Sweet Thing (6 page)

“You’re kidding? Name ‘em,” I demanded.

In a super-fast voice Will recited, “Raymond, Reina, Rachelle, Rae, Riley, Rianna, Reese, Regan, Remy, Regina, Ranielle, Rebecca, and then me, Will.”

“Surely they could have figured out another
R
name?”

“Well my brother was named after my dad, so my mom felt like I should be named after someone too, being the only other boy and all. So I was named after my grandfather… Wilbur Ryan.”

“Oh my god!” I burst into laughter. “Your name is Wilbur?”

“Hey, woman, that’s my poppy’s name, too.”

Still giggling, I said, “I’m sorry, I just expected William.”

“Yeah, it’s okay. Everyone does.” He smiled and winked at me again.

The winks were making me blush. “So you don’t like your family?”

“No I love ‘em, they’re great. Most of them are married with kids. I have so many nieces and nephews I don’t even know all their names. When I go back home, I just call them by some physical trait like freckles, dimples, small fry, things like that. They love me. My family doesn’t get the music thing though. They always thought I was a little weird. Instead of G.I. Joe, I wanted records. I’m totally self-taught and I can pretty much play anything. During the holidays, I bust out a bunch of cheery holiday songs that my family can sing along to. They tell me things like ‘You’re so fun, Will, with your guitar music,’ but to them it’s not a serious thing.” The buzzer rang. “That’s probably Dustin.”

We both walked to the speaker. I pushed the button and said, “Hello?”

“Dude, get down here, I’m double-parked.”

“Dude?”

“Oh. Sorry, dude, can you tell Will to get down here?”

“Sure.”

I looked up at Will who shrugged. “He’s from California.” Like that explained everything. “Come on.” He motioned toward the door. “You should meet them.”

When we got out to the street, I saw Will take a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, tap the bottom, and grab one out with his teeth. “I thought you quit?”

“I did.” He tossed the pack to one of the guys leaning against the van, then took the unlit cigarette from his mouth and tucked it behind his ear.

He pointed to his ear. “That one’s for looks.” He turned toward the van. “Hey, guys, this is Mia, my roomy. Mia, this is Dustin and Nate.”

Dustin had long, brown hair and a skinny, wiry build like a typical drummer. Nate was taller and thicker with a shaved head. Both guys smiled politely at me as we shook hands. “I saw you guys play at The Depot the other night. You were so good, but you have to get rid of Pete.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Dustin said.

Nate chimed in. “You wanna be our singer, Mia?”

I knew he was joking, but I answered him anyway. “I’m too shy.”

“She can play piano for us, though,” Will said.

“Well, I’d have to think about that,” I said, glaring at Will.

I had never even thought about playing music live or with a band. Growing up, I played at more than a few stuffy recitals, and in high school I had some fun playing in cafés around town in Ann Arbor, but that was as far as I ever planned to take my music career. The thought of playing in New York City among the overwhelming talent seemed more terrifying than thrilling.

Will grabbed the guitars and small amp from the back of the van. He handed me the acoustic. Heading back into the building, he shot the guys a look and yelled, “See you Saturday.”

I waved. “Nice meeting you,” I said, then followed Will back toward the stairs.

They both shouted, “Bye, Mia!” in silly voices.

When we got back up to the apartment, I opened the case I was carrying and admired the black Gibson acoustic guitar inside.

“My dad’s guitars are away in cases. I have two stands if you want to use them?”

“I would love that, Mia, Thanks.” He went into his room and began getting settled. I brought the stands in. “Perfect.” He took them from my hands.

“You can play in the living room whenever you want.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, definitely, except for when I’m giving lessons.”

“Of course,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “Oh shit, I’ve got to be at work early tonight so I’m gonna get going in a minute. Thanks for everything.”

“No problem,” I said and headed down the hallway to the kitchen. I put The Smiths on the stereo and began cutting up some veggies for a salad.

