Without Limits: A BWWM Collection of Passion and Desire, page 130
“Holland,” she said, continuing to play. “I can feel you staring at my back. What do you want?”
Salem cleared his throat. “It’s me, Salem.”
Abruptly, the music stopped, and she turned around on the bench. “Salem,” she said. Her eyes shone with a quiet pleasure, a residual of her solo playing. “You had that much fun you wanted to come back?”
“I’m sorry for disturbing you.” He gestured in the direction of the drum set. “I left my key.”
Zoe raised her eyebrows and gave him a slight smile. “Ah,” she said. “Your drum key.” She tilted her head to the side and crossed her arms. “Jeffrey got lucky today. Usually, he has to run to the music store to get yet another one. You’re very prepared.” She gazed at him, her brown eyes appraising. “Like a Boy Scout.”
Was she flirting with him? Zoe Dennison, two-time Grammy-winning singer and songwriter. Not likely. Nearly blushing under her softly curious stare, he walked over to the small table next to the drum set, picked up his key and shoved it in his pocket. He struggled to find something to say. “You play very well.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Simple stuff. Bach’s Prelude in C Major. I’ve been playing that old guy for years. I find the precision very relaxing.”
“The other “Ave Maria”, right?” As much as he wanted to stay, he knew better than to overstay his welcome. “See you tomorrow.” He turned to go.
“Wait.”
When he back around, she was looking at him with more than polite interest. “What do you know about the other “Ave Maria”? You play piano?”
“No. Cello. Used to.” Suddenly, he was tongue-tied and felt his ears get hot. Being in the same room with the woman whom he’d been infatuated with high school, rendered him nearly speechless. “In middle school.”
“Were you any good? When did you start playing?”
“Fourth grade. I played for a wedding once.”
Her eyes lit up. “How old were you?”
“Thirteen.” His brilliant conversation wasn’t going to win him any awards. “It was…interesting.”
“Hmm. I would think so.” Her expression was thoughtful. “So, you’re a more than a garage band dilettante. That’s good.” She rose from the piano bench and retrieved her straw bag. “Are you rushing off to anywhere?”
“No.” He cleared his throat. “What do you need?”
“That’s a loaded question, don’t you think?”
“Depends on what the answer is.”
“Well.” Zoe seemed to be at a loss for words, but she recovered quickly. “I know you Texans are big on barbeque, but is it possible to find something as bourgeois as a tearoom in this town?” She wrinkled her pert little nose. “And if you take me to that terrible coffee shop with the ridiculous sugary drinks, I’ll have Holland fire you.” Her playful smile took the edge off her words.
“Sure.” His sister had yakked on about the fancy places she and her friends had gone, which were sooo much better than anything ever. He wasn’t a big coffee drinker, but when he did, he either made it at home or got a cup from the corner donut shop. “I know a few places.”
“A few? My, Aren’t you full of surprises.” Zoe slid on her sunglasses. “Good. We’ll go in my car. I have a driver.”
Settled at a corner table with a cup of Chocolate Rose tea, vanilla yogurt with mixed berries and a small plate of cucumber sandwiches, Zoe felt her shoulders relax. Her reservations about the temporary musician were alleviated once she found out he had a musical background that didn’t include jamming to a video game. So many of the musicians she’d met over the years were hacks, learning barely enough to get a gig and eschewing the beauty of the craft.
She sipped her tea. “I always thought string instruments were so fascinating. I’m surprised you were able to handle cello at such a young age.”
“They make smaller ones for kids.” He scooped a spoonful of demerara sugar into his coffee and stirred. “But I used a regular sized one. I was tall for a third grader.”
You’re tall now. Zoe picked up one of her cucumber sandwiches and bit into it. The delicate taste of the fresh cucumber combined with the slightest bit of cream cheese. She sighed in contentment. The food was delicious, and the company was quite attractive.
The tea room itself was cozy, with only about ten tables and a few stools at a counter. Several of the patrons turned in her direction when she came in, but so far none of them had approached, although they glanced over every once in a while. She chuckled to herself. They probably thought Salem was her bodyguard. The walls were a lovely muted shade of orange, which made her think of marmalade. She turned her attention back to Salem.
“Why the cello? I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not trying to interview you, it’s…I rarely get to talk to anyone outside of the band.” She rolled her eyes. “And I already know their stories.”
“I don’t mind,” he said. “My mother is a music teacher, so it was either the cello or the violin.” He shrugged. “I liked it okay.”
“You said you played for a wedding when you were thirteen?”
He laughed a little. “Yes. My mother was hired to play with this quartet. The cello player didn’t show, so she called me to sub in.”
“That must have been something. Did you even know the music?”
“I helped her practice, so I knew most of it, but I’m a pretty good sight reader.”
“I noticed.” Zoe took a sip of her tea. It was cooling rapidly in the air-conditioning, and she refreshed it with hot brew from the pot. Her body was going in the opposite direction. Perhaps she should order a glass of ice water. The longer she sat across from Salem, the hotter she got. “That’s a good skill to have.”
