Ashley
OH GOD. WHY did I think this was a good idea? If my palms get any sweatier, I won’t be able to play my guitar tonight. I take several large gulps of water as I scan Muddy’s main room. The view of the stage from this dark, secluded corner isn’t helping the situation, either. It’s a small stage, yes, but this vantage point emphasizes the vastness of the room—and the size of my potential audience.
People. There are so many people. My chest aches at the thought of performing in front of them. I try to remember the typical advice for stage fright.
Picture everyone taking a shit.
Oh, that’s gross. No.
Picture everyone naked.
How the hell does that help? My mind would imagine an orgy, bodies writhing and twisting in the room while my music sets the mood. Too distracting. Um, double no.
A giant of a man with more hair on his face than on my head lumbers toward me. Of course, I picture him naked, and there’s so much hair—everywhere.
“You’re Ashley?” he asks in a deep, booming voice.
I swallow and wipe the droplets of water that splash onto my skin. “Yeah.”
“You’re up in five.”
My heart rate increases, and the fine hairs on my arms rise. I’m in the first car of a roller coaster making the steep climb before its highest, most terrifying descent. Where’s Julian? He’d know what to say to calm my nerves. I pull out my phone to text him and manage a smile when I see that he’s beaten me to it.
Hey, Ash. Sorry to bail on you, but something important came up. I know you’ll be great. See you at home later.
Oof. Something important came up. My stomach plummets now that I know there won’t be a friendly face in the audience. I regret not inviting Tori. She would have come through for me, but I didn’t want to harass her the day she returned from her honeymoon. Focusing on my nervousness makes it easier to contain my disappointment. So much for dedicating my performance to Julian. Maybe I shouldn’t do an original song. A cover would go over better with this group.
The emcee, a pretty redhead with boobs as nice as mine, jumps up on the stage, the spotlight following her as she sashays like a runway model. “All right, folks. Next up is Ashley. She’ll be doing an original song, so give her some love and be kind.”
The audience greets me with enthusiastic applause. Buoyed by their cheers, I swing my guitar behind me and fake a shitload of confidence as I climb the stairs. When I get to center stage, I take a deep breath, shake out my hands, and perform to a crowd of strangers, not a friendly face in sight.
I RETURN TO an empty condo. How fitting. Maybe my mood will improve if I pout, stomp around, and slam a few doors. Eh. What’s the point of being overly dramatic if no one’s around to witness it? Potato chips will help. They always do.
After ripping open a fresh bag, I chomp down on a handful of salt and vinegar chips as I pinpoint the source of my sullen frame of mind. I should be riding the high of my performance, reveling in the memory of the people who walked up to me after I was done and raved about my song. Instead, I’m focused on one detail: Julian wasn’t there because something important came up.
No, this is not okay, Ashley. I need to be mature about this. He’s a busy man, and he wouldn’t have stood me up for a superficial reason. Tonight won’t be my last moment on a stage, and next time, Julian will be there to rub my back and talk me through my jitters. Hearing the jingle of his keys outside, I wipe my face of crumbs and roll the bag closed, securing it with a bag clip before I stuff it back in the pantry.
His glassy eyes brighten when he sees me in the kitchen. He doesn’t waste a second and strides to me, folding me in his arms as though touching me is his only agenda. “Hey, baby. How’d it go?”
I dip my face into the crook of his neck and breathe in his warm, earthy scent. A hint of strong liquor—bourbon, maybe—floats in the air around his mouth. “It went really well. If you’d been there, it would have been perfect.”
He stiffens against me, the fingers stroking my hair slowing almost to a halt. I want to snatch back the words. I don’t mean them as criticism. It’s just a fact that his presence would have made the evening more special.
“I’m sorry I missed it. There was a major development at work that I hadn’t anticipated, and I couldn’t get away.”
I kiss the spot behind his ear and tighten my hands on his waist. “Good development?”
“Yeah,” he says as he runs his hands down my back. “Can’t say much about it now, but yes, a great development.”
“I’m happy for you, then.” I pull away when my stomach grumbles. “I think I need to stuff my face now. I was so nervous earlier I didn’t have an appetite. It’s returned with a vengeance.” I round the counter and search for the drawer full of take-out menus. “Want to order something from Ziki?”
He shakes his head and unknots his tie. “I’ll pass, but don’t let that stop you. I had dinner with Carter.” He yawns.