I heard Will singing to the song as he came down the hallway. He imitated Morrissey’s voice perfectly, accent and all. It was uncanny.

“
So if there’s something you’d like to try… if there’s something you’d like to try…
” I turned to face him; he raised his eyebrows, looked right at me and sang, “
Ask me, I won’t say no, how could I?
”

Then he shot me his sexy smile. My knees buckled. My god, would I ever get used to it?

He winked and said, “Bye, Roomy. Come and have a drink if you want.”

He was dressed in gray jeans and a black short-sleeved dress shirt. He normally looked so edgy, so rock and roll, but with the collar he looked quite dapper. He must have also run his hands through his hair with a bit of gel because it was out of his face for once. It was definitely his hot bartender look.

“Bye, buddy,” I whispered as he went bolting out the door. I hadn’t slept with anyone in two years. Frankly, it was unnatural. The way I reacted to Will made me think that I really needed to give up the saint act, but I wasn’t into one-night stands. The last boyfriend I’d had was back in college. His name was Bryan York and he was in the music department at Brown. Go figure. Except Bryan was the nerdy music guy. He played the tuba and wanted to be a marching band director. He was beyond nice, but a little strange. It was my senior year and I lived off campus by then. Students occupied most of the apartment building I lived in, so it still had the dorm feel. A few months after Bryan and I had started dating, everyone in the building noticed that he would do random drive-bys. I guess checking to see if my car was there, even though he never confronted me about anything and didn’t have a possessive bone in his body. At any rate, he was driving by rather regularly, so he quickly earned the nickname “Spyin’ Bryan.” It became such a well-known nickname that people would refer to him as Spyin’ Bryan right to his face and he would just go with it. Poor drip. I knew it wouldn’t last. We broke up but remained friends. That was my last boyfriend.

The last time I had sex was New Year’s in Portugal two years ago. It was with some guy I met in the plaza at midnight when everybody was throwing champagne bottles into a giant pile. The crowd was wild and I was feeling festive or drunk and someone told me that the Portuguese make great lovers. I wouldn’t know; I don’t remember a thing about it except that I’m fairly certain I wore a blue wig through the whole escapade. The next morning I woke up in a strange apartment, still wearing the blue wig. There he was, lying on his side, elbow propped under his head. He was staring down at me, smiling and inhaling my hangover dragon breath. He didn’t speak a word of English. We tried to communicate awkwardly for ten minutes until I got dressed, stood at the door, blew him a kiss, and took off. I swore to myself I would never perform the walk of shame again.

I had to get out of the heady mind space I was in. I looked out the window and it was still light out, so I decided to take Jackson for a run. I stopped into Kell’s afterward. Thursday nights were fairly busy because of a little poetry group that meets there. The group is made up of older folks from the good old days and a few college kids who like to do slam poetry. I tied Jackson up outside, got him a bowl of water, and then went in behind the counter to make myself some tea. “Hi, Martha. Why are you still here?”

“I’m wrapping up. Jenny is running late. Oh, Mia, a man came in with a little boy. He asked if you were here and then asked about piano lessons for the boy.”

“Huh.” I wondered why he hadn’t just called the number in the first place and then Jenny came dancing through the door with a huge smile on her face. “Why are you so happy?”

“It’s poetry night. I love watching these college boys slam,” she said as she raised her eyebrows up and down.

I turned toward Martha. “You can go. Thanks for everything.”

“Of course, Mia Pia. See you tomorrow,” she said as she gave me a big squeeze.

Martha left and I realized I had never called my mom back from the day before. “I better get home, Jenny, I need to talk to my mom.”

“Don’t tell her about Will unless you’re prepared for a lecture.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I kissed her on each cheek and said, “Ciao, Bella.” I thought about it as I left the café. My mother would find out about Will soon enough. As I made my way up the stairs to my apartment, I could hear my phone ringing. I ran in and jumped for the receiver. Out of breath, I managed a labored “Hi.”

