Coming into Focus, page 13
“Shit.”
“As close as he is to Oliver and me? To you? He was that close to Claire. He never forgave her, and he’s not over her. When you talk about being a photographer after this, when Jimmy worries you might be getting closer to someone else… I understand you wouldn’t hurt him intentionally, and you have every right to want what you want. I’m just asking you to be careful. You’re poking at his soft spots. You understand what I’m telling you?”
“I understand,” I said, my voice wavering.
I got up quickly. I put the chair back where I’d gotten it from side-stage. I took my camera off from around my neck, removed the lens, and put the body cap back on, then tucked everything securely into separate compartments. Safe and sound, everything in its place.
Eric moved the stool back to where it had been and put away everything else we’d rearranged. I followed him back to the bus with a heavy heart. No matter what might be happening with Oliver, I was in deep with them all. There was no way it wasn’t going to hurt when it ended—and it would end.
When I left, it would give him Claire flashbacks. Maybe I couldn’t stop it from happening, but I could be good to him until then. He needed my attention because he was hurting. When people needed you the most, that’s not when you abandoned them.
Unless you happened to be my mother, and I wasn’t.
~ * ~
The first night Oliver and I were alone after my talk with Eric, I was waiting for him on the couch in the back lounge.
The bus smelled like the cookies I’d made for their after-the-show snack. The lights were dim and warm, giving the place a homey glow. I plugged in my laptop and worked on some photo editing to keep my mind occupied. Eyes on the prize, Willa. You need to focus on your photography career and causing Jimmy as little damage as possible because you love him, and it’s the least you can do. Stop mooning over warm cookies and hot Oliver. Have some discipline.
Despite my pep talk, when Oliver came through the door, my whole body tensed. He rustled around in the kitchen and came to sit next to me on the couch. “Hey, Willa.” He was munching on a cookie. “These are good.”
I practically launched myself at him. It didn’t take more than a second for him to catch up to me. He shifted us so my body was under him, and he worked an arm under me to hold me tightly against him while he kissed me. I arched into him, and my hands went to the warm skin of his back. When my laptop clattered to the floor, I came back to my senses. I wriggled out from under him, and we both sat up.
I brushed my hair away from my face with both hands and steadied my breath.
He gave a low whistle. “Whoa. Wow. Okay. Hi, Willa!”
A hysterical giggle escaped me. “Sorry! I’m sorry. God.”
“You should be sorry,” he said solemnly. “Come back here and tell me through kissing how sorry you are. It’s the only thing I can understand.”
I closed my laptop and put it safely on the side table. “You have to understand my words,” I said. “No more kissing.”
“Does not compute,” he said, reaching for me again.
I scrambled back to the opposite end of the couch. “You keep your delicious mouth to yourself. I’m working.”
He looked pointedly at my closed laptop. I snatched it back off the table and opened it.
“All right, all right,” he said. “What are you working on?”
I was working on keeping myself off him was the real answer. “Editing for Ken.”
“Your own stuff? The Regrets?”
“Hm? No. Someone else’s stuff. Another cover for Hope. I’m going to concentrate, so quit distracting me with your hotness.”
When Jimmy and Eric came back to the bus, I was on one end of the couch, and Oliver was on the other, sleeping with his headphones on, an unwatched movie flickering on his own laptop.
Jimmy’s gaze flicked between Oliver and me. He should have been reassured by how much space was between us, but he didn’t look it.
I patted the couch next to me. “Come tell me about your night.”
He sat next to me and leaned his head on my shoulder. His hair tickled my cheek when he peered at my screen. “Did you take those?”
“No, I’m just editing them.”
“Been a while since you’ve done much of your own work. We should find you something to shoot next time we have a day off. Maybe you and I could go out.”
“Sounds good. Did you guys eat? Can I make you anything?”
“Do I smell cookies?” he asked hopefully.
“Yep, let me get you some. Hang on.”
“Not yet,” he said. “Sit with me for a minute.” He nestled against my shoulder and released a long breath.
“You all right?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “You?”
“I’m okay.”
It was obvious there were things neither of us were saying.
~ * ~
I got the guys ready for the next night’s show largely uneventfully. Not entirely uneventfully, because anytime I touched Oliver, it was An Event. He didn’t wear makeup like the other two, and he chose his own clothes and took care of himself. He let me do his hair, which put me close to him. Heat radiated from his body; I could smell him, sense the rhythm of his breath.
Once they were finally gone, I sank into the back couch and relished the quiet. I eyed my camera bag. Maybe some creative time would give me back some of the energy I was missing lately, but instead of taking my camera out, I put the still-zipped bag back onto the floor. With a twinge of resentment, I hooked a laundry basket with my foot and dragged it closer to me, tackling the now-familiar task of sorting their clothes into three piles, folding them, and putting them away in the tiny drawers that served as dressers on a tour bus.
When the basket was almost empty, my personal phone rang. I checked the number and got to my feet, tipping over a Jimmy pile of black jeans. “Hey, Uncle Ken. Everything okay?”
“Toby is fine,” he said right away. Uncle Ken knew how my mind worked.