The server, a busty Black girl with a friendly smile and a top of the head Afro puff, strolled up to their table. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
Salem turned to her. “Zoe?”
She shook her head. “No, thank you. Just the check.”
The woman lowered her voice. “Check’s been taken care of Miss Dennison, but I would love it if you would sign my receipt pad.”
Zoe smiled. “I’ll do you one better, sweetie.” She rummaged in her bag for the pad she carried. Opening it to a blank page, she wrote her name with a flourish, ripped it out and handed it to the girl. Rarely did she personalize autographs. It took too much time.
“Thank you!” The server and slid it carefully into the pocket of her apron. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Who took care of the check, may I ask?”
The server shook her head. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
“At least let me tip you.” Zoe pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and gave that to her. “The service and the food were lovely. Shall we go?” She stood, donned her sunglasses and started for the door.
“Thanks, Sheree.” Salem rose from the table and followed Zoe out.
“Tell Dana I said hey, and she should call me,” she called after him.
“Will do.”
During his brief exchange with Sheree, Zoe had paused to admire a beautiful indigo and blue teacup in the display case. “What a lovely cup!” An intricate swirl pattern with gold accents covered the outside of the cup and saucer, while the inside was a pale lavender. She turned to Salem. “I collect teacups. I’ll have to send Renee back to collect it for me.”
Once in the car, Zoe fanned herself. “I do thank you for a lovely afternoon, Salem. So much better than room service.”
“I’m glad you had a good time.”
“I did.” They rode in silence. Zoe fought to restrain herself, but she couldn’t help but ask. “So, Sheree? The one I gave the autograph to? She’s a friend of yours?”
“Friend of my sister’s,” he told her. “They go to class together.”
“I see.” The car pulled up to the studio. “Well, goodbye for now.”
“See you at the show.” He got out of the car and slammed the door. Before she could watch him get into his car, the driver pulled off in the direction of her hotel.
Only then did she wonder, who exactly paid for the meal, and more importantly, how?
People and Places
Running later than he wanted to, Salem strode down the backstage hall to the first green room. There were few of them in this venue, and he read the tags on the doors to make sure he wasn’t going into the opening act’s one. He passed the one that had “Zoe Dennison” on the door. He almost stopped to go in. He couldn’t tear his mind from the time they’d spent yesterday afternoon. No, it wasn’t a date, but when was the last time anyone could dine out with the celebrity they’d had a crush on since they were fifteen?
For sure, he would never tell her. It would make him seem like a class A creep. Instead, he would enjoy the time he had with her and the band and have a great story to tell over drinks someday.
This door was labeled “Dennison Band” so he turned the knob and walked in, expecting four men sprawled over the leather couches. Instead, Zoe herself sat in the corner of the room, perched on the edge of a chair, looking into the large mirror. Her humming was a cheerful, warming sound and once again he felt he was intruding on her private moment. He stepped back, out of the door, but not before she saw him.
“Well, come on in and close the door, if that’s what you’re doing.” She went back to humming and the mirror. The scent of her cinnamon tea filled the room, and the thump of the opening band’s percussion and bass vibrated the floor.
“The sign said this was the band’s green room.”
Zoe waved a dismissive hand. “I switched. I liked this one better, so I had them go into the smaller one.” She slid him a sideways glance. “You can go in there, if you like. I hear they have female company.” She laughed and turned away from her reflection. “Boys will be boys.”
“I’ve got female company in here.” He sat down on the arm of the sofa and set his bass on the floor. “If you don’t mind.”
The little half-smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “I warn you I get a bit chatty when I’m anxious.”
That piqued his interest. “You still get nervous?”
“Well, yes.” Zoe raised her eyebrows in surprise. “I mean, the first day in a new city always gets to me. I don’t know how the audience will react or what kind of vibe I’m going to get.” Shrugging her shoulders, she turned her cup in the saucer. “It’s a guessing game.” She paused for a second. “How do you like living here?”
“It is pretty nice. I’ve lived here all my life, so I guess I’m used to it.” He had a beautiful voice, a modulated baritone that was full and rich without being overbearing.
“I bet you miss it when you go on tour.” She gazed down into her teacup.
“I don’t tour.”
Zoe looked up from the contemplation of her cup in surprise. “You don’t tour? Why not? You’re an excellent musician.”
Salem ducked his head at her compliment. Zoe Dennison telling him he was a good musician? He’d take it. “Thanks. I practice a lot, but I can’t tour. I’m helping support my mom and my sister is in college.”
“I see. You’ve got a lot do for someone so young.”
“I’m not so young,” he said. “I’m almost thirty.” He knew she wanted to know how old he was, but he wasn’t going to give her an exact number unless she asked him outright.
“Almost thirty?” Zoe narrowed her eyes. “That’s rather vague.”
“So was your question.”
Zoe opened her mouth to speak, an astonished look on her face and laughed. “Aren’t you something else.”
Just then Renee knocked on her door and opened it. “It’s time.” The expression of surprise was almost comical when she pushed the door a little further and saw Salem. “Well, at least I can kill two birds with one stone. It’s showtime, folks.” As she closed the door, the mischievous glint in her eye was unmistakable.
