Jane's Harmony (Jane's Melody #2) (14 page)

Jane looked back to the man who had called on her to share and said, “I think maybe we made a mistake coming.”

“Everyone’s welcome,” the man replied.

“Yes, but I mean . . . well . . . it’s just that . . . we’re not sex addicts, you see. Not that there’s anything wrong with being sex addicts, or love addicts, or any kind of addict. I mean, it’s great. Well, obviously it’s not great or you wouldn’t be here. I didn’t mean that. Not like it sounded anyway . . .”

All twenty pairs of eyes were locked dead on Jane, but not one face seemed to contain an expression for her to speak to. She glanced at Marj, as if looking for a safety line, but Marj was staring at her hands in her lap.

“Ah, we’re the ones who fall in love with addicts,” Jane continued. “We thought this was . . . we were looking for—”

“Al-Anon’s across the hall,” the silver-haired man said, chuckling. “But we’re glad you stopped by.”

“Oh, God,” Jane said. “Thank you. I’m so sorry.”

She stood and tugged on Marj’s sleeve. They both waved awkwardly good-bye and made the uncomfortable walk to the
door. As soon as they were in the hallway, they burst out laughing. When they finally stopped, they could hear the men in the room laughing too.

“Should we go barge into the Al-Anon meeting now?”

Marj was still giggling and trying desperately to catch her breath. She shook her head. When she could speak again, she said, “I think we’ve embarrassed ourselves enough for today. Let’s go get that cup of coffee. We’ll have our own meeting.”

Jane thought that this was the best idea she’d heard all day, and she smiled at Marj to let her know it. They walked out together toward the car, arm in arm and still laughing.

Jane was already in bed with the lights out when her phone went off. She reached for it on the nightstand and felt her spirits lift when she saw Caleb’s picture on the screen.

“Hi, baby. I was hoping you’d call.”

“Sorry it’s so late,” he said. “We’re rehearsing like crazy.”

“It’s okay. I was just lying here in an existential depression, thinking about the time we’ve been apart. Did you know if I only have forty years left to live, then forty years times twelve months is four hundred eighty months? So, say five hundred. And if you’ve been away from me for almost a month by the time you get back, then that’s one–five hundredth of the rest of my life I’ve spent away from you. That’s like point-two percent.”

“Oh, baby, you need to turn on the TV or something.”

Jane laughed. “I think that’s the problem. I was watching the Science Channel. From now on I’ll stick to
Dr. Oz
. I miss you, Caleb. But I’m so proud of you, honey. So proud.”

“Don’t get too excited, I haven’t made the live show yet.”

“Not yet. But you’ll beat her.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely, I do. I’ve watched all her videos on YouTube at least twice. I hated her at first, of course, but she’s growing on me. She’s good. But she’s not as good as you.”

“That’s nice of you to say. I guess I’ll be home next week whether I make the live show or not.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m marking off the days.”

“Okay, but stop freaking yourself out with the math. Now, tell me what you’ve been up to. Besides saving neighbors and calculating the percentages of our lives. I’m missing my Jane.”

“Let’s see . . . I pepper-sprayed the raccoon and then myself, but I told you that already. Oh, this is fun. I had a really obese guy chase me three blocks and almost collapse of a heart attack just to tell me that he saw someone who wasn’t disabled parking in a disabled spot.”

“Was he handicapped?”

“No, bless his barely beating heart. Just a Good Samaritan. Then another lady told me she hoped I’d drop dead when I wouldn’t take back her ticket.”

“Drop dead? Doesn’t sound ladylike to me. I hope you told her off.”

“Even better. I smiled sweetly and pointed at the Jesus-fish bumper sticker on her car and told her I’d see her in heaven when I did. Then today I went to a Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous meeting. Otherwise, just an ordinary week so far.”

“Wait a minute. A what meeting?”

Jane laughed. “It was an accident. I’ll tell you about it when you get home. What’s Sean up to?”

“He’s out scouring the town for someone new to break his heart. I swear that kid’s a vampire. He gets by somehow on like three hours’ sleep.”

“And since he’s gone, what are you doing?”

“I’m just lying here in bed with your T-shirt, thinking about you.”

