Coming into Focus, page 8
“I am begging you to tell me what happened.”
“It’s disappointing you don’t remember. Maybe it’ll come back? It certainly seemed like you were enjoying it, and I’d hate your memory of it to be totally gone.”
I put a hand over my eyes. “Can you please just tell me what happened?”
“You drank a bit more, and you made out with Benny Walker.”
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing else.”
I relaxed. “Okay. Well, that’s fine.”
“Not much else, anyway.”
“What!”
“You mostly just kissed. His girlfriend wasn’t thrilled to find you on him when she came in, but it was a massive overreaction. It barely would count as a cheat since everyone was fully dressed. You were, anyway, and he and I had pants on. Here, let’s check your camera to see. I took some pictures.” He rustled around until he found my camera, then flipped through the pictures.
He frowned.
“What’s the matter?”
“Hm? Oh, nothing. These pictures of The Regrets are good, Willa.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You see things differently than I do,” he said. “These are like… I thought it was maybe only down to me why your pictures were so good. These are great, and I’m not even in them.”
It was an odd compliment, but that didn’t make it any less significant. My headache lifted a bit.
He kept going through the images on the camera until he said, “Okay, here. These are the ones from Benny’s room.”
Out of the hundred or so pictures he captured, more than half were self-portraits, but Benny and I were visible in the background of some. I didn’t even like having my picture taken; I much preferred being on the other side of the lens. Since I’d been too nervous/drunk to mind, at least I had these souvenirs. It was better than nothing.
As he scrolled through, it got better. He’d taken a few photos of Benny and me that were more than accidents.
“Aw, check this one out,” Jimmy said.
It was shot from the side. I was perched on the shiny black surface of his hotel room bar. Benny was standing in front of me, one hand on my thigh, the other holding a glass of whiskey. I was leaning down toward him, the curtain of my hair shielding our faces.
“So punk rock and cute. You could be Sid and Nancy! Or you could be Nancy, and Benny could be, like, Sid’s dad. Oh, and look at this one! His fingers are just inching up under your skirt. You made the right call with that outfit for sure.” Pregnant pause. “Willa, right?” When I still didn’t answer, he made an impatient sound. “I mean I did since I dressed you. Aren’t you lucky to have my advice?”
He kept flipping through the pictures. “Where are the pictures you took? Yours are probably—oh, here we go.”
The first one was charged but pretty innocent, comparatively. Jimmy and Benny both wore leather pants and no shirts, with guitars strapped on. They were facing each other, hands on guitars, forehead-to-forehead. They were backlit and in silhouette. The next one was closer; they were making eye contact. The third in the series showed them tilting their heads, pre-kiss. Objectively, it was a beautiful photograph. I didn’t remember taking it, so I could evaluate it as a neutral third party.
There was one taken pointing down at Jimmy and Benny on the floor. My legs were in the foreground. Jimmy’s arm snaked up between my legs, his hand resting on my thigh. The tightest focus was on his nails with their chipped black nail polish, digging into the bare skin above my garter. Jimmy and Benny were in softer focus. My stockinged feet were resting on the inside of Benny’s thigh. His hand was tangled in Jimmy’s hair, tilting him to the right angle, and his bottom lip was between Benny’s teeth.
I swore quietly. Being a photographer was what I’d always wanted. It was a way to be present but not seen. It was a drive, a coping mechanism, and an art. I loved it, but I hadn’t known if I was good. I couldn’t tell if I was successfully conveying what I hoped to show, or if I possessed that impossible to define quality, an “eye” for photography.
Now I knew. These were good. They were beautiful because of the subjects, composition, and lighting, but they were also visual explorations of visual persona and the ways we present ourselves. I’d done what I’d hoped I could do.
I clicked to the next image.
Jimmy had Benny pinned against a full-length mirror. He was making a perfect pain/pleasure face, and Jimmy was kissing his shoulder. My reflection was in the mirror, the flash making a star effect next to them.
