Serge

“All right, I want us to start again from page four and really put some feeling into it this time. Think about what these words mean,” I say to the class, standing by myself in front of them. Tori’s not here yet and I keep looking towards the door, waiting for her head of bright orange hair to come through.

I play the chord and then conduct them through the rest of the song. They’ve got the whole thing down, the notes are perfect, their timing is great, it’s just the final finishing pieces to put on the performance before this weekend.

“Wow, you guys sound amazing,” Tori says, coming through the door just as the song finishes.

“I was waiting outside. I didn’t want to interrupt,” she says to me under her breath, putting her bag down on my desk. For a second, it looks like she’s going to kiss me in greeting, but then she seems to remember the kids all around watching us and thinks better of it.

“Tori, you’re here!” some of the kids shout happily, breaking rank to lavish her with hugs.

“I’m here,” she chuckles, hugging them back in turn. “But you better get back in your spots or Mr. Davenport’s going to get angry.”

I growl to the delighted giggles of my class.

“So, what’s the plan?” she asks, her eyes bright and excited. She’s not pouting that she has to be here for once, just happy to be in the moment.

“I was hoping you could take the girls and really hammer in these harmonies while I work with the boys?”

“Done,” she says grinning. “All right girls, you heard the man, let’s all gather around the piano.”

“What if I wanted to use the piano?” I ask, my voice light.

“Then you should learn how to play,” she teases back.

“Oof,” I say, staggering back and clutching my chest while some of the older girls giggle.

“Ooh, burn,” says Amanda.

I just shake my head and gather the boys on the other side of the room. My eyes are constantly drawn to Tori and the way she has command over the group of twenty or so pre-teen and teenage girls. I’m so happy that she’s still able to laugh and joke with them while keeping them on task.

Maybe Tori didn’t have a lot of experience with kids before she started volunteering here, but lately she seems like a natural. And when I hear a sharp note on the other side of the room, she’s not berating them or telling them to work harder. She’s helping them relax, practicing going higher, working on opening up their voices.

With the competition this close, there’s not a lot left to do but practice, practice, practice. I know I could probably cut class short and tell them to rest up their voices before this weekend, but I know this place is more than just singing for a lot of these kids and I’m not just going to push them out.

“Do you know Halsey?” I hear one of the kids ask Tori. She’s absently playing songs on the piano to entertain them, and I’ve also given up the pretense of working on the performance. It’s as good as it’s ever going to be. We accomplished a lot today.

Tori shakes her head, laughing. “No, I don’t.”

“What about Selena Gomez?” another kid asks.

Tori shakes her head. “I’ve heard she’s really nice, but she doesn’t exactly hang out in the same places I do.”

“Who do you know?” Amanda asks.

Tori stops playing for a minute, then looks at me.

“I’m pretty sure you should be asking Mr. Davenport who he knows, not me.”

They laugh at her and I grin too, trying to play it off as a joke.

“He’s just a teacher,” Tati, one of the younger girls laughs.

“Is that what he told you?” Tori says, her eyes sparkling when she looks my way.

A knock on the door gets everyone’s attention and saves me.

“Wonder who that could be,” Tori says smirking and I shoot her a questioning look. She just looks at me, the picture of innocence despite the piercings and tattoos.

Suspicious as hell, I walk over to the door and find some scruffy-looking teenager with a heavy hot bag in his hand. He shoves a pen and wad of papers at me, the smell of fresh bread and melty cheese overwhelming already.

“I’ll sign,” Tori says, pushing past me to scribble on the receipt. “Thank you so much!”

The guy starts unloading the hot bag and produces box, after box, after box. We have to start a chain with the kids, passing the pizza boxes down to the desk because there’s so many of them. When all’s said and done, there’s probably twenty pizzas for the room and I look at Tori like she’s lost her mind.

“What?” she says, shrugging. “I thought a pizza party before the competition would be fun.” Her green-gold eyes glitter at me with that word, throwing my own words back at me. I was the one who told Tori things shouldn’t be so serious in here, that I wanted the kids to remember to have fun.

