It’s convoluted, but my gut says I’m making the right choice by not making a choice at all. Maybe it’s immature, or maybe it’s a temporary stopgap that’s gonna bite me in the ass cheek later. Probably will, but I have to live with myself in the meantime.
I eventually stop in one of the bars, order a beer, and sit on a patio at a small table by myself, watching the people passing by on the sidewalks and listening to the echoes of at least three different songs being played in three different open-air bars on this very corner. I’m nearing the bottom of my glass when a familiar face settles in the chair across from me.
“Ms. Hamilton,” I say with a nod to the tall blonde.
“Please, call me Trina. Ms. Hamilton is what I make Coolidge and Jacoby call me when they piss me off. Craig, this is my wife, Melody.” She gestures to a pretty redhead with bold glasses. “Mel, this is Craig Boseman, one of the most talented producers about town.”
“Ha,” I say. “Pleasure to meet you, Melody. That’s an embarrassing exaggeration, Trina, but I’m not above flattery. Can I get you ladies a drink?”
Trina’s already shaking her head, waving a server over. “Ordered at the bar and told them where to find us when I saw you out here. You alone tonight?”
I nod, taking a long sip from my glass and motioning for another. “Yeah. Had an unfortunate encounter with an old partner this evening and found I needed to decompress.”
“Maybe he’d rather be alone, then, Trina—” Melody says with an apologetic smile.
“Nonsense,” Trina says, waving off her wife before nailing me with a look. “Drake Colter’s a fraud. You know it, I know it, everyone in this town ought to know it if they’ve been paying attention.”
I shake my head. “You are an uncanny woman, Trina Hamilton.”
“You don’t get to where I am in life without picking up on a thing or two.”
“Clearly,” I mutter into my fresh beer before lifting it to my lips.
“So listen up close, because I don’t dispense this wisdom on everyone…”
Her wife snickers and rolls her eyes in my direction. “She hasn’t made it to Antarctica yet.”
Trina ignores her, but her glossed lips twitch in amusement. “That song you wrote about Lorelai, ‘Jonesin’’？” I splutter and she ignores me, plowing ahead. “What, that was a secret? Jesus fuck, Boseman, don’t be embarrassing.” I wave her on, coughing. She huffs, clacking her long, mani cured nails on the table. “That song that you so very clearly wrote and that Drake Colter so very clearly stole and used to publicly court my client is number two on the charts as of today. Did you know that?”
I shake my head. The Billboard numbers dropped this afternoon and I’ve been a little preoccupied.
“You made your point real good, didn’t you?” Trina says. “Unbelievably, I don’t think you were even trying, but that’s part of your charm, ain’t it? You know what song is number one?”
I shake my head.
“The fucking duet.”
I sink back into my chair. “No.”
Trina grins. “Why the fuck do you think I’m out here with all these people? I’m celebrating. We have done the impossible and it’s because of you.”
“Have you told anyone yet?”
“Hell, I’ve told everyone. If you picked up your phone, you would probably know by now.”
I check my phone and it’s got a dead screen. “Battery died,” I tell her. “That’s, well—I’m not shocked. I knew when mainstream radio picked it up out of the gate it would do well. And Lorelai and Jefferson are…” I grin and Trina beams back.
“I know it. I told you. I can spot these things.”
My head is spinning with the news. Holy hell, it’s happening. “That’s incredible. Thank you, Trina.” I get to my feet, quickly downing the last of my beer and placing the empty glass on the table. “I should get. I need to charge my phone and I should call Arlo and tell him the news. And Lorelai…” I trail off, thinking.
“Of course.” Trina’s eyes are dancing with amusement as she holds out her hand. “Thank you, Craig. And congrats on number two! It’s been a pleasure working with you and I can’t wait to see what the future holds.”
I shake it, reaching around and placing a kiss on her startled cheek before turning to her wife and giving her a hug. “Good night, you two.” I throw all the cash I have in my wallet on the table. “For my drinks and another round on me. Go wild.”
* * *
I make it back to the duplex in silence, feeling strange. I’m elated, of course, but it’s surreal, too. I’ve had hits before. But this feels better somehow—more intense—because I love these people so much. I want only good things for them. I want Lorelai back in the spotlight. She deserves it and I was able to help her with that. It’s … it’s a lot. I’m walking up the drive in the dark when I hear the soft strumming of a guitar and her sweet and smoky vocals ring out. She must be on the balcony with Maren. I don’t want to interrupt, so I wait. And listen.
I don’t recognize the song. It must be new. It’s not something we laid down in the last few weeks, at any rate.
You let me go—
Well, that’s a lie. You pushed me out the door.
My heart gives a lurch in my chest. A steady throb. Is she—
And slammed it in my face
You locked it twice.
I didn’t—is that what she thinks? That I froze her out?
And said I was a waste
Of time
Of space
Of effort
Of lace
You let me go
And I bet
you wish you didn’t now
I’m frozen in time, stock-still under the balcony in the dark, her soft words finding purchase like little needles stabbing my skin, poking my veins, and bleeding me out. The words sting, but it’s her voice. God, it burns from the inside out. She hates me. I did this. I kicked her out. I was her friend and I made her feel worthless. Less than. When she’s … fuck. She’s everything and she’s right. I threw it all away.
29
CRAIG
I’M NOT ALONE
I have to leave town. After hearing Lorelai’s song on the balcony, I dart up the stairs as silent as possible and call my sister, waking her up, to tell her I want to surprise Dustin with an adventure in the mountains. I’ll be there at sunrise, ready to go. To her credit, she doesn’t chew me out, much, for the last-minute plans. Either I sound as desperate and unhinged as I feel or maybe she’s just ready for a weekend without kids around. Either way, I pack up everything we can possibly need and ignore the intense pang when I hear Lorelai’s familiar tipsy laughter ring out through the sliding glass door.
This, right here, is why you don’t rent out half your duplex to your friend you’re in love with. Christ, someday soon Lorelai is gonna bring a random guy back to our place and I will have to set the entire thing on fire and burn it to the ground.
After sounding the alarm and making sure everyone is out.
And also maybe sending a letter so she moves her expensive stuff out to safety.
And I’ll grab my asshole cat, first.