Boy in a Band (A Morgan Mallory story) (40 page)

             
“I fucked up big time,” he said softly, squeezing my hand. “Now tell me about you, from when I last saw you.”

             
He listened as I brought him current on what had gone on in my life. He continued to hold my hand and tenderly traced his fingers with his other hand down my arm. He didn’t look away from my eyes, even when other visitors came in the room. It was as if I might disappear if he did. This Mathew was foreign to me, a side I hadn’t ever seen, he’d never seemed to need me and yet right here, I could tell he did.

             
“What are the rules? Do we only have so long to visit?” I asked.

             
“No, there isn’t really a time limit. I can have visitors up to five thirty p.m. They can be here all day if they want. Most only stay an hour or two. I still have work and school during the week, so I do get to see people.”

I looked at my watch
: it was four ten. We had a little over an hour.

             
“What?” I asked as he gave me a questioning look.

             
“Can I kiss you?” he asked almost shyly.

             
“Can you do that here?”

I glanced around
the almost too quiet room. There were only two other groups in the room, and they were absorbed in their own conversations. No one was paying attention to us.

             
“Yes, couples do it all the time. Would it be okay with you?”

             
I chuckled slightly as his expression was so serious.

              “Well, Mathew, it’s not like you to ask,” I said. “I’m used to you just taking it.”

             
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Sorry I’m an asshole. I wasn’t very nice sometimes, was I?”

              “No you weren’t; other times, you were very nice.”

             
I gave him a smile recalling how we could be together, the tender times, the passionate ones. He smiled, knowing what I meant. He leaned in and kissed me softly.

“I’ve missed you, more
than once,” he said.

             
He kissed me again. I felt uncomfortable in such a public place, but he kissed me again and again. His kisses became more and more passionate. My tongue sought his and as our make out session continued I forgot about there being anyone else in the room. I could sense Mathew’s need for me, as if he were drowning and I had come to save him. He ran his hands down the top of my thighs. I could feel the strength in his hands.

I stayed with him making out and talking until five thirty.
I could tell he was fighting to contain his emotions whenever he looked at me, his eyes almost pleading.

             
“I’ll come back tomorrow after lunch and then again on Monday before you go to work. I fly home Monday night,” I explained.

              “How was he?” Gayle asked when I walked in her door.

             
She was alone in her kitchen reading the newspaper in blue sweatpants and a white T-shirt. After two years together, she and Bridgett had split up. There had been a number of other girlfriends since then, but nobody currently.

             
“Gayle, he looks good, but I can tell he’s struggling.”

             
“What do you mean?”

             
“Let me get a glass of wine first. It’s been an emotional day,” I said, opening her refrigerator.

             
I pulled out the bottle of chardonnay I’d asked her to pick up for me and set it on her green tile counter.

“Wine glass?”
I asked, looking at her white cabinets.

             
“That one,” she said, pointing.

             
I reached for the cabinet to the right of the sink that she’d pointed to. There were numerous glasses inside, only two wine glasses though, on the top shelf. I stood on my tiptoes to reach one.

             
“Opener?”

             
“There,” she pointed to a drawer.

             
I opened the wine and poured a glass.

“
Can I interest you?” I asked.

             
“No thanks,” she said.

             
Gayle hadn’t ever been a big drinker. Even less now. She didn’t like the taste. I took the bottle and my glass back to the living room and sat down on her dark gold couch. I placed the bottle on her glass coffee table.

             
“What a day,” I sighed, taking off my shoes.

             
I curled my feet up underneath me settling in with my glass of wine. She walked over and turned the lamp on which sat on a side table. It was still light out, but it was fading.

             
“So tell me,” she said, sitting down beside me.

             
I told her his side of the story, and how badly he felt about the woman. How badly he had disappointed his parents. How humiliating it was to have his co-workers know everything. His being locked up. He admitted the partying had gotten out of control.

             
“Did he ask about you?”

             
“What do you think, Gayle?”

             
“Okay, just checking,” she said. “He can be very self-centered.”