But she’s not wrong, because the kids are already all over the pizzas.

“Guys, no pushing. Make sure everyone gets a piece before you get another,” I say, wading through the crowd of kids to impose some kind of order on the chaos.

“There should be plenty for everyone,” Tori says brightly, pulling out spare chairs to set up more pizzas. I think she got every variety that on offer.

“I’ll say,” I mutter, fishing out an industrial-sized roll of paper towels from one of the cupboards. I tear off pieces for everyone to use as makeshift plates and then another for napkins. “What made you think twenty pizzas was the right amount for thirty-five kids?”

She shrugs. “I’ve been around musicians?”

I laugh, shaking my head. Everyone’s got pizza, everyone’s got napkins, so I sit behind the desk and swipe a slice for myself.

“Besides,” she says under her breath, “you told me a lot of these kids don’t have much waiting for them at home. If they wanna take leftovers back…”

I’m surprisingly touched by how much thought she’s put into this. I didn’t expect it out of her, but I’m starting to think there’s more to Tori than the hard-partying girl I see. I’m starting to think she’s maybe more than what her image portrays her as. And if anyone knows how different an image can be to the reality, it’s me. I’ve seen my fair share of it first hand with my own rep, but even more so with my buddy Ian’s. He really went through the wringer trying to rehab his image. Of course, that’s how he met his lovely wife, so I don’t think there’s any complaints from him.

The kids finish up their pizza and are all talking excitedly amongst themselves as they get ready to leave.

“Don’t forget, the bus is picking us up right outside here, Friday afternoon at six. We won’t be able to wait for anyone, so make sure you’re there on time. And if you need help getting to the bus or anything like that, just let me or Joey know and we’ll help you out,” I shout after them, making them stop by the door until I’m done.

I turn to Tori. “You’re coming, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” she says, nodding. “And don’t forget, our next performance is Saturday night.”

“Next Saturday, you mean?”

She shakes her head. “No, this Saturday. It’s after the comp.”

“I’m still going to be chaperoning though. I can’t just leave the kids and drive back down here for a show.”

She frowns, all the easy happiness draining from her expression. “But you said you were down. It’s already booked, you can’t back out now.” Her arms are crossed and it pushes her cleavage up, her chest flushed with anger drawing my eyes down.

“I’m sorry there was a misunderstanding—”

“I can’t believe you’re just changing your mind like this,” she spits.

“—but I can do it another night if you don’t have a drummer by then,” I finish, irritation rising up in me that she’s being such a brat about it. She has to know that these kids come first.

“I can’t just change the show. It’s already set up, people have already bought tickets. So now what, we’re supposed to cancel on them?”

I shrug. “If you have to. I thought you were chaperoning with me. Were you just planning on bailing as soon as they’re off-stage?”

Her mouth opens, but before any kind of retort can come from it, the door opens again.

“Joey, not now,” I growl without looking.

“Bad time?” comes a familiar voice. It’s not Joey; it’s Ian.

“Not for you,” I turn, grinning, crossing the room to embrace him in a big hug.

“What about me?” Chelsea says from behind him, grinning from ear to ear.

“You too,” I say, giving her a hug, albeit a shorter one.

They’re both smiling, but then Chelsea’s eyes drift over to Tori and her brows go up.

“Right, sorry. Ian, Chelsea, this is Tori. She’s helping me out at the center. Tori, this is—”

“Ian Monroe and Chelsea Garten, like I wouldn’t recognize them,” she says, practically tripping over herself to shake hands.

“It’s Monroe now, actually,” Chelsea says, her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink. I know they talked at length about whether or not she was going to take his name. He didn’t want her to hurt her career, but she wanted to keep with tradition. So guess who won.

“What are you guys doing here?” I ask, still grinning so much my face hurts. Last I talked to Ian he was in Rome or something. “When did you get back?”

