The Girl in the Comfortable Quiet Page 11

  Neil reaches for his coffee. “Patricia put that together. It’s an itinerary. Press appearances we’re going to make together while I’m home on the break.”

  My eyes go wide. “We had an agreement. You promised you would never expect me to do the press thing for you.”

  “And I would rather not do it,” he says in a way that makes me cringe. “Don’t argue with me, Chrissie. I’m not even sure if it matters to me anymore trying to spin our marriage into something more than a locker room joke in the tabloids. But Ernie thinks it’s necessary and we’re doing it.”

  Oh fuck.

  Neil leans forward in his chair, elbows on his legs. He starts shaking his head. I can see he’s struggling really hard still, just being near me and talking to me.

  “I listened to your tapes last night,” he says quietly. “You’re a brilliant songwriter and vocalist. I respect your artistry. I always have. Maybe I haven’t shown it. Maybe I should have told you and you’d have come to me instead of going to him if you wanted to get something going with your music. I fucking understand you wanting your music out there. And I would never tell you what you can or can’t do. What you should or shouldn’t do for us. I won’t ever tell you. Equal partners, Chrissie. You make your own decisions. That’s always been our deal. But I hope you’ll share with me the things you want to do. So it can be part of us. I love you. You’re my best friend. My wife. It’s not what you’ve done, baby. That’s not why we are where we are. It’s the who.”

  I nod, unable to get the words out through the emotion clogging my throat. I stare down at Kaley suckling against my breast. Please, let us be OK for her.

