Waiting for a Girl Like You (11 page)

“Come again?”

“It’s a little esoteric.”

“No kidding. But the whole poem happens at a tea party.”

“Prufrock is at a party, and he thinks all the women there are picking him apart because he’s getting older.”

“Which is where the peach eating happens. This is not the only thing he’s been afraid to try, is it?”

“That’s the impression.” And also a great insight from someone who hadn’t read the poem.

Marc stared at her, and she could see the gears turning. That idiot poem was what led her to break up with Roger. A long spring break spent alone with Prufrock left her nothing to do but think about the isolation she suffered by waiting for Roger. Judging by the expression on Marc’s face, it was turning over a few slimy rocks in his head. He didn’t fear risk. If his band’s gold records on the walls were anything to go by, he’d been successful in a risky business. But something was nagging at him. “I’d like to read that. Can you get me a copy?”

“I have one in my bag upstairs.”

“Fantastic.”

Alex blinked. That was genuine interest. She’d thought she was prepared for him to be clever, but not for him to be smart. She picked up her plate.

“Where you going?”

“I’m going to warm this up some more.”

The bread had not cooled, but he accepted her excuse. He wanted to read Prufrock. It wasn’t just about sex. He appeared to like the whole package. Maybe pulling out the Shelley biography wasn’t such a bad idea.

“I got the movie in. You wanted to watch it, right?”

She put her sandwich in the microwave for fifteen seconds. The darkness outside seemed to peel away the rest of the world. It was just the two of them here. No past to get in the way. Isolated, but with someone.

* * * *

Marc hit play on the file he’d just recorded. The song sounded dirgy, but it was coming together like butter. And it was the second one this week. The last one had been blindingly hopeful. His phone rang.

“Holy smokes, man, what have you been doing out there?” Jason demanded. “First you send me this song that’s like bottled sunshine and Cassie is still walking around the house singing it, and then you send me this melody that’s just so—just so lonely. Did she dump you?”

She
was lying on the couch reading a book that looked thicker than the Bible.

“So you like them?”

“Like them? Shit, I want to be you when I grow up. She did dump you, didn’t she?”

Jason, all the grace of a stampede of buffalo in heat. But the comment about wanting to be him when he grew up? That felt good. “No, she’s just introducing me to some things.”

Alex glanced up and frowned. Marc shook his head.

“Like what?”

“Just some literature and shit.”

“Like the stuff we read in school? Sandy will be so proud.”

“Fuck off.” Marc grinned. Sandy would be proud.

“Do you want me to try a version of either one and see if I can make any improvements, or do you want to leave them in demo stage?”

“Go ahead and tinker with ‘Didn’t Know,’ but I’m still working on ‘Peaches.’”

“What is up with that title anyway? ‘Peaches’? Is Paul stuck on a cobbler kick or something?”

Marc smiled. Peaches. “It’s temporary.”

“Whew, I thought we were going to be laughing your butt out of the writing sessions for it.”

Marc laughed and disconnected. Jason wanted to be him when he grew up. Like that was ever going to happen.

“What was that?” Alex asked.

“Just Jason. He got the demos I sent him.” Marc grinned again. “He wants to be me when he grows up.”

“And this is high praise?”

“Very.”

“I’ll take your word for that.” She went back to her book.

Didn’t matter. She also didn’t know the difference between a good song and a dud. Over the last blissful day of hanging out with Alex while she worked her way through that tome, he’d worked on five songs. He’d been confident enough about “Peaches” and “Didn’t Know” to send them to Jason, but the others were duds that were still on his laptop. She’d said the lyrics sounded a little simple, but otherwise it was all the same to her. That didn’t make her any different than any other girlfriend he’d had or most of the non-musicians he’d met. If Jody liked something, it was marketable, but not great songwriting. Cassie had a good ear for a Touchstone song, but couldn’t identify which ones sounded better than the others. Maureen had never gone beyond being able to name all the members of Def Leppard and Bon Jovi and listened to NPR like she had when she met Bear. So whether she knew music or not wasn’t as important as whether she’d be okay with being alone while he was on tour.