“Last night,” says Chelsea. “We thought about saying hi then, but…”

“We wanted to relax at home,” Ian finishes, a warm look to his wife.

“Relax, sure,” I tease, making Chelsea go scarlet.

“We’re done touring for a while, so we’ll be in town. Wondered if you wanted to grab a bite, catch up, the usual?” Ian asks, his eyes flicking over to Tori. “Your friend can come too if you want.”

I look back at her, not sure if she’ll want to since we were fighting just seconds before Ian and Chelsea walked in. But Tori’s star-struck and she nods mutely, her eyes wide and disbelieving.

“Sounds good,” I say, turning back to my friends. “Got plans already?”

Ian nods. “Robiero’s. I’ll have them add a seat. My treat, don’t even worry about it.”

Tori’s eyes go wide and she looks down at what she’s wearing — a tight fitting tank top and cut-off shorts, the same outfit that got my blood roaring the first time I saw her, all that ink up and down her creamy smooth legs. Even though I’m still annoyed with her about this weekend, I can’t help but remember how those legs felt wrapped around me, her gasping cries echoing off the walls.

“Robiero’s? I have to change. You too,” she says, looking at me like I’m something she scraped off the bottom of her shoe.

I look at Ian and Chelsea and notice for the first time that they’re looking pretty glam. Ian’s wearing a blazer and suit pants, a crisp button-down shirt tucked in and unbuttoned at the top. Chelsea’s in a simple curve-hugging red dress that stops right above the knee, her hair piled up in some fancy curled ‘do on her head.

“Reservation’s not until seven-thirty. We’ll meet you there?” Ian asks and I nod, not entirely sure what’s just happened other than my best friend is back in town and I won’t be so miserable without him anymore.

“Sounds good. I’m looking forward to it!” Tori says, her voice so chipper it goes up to an octave I didn’t know she could reach.

The moment they’re gone, I turn to her, my brows high.

“Ohmigod,” she sighs. “That was really…” She blows out a heavy breath.

“You’re famous too, you know,” I tease, but she just rolls her eyes.

“No one I know is that kind of famous.”

I lift one brow. “I seem to remember seeing an award show performance with you and Britney Spears on stage together.”

Her eyes go wide, her mouth opens, and then the penny drops and she narrows her eyes, her cheeks turning red. “I thought you said you didn’t Google me.”

I laugh. “I didn’t… until after that.”

“Oh god,” she groans. “What else did you see?”

I shrug. “I really liked that phase where you were wearing clothes made out of safety pins.”

She buries her face in her hand. “Kill me now.”

I slide an arm around her waist, pulling her close to me, our earlier fight all but forgotten. “Why would I do that? I still need you.”

Tori freezes and looks up at me.

“To tell me what the hell I’m supposed to wear to this place. I’ve never even heard of it.”

She groans and drops her face to her hands again. “You’re the most hopeless famous person I’ve ever met, you know that?”

I shrug. “I’m okay with that, you know.”

“Robiero’s is swanky. Have you got anything you might wear to an award show?”

My heart clenches and I shake my head. “Not really.” I don’t want to embarrass Chelsea and Ian because I can’t show up in the right wardrobe, but there’s definitely not time to shop.

“Well, if you run me by my place, I already know what I’m going to wear, and then I can come back to your place and help you pick something out?”

“How do I know you’re not just trying to get into my apartment to take advantage of me?” I ask, a hand to my chest.

She laughs. “Under normal circumstances, you’d be right, but if the alternative is hanging out with those two? Sorry, bud.”

“Ouch.” I clutch at my chest and she laughs harder. It’s not long before I join her.

By the time we get to the restaurant, I think Tori’s made me just as nervous as she is. I really didn’t have much to wear, but she found an old navy sports coat in the back of my closet, and together with a white shirt and dress slacks, I don’t look too bad.