  Neil stands up. “But you have stirred everything up, Chrissie. The gossip. The tabloids. The fucked-up stuff in our marriage. And it is time for you to decide who you are married to. Me or him.”

  ~~~

  I find Neil in the bedroom, lying on the bed reading. I carefully ease Kaley from my arms into her cradle and sink down beside Neil on the bed.

  “I read through the itinerary,” I say softly. “I love you. I’ll do it. I’m married to you, Neil.”

  A visible shudder rolls down his body. He pulls me into his arms and turns me beneath him on the bed. His mouth moves in hungry desperation against me. He whispers, “You still don’t get it, how much I love you, Chrissie.”

  He enters my body quick, rough and hard. At first thrust I know this isn’t going to be gentle or tender or loving. It is angry fucking. But I don’t care. He is touching me, filling me, kissing me, searching in my flesh for his own need, and I feel the building climb in both our bodies propelled by the anger he’s trying no longer to share.

  I come hard, arching up into him as the rolling waves rumble through my limbs. He thrusts into my body faster and faster. He is moaning and shaking, moisture dripping from his skin. He rears up, taking my hips with him as he spills into me.

  He collapses against my breast, tired and passion-drained. I run my hands up and down his back and kiss his hair. Maybe now we’ll be OK.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  January 1997

  I lie impatiently in bed, waiting for Neil to finish his call. I check the clock. It’s fucking 3 a.m. What the hell is the matter with Ernie Levine? Can’t he tell time? He interrupted what could have been a good thing starting here, and has now jabbered on for nearly two hours.

  Neil snaps shut his mobile phone and lets out a ragged sigh.

  I stare up at him. “I can’t believe you just let Ernie rope you into another four months on the road.”

  Aggravated, he runs a hand through his hair. “The tour starts April. It’s only four months. It’s the business, Chrissie. You know that. Don’t start. Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

  I turn over onto my back. “Fine. No shit.”

  Neil sinks down on his pillow.

  I stare up at the ceiling and tell myself not to nag him. He’s stressed. Sixteen months straight on the road. Then six months home trying to record a new album. Soon, back out again for another four months.

  “How long is everyone going to stay here?” I whisper. “Can you kick them out? Maybe for a month before you go? I want to have some quiet, private family time again.”

  He lets out another long, aggravated breath. “We need to finish the album before we head back on the road.”

  I lean up on an arm and make a face at him. “Maybe you and the guys would work better if the house were less crowded. I don’t know why there are all these extra people here. I’m cool with the guys being here. Get rid of everyone else.”

  “Fine. Everyone tomorrow except the guys,” Neil says in a tired way. “The guys stay until we’ve got enough songs for the new album. Happy now, Chrissie?”

  I smile and nod. “Very happy. Thank you.”

  I kiss his cheek and settle back in bed. Maybe now I’ll be able to fix whatever is wrong between us. The constant noise and the people have definitely been too much for my raw senses. With them gone, maybe I can start getting us back on track.

  It’s so hard for us to connect emotionally when we’re never alone together. No wonder we can’t break free of this terrible place we’re in: the space between loving and hating, a sort of sexual purgatory, where he infrequently fucks me hard and then quickly disengages.

  Maybe I was wrong to continue working with Alan. Maybe I was wrong to believe Neil when he said he was cool with it. He’s been strange with me ever since. Not good. Not bad. Just not him.

  He’s his normal self with the guys. He is my Neil when he’s with Kaley. But I can’t lie to myself anymore. We haven’t been completely OK, not since that day. We’ve just moved into a different type of broken. Angry fucking and nothing else.

  He shuts off the light and rolls onto his side in his ready-to-sleep position.

  “You still going to LA next week?” he asks.

  I tense. “Alan is recording my new song. A couple of days at most.”

  Silence. Damn.

  “Neil, please, you said there was no problem with me working with Alan. That you were OK with it. Alan has been with Kathy for two years. Don’t get all weird. It’s not fair to tell me everything is OK with you and then get all weird on me when I do them.”

  “Chrissie, you don’t have to explain. It’s good. We’re good. Fuck, you’ve had six songs on the charts. Long and Hard is an incredible album, and ‘Parts’ an amazing song. Why fuck with success? Why shouldn’t you record with him? I’m proud of you, baby.”

  Then why don’t you sound proud?

  I curl into him and start to lightly kiss his back as my hand slowly caresses, moving around to the front of him.

  Neil pulls away. “I’m tired, Chrissie. I just want to sleep.”

  His voice turns me cold. My cheeks flush. “Maybe you’d sleep better if we had sex once in a while.”

  He plumps his pillow. “I need to sleep, Chrissie. I’ve just remembered, I’m heading out early with the guys in the morning. We’re going to go camp and surf for a few days. Get away from all the shit for a while.”

  Shit? What shit? Me?

  “How long will you be gone?” I ask.

  “I’ll be back next week. Before you leave.”

  He rolls into me and drops a fast kiss on my lips. “Night, Chrissie.”

  He turns away. I stare at his back, hugging my pillow, willing my tears not to come. But it is the worst feeling I have ever known, night after night, lying in the darkness beside a man I love, untouched, afraid and alone.

  ~~~

  I sit on a couch in the living room basking in the silence. I hate that Neil is off camping with the guys, that he didn’t even bother to ask me if I wanted to join them, but having the house empty for once is a marvelous thing. Maybe I can write some new lyrics for a change.

  House quiet. Kaley napping. Life is good today.

  I chew on the tip of my pen and stare at the blank page. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Mind totally empty. I toss my stuff onto the coffee table. I’m too e
motionally messy to work. Face it, Chrissie, life isn’t good today. Not with you and Neil.

  I stare out the windows at the ocean. Why didn’t Neil ask me to join him surfing today like he used to in Berkeley? He used to love having me sit on the beach, watching him and waiting. I would have gone if he’d asked me.

  I hear a car in the driveway and shut off my musings. I spring from the couch and hurry up the stairs to the foyer. I step out into the warm sun just as Linda Rowan steps out from the driver’s seat.

  My brows hitch up. “Linda, what are you doing here?”

  She sets her elbows on the roof of her car and scrunches up her nose. “Well, that’s a fine greeting. I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

  I smile. “I am happy to see you. I’m just surprised. You didn’t call. What are you doing here?”

  She holds her arms wide in a dramatic way. “I was in Santa Barbara. So here I am. I wanted to see you before I hit the road to go back to LA. And I don’t have to call. We’re practically family.”