In the next one, they were facing each other again, Benny with a fistful of Jimmy’s hair, pulling his head back and licking his throat. His mouth was slightly open, and the image jogged my memory. It all rushed back—his sharp, startled sound. The way Benny growled. Suddenly, it wasn’t about the pictures anymore. They were kissing for real, and the sound and sight of it were so overwhelming I put my camera down. Right on the nightstand. I left it there, unused.
I’d failed to capture it. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, and rather than capturing it in art, I’d chosen to be present in the moment. I could have kicked myself, but at the same time, I knew I was lucky to have experienced it without the camera mitigating the experience. The way Benny backed Jimmy against the wall, and his groan… it was locked in my mind in a way I wouldn’t have to share with the world.
“Oh my God,” I said.
“It’s coming back to you?”
I remembered being on the bed with Benny. Jimmy was there, and it everything was happening fast and in slow motion at the same time until the door opened with a bang. It took us longer than it should have, but eventually, Jimmy and I determined the furious woman must be Benny’s girlfriend.
I turned to Jimmy. “You screamed like a woman in a horror flick.”
He didn’t deny it. “Okay, but two things. If I didn’t distract her, she was maybe going to kill you. The least she’d have done is rip out your pretty hair, and imagine how silly I’d look with you then.” He shuddered. “It doesn’t fit our aesthetic at all. If you were totally bald, I could work with it.” He paused thoughtfully. “In fact, should we shave your head, Willa? That might—”
“What’s the other thing?”
He paused long enough to make it clear he didn’t appreciate being interrupted, then continued, “Well, I was scared. I haven’t been caught in bed with someone’s boyfriend in months, and, based on the way she shrieked and was reaching her claws toward my eyes, I gathered she wasn’t cool with it. I could have used you as a human shield, but I chose to save us both instead.”
It came flooding back to my mind. Jimmy screamed and yanked me off Benny. We ran around the bed and snagged my camera by the strap on the way out. My shoes and Jimmy’s shirt were a loss. We raced out the door, then ducked into an internal stairwell and waited to make sure she hadn’t followed us. When we were sure the coast was clear, we went back to our room and locked ourselves in.
We must have collapsed because we were both in our clothes from the night before.
Later, in the shower, I concluded it wasn’t only my artistic side I’d neglected for the past few years. The time with Benny was like a fever dream. I’d been carried away, I’d been drunk, I’d been torn between taking pictures or not, but it didn’t change the fact that I’d been in a long dry spell. At the first spark, I’d burst into flames. I needed to be more careful. I’d have regretted it if things had gone further. Probably. Okay, maybe.
I’d been touch-deprived when I got to Jimmy. He was refilling the well, no question about it. He was sensual, although with me, it wasn’t sexual. He loved to touch and be touched, and once I got used to it, I became addicted to it. It’s nice to have another warm body with you in a bed, even if it’s platonic. We would occasionally fall asleep with the television on, and when we did, I didn’t get up and go to my own room.
His speculation about my libido, as ridiculous as it was, wasn’t entirely off the mark. I wondered if I’d been so determined to prove I wouldn’t be driven by a romantic relationship like my mom was that I’d completely shut down. I didn’t have to let sex be the only thing I was driven by, but maybe I didn’t need to totally rule it out, either.
Chapter Nine
Jimmy drank all night, ignoring my whispered suggestions and throat-slashing cut-off motions. Their album had cracked the top ten in the US, and he wanted to celebrate with champagne. And whiskey. Then more champagne. Then some shots of something blue. We’d been at the bar with some fans and several reporters.
Attention brings out the absolute best in him—he was charming, adorable, and beyond drunk. “Another round, everyone! Let’s drink to me!”
He dropped into bed the minute we were back in our room. I got him out of his shoes and jeans, maneuvered him under the blankets, turned off the lights, and prepared myself for bed. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, combed my hair, put on my favorite pajamas, and tiptoed back into the room.
Jimmy flipped the light on. “Let’s go back out! I want one more drink.” He was already headed for the door in a T-shirt, boxers, and socks.