“That’s funny,” Jane replied, “because I was just lying here in my bed thinking about you. Except I had something other than a T-shirt to remind me of you. Something between my legs.”

“You filthy woman.”

“Oh, you know you love it.”

“Actually, yes, I do. Why don’t you do it again and talk me through it on the phone?”

“I don’t know,” she said, sounding coy. “I might have to go back to that meeting if I do.”

“Come on, baby. I’m dying over here. It’s been weeks now and I can’t stand it.”

“Okay, tell me what you’d do to me if you were here.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“First, I’d light a candle to set the mood. Then I’d strip naked and climb on top of you. But I wouldn’t let you touch me. Maybe I’d brush my lips against yours. But no kissing yet. Then I’d undress you with my mouth.”

“Oh, really, with your mouth?”

“That’s right. I’d unbutton your shirt with my tongue. I’m very talented, you know.”

“Oh, I know. What about my bra? It clasps in the back.”

“I’d just chew through it.”

“Is that so? Now I’m getting turned on.”

“Well, you’ll have to wait because I’m not done teasing you yet. Next, I’d pull your panties off with my teeth and then I’d spread your legs and just lie there for a long time, my lips pressing ever so gently against your skin. Then I’d taste you. You’d arch your hips because you want more, but I’d only give you the tip of my tongue. But then I’m so hard now I can’t wait to get inside you. My dick is just aching for it. And that smell. Fuck, your smell. It drives me crazy. I rise up and run my tongue over your nipples, and then I’m kissing you and you’re moaning
in my mouth for my cock because I’ve got just the head of it pressed against—”

Jane let out a huge moan into the phone.

“What was that?”

“Just a moan.”

“No, the other sound. The vibrating.”

“Sorry, baby. I couldn’t wait for you. My drawer was too close. Go on. Don’t stop. You’re inside me now. Oh, you’re inside me. Can you feel it? I can feel you.”

“Mmm . . . I can feel it,” he said.

She threw the covers back so she could work better with the hand that was holding the toy.

“Are you hard for me right now, baby?” she asked. “Tell me what you’re doing right now. Tell me. Please tell me.”

“I’ve got my cock in my hands and I’m stroking it, baby. I’m stroking it for you. It’s so hard. I’ve never seen it so hard.”

“Oh, yes. I like that.”

“Now I’m massaging myself, but I’m holding back because it feels so good. Oh, Jane. I’m so hard for you— Oh, holy shit!”

Jane heard a loud thud, as if the phone had dropped. Then she heard someone apologize and the sound of a door closing. Then Caleb was on the line again.

“Sorry, babe. I’ve gotta go.”

“Was that Sean?” Jane asked, laughing. “Did he just walk in on you while you were . . .”

“It’s not funny, babe. I gotta go.”

Jane was still laughing, even though she was trying not to.

“Babe, it’s not funny.”

“Sorry,” she replied, still giggling. “Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said.

Before they hung up, Jane added, “But it is kind of funny.”

“Okay, maybe it’s a little bit funny.”

“Good night, my long-distance lover.”

“Good night, you sexy siren you. I’ll call you tomorrow with the door locked.”

Jane sat in the lobby turning over in her mind all the possible reasons her boss could want to see her. She had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t to give her a raise.

“Mr. Blanco will see you now,” the receptionist said.

Jane rose and retucked her uniform shirt, then pulled her shoulders back and followed the receptionist to Mr. Blanco’s office. He stood waiting for her behind his desk. He waved her to a seat, excused the receptionist, and then sat down. Jane was nervous, but then he smiled at her and she felt much more comfortable. He had an easy way about him. A calm energy.

“And how are you, Jane?”

“I’m doing well. Thank you, Mr. Blanco.”

He flashed a smile. “Please. Manuel.”

“Yes, I remember. Manuel.”

“So, are you enjoying the job so far?”

“I think I’m getting the hang of it, yes.”

“Good. Good.”

He sat smiling at her for what seemed like a long time. Then he leaned back in his chair and sighed, his hands holding on to the edge of his mahogany desk.

“I like my job very much also,” he said at last. “There’s an unexplainable reward in doing work well. My father taught me that. He was a cabinetmaker, and he would have been happy to have had me become a cabinetmaker as well, so long as I took pride in the work. But we all find our own paths in life. When I graduated from college, he made me this desk.”