  I laugh, more than a little pleased she just dropped in. A diversion from my worries would be nice for a change.

  “How long are you staying?” I ask.

  “Just a few hours. I need to get back home. Leaving Len in charge of Bobby for more than a few days is a recipe for a fucked-up kid.”

  I make a pout. “You’ve been in town a few days and you didn’t call me?”

  “I had things to do, Chrissie,” she counters in a heavily exaggerated way. “You are a priority on the visit list, but not my first.”

  “Oh,” I say with heavy meaning.

  She shakes her head, annoyed. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  I meet her stare for stare. “It means you’re doing shit you don’t want me to know about.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You have a suspicious mind and, no, I went to a spa. I can’t keep my body looking this way without regular intervals at the spa. Some of us are nearing forty.”

  “Bullshit. You are drop dead gorgeous and you know it,” I say, moving toward the front door.

  Inside, Linda pauses on the foyer landing. Her gaze moves slowly around the room. “Jeez, it’s been too long since I’ve been here. I’ve forgotten how incredible the view is. And you’ve really done a lot to the house since I was last here. It looks amazing.”

  I smile. “What’s amazing is what you can get done when your husband is never home.”

  Her gaze sharpens on my face and I note too late there was just a touch of edge to my voice when I said ‘husband is never home.’ Shit, that’s all I need. Linda the bulldog sensing something is wrong and digging around in my shit.

  I change the subject quickly. “Neil is off surfing and Kaley is napping so you’re not going to get to see them. You’re stuck with visiting just me today. Would you like something to drink? Are you hungry?”

  “No, but thanks. I really can only stay a few minutes. I just popped up here to give you something.” Linda drops down heavily on the sofa and begins to rummage through her bag. “I figured I was in town, why mail it?”

  I groan, sinking down beside her. “Please, not another birthday present from Alan for Kaley. I’ve asked him to stop sending them, but they keep coming every birthday and Christmas. Can’t you do something to make him stop?”

  Linda doesn’t look up as she continues to search the junk in her massive tote, but she’s shaking her head in a way that tells me I’ve struck her Alan protectiveness and angered her.

  “Alan is a giver to the core, Chrissie. I told you that a long time ago. You matter to him so Kaley matters to him. It’s as simple as that. There is nothing wrong with him being kind to a little girl. Why are you being so petty about this?”

  Really, Linda? Petty?

  If anyone should understand why the gifts send my nerves into full alarm, Linda should know. I wonder if I should ask her if there is more to Alan’s attentiveness to Kaley than she’s letting on. Linda is so crafty in how she negotiates the complicated web of her friendships. I don’t think she’s said anything to Alan—and I haven’t really said anything point blank to her—but everyone is always commenting on Kaley’s beautiful, enormous brown eyes. Even Alan smiled at her and said something the last time he was here. I almost had a heart attack until the moment blew over into nothingness.

  Finally, she pulls something from her bag. My eyes widen in surprise. “It’s not a present for Kaley. You brought me a book? You drove all the way up the mountain to personally deliver a book?”

  Her expression grows amused and sparkly as she sets it in my hands. “The Signature,” she announces in an excited way that doesn’t match the gift. “You haven’t read it?”

  I crinkle my nose as I read the back jacket. “No. I don’t read novels. And I definitely wouldn’t read a romance novel.”

  Her gaze intensifies on me. “Well, you should read this one. It’s written by your neighbor, Jesse Harris.”

  “Jesse? You’ve got to be kidding.” I study it and then frown. “That’s not the name on the cover.”

  “If you were a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, would you put your name on a romance novel?” She swipes her finger across the cover over the author’s name. “That’s a pen name. But he’s definitely the author. Since Bianca and Kenny split up, she’s had to work and she works at this publishing house. She wasn’t supposed to tell me, but she did. Jesse Harris is the real author. But that’s not the best part.”

  She makes a dramatic pause, and I roll my eyes.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s got you so overheated about this book?” I ask. “Is it dirty? Is my favorite neighbor a closet sicko?”