             
“I got there around two fifteen, and we talked a long time. He held my hand as if I would vanish if he let go. I could tell he was happy to have me there.”

             
I took a sip of wine. The Kendall Jackson Chardonnay tasted smooth and buttery on my tongue; just oaky enough though. I usually didn’t buy it unless I was splurging a little.

             
“You’re a great friend to him, you know? It amazes me that, with all you two have been through, you still are his friend at all.”

             
I thought about her warnings over the years, all her frustration with my actions. That desperate young girl seemed a distant memory. If I tried really hard I could still recall some of those tortured emotions for Mathew.

“Ga
yle, you’ve never understood it. You never wanted to,” I said.

             
“Like you did,” she laughed. “Clear as mud you guys are.”

             
I leaned forward and picked up the bottle and refilled my glass.
Will she go ballistic if I tell her?

             
“He kissed me.” I said shyly.

             
“He kissed you?”

             
I nodded my head
yes
, smiling.

             
“Like a
hello
kiss?”

             
I could still feel the ache he had caused between my legs.

             
“No, like a making-out kiss, for almost-an-hour type of kiss.”

             
Her eyes got large and she stared at me.

             
“What?” she asked, her voice rising in an attempt at disgust. “Tongue? Whole deal?”

             
I couldn’t help my smile and knew that I was beaming.

             
“Whole deal, so nice,” I said.

             
Gayle slapped her hands on her thighs.

             
“Oh, my god, Morgan, the power that guy has over you is like nothing I’ve ever seen,” she said, half serious, half joking.

             
She got up and went to the kitchen and came back with the other wine glass and poured herself a glass. I laughed.

             
“The minute he kissed me, it erased our time apart. I wanted it as much as he did,” I said more seriously.

             
“You would think you would have outgrown him by now. Frickin' twelve years of crazy behavior,” she ribbed, shaking her head.

             
We had dinner, Gayle finished her glass of wine and I finished the rest of the bottle.

             
“I’m really tired,” I said. “I hope I’m not being rude if I hit the hay early.”

             
I felt wrecked. The emotional exchange had drained me. Alone in her guest room I stared at the shadows on the ceiling from the street light outside and retraced in my mind much of our past. When I finally did fall asleep it was deep and I slept till nine the next morning.

Chapter 45

             
“Morning,” I said walking into the kitchen; surprised I hadn’t heard her up.

             
Gayle was sitting at the small kitchen table wearing running shorts and a T-shirt, with coffee and a magazine in front of her. I pictured the day Mathew had sat down there with Bridgett, while I’d gone to get my suitcase. I remembered trying to explain to Gayle my feelings for Mathew.

             
“Can I get some of that?” I asked pointing at her cup.

“Let me make a new pot
. This has been cooking since seven.”

She got up and went about making a new pot of coffee.

“Why so early on a Sunday?”

             
“Can’t help it I just wake up,” she said. “I’ve already got a run in too.”

             
“Nice, I should have gone with you for that.”

             
She turned the coffee maker on and came back to the table.

             
“What time you off to see Mathew?”

             
“I told him noonish. I have some time.”

             
“Morgan, I thought about you after you went to bed. I couldn’t stop thinking about you and Mathew, all the years, all the shit. Do you think you still love him?” she asked seriously.

             
“Hit me between the eyes with hard questions before I even have coffee,” I crabbed, getting up to grab a cup mid-brew.

“Cream or sugar?”
she asked.

             
“Black is good after a bottle of wine last night,” I said.

I watched t
he coffee stream into my cup from the maker and then sat back down.

“You know
, Gayle, Mathew and I have never talked about love, even the word
love
. I can’t define it. Not
love
where he’s concerned. I was obsessed with him. I’ve loved him. I’ve hated him, and then there have been a million levels in between those. There is a long history. So it’s hard to answer black or white.”

             
I drank some coffee and thought about Mathew. I’d had a lot of feelings yesterday; some of those feelings I thought should have been gone after this much time.