A man’s voice came on. “Um, hi. I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“No, I just ran up my stairs.”

“Oh, this is Robert Thompson. I was in Kell’s the other day and picked up a number for piano lessons. Is this Mia?”

“Yeah. Hi, so you have a child you’d like to put in piano lessons?”

“Yeah, I think we kind of met. I was in there with my son and you helped me at the counter?”

It was Mr. Suitable and Stable.

“Oh yeah, how’s it going?”

“It…” He paused. “It’s going well, thank you. How about yourself?”

“Great. When would you like to bring…?” I waited.

“Jacob.”

“Yeah, Jacob. When would you like to bring Jacob over?”

“Whenever you’re available.” He was being slightly curt, or maybe he was just a snob.

“How about Saturday, around six?”

“Perfect,” he said.

“I live above Sam’s restaurant just down from Kell’s. Just hit the button for two when you get here and I’ll buzz you in.”

“Okay, we’ll see you Saturday, Mia.”

He didn’t ask me how much the lessons were or how long they lasted. I wondered how safe it was to give piano lessons in New York City. I would have to arrange something where I let Sheil or the ladies at Kell’s know when I was going to start a lesson. That’s what I would do. My phone rang again.

“Hello?”

“Hi, sweetheart. I was worried about you.”

“Sorry, Mom, I got busy. Aren’t you coming out this week?”

“I can’t for at least a few more weeks.” There was a long pause. “Okay?”

“Yes, of course,” I said in a low voice.

“I’ve been slammed at work. Everything okay, Mia? You sound distracted. How are you holding up?”

Suddenly my feelings shifted from being worried about what my mom would think of Will, to being disappointed that she wouldn’t be coming sooner, to feeling alone and missing my father.

“I’m fine. I miss him.” My voice cracked.

“I know.” She took a deep breath. “Aw, Mia, I’m so sorry I can’t be there sooner. Just know that he’s with you, sweetheart, coursing through every single one of your veins.” She whispered the last part, sounding pained.

I hovered over the piano and tapped a continuous beat on the middle-C key while I pondered her comment.

“I suppose he is,” I said as one tiny tear traveled down my cheek.

We said our goodbyes. That night with Jackson at my side, I cried myself to sleep thinking about my father. I woke up hours later and reached for the glass of water on my nightstand. I glanced at the clock; it was three thirty a.m. There was no light coming from Will’s room, but I could hear him sleepily strumming his guitar. The healing sound sent me drifting into a much more contented sleep.

The next morning I got ready quickly. As I headed toward the hall, I glanced into Will’s room. He was shirtless and sound asleep on his side, facing the window. His tattooed arm was up over his head, his bicep almost covering his eyes. He looked peaceful and warm and it gave me the sudden urge to strip down and crawl under the covers with him. I shook my head to clear the thought, then motioned for Jackson to go lay down. He walked in and sniffed around and Will reached his arm back, petted the dog’s head, then patted the bed, calling him up. Jackson jumped up and curled into a ball against him. I took a mental photo and then tiptoed down the hallway and out the door.

It was a slow day at Kell’s. At five, I went to the market and got all my favorites: wine, cheese, strawberries, and chocolate. I was going to play some music and indulge, alone. When I walked in, Will stood up abruptly from the couch and reached out to grab my bags.

“Let me help.”

“When do you go to work?” I asked while handing over the groceries.

“I don’t work Fridays, in case we have gigs, and there was nothing tonight.”

“Oh. No barhopping with the boys?”

“I work in a bar, Mia, and I play in bars. It’s kind of nice to be home at night once in a while.” He paused and asked without a trace of sarcasm, “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, of course. So you’ll probably want to have some quiet time and hit the hay then?”

“Actually, I thought maybe we could have that coffee. You know, just as friends.”

“I have wine,” I said.

“Even better.”

I started to cut up the strawberries and cheese and spread our feast out on a platter along with the chocolate, some almonds, and a few crackers.