  She laughs. “Sort of. But not the way you think. And the book is sweet and romantic, actually.” She takes back the book and starts thumbing through the pages. “It’s the characters. The characters in the book. They are us. We’re all in this book.”

  My eyes widen. “What do you mean, all?”

  “You, me, Neil, and Manny. Even Jesse’s brother, Sandy. It’s us. He’s been sitting in that house on the hill above us watching us and writing a fictional romance where he is the hero and ends up with you.”

  My heart stops in my chest. “You’re joking, right?”

  She shakes her head spiritedly. “Krystal Palmer. It’s you, Chrissie. I’d bet every dollar I have that Jesse Harris is having a fictional love affair with you in this book. That you are Krystal Palmer and he is Devon Howard.”

  I give her the are you out of your fucking mind look. “Very funny.”

  She lights a cigarette and shrugs. “Fine. Don’t believe me. Read the book. You’ll see. I saw it at once.”

  I stare down at the cover. A blonde who mildly resembles me, and she is a singer. But no, no, no. This is too crazy. Jesse is a good friend. If there were something off about him I would have seen it. And Linda’s suspicions would definitely indicate there’s something off about the guy. It’s not possible. Linda has this wrong.

  I set the book on the coffee table and she picks it back up, shoving it at me.

  “Read it,” she orders.

  I tense. “Why? Is there something in there that should make me worried about him living so close to me?”

  She gives me a look of annoyance. “No. It’s a sweet book. I told you that. But the man is definitely hung up on you and you should know it.”

  “Know it? Why?”

  “I don’t know,” Linda counters heatedly. “I just think you should know what Jesse Harris is doing up there.”

  I stand up. “This entire conversation is absurd. I’m getting some ice tea. Do you want some?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re not flattered. He’s gorgeous. Sexy as all hell. And he’s up there totally into you. So much so he writes a book about you where he steals you from—” Her brows pucker and she reads the back cover. “—Morgan Katz. Who’s written in a way that makes him a dead ringer for Manny. Come on, Chrissie. It must be a little bit of a turn-on to have that hot guy lusting aft
er you to the point he’s writing books so he can fuck you.”

  “Lusting? I’m not the kind of woman men lust after,” I murmur with more disquiet than I want.

  I can feel Linda watching me as I move toward the kitchen. She swivels around on the sofa, facing me.

  Her intimidating, penetrating brown eyes lock like a laser on me. “What’s wrong, Chrissie?”

  I tuck my hair behind my ears. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  Linda’s brows hitch up. “Well, you don’t look fine and you don’t sound fine.”

  I struggle to hold in my words. Linda is the last person I should talk to about me and Neil, but the urge is nearly overpowering. Linda is a wealth of knowledge about all things men. Maybe she can help me figure out how to fix everything with Neil.

  I shake my head. “It’s just marriage, Linda. It gets you down sometimes. You must feel that way occasionally. It’s nothing serious. Just marriage.”

  “Marriage. Aha.” Her gaze sharpens on me like a hawk. “Neil comes home on his breaks and stays here with you. He’s a wonderful father to Kaley. He supports your career to the point you record with Alan and he rolls with it. He loves you. So what is it? Out with it, Chrissie. Just drop it on the table for a change so we can sort through this in less than a decade. Did the kid fuck around when he was on the road?”

  I flush and ignore the question.

  Her eyes widen. “Oh, so that’s it. Neil is screwing around. Well, here’s a news flash, Chrissie. They all do. It was bound to start. You have a wonderful life. A beautiful home and daughter. Get over it. Men like to fuck. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  I flinch at the way she says that, as if it’s no concern Neil might be cheating on me and that I am unreasonable to object. Linda has screwed-up logic at times. Jeez, is that how she copes with Len’s frequent, flagrant infidelity? Is it that simple for her? Men like to fuck?

  I shrug off my reaction to that, since my problem is one-hundred-eighty degrees the opposite and Neil isn’t fucking around. I’m positive of that. Whatever is going on is more complicated, less ordinary than infidelity.