             
“I guess I still love him, and even as I say that I’m not sure what it means. Whatever love we have is mixed-up and messy,” I said.

             
“The not-making-sense part, so it does make sense,” she chuckled.

             
The pot had stopped dripping and I went for another cup of coffee. I held up the pot to Gayle who shook her head.

             
“I have to go with the moment. He’s always been unpredictable and I let him be, maybe it was selfish on his part, maybe I was weak, but its what it was. He told me after Melanie’s wedding that night that if he’d ever said let’s be a couple I wouldn’t still be around. In a way I think it’s dead-on. If I had stayed in San Jose and we’d been together I would have gotten sick of his shit,” I said.

“Not sure I buy that one,” she said sarcastically.

“I don’t know, the distance did funny things, but mostly it made me forget the bad parts, maybe made him more in my head than he ever was. I truly care about him, and, yes, he pulls at my heart,” I said.

She gave me the Mathew look, like whatever I said regarding him had a hint of crazy to it.

             
“Don’t get wrapped up in sorting out his mess. And watch your heart, don’t let him break it,” she cautioned.

“I’m not sure that’s possible
. It’s like he’s broken it so many times and put it back together, it’s immune. In his defense, as much as he has toyed with my emotions over the years, he never promised a thing. I kept coming back because I wanted to.”

“Go shower
,” she said rolling her eyes. “Get pretty for him. I’m sure under the circumstances he’ll appreciate it.”

             
The hot water felt good on my skin, Gayle’s soap smelled of lavender. I washed my hair and then blew it dry, straighter. I put on my makeup, all the while thinking of him. I put on a tight pair of jeans and a light blue button down blouse, one that accented my eyes. After I dressed, I went to find Gayle.

             
“You look nice,” she said.

             
“Oh my god, Gayle, I realized in the shower that I’m on the other side this time. This time I’m supporting the hurter; I’m supporting the drunk driver. The one I wanted to kill when it was you.”

             
She stared at me her eyes reassuring.

             
“I know. The irony of life. I wondered if you would catch it.”

“Do you hate him?”

              “No, girl, I don’t. It has made me realize there are always two sides. In the end, everyone is hurt,” she said sadly.

             
I left Gayle’s apartment with more than enough time to get downtown. I listened to the radio, listened to the music, the words, the stories. The song’s ability to transport me back was amazing. Making me remember events, smells, and sounds. I parked the rental car under the shade of a tree, checked my makeup quickly and then walked into the facility. The same woman was at the desk.

             
“The good Irish girl here to see who again?” she asked smiling.

             
I gave her Mathew's and my name again.

             
“Go ahead. You know how to get there,” she said, peering over her glasses.

             
“Thanks.”

             
I followed the hall to the cafeteria. Mathew was already at the table. He was slouched leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He looked up anxiously when I entered, smiling when he saw it was me. This time there were several couples and families, making the room a little louder.

             
“How are you?” I asked, moving towards him.

             
He stood up with his arms open.

             
“Better now,” he said before he kissed me.

             
It was
the kiss
, not a make out session, but the kiss that made my knees weak and my heart race. When he pulled away and looked into my eyes, I felt like I could liquefy into a pool like butter, right there on the floor. I moved to the tables bench seat and sat down. He sat down next to me and put his hand on my leg.

             
“How is Gayle?” he asked.

             
I wondered if he too had thought about the shoe being on the other foot.

“She’s fine
. She fixed me dinner, I fixed me wine, we talked, or really I talked, she listened. Yesterday made me tired. Then this morning when I showered, I thought about her accident. Mathew, I felt so guilty. She was the victim all those years ago. She was exactly like the lady you hit,” I said.

“I wondered if that would bother you, wondered if it would make you feel differently towards me.”

              He waited for my response, searching my eyes. His hand moved down my leg towards my knee slowly.

             
“Gayle, amazingly, pointed something out to me. She said there are two sides to every story. It doesn’t make it right, what happened, but there are still two people trying to make sense of it in this world.”

