us to continue work on my song. In a way, I didn’t blame him. I made a promise I took too long to keep.

When I drove home that night, Arthur was on my mind. The previous evening played again and again in my mind each time my eyes closed. The faintest stirring in my heart made me smile; then I remembered Arthur was a dude who’d break my heart at his first opportunity. It wasn’t a question of if he would, but of when he would. I’d pre-decided that all men were the same when it came to romance; every one of them was a liar, or a cheat, or a jerk. Not even someone as sweet as Arthur could change my mind.

I opened the door inside my garage, where Poppy greeted me with an anxious meow. I hadn’t forgotten about her, but I didn’t realize until I got home how long I’d been gone. She weaved between my legs, begging me for all the attention I knew she wanted. I dropped my purse and keys on the kitchen counter, scooped her into my arms, then walked upstairs with her.

It didn’t take long for her purring to start, walking up each step with my precious bundle tucked into my arms. I padded straight into my bedroom and set her down on the bed, then climbed onto it with her. She walked in circles around me before settling down, curled into a donut under my chin. It felt good to lie down on something comfortable. And yet, it felt as though something (or someone) was absent. Was this really how I’d spend the rest of my life? Jaded and cynical with a cat for a companion because I had some bad luck with men? As much as I cherished Poppy, my life felt incomplete, and my house felt so empty, without a second person here with me.

My mind drifted back to Arthur and the evening we’d spent together. Though I didn’t want to drink with him again, I didn’t think I’d mind spending some quality time with him. Call it a date, I guess. Whatever it was, I wanted it. Or did I? Damn, I hated when my mind played tricks on me.

After an hour of cuddling with Poppy, I padded back downstairs so I could feed her, change her water, and lock up the house; everything seemed in order. I turned out the lights and trudged back up the stairs and into my bathroom. I gave my teeth a quick brush, washed my face and patted it dry, applied some moisturizer, and brushed my hair. Poppy, who hadn’t followed me downstairs for food, laid in the middle of my bed, waiting to take her spot on my pillow.

“Goodnight, Poppy,” I said. I scratched her head and slipped between the flannel sheets on my queen-sized bed. I had a busy day coming up. The last thought on my mind when I closed my eyes wasn’t the gig. I sighed and, into the night’s stillness, whispered, “I miss you, Arthur,” as I fell asleep.