“You did?”
That he had dinner with my brother shouldn’t be a significant revelation, but it drops at my feet like a bomb. Carter’s the something important that came up.
“I did,” he says as he peers at me. “The development has something to do with his career.”
“Why didn’t you mention that you couldn’t come to open mic night because you were with Carter?”
It’s a stupid question. Why does it matter? But now that I’ve asked, I’m interested in his answer. Maybe I’ll gain some insight into how he rationalized not coming to see me perform.
He cocks his head and shakes it, rapidly rubbing the back of his neck. “Ash, I’m tired. I could have mentioned it, but I forgot to. Most days, it’s very easy for me to compartmentalize what I do. I was working with your brother an hour ago. Now I’m not. What difference does it make?”
I envy his ability to divide his life into sections, but my mind doesn’t work that way. Knowing that Carter was the reason he wasn’t there for me changes the intensity of my disappointment, as though it were a bland meal sprinkled with the right amount of spices to alter its flavors and make it an entirely new dish. I hate my reaction, mostly because it reveals a difficult truth: Where Julian’s concerned, I still can’t shake the lingering worry that I’ll always come second to Carter.
“You didn’t show up for open mic night because you were with my brother. That matters to me.”
The pinched, tension-filled expression on his face broadcasts his annoyance. “I was working with your brother.”
“Having dinner.”
“Yes,” he says, his voice incredulous. “My job often involves dinner, drinks, shows, whatever.” He leans on the counter. “It was important. I wouldn’t have ditched the show otherwise.”
“What was so important?”
He straightens and purses his lips. “Are you serious? You’re questioning my motives?”
The conversation is deteriorating, but I don’t know how to stop it from devolving further. I just want him to talk to me. “I’m asking you to share your reasons, that’s all. Is that so hard to do?”
He sighs. “In this instance, it is. Carter’s got an exciting opportunity in the works, but I’m not supposed to say anything about it. Not yet. I’ll tell you soon, though. I promise.”
It’s never pleasant being an outsider. It’s even worse when your lover is one of the insiders pushing you out of the circle. I don’t doubt what he’s saying is true, but that’s not the point. He chose Carter over me. I’m tempted to put on a mask and act as though everything’s okay, but I vowed not to pretend to be someone I’m not, even if doing so reveals my flaws. “I’m not going to lie. It hurts that you were with Carter when I wanted you to be with me.”
He drops his head and sighs. Seconds pass before he raises his head. This time, he’s wearing a blank expression and staring off at nothing. “Can we talk about my day for a minute? One, I discovered a colleague had been fired and the agency is gunning to fire a few more. Two, I learned my father is showing early signs of dementia, and while he’s fine now, I’m reeling from the news and thinking about my father’s inevitable decline. Three, a director who’s trying to court my biggest client showed up at my office unannounced and invited me to dinner. I made the call that accepting was the right thing to do for my client and me. Four, I came home and I’m getting reamed by my girlfriend for not attending a fucking open mic night.”
He imbues the words open mic night with such derision that I take a step back, grateful for the counter that would make it too difficult for my hand to connect with his cheek. That would be a mistake I can’t take back. Nevertheless, I’m no longer willing to minimize my music, and I’ll be damned if I let him pick up the slack. “I’m sorry about your father, and I wish you’d had a better day, but belittling something I’m proud of isn’t the way to improve your situation.”
He squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his temples. “I’m sorry. I know tonight was important to you, and I truly wish I’d been there.”
“Look, this won’t be the last time this issue comes up for us, and I need to be honest here, I’m scared.”
He drops his head and sighs. “Of what, Ashley?”
I lean over and place my hands on the counter, taking his hands in mine. When he looks up at me with wary eyes, I continue. “Scared that you were right all along, that we’re not supposed to be a couple, not with our respective baggage weighing us down. Maybe there’s too much background noise for us to ever enjoy just being together. Maybe it’s not healthy for either of us.”
I don’t know exactly what I’m trying to accomplish here. It’d be nice if he assured me that my concerns are unwarranted, but a small part of me suspects he’s just as scared as I am and my voicing these fears only serves to compound his. Am I trying to sabotage our relationship?
He lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m scared I was right all along, too. I was hoping I wouldn’t be, but I don’t enjoy being put in this position. You’re asking me to choose between you and my career, and that’s not fair.”