             
He looked me over, drinking me in, my eyes, my face, my hair, my outfit. He reached down to touch my foot, which was buckled into a thin leather sandal, as he leaned over to my neck and breathed me in.

“I’m not sure if I’ve been here too long
, or if you get better looking every time I see you,” he said straightening up and taking my hands.

             
“Either way, I’ll take it as a compliment,” I said smiling.

             
“So you and Gayle have the ability to forgive bad judgment?” he asked.

             
I was surprised his look, and the nearness of him could still cause the butterflies to swarm.

“I can’t speak for Gayle, but as far as I’m concerned
, I have no room to judge. Bad shit happens unfortunately, it’s where it takes you after that matters.”

I stayed until five
. We talked about family and what everyone was doing. He brought me current on the old group, the band. He told me what Bobby had been up to; he’d come to visit a couple of times. Bobby had gone into counseling feeling the need to help people. I remembered the time we sat on the beach watching the waves; he’d been a good listener then. Mathew never was not touching or kissing me; again I found it strangely easy to focus on it only being the two of us, even as people moved around us.

             
“Plans have changed for tomorrow. I want you to meet me around the corner from the bus stop, down the street,” he said quietly.

             
I looked at him like he was high.

             
“What are you doing?”

              “There’s a place we can go on the way to my office where we can spend an hour alone. I have a guy at work that will cover for me. No one will know I didn’t get there on time.”

             
I pulled my hand from his and leaned towards him.

             
“Mathew, you’re already in enough trouble. It’s not worth it,” I said, worried.

             
His eyes pleaded with me.

              “It is to me. We won’t get caught. I’ve worked it out. Now, shhh, please do what I say. Meet me, tomorrow at the bus stop at nine thirty,” he said.

             
“You scare me.”

             
He gave me his lazy sexy grin.

“Just wait.”

The way he said, “just wait”, made me press my legs together tightly. I could feel the wetness in my panties.

Gayle and I met Sara at the Chart House in Los Gatos that night for dinner. It was a charming old Victorian house that had been converted into a restaurant. We sat at a table close to the front window where we could look out the lacy curtains onto the street.

             
“Morgan thanks for coming. I talked to him last night,” Sara said excitedly. “He sounded up and hopeful. I have been so worried about him.”

“He definitely needed a lift
, I’m glad you called, Sara. I couldn’t not come, especially when you said he needed me. I didn’t know what to expect, but it’s gone well I think,” I said.

             
Gayle shot me a look. She’d listened to me babble about Mathew and how much I was enjoying be back in his company. I was a little too enthusiastic for her.

I found the bus stop the next day and waited around the corner as he had instructed. I saw the bus come and go. He opened the car door and got in. He was dressed up, lawyer like, a white shirt and tie, pinstriped pants and black dress shoes.

             
“See, easy,” he said and slouched down in the seat. “Straight down this street on the left.”

             
He explained that it was a place that rented private rooms with hot tubs.

             
“You’re taking me to a place that rents a room with a hot tub?” I asked.

             
“It’s the best I could come up with,” Mathew grinned.

             
“Is there a bed?” I asked.

“Not really
, more like a padded bench,” he said.

             
I laughed. He obviously had been there before, if not just to scout it out. I’d never heard of such a place and was quite anxious about what it would be like, I imagined seedy.

“A bench
? Sounds romantic. Never a dull moment with you.”

             
There was a small front desk, really like a table, with a hall that ran long ways to the left of it. A thin man with glasses and very thin hair sat on a high stool, reading a book. He looked up at us, disinterested.

             
“We need a hot tub,” Mathew said.

             
The man set down his book and opened a black box that contained keys. I had to work to suppress my laughter. I wondered what he thought about the good-looking guy in business attire with the girl dressed in casual summer fare. Maybe it was a common site in these parts; a quick affair, in the afternoon.

             
“How long you want it?” the clerk asked.

              “An hour?” Mathew answered.

             
“Two-hour minimum,” he said, flopping two towels and a key on the counter.