Playing For Keeps (15 page)

Jimmy stopped us.

“I have an idea. Let’s see what this track sounds like without three part harmony. Leave your part out, Bea. I’m going to try mixing some additional vocals from Courtney. We can record those later.”

The air in the studio went thick with tension. I didn’t look at my bandmates, because I didn’t want to see their accusing eyes. I licked my lips. It was no big deal. Jimmy just wanted to hear the difference.

“This’ll be quick,” I told my band, pasting on a laughing smile. “The moment he realizes I have no range at all…”

“Remixed vocals to give the song a fuller sound,” Kaitlin piped up, an unnatural ring to her voice. “That’s normal for girl bands, I think.”

Bea didn’t say anything. And I didn’t look at her to see her reaction.

Instead, I looked at the glass separating us from Jimmy and Duncan and the techs in the sound booth, hoping someone would agree with Kaitlin, but they were too busy adjusting knobs and settings.

Finally, Jimmy looked up. But all he said was, “Let’s go.”

A wave of nerves threatened to close up my vocal chords. I fought the nausea back and focused on listening for Bea’s count. I breathed out, a long, steadying breath, and cleared my head. Brought my guitar in. And, at the right moment, my voice.

I sang the whole song. It was the first take for a while that we went through the whole thing without being stopped by a critical comment from someone in the booth. When I finished, I adjusted my guitar strap and turned around.

“Okay, should we do it again, with Bea back on?” I hoped someone would say yes. Definitely. It didn’t work with just me and Kaitlin. But Jimmy shook his head.

“No, that’s good. We have enough material for me to go through. Let’s finish up for the day and I’ll let you know if we need to pick this up again tomorrow.”

“Right,” Bea said, bitterly. “Good work, ladies.” She snapped her drumsticks together and dropped them into the bag at her side.

We all gathered our belongings, from this room and the tables and couches out front. I hadn’t talked to Jimmy much since we arrived. Just notes about the song and how recording worked. Even when I’d tried to catch his eye, he stubbornly refused to humor me. That was probably for the best. We were in a working environment. We had to remain professional.

But now, as we were heading out into the California sunshine, Jimmy sauntered after us. “Well done, ladies. Bea, I’ll call you and let you know if we need to pick up again tomorrow.”

“Right, Jimmy.”

I sat close to Bea on the car ride back to campus. I needed her to know that I was on her side. I worried that she didn’t know that. That she wondered if my loyalties were shifting to Jimmy.

“You were really good today,” I told her. “The voice lessons are paying off.”

“Are they?” she snapped.

“Yes,” Kaitlin said, firmly. “Come on, Bea. We don’t know how the track will get mixed, in the end. I bet there’ll be ten of you singing along.”

I laughed. Bea allowed a half smile. When would this roller coaster with Bea end? I kept thinking we were good. And then we weren’t.

I allowed myself to sleep in Saturday morning. Or, at least, I tried to. Bea burst into my room, waking both me and Diya from our dreams. Diya moaned, pulled her pillow over her face and rolled over, but I sat up when I saw the expression on Bea’s face.

“They’re horrible, vicious sharks,” she said, flopping into my desk chair.

I rubbed my eyes. “What are you talking about?”

She opened my laptop, typed my unlock code and searched for a moment. The screen lit her face eerily. I closed my eyes and began to doze off again, but she shook me out of that.

“Look.”

I scrunched my eyes against the computer light, slowly adjusting to the images on the gossip site she’d opened. But once I made out what they were, I groaned.

Blurry photos of the last night Jimmy and I spent together. A dark shape in the window of an ice cream parlor. Thank God it wasn’t more than that. Except, Bea kept scrolling, and it was more than that. His car arriving at the gate outside his house, the fairly obvious shape of my head in the passenger seat.

Jimmy Keats’ New Project in the Studio and…Elsewhere?
The headline blared.
Anonymous sources say the mystery woman, Courtney Dreger, is lead of the band Ladies In Waiting, a girl-group Keats is producing. But we say Ms. Dreger’s plans to sleep her way to the top are classic gold-digging M.O. What about Julia Wood? Come on, Jimmy, stick with class, or get taken out with the trash.