“It’s a beautiful desk,” Jane said. “I noticed it before.”

“Yes, he was very talented. Sometimes I wish I had chosen a profession where I could see the fruits of my work. But I digress. Forgive me. Do you have children, Jane?”

Jane tried not to look upset when she answered. She considered mentioning Melody but then thought better of bringing it up. She might lose her composure.

“No,” she said, “I don’t have any children.”

“I have a son,” he offered. “He’s twelve. I hope to instill the same work ethic into him that my father did for me. I can’t make him a desk such as this, but perhaps I will pass this one on to him as a reminder that any work is worthy work as long as it is done well.”

“Excuse me if I sound blunt, Mr. Blanco. I mean, Manuel. But is all of this your way of telling me I’m doing a lousy job?”

He flashed a smile again and laughed. “Yes, I have been told I might benefit from being more direct. And I appreciate your bluntness with me. Otherwise we might be here all day. You must understand that much of my day consists of revenue projections and spreadsheets. And as boring as it is, I take pride in doing my job well.”

“I understand,” Jane said. “I can try to do a better job.”

He smiled and reached across the desk and shook her hand. Then he stood, signaling that the meeting was over. Jane rose and said good-bye. She was at the door when he called her name. She stopped and turned back.

“Did you see the Seahawks beat the Panthers on Sunday?”

Jane shook her head. “Has the season started already?”

“Yes. My son and I always watch the games together. I told him I had met a real twelfth man from Seattle. Or twelfth woman, I should say.”

“You mentioned me to your son?” Jane asked.

“He thinks everything from Seattle is cool,” he answered, shrugging. Then he smiled and added, “I guess I do too.”

Chapter 12

C
aleb stopped playing midsong and shook his head.

“This isn’t working,” he said. “It’s too hokey.”

“Hokey,” Jordyn repeated, her tone mocking. “What are you, like fifty years old? Nobody says
hokey
anymore. They say
lame
or
wack
. But I agree with you. The song sucks ass.”

“Oh yeah, because
sucks ass
is so much more current than
hokey
. Did they teach you to talk like that at Juilliard?”

“What’s your hang-up with my education?” she asked. Then before he could answer, she added, “Just because I didn’t learn guitar in juvie like you did. Get off me about it.”

“Sorry, but I just think you’re fake. That’s all.”

Jordyn set her guitar down and leaned forward in her chair, looking straight into Caleb’s eyes.

“Listen,” she said, looking suddenly serious. “I don’t like spending my Saturday writing a stupid duet with you any more than you like spending yours with me. But this is important.”

“I don’t see why,” Caleb replied. “One of us is going to stay and the other is going home. Why sing together?”

She huffed as if he were a stubborn child. “You just don’t get it, do you?”

“Don’t get what?”

“What this is really about. You’ve got to see it in terms of marketing. You’re right, only one of us is going through. But when we do, we’ll be competing against four other singers on live TV. And it won’t be up to the judge anymore, then it’ll be up to America to decide. And those voters, viewers, whatever you want to call them, all they’ll know about us is what they will have just seen on the shows we’re recording now. Including this
hokey duet. So, Caleb, you need to wake up and take this seriously. We want America to fall in love with us.”

“I signed up to write and perform music. You make it sound like we’re selling breakfast cereal or something.”

“Aren’t we?” she asked.

“I sure hope not.”

“You know what? I like you, Caleb. And because I like you, I’m going to tell you something.”

“Should I feel special?”

“Just shut up and listen. Will you listen?”

“Fine, I’ll listen.”

“I didn’t really go to Juilliard. Well, that’s not true either. I kind of did go, but not how I like to let people think. I was in their precollege division.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means I was a freshman in high school when I went. I didn’t officially graduate from there. I got a certificate, but it isn’t the same. But that’s not my point. My point is this. Here I was, learning music theory and solfège from the best.”

“What’s solfège?” Caleb asked, interrupting her.

“It’s a method for sight singing and identifying pitch. It’s why I could hear your song once and then play it back to you. But let me finish. What I’m trying to say is that I was there with the best and the brightest in the world, learning from the most accomplished musicians, and I realized something. I realized that most of those prodigy kids were going to go on to be great musicians themselves. But at the same time, I knew that almost nobody would ever hear them perform.”