Marc glanced over to where Alex was happily mired in that enormous book. “My buddy Bear’s wife was going to the farmer’s market with Cassie and Kim.” They went every other week so it wasn’t a lie. “Maureen helps Kim homeschool her kids.”

“Really? Do they live in Potterville, too?” She didn’t sound like she’d heard what he had said.

“No, they’re in L.A. Everybody lives out there. This is Jason’s vacation home.”

She nodded, her eyes had not left the book.

“Suzi is working on a new book.”

“She writes?”

“Yeah, she writes these amazing horror stories. They’re e-books. Our bassist Brian discovered them and bought just about everybody an e-reader so we could read them, too. She writes romance novels, too. Her boyfriend is in Savitar. They’re on tour.”

“Is that so?” Still engaged in the book.

“She gets bored when he’s not home, and she writes a lot to keep herself occupied.” Bored? Hell, Suzi got completely crazy. That was something Alex would never have to worry about.

Alex nodded. “That would keep her busy.”

His phone rang. Perfect timing. “Hello?”

“Jerry called. He’s sleeping with a new one-hit wonder who needs a second hit to keep sleeping with him.” Tessa sounded like she was eating a burrito and reading her e-mail. “Jason is writing lullabies full time. Do you have anything?”

Marc scanned his track list. Alex had returned to her book. He was back to square one with her. “I did write this ditty about a short skirt. I didn’t think it was going anywhere, but let me rework it to come from a female singer, and I’ll send it to him.”

“Excellent.” Crunch, crunch. “I’ll draw up the contract.”

“He hasn’t bought it yet.”

“Like he won’t. Come on.” She laughed and hung up.

What was that supposed to mean? Not every little scrap of lyrics he sent out sold. Tessa was getting deranged in her old age.

“Maureen has been helping Kim homeschool her kids. She used to be a teacher, but she quit after they were married for a year.”

Alex looked up from her book. “What?”

“Bear’s wife. She was a teacher.”

“And?”

Good question. This topic wasn’t going as smoothly as he’d hoped. “Nothing. I was just thinking about them.”

“No, that’s fine.” She closed her book. “I just thought you were mentioning them in passing. Was there something you wanted to discuss? I’m terrible at small talk.”

This was worse. Yes, dear, I wanted to find out how you would react to being left alone while I recorded and toured because I don’t want to repeat Dez. That would go over great. “I thought you might be getting bored with me working here.”

“No, I’m good. I spend a lot of time with a book. You’re not bothering me.”

Bothering her? Hadn’t thought of that. Bothering her. Most women were torn up if he wasn’t focused on them all the time. Kind of promising that she could sit there and read just fine with or without him. He opened the file on the short skirts song. He’d been thinking of Alex the night he met her at the diner and ended up fixing the dishwasher. Right now it was a man extolling the virtues of a woman in a short skirt, but it would be easy to retool as a woman extolling the virtues of the same skirt to attract a man. The point of view change would take it from a pervy dud to a cute pop song. Before he was halfway through, his phone rang again.

“Somebody is wearing his big songwriters pants today.”

“Ronnie Bauer, to what do I owe the honor?” Marc glanced at Alex. She had to recognize that name. Ronnie was uber-famous. Not knowing Ronnie Bauer was like not knowing Paul McCartney or Steven Spielberg. But she didn’t react. She might be as in the dark as Maureen when it came to pop culture.

“Jason forwarded me these new tracks, and they are amazing. I’ve never heard anything like it from you. Jason said he was going to tinker with them, and I told him I’d break his arms if he touched them.”

Marc frowned at the phone. Ronnie Bauer, musical genius, capable of writing a smash hit before breakfast and composing an oratorio between lunch and a nap in the afternoon. “You think they’re that good?”

“Peaches” started playing in the background. “You know what this reminds me of? That poem where the beast slouches slowly toward Bethlehem.”

“The beast slouches slowly toward Bethlehem?”

Alex perked up. She probably already knew what poem he meant.

“Yeah, the best are, I don’t know, tired or something, and the worst are filled with fiery intensity.”

“The worst are filled with fiery intensity?”

Alex cocked her head. Now she was paying attention. “‘Things fall apart, the center cannot hold. Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.’ ‘The Second Coming’ by W. B. Yeats.”

“That’s it!” Ronnie shouted.