I wouldn’t let Bea see it, but the words stung. No, they did more than that, slicing like a knife at the core of me. I swallowed and pushed the laptop away, blinking rapidly.

“You can’t be surprised,” I said, forcing my tone to sound calm. “This is always how these kinds of things play out. This is living in the public eye, Bea.”

“An anonymous source,” Bea said, darkly. “Like who? Duncan? Jimmy? You?”

“Um,
what
?”

“Is this a PR thing you two talked about? ‘All publicity is good publicity’ and all that.”

“No way. I would never agree to any of that. I have
some
dignity, you know.”

“But you are sleeping with the guy. And now people will think we don’t have the talent to go all the way.”

“Thanks a lot, Bea.” I closed my laptop and pushed it away. Laid back and threw my arm over my face. Groaned. “Thanks for thinking we aren’t a great band. Thanks for thinking I would whore myself out.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It sounded a little like that.”

Her voice lowered. “I know. Oh God, Court. It’s not you, honestly. It’s just…I’m freaked out! This is big time and I don’t want to mess it up. And, you know, it pisses me off to see people talking about you this way.”

“I know. Don’t you think I feel the same way?”

“Yeah, but at least you have this thing with Jimmy.”

“And that means…what? That I have two things to lose: the band, and my heart. Look, I’m not trying to play who has it harder, here. But we’re in this together and I’m not doing anything to ruin our chances, or cut you out. You’re my best friend. I need you, and the band needs you.”

“I’m being stupid for making you feel like you have to choose between us. No real friend would do that.”

“It’ll pass. People will forget about it.”

Bea made a disbelieving sound. “Will they?” She pushed the laptop away and stood. “I hope so. In the meantime, don’t you forget that we have dance class in an hour. Hopefully I won’t fail so spectacularly at that that
they’ll
have to kick me out of the band.”

“It’s my band.
Our
band,” I corrected. “No one’s going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

“I swear it.”

Bea hung around for breakfast and, after, we walked to the dance studio together.

“I bought new booty shorts. They sparkle.” Bea laughed.

I nodded. “I approve of new dance clothes as motivation. Especially if they sparkle.”

“I hope they help. Dancing, the way they want us to, is harder that I thought it would be. It’s all kind of hard, really, this level of performing.”

I paused for a drink from my water bottle. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a guy behind us stop, too, to examine his shoes. “You’ll succeed, Bea. Just stay focused.” The guy tied his shoelaces, stood up again, and stretched his arms. I practiced being a good witness, just in case. White, about six feet tall, brown hair, maybe, under his hoodie?

“Easier said than done. I get rattled too easily.”

“You’ll do great,” I repeated. We walked on. After a minute, I peered over my shoulder. The guy was walking again, too. “Hey, don’t look now, but do you know that dude behind us? In the red sweatshirt.”

Bea waited a few beats, then looked. “Nope. Why?”

“I think he’s following us.”

Bea grabbed my arm. “What if he’s the crazy fangirl? He’s close. He could kill us right now.”

My heart thudded. “Bea! I was thinking paparazzi, but now you’re freaking me out. Just walk…normal.” But our steps increased speed, automatically, until we were practically running. My breath struggled. I struggled to remain level-headed. My brain flew over the possibilities: stalker, kidnapper, ax murderer. “Oh my God,” I whispered.

Bea dared a look over her shoulder. “He’s gone.”

We slowed. Stopped. I bent over and grabbed my knees. “Oh my God,” I repeated. I felt stupid. Bea and I shared a look. “He was probably going to class.”

“Same direction as us.”

“We’re so paranoid.”

“But the note and the missing stuff…”

I released a nervous laugh and grabbed Bea’s arm. “Let’s get to the studio and dance the weirdness away.”

12.

The dance classes Duncan had arranged for us weren’t as bad as I thought they were going to be. I was actually having fun shaking my groove thang, all thoughts of a potential stalker fled my mind, and Thierry, the instructor, was generous with his compliments. To me, at least.

“Yes, those legs go on for days. I just love seeing the way you spin. So tall, so elegant.”

