Blue Notes (23 page)

 Thirty-One 

I
’m obsessed with him.

Anyone inside my head or feeling the beat of my heart for the last three weeks would know that. I should be used to it by now, right? But no. I listen to music, where every lyric is my cliché. I watch the sky, where hazy clouds remind me of how contented and dark Jude’s eyes get after we make love. I look to the future—and feel as terrified as always.

It was hard to tell Clair and John that we got back together. I could hear the concern in every word, but in the end, they did what they’ve always done. They gave their advice, then backed off with the promise they’ll be there if I need them.

I’m warmed by their constancy, but I don’t want to imagine needing them like I did when I took that spontaneous trip home to Baton Rouge. After all, Jude and I having an amazing time. My version of amazing has the word “always”
attached. His probably runs more toward,
Wow, I have a great time with this girl. Isn’t that a nice way to spend the fall?
No talk of always. But lots of sex. The man is a master and a very, very patient teacher. I’ve learned what a freak occurrence our first time was—that I surprised him. Now he has agendas that blow my mind. I learn something new whenever he touches me.

No matter what happens to my heart, I’m going to be spoiled for life when it comes to sex. The idea of a lover other than Jude is powerful enough to wake me from a sound sleep. How many eyes are on me in class when I fidget and can’t stop watching the clock? Probably only a pair or two. I feel like everyone should be able to see through my fake workaday calm.

Whatever professor is babbling in the background should use his mic to make an announcement. “This daughter of murdering druggie convicts has fallen for Jude Villars. She’s five years younger and a wannabe piano player. He’s a CEO. Go on, look at her. She’s about to barf. Of course she is!”

There’s nothing I can do but hold on. Every kiss. Every night spent in his arms. Every whispered word. His drawl is like honey in my blood, overcoming all the old bitterness until only sweetness remains.

I know that’s what would happen if he was really mine. Instead, I’m just borrowing him.

Adelaide makes it difficult to remember that. She and I have been practicing like crazy for the Fall Finish. We exchange snarky texts about the classes we’re forced to take, because they get in the way of meeting at Dixon. I’m still working on controlling my emotions and channeling them when I play. Adelaide is fighting to find the same fire in a lowly practice room as she can when surrounded by a hooting audience.

She finishes a really awesome rendition of “Seasons of Love” from
Rent
. The song really suits her, because her voice has enough power to rival a song intended for an entire cast. “Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes . . .” She’s stripped what would’ve been human harmonies, replacing them with piano accents.

Basically, she reimagined the whole damn thing. I’m stunned and awed.

But I don’t clap when she finishes.

She looks up at me, eyes expectant. I keep my expression passive, although it’s really hard. “Keeley?”

“How do you think you did?”

Today she’s wearing a shapeless ’60s throwback floral shirt that has billowing sleeves, a deep V neck, and yellow rickrack trim. It flows over a pair of beige cords. A kerchief that picks up the blues of the floral print holds her hair back, but a few sweaty bleach blonde strands poke out by her ears, where three inch strings of opaque stones hang from her lobes.

On top of all that, she’s wearing an expression of helplessness. It doesn’t suit her.

“I don’t know,” she says tentatively. “Good enough. I was flat through the chorus.” She shrugs. “The ostinato is hard to keep even when I just wanna boogie away, but maybe that’s okay. My own spin . . . ?”

I stand and meet her at the bench. “You’re still waiting for my opinion.”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“Of course,” I say, smiling. “Which is why I’ll put you out of your misery and say you blew my mind. The ostinato got a little out of control, yeah. It’s the backbone rhythm, not the thing to tamper with. But you’ve turned a song meant for an entire cast into a one-woman show. Tell me you’re not impressed with yourself, even without the applause.”

Bright red lips—the color clashes with the maroon trim, but on Adelaide, it doesn’t matter—smile wider and wider. “Yeah, I did good.”

She turns back to the piano and tinkers with a few keys. They’re still pieces of the melody, but just playing with sound. She sighs.

“Are things okay with us?” I ask. “You don’t seem like yourself.”

Her grin is lopsided. She hasn’t looked up from the keys. “What do you think it means for me to be myself?”

“Megawatt. Wild and not giving a damn.”

“Oh, I give a damn,” she says softly. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

I sit with her on the bench. “Sure.”

“You and Jude. Doing fine?”

“We’re having a good time. That’s the best I can describe it right now.”

“That’s not bad. And—please answer this with full awareness that he’s my brother and I don’t feel like getting squicked out—he treats you good, yeah?”

I can’t help how my face heats up. If she can’t handle that reaction to my thoughts about her brother, she shouldn’t have asked. It’s not like I’m giving her a blow-by-blow of the last few weeks. I’m just blushing. “He does. It was kinda rocky, and I didn’t know what to do sometimes, but now it’s . . . it’s . . .”

She rolls her eyes. “Okay, fine. Just spit it out.”

“Compulsive. I’m fixated on him. I like it, but it’s annoying too. It’s music turned up
way
too loud, you know?”

I’m shocked when Adelaide closes the key cover, crosses her forearms over the gleaming wood, and drops her head. She’s crying.

“Hey.” I turn to hug across her shoulders. “What’s this?”

“I . . .”

There’s a lot of hiccupping and sniffles. I fetch a minipack of tissues from my purse. She uses most of the pack. Aside from that bright lipstick, she hadn’t been wearing any makeup, which is a good thing. Her eyes are rimmed with red by the time she catches her breath.