Tori on the other hand is a fucking knock-out. She’s wearing this white skin-tight dress that hugs her hips and hits her mid-thigh. It’s strapless, but there’s this corseted string system in the back that’s holding the dress up and basically offering her breasts up on a platter. She doesn’t need anything else. With the piercings glittering in her ears, her nose, her lip, the bright red-orange hair, and the wealth of art inking her skin, she doesn’t need accessories. Just a pair of strappy white heels she hops into on our way out of my place.

True to form, she didn’t try to molest me in my apartment. I was a little disappointed, but I saw her eyes constantly darting to the clock and I knew we didn’t have much time.

Ian and Chelsea are already at the table that the maître d’ guides us to. Chelsea’s got a glass of wine, but Ian’s stuck with water.

“You made it!” he says brightly, as we both sit down. Tori was right. This place is swanky. There are windows everywhere, overlooking the water on one side, the mountains and city on the other. It opens onto a terrace full of palm trees and gently trickling fountains. Inside it’s dimly lit, candles flickering on the white-clothed tables. The place is arranged so that each table gets its own private little alcove and I can see why — almost every table has some famous person or another seated at it.

“You didn’t valet, did you?” Chelsea asks, her face screwed up into a look of distaste. “The paparazzi are swarming the valet stand.”

I shake my head. “Didn’t even think about it. Guess they don’t care about us plebs.”

Ian rolls his eyes. “You’re only a pleb because you choose to be.”

“Because we know what happens when I don’t,” I answer.

“Could we not play the ‘dark and haunted past’ game tonight?” Chelsea says, nudging Ian with her elbow.

He grins. “You’re right. It’s been forever since we’ve seen you, buddy. What have you been up to?”

I shrug. “Same old, really. Just working at the center. The kids have got their big competition this weekend, thanks to you.”

“They sound so good,” Tori says brightly. “I thought it was a little rough when I first came in, but they work so hard. I’m so glad they get to go to the competition.”

“Happy to help,” Ian says.

“So how’d you get into volunteering with Serge, Tori?” Chelsea asks, sipping her wine as the waiter brings out the first course. Apparently, this is a new level of swanky even for me. They’ve got a menu like other restaurants, but it doesn’t have choices. The menu’s just there to tell you what you’re getting.

“Uh…” Tori stalls, reaching for some little tartelette or something on the platter in front of us. She looks from me, to Ian, to Chelsea, and back to me again while she’s chewing before she finally swallows and sighs.

“I guess the story shouldn’t be strange to you at all. I got myself into a little bit of trouble… Got a DUI, court-ordered community service, all that.”

“I see,” Chelsea says, almost sounding deflated. Maybe she was hoping for another good influence in this little group. Hate to break it to her, but I think Tori might give us a run for our money. Definitely these days, but maybe back even in our partying days. I know that should make me hesitate to be with her. I know that someone living the kind of lifestyle Tori does is bad news for someone in recovery like me. But she’s on parole right now. She can’t drink, can’t go to bars. Maybe she’ll learn that life can be just as fun without that before the judge takes the leash off.

It’s a crazy thing to hope for. I know it is. But I see something in her. Something familiar.

“But it’s actually been a ton of fun working with the kids. I think I might like to keep doing it after my hours are up.”

I whip my head around. “Really?” That’s the first I’d heard of it.

She shrugs. “Yeah, I think it could be fun. Maybe have someone that can actually teach them to play instruments that you can’t just whack repeatedly.”

“There’s more to playing drums than just whacking them repeatedly,” I snap back, light and teasing.

She smirks. “Is there, though?”

“She’s got you there,” Chelsea laughs.

I grumble under my breath and everyone laughs. It’s all in good fun.

It’s actually remarkable how well Tori fits in with them. The conversation moves to other topics, to tours, to traveling, to the best hotel chains and the worst hangovers. It’s easy, the four of us hanging out together. I was worried when Ian got with Chelsea that she would screw up our whole dynamic, but she didn’t. She fit in with us and made our friendship stronger, being there when something came between us and stepping back so we could still have our one-on-one time.