I grinned and spun again, twisting my ankles together, then letting my body twirl quickly. Having played the bass so long had given me a good sense of rhythm, and it was easy to stay with the beat no matter what song we were practicing to. Kaitlin surprised me with how good she was, too, flinging her hair and shimmying like it was second nature. She was always so nonchalant, preferring to play things cool, but now she was hot, as though dance had been a passion of hers forever.

Bea, though, struggled.

“My legs are too short,” she complained. “And my hips don’t have that thing.”

“What thing?” Thierry asked.

Bea pointed to my ass. “That thing. That rounded
thing
.”

“Sex appeal?” Thierry said.

“Fat?” Bea countered, folding her arms across her chest and glowering at all of us.

I snorted. She had more curves than me or Kaitlin, so I didn’t know what she was talking about. “Hilarious, Bea.”

Her words were harsh, we both knew it, but I chalked it up to stress. Thierry sighed.

“Any body type can be a great dancer. You just have to have soul. Close your eyes. Feel the music course through your limbs. Become one…”

“Oh my god, really?” Bea spun away from us and adjusted her leg warmers. “Please don’t get all woo-woo on me. I don’t need a Dirty Dancing moment, I need concrete teaching. Tell me which muscles to engage and which to relax. Where my bones are supposed to go. I don’t need to love dancing, I just need to not look like a fool.”

Thierry popped his lips. “Yes, good. We can take that approach. If you stop pouting.”

Bea tucked a few hairs that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. “Fine. I can be cool. Just…teach me. From the top.”

The three of us lined up and waited for Thierry to start the music. He joined our line and counted us in. I watched myself in the tall mirrors, fine-tuning my steps. When I glanced at Bea’s reflection, I noticed her jaw set in a hard line, her eyebrows drawn together with frustration, and her steps not quite lining up with mine and Kaitlin’s.

She caught my look in the mirror. I tried to adjust my line of vision quickly, so she wouldn’t know I was assessing her efforts, but I wasn’t quick enough. Bea’s mouth twisted in a grimace and she glared at me.

I avoided her for the rest of the dance class, and she walked out of the studio alone, before either Kaitlin or I had changed into our street shoes.

“Something needs to give,” Kaitlin said, slinging her gym bag over her shoulder. She adjusted her bangs in the mirror and rubbed at the smudged mascara under her eyes.

I sighed. I knew Bea wasn’t happy and her constant struggles were wearing on me, too. I felt like I had to keep her steady and push the whole band forward. Not just that, I also had to manage my own crazy life.

“What should we do?” I asked Kaitlin, as we left the studio and walked down the short hallway to the main dance school entrance. She pushed the heavy glass door open and let me walk through first.

“Hard to say.” The door slam closed behind us, rattling my nerves. “I want us all to be happy, Court. And I don’t care if you’re seeing him. But I’m not Bea, and I think she’s a little worried that if she screws up, she’s out. But you have Jimmy as insurance, you know?”

“It’s not like that. Bea isn’t going anywhere, no matter what. None of us are, even if it means…I mean…oObviously I want us more.
Obviously
.”

Kaitlin nodded. “Okay.”

Her word was soft, but I was left with the distinct feeling that she wasn’t entirely sure she believed me. Or maybe the problem was that I didn’t entirely believe myself. Jimmy Keats was not the first man who’d treated me well, who turned me on, who challenged myself or who made me laugh. But he was the first to do all of those things at the same time. Plus, he felt a lot like home.

I waved at Kaitlin as she took a left toward her apartment. I continued straight to the DG house. When I got in, I made a beeline straight for the kitchen, grabbing a half-stale bagel and then headed back to my room. I had an hour until my afternoon class, and I needed to cram as much studying in as possible.

I dumped my dance bag on my bed and plopped into my desk chair. My muscles were slowly tightening, after all the movement I’d done today, and I grabbed my foot to stretch my thigh. My eyes closed, my whole body sinking into the stretch. It felt so good. I changed legs, breathing slowly, then dropped my foot and opened my eyes.

Right in front of me, was another letter.

The same plain, white envelope. The same writing across the front. The same stamps. The same Los Angeles postmark. It was mailed yesterday.