I sat back down, putting him on speaker to leave my hands free to continue folding. “Oh, okay then. Hi! What’s up?”
“I had an interesting call with Apostolic’s manager earlier. They’re headlining the Summer Fest.”
“Cool. What’s Summer Fest?”
“Benny’s new idea for a music festival. His eventual plan is to pick a different city and different headliner every summer, but the inaugural show will be here in Nashville, with Apostolic in the headliner spot. His manager called to tell me they want Offstage to be the media sponsor, but she said the deal stands only if you’re the photographer for it.”
At first, the only thing in my mind was Benny Walker Benny Walker Benny Walker. I let myself have a moment to revel in the unbelievable: he’d asked for me. No, he’d demanded me. Benny Walker said, “It has to be Willa Reynolds.” OhmyGod.
Photographing a festival, Apostolic, Offstage… this career opportunity could give me the opening I needed, and it wasn’t because my uncle was throwing me a bone. I’d been requested. As a photographer, not a glorified babysitter.
I didn’t realize I hadn’t answered Uncle Ken until he said, “Yes or no, kid? Come on, I’m on deadline.”
“Yes! Yes. Thank you, yes.”
He gave me the details. It was in a week and a half. A full day of music, two stages, with Apostolic closing on the main stage. All of Uncle Ken’s reporters would be on deck, but Hope would be lead, and he’d give me more details when I got back to town.
After our call ended, I jumped to my feet and danced around the bus. This was exactly what I needed! A short break to refill my creative well. I’d get a chance to do some professional photographs, spend time with Toby, have a break in my routine. It was going to be great.
Plus Benny Walker.
Once I’d danced myself out, I paced around the room and worked through the details. There was no way I could have said no to it, and I didn’t regret saying yes.
However, it was not without problems.
Jimmy and I hadn’t ever talked about me having a day off. This would be four or five days with travel time. I wasn’t sure how he’d react.
There was a good chance he’d react poorly.
Even worse, once I got there, what did my contract mean for photographs I took on my personal time? Technically, I was still “employed by the band,” so anything I shot might not even belong to me.
I didn’t have a lot of time to make it happen, and I was going to have to pick my timing carefully.
Chapter Fifteen
We were in the venue’s green room in a large prep area with counters and mirrors lining three walls. I could do their makeup and hair on the bus when we needed to, but it was nice to have more space, and Jimmy loved being able to see so many angles of himself. He was in a salon-style chair, relaxed while I massaged a curl-enhancing product into his hair from the roots to the ends. This was his favorite pre-show ritual. He said it calmed his nerves.
I wished for something to calm my nerves. I’d been bouncing off the walls, picturing myself at this festival. Camera around my neck, new, multi-pocketed leather messenger-style camera bag taking the place of my old beat-up canvas backpack. A big, laminated pass hung on a lanyard around my neck, printed with MEDIA PASS in authoritative block letters across the bottom.
The more the hours ticked by without me getting permission from Jimmy to go, the more the mental image faded, crowded out by to-do lists, shopping lists, day sheets, and a mountain of boy laundry.
I’d been waiting for the perfect moment to have the conversation, but there wasn’t going to be one. I took the plunge. “Jimmy, I need a couple days off to go to Nashville to shoot a music festival for my uncle’s magazine,” I blurted.
Pause.
“I…um…also need you to get my contract amended so I can publish the pictures in Offstage magazine.”
Pause.
“Okay?”
I wasn’t sure if he’d answered me, and I’d missed it because of how my heart was thundering in my ears or if he was sitting there in silence.
“When?” he finally asked.
“A week from this Friday. I’ll leave on Thursday and be back by the next Tuesday at the latest.”
He relaxed. I hoped it meant he was reassured by how short it was, and he was about to say yes.
He wasn’t.
“Oh no. I can’t possibly spare you right then. That’s Red Rocks. It’s an iconic venue. I’m definitely going to need you to be with me. I’ll be a wreck.”
I arranged the brushes and makeup we’d need, my hands shaking. “Eric and Oliver will be with you,” I reminded him. “It’s not like I’m leaving you alone.”
“Yeah, but Red Rocks! First of all—elevation. What if it strains my voice? I need you to follow me with hot tea. This show is going to be totally different. We’re part on a double bill, and I suppose now is a good a time to tell you about a particularly difficult situation.” He paused.
“What is it, Jimmy?” I asked dutifully. I wiped my hands clean on a towel and unscrewed the lid of our makeup primer. I spread it across his face with my fingertips.
“The other band is Geronimo. They’re a Swedish dance fusion duo. Very trendy right now, and the keyboard player is hotttttttt. He and I have a bit of a past. Do you know what I mean?”
Of course I did.
“A sexual past.”
“Got it.”
“We had sex, and it was good.”
“Okay. Maybe you can have good sex with him again. It’s nothing to do with me.” I put the top back on the primer and dipped a brush into the powder.
“I’m not finished, darling. I had exceptionally good sex with the vocalist. Sex is never a contest because all sex is good, but if it was a contest, she would have beat him. She was sublime.”
“Okay, then—”
“Where it gets tricky is neither is sure I’ve been with the other one, although they must suspect it.”