“So you’re saying popular music means better music? Then explain Justin Bieber to me.”

“He’s actually pretty good, I think. And Usher obviously thought so when he discovered him. But I don’t want to argue
about Bieber. And I’m not saying popular makes better. But let me ask you something, Caleb. I’ve heard your songs. You really have something to say. Is it fair to let twits like Kesha take up all the airwaves? Don’t you want your voice to be heard?”

Caleb shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Then you’ve got to get popular first so you can say what you want to say and have them hear it.”

“That’s what you think?”

“That’s the lesson I learned. You keep hating me because my father’s rich. But my dad doesn’t care about money. He’s a biologist. And a good one. He’s rich because he helped found a biotech company that develops drugs that make people’s lives better. And the more money they generate, the more research they can do; the more research they do, the more lives they can save. The money’s just a nice bennie. Get it? So why not become famous, build an audience, and then speak your truth? That’s what I learned at Juilliard. That’s what I learned from my father. That’s why I’m here. Now do you understand?”

Caleb sat quietly watching her, considering these things she had said. She looked different in jeans and a T-shirt with almost no makeup on. She looked young. Too young to be wise. But her eyes were bright and alive, and he knew she believed every word of what she was pitching him.

“You wanna know what my father taught me?” he finally asked. “He taught me that you can’t drink just a little bit and still be sober.”

“And what’s that got to do with anything?”

“He convinced himself that he’d drink just a little to get through my mother’s death. Then he drank so much he joined her. You better be careful you don’t get addicted to the fame.”

Jordyn leaned back and crossed her arms and looked at him. He thought he saw both sorrow and defiance in her eyes, and he
was sure she was about to reply when the door opened and their judge walked in, followed by a camera crew.

“How are my two superstars doing?” the judge asked, speaking a little too loudly for the room, probably, Caleb thought, for the benefit of the microphones. He watched as Jordyn flashed the judge a huge Hollywood smile.

“We’re getting on like old friends,” she said. “So much so that I just can’t imagine what I’ll do next week when we’re forced to part.”

She looked to Caleb to confirm this, but he only laughed and picked up his guitar, then went back to rehearsing the song.

Sean had a cut lip and one swollen eye when he came in at midnight. He closed the door and leaned against it, breathing hard. Then he opened it again and peeked out into the hall and looked left and then right, as if perhaps he were checking to see if he had been pursued. When he closed the door again, he latched the privacy lock and flopped onto his bed, where he lay looking at his knuckles and appearing somewhat perplexed.

“Well, fuck all,” he finally said. “I didn’t see that coming.”

“What the hell happened?” Caleb asked.

“Shit, man. I was in the lobby bar trying to pick up this chick. She’s in town with some girlfriends going to Disneyland. Who the fuck goes to Disneyland if they’re old enough to drink? Anyway, some douche got all butt-hurt over my talking to her, and he came over to give me the what-for.”

“So you got in a fight over a girl you don’t even know?”

“No, dude. Screw the girl.”

“Sounds like that’s what you were trying for,” Caleb said.

“Yeah.” He laughed. “I was. I was trying hard too. But that wasn’t it. There’s way too many mice in the barn to fight some crazy cat over just one.”

“I’ve heard of fish in the sea,” Caleb interjected, “but mice in the barn?”

“It’s something my old man says. It’s an Iowa thing, dude. Anyway it wasn’t about her. When Mr. Sunglasses strolled over and cut in, I was happy to tap out. I was gone. But then he had to jump in on me with a comment about the way I looked.”

“Oh, no. What’d he say?”

“He called me Billie Joe Armstrong.”

“The lead singer of Green Day? What’s wrong with that?”

“That’s what I said, man. I actually thanked him.”

“So, what was the problem?”

“After I told him it was a compliment, the idiot goes on to say Billie Joe Armstrong can’t sing for shit.”

“So what?”

“So I hit him.”

“Let me get this straight,” Caleb said. “You won’t fight over a girl, or even over the way you look being insulted, but you’ll up and throw down on a guy for insulting Green Day.”