I slump my shoulders. “Wow. If that’s what you got from this conversation, then you have more baggage than I thought.”
Now that I know where his head is at, I realize Julian minimizes his accomplishments just as much as I once did. I didn’t strive for anything because I didn’t want to be measured against my brother and come up short, whereas Julian thinks his only true professional accomplishment is being Carter’s agent.
How can one person be the source of so much angst solely by virtue of his existence? Poor Carter. He deserves better, and so does Julian. “Julian, how many clients do you have?”
He raises a brow and tilts his head at me. “Two dozen. Why?”
“So Carter’s not your only client. And you manage to get those people work?”
“Of course.”
“So why do you think your career begins and ends with Carter?”
He shakes his head. “That’s not exactly how I see it.”
“No? Interesting. Because from where I stand, that seems to be how you see it.”
He clenches his jaw, and a vein at his temple throbs from the pressure. “Well, I wouldn’t have those clients if it weren’t for Carter, and I probably wouldn’t still have my job if it weren’t for Carter. My boss has told me that in so many words.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Right. Because the head of an LA agency has an incentive to tell you how much you’re valued? I haven’t even met the man and I can see through him. And anyway, if that’s true, the problem’s your boss, not you. And here’s the rub. I love my brother, but I wouldn’t be a decent girlfriend if I didn’t point out the obvious to you.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Which is?”
Maybe I should stop here. This isn’t the discussion I’d planned on. It would be easy to characterize this as an overreaction on my part and spend the rest of the evening watching TV with him—or better yet, making love. But if we don’t work this out now, we’ll need to work it out another time. Because I do want to get past this.
“Which is?” he repeats.
I drop my arms and exhale. “He’s holding you back.”
“From what?”
“From being the person you’re meant to be.”
My observation darkens the room like storm clouds rolling in. He clenches his jaw again and flares a nostril for good measure. “For fuck’s sake, Ash, how does that even make sense?” He gestures up and down his body, his eyes fierce. “This is me. The good, the bad, and everything in between. If I’m not who you want, fine, but don’t try to pretend it’s because I’m lacking in some way when we both know you’re just pissed about me not showing up tonight.”
I rush around the counter and cup his jaw. “Listen to me, Julian. That’s not what I’m saying at all. This isn’t about open mic night. This isn’t about Carter’s supersecret project. This is about you, about me. About us. About where we need to be in our own lives to make this work.”
He snaps his head back. “So what are you saying? You think Carter and I never should have worked together? That’s something my father’s been saying for years.”
I take his hand, physically pleading with him to look at me. “I’m saying that people change. That people can make decisions that make sense at one point in their lives and no longer work for them later. It doesn’t mean you chose incorrectly. But you’re not stuck doing anything you don’t want to do.”
He drops his head, refusing to meet my gaze. “I’m an agent, Ash. This is what I do. I’m not stuck. And I’m never going to buy into the notion that your brother’s hindering me in any way. How fucking ungrateful would I be to think that?”
I take his chin and lift his head. “He’s the one who should be grateful.”
He pulls away and scrubs a hand down his face. “I’ll be honest now, too. I don’t understand any of this. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you’re searching for reasons to drive a wedge between us.”
“No, I’m trying to bring us closer together.”
He stares at me, his eyes cold and remote. “Well, it’s not working.”
A weight settles against my chest, making it difficult to breathe. My T-shirt is suddenly ten times too small, constricting my mental range of movement. Maybe that’s a good thing, because the heaviness in my body is preventing me from lashing out in frustration. Isn’t this what I wanted? To force us to confront these issues, one way or the other? “Friends with benefits would be so much easier, am I right?” My voice is surprisingly calm and clear, not remotely close to reflecting how this conversation is tearing me up inside.
He forces a smile. “Look, I’m really tired. Can we talk more tomorrow?”
With the broadest smile I can manage, I nod. “Sure. Have a good night.”
He pivots and trudges down the hall to his bedroom, throwing back a few meaningless words over his shoulder before he disappears. “Sleep well, Ash.”
In other words, don’t plan on sleeping with me. Sometimes when you pick at a scab, you make it worse, revealing the tender sore underneath. I unknowingly did that tonight, but I don’t regret it. We can’t resolve our issues if we don’t acknowledge them.
When I hear his shower running, I pick up my guitar and strum a few indistinct chords. At least I have this. I’ll always have this.