“Maybe it would be better to steer clear,” I said, getting drawn into his story. “You might have to do without either of them.”
“They’re married, Willa.”
I set down the makeup brush. Okay, he was right. It was a sticky situation.
He smiled. “So I had a great idea: You could pretend to be my girlfriend! We’ll be adorable together, and neither of them will make a scene in front of my new lover. Problem solved.”
It would have been fun if it was any other night. I could dress up, play rock-star girlfriend, keep Jimmy safe, make him happy… it was checking a lot of good boxes for me.
There would always be a reason I’d want to stay. Fixing things for him couldn’t be the only thing that mattered to me. “You’ll have to come up with something else. I can’t miss this opportunity. You understand, right?” Please, please let him understand. Let it matter.
“Do my eyes next, Willa.” He closed them and waited and continued talking. “I know it’s bad timing, and I’m sorry. I’ll find you another chance. Isn’t Lollapalooza next month? I could talk to Hawk, get you in there. Yeah, that’s even better! You could get more bands. Maybe the timing will work so we can go together. I’ve never been, believe it or not.”
I tilted his chin up and lined his lids with an onyx pencil. “I’d love to go to Lollapalooza. That’ll be great. I still need to go home for this one anyway. Benny specifically asked for me. His manager told Ken they’ll pull the media sponsorship if Ken doesn’t have me there to photograph them.”
Jimmy smiled. “Benny must have liked you a lot. I’m sorry you’ll have to miss him.”
I dragged another salon chair in front of him. The loud metal-against-tile scraping sound was jarring. I sat so we were eye to eye and put my hands on his knees. “Pay attention. I need you to listen to me right now.”
He opened his eyes. “I always listen to you.”
I struggled to keep my voice even. “I’m not really an assistant. This job is temporary for me. I need to be preparing for what’s next, and that’s hopefully going to be photography.”
“Obviously you’re not just an assistant. You’re assistant extraordinaire to the greatest rock star in the world, and I do make room for your art; I’m just telling you no for this one weekend when I need you to do the job I hired you to do. I’m not being unreasonable.”
What he was asking for wasn’t unreasonable on the surface. It was my job, and I was good at it. I got a thrill from being indispensable to him. It was seductive.
But what about what I wanted? This could be a long road littered with this kind of temptation. He wasn’t forcing me to stay. He was making it almost impossible for me to want to leave.
Maybe I was a good photographer. Maybe I’d be successful.
Maybe not.
Taking care of these guys, though? I was good at it. I was the best at it. Was it enough? Could I get by on that?
I tried again. “Jimmy, I need you to compromise this time. I work hard for you. I haven’t asked you for a day off yet, right?”
“Right, but—”
“I want to take this assignment. I miss Toby, for one thing, but this isn’t only about me. Uncle Ken can’t lose this sponsorship. The festival is in his backyard. He’s my family. Even if I didn’t need to do this for me, I need to do it for him.”
His dark eyes shone with understanding, and once again, I thought, for a moment, it was going to work out. Then he said, “Of course you’re disappointed. I’m sure I can get you into Lolla. Then when we go to England, I can get you into Glastonbury! Glastonbury is huge, Willa. You could sell tons of images from there.”
Next month. Next year.
My hands were still on his knees. I gave him a squeeze and stood. My purse was on the counter. I dug through it for the band phone and set it on the towel next to the makeup brushes. I took his credit card from my wallet and placed it next to the phone.
“What are you doing?” he asked me.
I kissed him on the forehead and walked out.
He was on my heels. “Willa? Where are you going?”
I didn’t let myself turn around. He needed me, and I was leaving him anyway. I couldn’t think much about it, or I’d go running back.
Eric was on the couch in the lounge area. “Hey.” I waited until he looked up from his phone. “Take care of him.”
“Where are you going?”
“Keep him here. There are already kids outside. Don’t let him make a scene, or it’ll end up online.”
“Willa,” Jimmy said again. “What are you doing? I’m not even ready for the show!”
I was almost to the door.
“Stop! You absolutely can’t leave right now.” He didn’t sound angry; he sounded scared.
If I stopped now, I wouldn’t leave.
I made myself leave the building, then I strode across the parking lot as fast as I could without running. All I’d need from the bus was my camera and my laptop. I wouldn’t take the clothes. Technically, he owned them anyway.
Keep going. I’d made a decision, and now I was going to follow through. If I let myself dwell on the panic in his voice or how he’d probably be remembering now what he’d gone through when Claire left him—no. Focus. New leather camera bag. Magazine covers. Press passes. Toby and Ken. Benny. Go, go, go.
Oliver wasn’t on the bus, thank God. If I had to face him right now, I wasn’t sure what would happen. If I touched him, I’d stop moving. If I stopped moving, I wouldn’t go.
I shoved my computer and my mouse into my backpack. I crawled under the table to unplug the power cord, but it was tangled around the chair legs, so I cut my losses. There was no time to wrestle with it. I slid my backpack on, grabbed my camera bag, and secured my purse straps over my shoulder. I stopped rushing for a minute and stood in the small kitchen, indecisive.
I should leave him a note.
What would I say?
I don’t want to go, but I have to go. How would that make anything better?