“I broke it off with David.” She must read the confusion on my face, because she adds, “Dr. Saunders.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“I just couldn’t take it anymore.” She turns on the bench, then drops down onto the floor, where she sits with her elbows over her knees. Her head hides in that retreat. Everything she says is muffled, but I get this hot glow of pleasure that she’s confiding in me. Even with Janey, I wonder sometimes if our friendship is one sided, if I’m too clingy, if it’s really okay to share my thoughts and confusing emotions.

I’d been even less sure of my footing with Adelaide. Not anymore.

“I was finally going to go through with it. He’d been after me for . . . well, since we started. He said his wife resented him because he wasn’t more excited about having a baby. It was a whoopsy pregnancy. He gave up going on tour with the Boston Philharmonic to stay home with her. So she’s been all cold and distant from him, yada, yada, and wasn’t it nice that he finally found someone to talk to him and make him feel like a man again? I liked being that someone special, like I’d won against this faceless woman I know nothing about.”

She wipes her nose, this time with the back of her sleeve. I hand her another Kleenex and she looks chagrined.

“Anyway, he took me out to dinner, roses, the works. He had champagne waiting in the hotel room. I’ve faked my way into clubs before, drunk when I wasn’t supposed to, but this was the first time a grown-up bought me booze. It felt wrong, but I was flattered too. He thought I was mature enough to handle it.”

This whole time, my mind is doing triple duty. I’m hating Dr. David Saunders, I’m hoping against hope that her story turns out at least mostly okay, and I’m comparing her experience to mine with Jude. Mine could’ve turned out so badly, had Jude really been the player I’d thought he was, or had he been any less true to his word. I was
so
fortunate. I rub Adelaide’s back, soothing, waiting to see if she at least got out of that hotel room on her terms.

“It was all bullshit,” she says, suddenly angry. Head up, eyes fierce, she kicks her feet so hard that the strap on one of her wedge sandals snaps. The sandal flies off. “I was half undressed and he had me working him, you know, with my hand. Then his cell phone rings. His wife was having contractions. He jumped off me like I was a pit of vipers he needed to escape. He lied through his teeth to his wife, that he was at a buddy’s house or some shit, and then he turned on
me
!”

“How?”

“He said I was a stupid, naïve kid, and didn’t I know any better?” She shakes her head violently. “But the topper was, he looked me up and down. His pants were kinda unbuckled, and I swear he got even more turned on. It was sick. I got really scared, because he could’ve done anything to me. Instead he just zipped up his pants and gave himself a little rub, smiling, and said he’d see me in class.”

I’m furious, and I’m glad she’s furious, although I know she must be hurting. “You mean he wants to see you again?”

“No, it sounded more like a threat. He’s still my professor! What am I supposed to do, go tattle? I’ll be the Lolita whore people thought I was in high school. I ran wild, but I wasn’t stupid and I wasn’t this naïve. It was easy to play with boys my age. They lag, you know? Then suddenly it’s like,
boom
. They turn into older men who’re hot and say all the prettiest things, and if it hadn’t been for that phone call, I’d be some virgin kid he got to roll around on for a night.”

“You’ve never . . . ?”

She laughs, which sounds bitter and frayed. “Never. Although I bet even Jude would have a hard time believing that.”

I exhale slowly. This isn’t my business anymore. She’s vented. I should step away from sibling drama. But I don’t want to lose either from my life, and I certainly don’t want them in pain. “I think you’re underestimating him,” I say quietly. “I know I do sometimes.”

“That’s because you’re you and he likes you so much. Geez, Keeley, you wouldn’t believe how much he talks about you. It’d be annoying if I thought you were a bitch, not worth his time. Instead it’s adorable. I’m really happy for you, and I’m
so
glad he’s finally loosening up. It’s like . . .” She blows her nose. “It’s like having him back.”

“Then why not tell him about this?”

“Because his rules for you and his rules for me are way different. There’s no chance,
ever
, that he’d let me off about this without a lecture. I don’t feel like being hammered with
I told you so
. Even if I deserve it.”

“Now, wait.” I stand up and forcefully drag her to her feet. “How old is Dr. Saunders? Thirty-something? He’s the one to blame for this. He’s the one who lied and blew off his pregnant wife to get you in bed. It’s impossible to keep perspective when it’s so much fun and so exciting.” I catch her eyes. “Not to squick you out, like you said, but I know what that part’s like. Only, Jude’s a good guy. He takes care of me. Dr. Saunders was only going to use you. Don’t you
dare
think you deserve that, no matter how blinded you were.”

She starts crying again. I hug her and she hugs back. “I told him to fuck off,” she says against my shoulder. “I told him, yeah, I’d see him in class, but I’d wear a turtleneck in August before he got another look at me naked. He didn’t even have his shoes back on before I grabbed my things and left. I couldn’t stand the idea of him leaving first, and me sitting there on the bed we’d messed up together.
I
did the leaving.”

I hug her harder. “You bet your ass you did.”

Adelaide uses a tissue instead of her sleeve—or the shoulder of my plain lime green T-shirt—and wipes her eyes. “Thanks,” she whispers.

“I’m glad I was here. I mean that.”

“Will you tell Jude?”

I hold her upper arms and make sure she doesn’t look away. “Only what you give me permission to.”

She shrugs. “Just that we broke up. Nothing more, please.”

“You got it. Cross my heart. But Addie—”