Marc almost dropped the phone. Alex smirked at him.

“‘Peaches’ reminds me of that. You found a smart one. She must be a good influence.” Ronnie paused. “You aren’t sticking with that title, are you?”

“That’s temporary.”

“That’s good. Listen, my old bandmate Shep wants to do an album, but he’s not going to be able to write the material by himself, and I don’t have the time right now. Would you be willing to work with him?”

Glen Shepard, most awesome drummer from Star Fury, wanted to do an album and Ronnie Bauer, most awesome all-around musician from Star Fury and a storied solo career, wanted him to help. Marc resisted the desire to drop to his knees chanting, “I’m not worthy.” “Are you sure?”

“Christ, man, you’ve been working with Jason all these years so you have lots of experience molding half-formed ideas, and these new originals of yours are just brilliant. I was mostly concerned about making sure Shep didn’t come off like an idiot, but you could give him a respectable solo project.”

It was really hard to not fall to his knees. “Jason’s a good songwriter on his own.”

“Have I or have I not known you boys your entire career? Jason has his moments, but you have always provided polish. I won’t lie to you. Shep needs more than polish. Some of the crap he has brought me over the years. I swear he once brought me a song he thought was brilliant and it was a second rate ‘Yummy Yummy Yummy.’”

Marc snorted because Ronnie absurdly treated him like an equal and expected him to be cool. “Sure, I can do that. Is there going to be an ego problem?”

“With Shep? If he gets difficult with you, let me know, and I’ll kick his ass. I’ll tell Shep so his people can get in touch with your people and we can get this ball rolling. Copacetic?”

“Absolutely, and thanks for the opportunity.”

“Kid, people give themselves their own opportunities by being ready.”

Over twenty years he’d been listening to that. He should believe it by now. “I’ll be expecting to hear from Shep.”

“You are bailing me out here, and I won’t forget it. Enjoy your smart chick. They can get creative in the sack. See ya.”

“Bye.” Marc clicked off his phone and stared at it, waiting for his heartbeat to slow down.

“You look stunned,” Alex said.

“I am. Ronnie wants me to help Glen Shepard write songs for a solo album.”

“Surely, you jest.”

“Don’t call me Shirley.” Marc set his guitar in the stand and left the phone on the floor.

“Who is Glen Shepard?” Alex put aside her book.

“He was in Star Fury. They are still one of the top five grossing bands in history, and they broke up forty years ago.” He sat down on the couch beside her. Because she had told him about Eliot and had given him that poem to read, he had changed the way he approached songwriting. Because he had changed the way he approached songwriting, Ronnie Bauer had asked him to work on Glen Shepard’s solo album.

“So they’re good?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard them. You just might not have realized it.” Marc cupped her cheek. Ida and Paul had been more right about her than they knew.

“So this is good news.” She bit her lip. Sexy, intelligent, horizon-expanding.

“Excellent news. This is prestigious.”

“Congratulations.”

Indeed. Ronnie hadn’t called Jason to work with Shep. Ronnie hadn’t called Marc either until Alex started introducing him to classic literature. Marc kissed her. Dream girl, fantasy gig, and the respect of his peers. Now, he had it all.

“So how are things going?” Paul asked as he monitored three different meals cooking at the same time. “According to Angela, you’ve pretty much moved in up the mountain.”

“Then you know how things are going.” Alex packed half a dozen sausage rolls into a bakery box for a takeout order. That might be the best non-answer she’d ever come up with. Things were great in that they never ran out of conversation topics. Marc had shattered her prejudgment of rock musicians as idiots in half a conversation and kept getting more interesting all the time. When she pulled out the Shelley bio, he’d been curious. And the sex, well, shit, the sex left
her
speechless. He’d also been working on a song, which was fascinating on its own. She’d spent years studying completed and polished works, but she’d never seen a work created. The latest was a complex piece that relied heavily on Prufrock, and another story she’d handed him called
The Chrysanthemums,
which was along the same theme of regret and lost opportunity. She was going to end up influencing a top forty hit with modernist poetry and literature.

On the other hand, things sucked because someday he was going to find out about Roger, and then he’d hate her for being the other woman. Alex jostled the box, scrambling not to drop it.