“No sir. Back to bed.”
He blinked at me. “What? No. Why? I want to go back out. You made us leave so early. There’s more partying to be done and drinks to be had.”
“To start with, the bar is closed. Secondly, you’re already drunk. Also, you’re not wearing pants.”
“Trousers! And neither are you.”
“True. Back to bed, Jimmy.”
“Willlllllllllaaaaaaa. I can’t sleep. Let’s go back out.”
“If you get into bed, I’ll tell you a story.” I hoped I’d be able to lull him to sleep, but I also wanted to make sure he didn’t drunkenly sneak out.
“I will, but it’s under protest,” he said. “Under hardcore protest. Let’s get in your bed. Mine smells like cigarettes. Disgusting.”
I didn’t bother to say it was Jimmy himself who smelled like cigarettes. I fluffed the pillows and tipped him into the bed, then went around the other side and climbed in next to him.
He burrowed under the covers with a lot of sighing and then sat up again. “Socks, Willa! My socks are on!”
“Take them off then, Jimmy.”
“Can’t reach.”
Planning to insist on a raise in the morning, I burrowed under the covers and took his socks off.
He frowned at me when I came back up. “Tell me a story or take me back to the bar where I belong,” he demanded.
“Once upon a time, there was a beautiful, beautiful, patient princess and an obnoxious boy.”
Jimmy snuggled in. “Was he a prince?”
“Nope. Just a selfish boy. Talented, lovely, and selfish.”
“Did he have good hair?”
“He had glorious hair,” I said, intentionally making my voice soothing and quiet. “It was the envy of the whole kingdom. Which was entirely due to the princess because she made sure he had a proper hair-care protocol, and she styled it beautifully every single day, and it was allowed to shine in all its glory.”
“What happened next?”
“One night, the boy got extremely drunk. The princess warned him he should have stopped after the third round of shots, but he carried on far into the night.”
He was starting to sound sleepy when he said, “He sounds fun. Maybe the princess is a party pooper. Did she ever consider that?”
“She’s definitely not; she only wanted to help a friend make good decisions. Eventually, even the boy was forced to admit she was talking sense, and he was being ridiculous. He was sweetly silent, and went right to sleep, and they lived happily ever after, but first, the princess got a raise.”
He laughed quietly. “You’re a bad storyteller. Someday I’ll write you a song and show you how to do it properly.”
“Sounds great, but for right now, let’s play the quiet game. Next one to talk loses.”
“A trick from your nanny days? Did it ever actually work?”
I didn’t answer.
“Ugh! I lost, right, Willa?”
“Yes, Jimmy.”
“Ha! Now you lost. Shit! Now I lost.”
“Good night,” I whispered.
“Night. Motherfucker! I lost again.”
I was smiling when I fell asleep.
Hours later, I woke to the familiar warmth of Jimmy nestled behind me.
I nestled into my delicious-smelling, warm, smooth pillow. I sighed happily. Best pillow ever.
“I can’t get comfortable,” Jimmy complained. “Scooch over.”
“Me?” my pillow asked. “Or whoever this is?” The delicious voice rumbled under my ear.
“Oliver! When did you get here?” Jimmy’s voice was gleeful.
“Couple hours ago.”
“Is Eric here?”
“Not yet,” our new companion said. “He came in on a later flight. He’ll be here by morning.”
“I’ve missed you, and we’re top ten! But also, I’m drunk as shit.”
“Missed you too, mate. Who’s this girl?”
“It’s Willa!” Jimmy said.
“Of course.” Pause. “Hello, Willa. Nice to finally meet you in the flesh.”
“My name is Willoughby, actually,” I said.
It was a strange thing to say, given the circumstances. Really, it was a miracle I could speak at all.
I wanted to finally get a glimpse of him, but no matter how my eyes strained, there wasn’t enough light.
“Willoughby!” Jimmy exclaimed. “You never told me!” He nudged me with his knees. “What other things are you hiding, Willoughby? Apart from your name?”