“Well,” Zoe stood. “Shall we go?”
“After you,” he said, pleased with his small victory. At that moment, he didn’t care about anything else. He’d made Zoe Dennison laugh.
He’d played with plenty of bands, but none were as famous or as well-received as Zoe’s. The minute she took the stage, the crowd went wild, which froze him at first. He’d played the Circus before, but never had he seen the crowd this pumped. But Zoe, she owned the stage. She stood, smiling and waiting, basking in the applause. They went on and on until she finally had to tell them to settle down, or they’d never be able to perform. She waited until they settled before she signaled Holland to start the first song.
He had a good time after that, sweating under the lights and following the set list. The women screamed for Holland, and the men threw flowers on the stage for Zoe. It was the most fantastic time he’d ever had.
When they left the stage prior to doing the encore, Zoe grabbed his arm in the tight space in the wings. “Do you know ‘Superstition’?” She stood on tiptoe to speak directly into his ear. Even then, it was hard over the chanting of the crowd.
Instead of trying to answer her, he merely nodded. His mother had every Stevie Wonder record and CD known to man, and he’d spent many an afternoon in middle school playing along with the song on his huge upright bass, much to his mother’s chagrin. After that, he told her he wanted to trade the upright for the bass guitar. Because who could play all the cool songs on an upright bass?
“Good,” she said, her breath warm in his ear. “That’s the encore.”
At this point, Zoe could have gone out and sung “Yankee Doodle”, and the audience would have loved it. As it was, they nearly lost their minds, singing along with the lyrics and waving their purple glow sticks in the air. And Zoe responded, riffing on the melody and throwing in her own words. The band was in a groove, and they played on the song for about ten minutes before, exhausted, they wound it up.
Backstage, excitement filled the air as the musicians exclaimed and chatted about their favorite part of the show.
“Did you have enough panties thrown at you, Holland?” Jeff, the drummer, taunted him. “Looks like you had enough to open your own drawers shop!”
Holland laughed. “Zoe collected enough flowers for her own garden, I think she had me beat.”
Zoe turned to Salem, laughing. “You’re coming out for a drink with us, right? You have to!”
“Sure,” he said, caught up in her excitement.
“You’re from here,” Holland eyed him. “What’s a good place?”
The sun was high in the sky when he woke, face down in his pillow. He coughed a couple of times to get the terrible taste of leftover liquor out of his mouth, which started his head to pounding. He gave a deep sigh. With all the playing he’d done with musicians who came to town, this was one of the rare times he’d accepted an invitation to go out to drink, and now he realized why. Late nights, endless liquor an four hours of sleep didn’t bode well for a good day.
The phone on his bedside table buzzed, and he fumbled for it. Glancing at the screen, he groaned. He’d promised Mr. Simmons that he’d fix the hanging wall trim.
He showered, shaved and dressed in record time and was drinking his second cup of coffee when Mr. Simmons called.
“You all right over there?”
“I’m on my way out now.” Salem poured the rest of the coffee into the sink, grabbed his keys, and walked out of the door with the phone to his ear. “Be there in fifteen minutes.”
“If you’re not feeling up to it, we can to do it another day.”
“No, no,” Salem said, knowing Mr. Simmons looked forward to his visits. “I’m on my way.”
“Since you’re coming this way, stop by the grocer’s and pick up my order. I called it in this morning, so it should be ready.”
“Will do.”
Yawning, he was waiting in line at the pickup window at Hale’s supermarket when two women came up to him.
“Excuse me,” the younger one with a short Afro said. “Didn’t you play last night with Zoe Dennison’s’ band?”
Taken by surprise, managed to nod. “Yeah, that was me.”
The woman grabbed her friend’s arm and said. “I told you it was him. The show was great. I love your playing. I’m Jackie, and this is my friend Linda.”
“Are you really single?” Linda asked, then blushed. “I mean, Zoe said that you were. Last night.”
Yes, Zoe had put her arm around his neck and gave him a huge kiss on his cheek and told the entire audience he was both “very cute” and “available”. He had never been called out on stage like that before. It would have been mortifying had it not been for the warmth of her lips and the scent of her perfume permeating his shirt.
“I-uh…” This had never happened to him before. He played, he got off stage, and he disappeared. No one had ever recognized him in public. Ever. “Well…” How did he answer that?
Before he could form a coherent answer, he heard his name. “I gotta go, ladies,” he said. “Nice to meet you, Jackie and Linda.”
He walked up to the counter to collect Mr. Simmons’s groceries, and they whispered, “He knows our names!”
Nancy, the woman behind the counter, checked him off on her list. “I hear you had a good show last night.” She winked. “And that you’re single. Can I have your autograph, please?” She turned her tablet around and pulled a stylus from her teased carrot-colored hair. “I’d be much obliged.”
“Thanks, Nance.” Salem grinned and scrawled his name on the glass. “All in a day’s work.”
“You’re going to be famous around here by the time Miss Zoe leaves.”
“I guess so,” he said, not sure how he felt about it. “Bye now.”
“See you soon, honey. And tell John I said hello.”