And Tori’s fitting in just as well. I wouldn’t go so far as to say we’re dating, but this is the first time I’ve ever introduced a girl to Ian like this. Where we’re all sober and I know her name and plan on seeing her again.

I see her eyeing the sommelier every time he walks by with a bottle of wine and I know the struggle she’s dealing with. I know how hard it is to overcome. I just don’t know if it’s something I’m willing to stick around for.

But I’m getting ahead of myself and I know that too.

I just like her. I see a lot of myself in her. Back when I was still bright-eyed and hopeful. Back when I was just starting out with big dreams, telling myself I wouldn’t let the stress get to me. Trying my best to balance the pressure while self-medicating with whatever I could find. I see it in her. And I know it’s just drinking now, but it might not always be. Maybe there will be a day when Tori decides she needs more to deal with the stress than a stiff drink. And if I can be the cautionary tale to keep her away from that, then I want to be.

I’ll talk to her about it. Later. When I’m sure she’s not going to get defensive about it again. That’s always the trouble with these things. No one ever wants to admit they have a problem. They tell you in rehab that you can never tell someone else they have a problem. They have to see it for themselves. They have to hit rock bottom. If you help them up before they hit the very bottom, they won’t realize how bad it can get and they’ll just fall back in.

And the worst part is that everyone’s rock bottom is different. The things that would seem like rock bottom to me, that would guarantee I clean up my act and get my shit together, might just be a normal day for someone else. It might not be anything to them.

Addiction is a tricky beast. Especially when it’s someone else’s addiction. But I’m not going to let my worries about Tori and her problems ruin this nice night. I’m not going to let it interfere with the laughter of my best friend and his wife or the promising friendship that seems to be blossoming. I’m just going to enjoy this time and I’ll make sure I talk to her about it later.

The dinner is mostly amazing. Everything is obviously crafted by a top-tier chef, but some of it is too weird for even me to try. Tori doesn’t turn her nose up at any of it. Not even the weird duck egg that came complete with a baby duck skeleton inside of it.

“I never thought I’d have a prayer of getting into this place. Your manager must be amazing,” Tori says as the meal comes to a close.

Chelsea laughs. “Rosa and Merrill have their… charms.”

“I think this one was all Rosa,” Ian says.

“Sounds right,” answers Chelsea. “Merrill’s much more likely to get us into an exclusive gallery opening or something.”

“My manager got me to the front of the line on a roller coaster once,” Tori says, her nose wrinkling. “Someone in front of me didn’t empty their loose change out of their pocket before the ride and I thought it started hailing half-way through.”

“Oh no!” Chelsea says, giggling into her mostly empty wine glass.

“It’s fine,” Tori says, laughing with her. “I only had a George Washington-shaped spot on my forehead for a few hours.”

Chelsea’s giggles fade off into a yawn and she winds up leaning against Ian’s shoulder. He wraps an arm around her and pulls her close, kissing the top of her head. I’ve got the sudden urge to do the same to Tori, but I know our relationship isn’t quite like that. At least not yet. And as much as I love Ian and Chelsea, I really don’t want rumors about me and Tori floating around more than they already are. At least not until I’ve figured out what’s happening between us.

“I think it’s about time we go,” Ian says, rubbing Chelsea’s arm absently. She nods with another yawn.

“It was lovely to meet you, Tori. I hope we’ll be seeing more of you?” she asks, her brows lifted as she looks at me.

“Maybe,” I say, smiling and standing from the table. We exchange our goodbyes and hugs once more, and then Tori and I are back in my car and she’s shivering before I can flip the air conditioner off.

“That was fun,” she says with a happy sigh.

I nod. “It was.” I’m still impressed with how well she got along with my friends. And I know now’s my chance to talk to her, to bring up the things I was thinking earlier, but instead, I say, “Wanna head back to my place?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” she answers, grinning back.

We never do have that talk.