“I’m not hiding it. Hawk knows.”
“Oh great! Now you’re telling Hawk personal things you haven’t even told me?” He half-rose and spoke over me. “Be careful, Oliver. She’s a woman. Don’t call her a girl; she hates it. She’s a raging feminist.”
“I am not. You’re parroting the patriarchal agenda you grew up immersed in because you’re so intellectually lazy. You don’t even realize how ridiculous you are.”
“Whatever, Elizabeth Cady Stanton.”
“Nice one.” I was impressed.
“Right? I’m drunk, even. I had it right at the front of my brain anyway.”
“How about if we go back to sleep?” the voice under me suggested. “We can battle the patriarchal agenda in the morning.”
“I’ll get off you,” I said to Oliver.
Jimmy sighed dramatically. “It doesn’t have to be so complicated. Everyone turn toward the window. Willa, you be middle spoon.” We shuffled around, then Jimmy said, “Perfect! All tucked in. No, your feet are freezing; put them on him, not me. I’m glad I’m not alone anymore and don’t have to carry this entire load by myself. She’s cute but high maintenance. You’ll see.”
“Sorry,” I whispered to the back in front of me. “I didn’t realize… I was sleeping.”
“I know. You’re fine.”
“How did you get in here?” I asked him.
“They gave me a card at the front desk.”
“They just gave you one?”
“I’m famous. They recognized me.”
Even his whisper sounded deep. Being together in the dark, our voices hushed and close, bordered on intimate.
“We have two beds. The other one is empty,” I said.
“Jimmy likes to sleep by the door, so I guessed this one would be open.”
“Yeah, but he and are I in this one.”
“Yes. Here you both are.” He was complacent about the whole thing. They probably did this kind of thing a lot, to be fair.
“It’s pretty crowded,” I said. I couldn’t figure out what to do with my arms. I settled for tucking them against my chest. Not comfortable, but less weird than any of the other options.
“Three is a lot,” he said around a yawn. “You’re quite talkative for the middle of the night.”
“Only when I wake up on a stranger. The other bed is empty is what I’m getting at.”
“Is it? I can’t be sure. Sometimes, a bed you assume is empty ends up having a chatty woman with a funny accent in it. I’ll stay right here. You can trust me, Willoughby.”
“You can call me Willa. Everyone calls me Willa.”
Jimmy sighed heavily. “Fuck’s sake. My head is going to split open. You can become properly acquainted in the morning. Right now, you must go to sleep.”
I half turned. “Do you need me to get you some—”
“All I need you to get me is some not-talking.”
It was worth mentioning, so I said, “I did tell you to stop drinking last night.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t get me to stop because you are the worst assistant in the world.”
“Should I move to the empty bed?” I asked hopefully.
“No,” they both said.
“Should I?” my new friend asked.
“Absolutely. It smells like cigarettes, but—”
“Oh no. Dealbreaker. I hate cigarettes.”
Jimmy sighed again. “Let’s play the quiet game, guys. Next one to talk loses.”
Oliver’s chest rumbled with a laugh.
~ * ~
The next time I woke, Jimmy was eating breakfast, the lights were on, and there was another man in the room. He was leaning over the bed, studying me.
I was back on top of Oliver. I was resting my face on his chest, with both hands resting on him. One on his chest and one on his nice, hard stomach. “She’s fine,” he was saying. “She’ll wake up eventually.”
I wasn’t ready for it. I kept my eyes closed.
“She won’t.” Jimmy was cheerful. “This one will sleep forever if you let her. She once slept for three days straight through,” he lied. “I was sure she was dead. I nearly called a coroner.”
“She peeked at me!” said the new guy. Process of elimination told me it was Eric.
“Oatmeal time, Willa!” Jimmy sang. “It’s getting cold! Boys, I got us all oatmeal along with some pancakes and sausage and bacon and cheesecake. And hash browns, waffles, biscuits, and honey.”