“Dude, I grew up on Green Day. Some shit’s just sacred.”

Caleb laughed so hard he nearly fell off his bed. “Sorry,” he said, regaining his composure. “But seriously, dude, I’m really going to miss the hell out of you if one of us goes home this week.”

Sean got up and looked at himself in the wall mirror. “I’m sure as shit going home now,” he said. “Look at me.”

“Oh, that’s nothing, pal,” Caleb said, trying hard to sound reassuring. “The makeup gal’ll fix you right up.”

“You think so?”

“Sure. And even if it shows a little, just sing one of your edgier songs. You’ll totally look the part. Everyone loves the badass rocker.”

Sean looked at Caleb’s reflection in the mirror. “Thanks, man. How was your duet rehearsal with Jordyn? She ask about me yet?”

“Yeah, she asked me if you were single.”

Sean whipped around to look at Caleb straight on with his one good eye open wide. “She did?”

“No, dude. I’m just screwing with you. She did give me a lecture on the nature of the music business. Truth is, there’s no way I’m going to beat her. She’s too commercial and I’m too alternative. Plus, I don’t think our judge ever liked me.”

“She passed you through this far.”

“Only because it makes good TV. I swear, this show’s as scripted as a movie. The whole thing’s a racket.”

“Yeah, well, what isn’t?”

“That’s what Jordyn said.”

“See, we were meant to be together, her and I were.” Then he sat on the bed and stripped off his shoes, saying, “I don’t think I’m going through either. Makeup or no makeup.”

“Why not?”

“We rehearsed our duet this afternoon.”

“You and Panda.”

He nodded. “That chick scares me.”

“She’s all of sixteen, dude.”

“I know it. But that voice. Damn. It’s like she opens her mouth and it comes from everywhere all at once. Like a ghost or something. Like the sky opened onto heaven and angels are singing. That girl makes me want to give up music altogether and work for my dad on the farm.”

He tossed his shoes in the corner and rose from the bed. “I’m gonna take a shower. You want me to knock before I come out of the bathroom?”

“Why would I want you to knock?” Caleb asked.

“I dunno,” he said, grinning with his split lip. “Maybe you wanna call your girl or something.”

Caleb threw a pillow at him. “Get out of here.”

Caleb was sitting in the makeup chair getting his face powdered when his judge walked by on her way to the set from her dressing room. She stopped to look him over. The makeup artists stepped back with an air of deference, letting the judge have an uninterrupted view.

“I thought your duet with Jordyn this morning was great, Caleb,” she said. “But are you ready to wow me out there with your final solo act? Only one artist can go through, you know.”

Caleb looked up at her from the makeup chair. “Would it make a difference if I do wow you?”

“Now, what is that supposed to mean?”

“I dunno. I just figured you must already know which one of us you’re sending through.”

“Well, that would spoil all the surprise, wouldn’t it?”

“Maybe for the TV viewers, I guess, which is all anyone here seems to care about.”

She crossed her arms and cocked her head to look at him, then let out a short laugh.

“You’re a strange boy, Caleb Cummings.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Maybe a little of both,” she said.

“Can I ask you something, Cynthia?”

“Fire away.”

“Why did you give me a thumbs-down in Austin? And why did I end up on your team here?”

“That’s two somethings,” she said, “but I’ll answer both. You ended up on my team because we picked names blindly out of a hat. I was as surprised as I’m sure you were.”

“Well, that’s encouraging,” he muttered.

“I gave you a thumbs-down at your audition,” she went on,
“because although I thought you were good, I didn’t think you were ready.”

“But you gave Panda a thumbs-up just before me. And she’s only sixteen.”

“Yes, well, some people are born ready.”

“Do you think I’m ready now?”

She smiled and cocked one plucked and painted eyebrow. “I told you,” she said, “I’m waiting to be wowed by your final performance to decide. Hopefully your roommate hasn’t rubbed off on you too much.”

“Rubbed off on me how?”

“Don’t you think it’s odd that he wears more eyeliner than the sixteen-year-old girl he’s competing against? This is the music business, Caleb, and I’ve been in it a long time. America loves clean-cut and attractive people who are good at what they do. That’s why Starbucks is so successful.”