I picked the letter up and flipped it over, my pointer finger pausing under the edge of the flap. My heart raced. I bit my lip, hard. I knew I shouldn’t open it. I knew I should take it straight to the police station, along with the other note, to be studied. But curiosity was too great of a force and it compelled my finger to rip the envelope.

The card inside was the same as before, the swirling writing too familiar. The words, this time, were a little different:

If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from Jimmy Keats. Trust me.

A chill crept its way up my spine. I caught a glimpse of myself in the little mirror on my desk. My eyes were too wide, my nostrils flaring with worry. The first note bothered me. This one scared me: the not-subtle threat in the phrase
if you know what’s good for you
, the familiarity in the phrase
trust me
. As though the person sending the notes was someone I know well. Someone I had a history of trusting. I couldn’t imagine anyone I knew well doing this to me.

I grabbed my phone and called Local Jackson.

“Courtney Dreger public relations,” Local answered, in his gritty, laughing voice. “Where we only got good things to say about Miz Dreger.”

“You’re hired!” I said. Hearing Local’s voice helped some of the stress and fear subside. He was someone who always had my back.

“Does that mean I’m going to get paid for all the phone calls I’ve been fielding?”

I flicked the flap of the envelope. “What phone calls?”

I heard Local shift his position. His chair creaked. It was probably the rocking chair on his front porch. He liked to sit and watch the world go by, his old guitar at his side so he could pick it up and strum a tune whenever the inspiration hit.

“I got a couple calls this week from reporters wanting to know more about you. Talking ‘bout you and Jimmy Keats. Them places all want a juicy piece of gossip.”

“What did you tell them?”

Local chuckled. “I ain’t telling them nothing, girlie. I may not have ever been big time, but I remember those flies buzzing around, sniffing for scandal and heartbreak, making their home in the stinky piles of poo. Anything like that makes a good story, but nobody wants it to be
their
story. I’ve seen that firsthand.”

“Sounds intriguing. What happened to you, Local?” For a moment, I forgot about the notes I’d been getting. I forgot about trying to catch up with my homework. I forgot about Bea and about Jimmy Keats. I only wanted the dish on Local Jackson’s old romance. I was as bad as those reporters.

“Can’t tell you all that story, girlie. It ain’t all mine to tell.” His voice dipped a little, scooping up some sadness to serve with his words. “But there were broken hearts and there was bitterness. Probably still is some bitterness, to this day. Some women got a talent for holding on to their broken hearts. And some men…well, you just make sure you’re picking yourself a good one, is all.”

“I’m working on it. But I don’t know if it’s going to work out, for me.” I told Local about the letters I’d been getting. How the writing inside didn’t match the writing on the envelopes. How they were sent from L.A. I even told him I was worried someone really dangerous was sending them. Or maybe Julia Wood.

“You’ve taken them to the cops?” He asked. “Don’t you mess around with crazy people. It’s probably nothing, but you never know. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I didn’t take the first one in, but I’m going to take this one, right after class.”

“If they still come, don’t open them. Take them in and let them handle everything. And keep your doors locked.”

“You think it’s that bad?”

He grunted. “I don’t. Not really. But then again, love makes fools of us all.”

“We’re all a little foolish, lately.”

“How’s that?”

I told Local about Bea. How stressed she’d been. How I wasn’t sure she approved of me and Jimmy. How crazy everything was making
me
.

“Look, I know everyone’s got their codes. Boys stick together, girls stick together. Don’t date your friends’ exes. That whole thing. But the other part of it is that y’all are grown-ups. People gotta be happy for their friends when they’re happy. If they can’t manage that, it means something’s wrong with
them
that needs to be figured out. All you girls got a lot on your plates, but Bea’ll come around. That girl loves you. And there ain’t nothing wrong with her that a little time and practice can’t fix.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Look, I have to run. I have so much work to do.”

“You go on and get your work done, then. And then you take that note in and push past it. Keep up with your dream, girl, no matter how many letters come, you hear?”

“Will do, Local.” I hung up the phone, stuffed the letter in my bag, and opened my laptop. I only had fifteen minutes to study before class and I needed to make the most of every single second.

*

It was the quietest week I’d had since Duncan Prospect came huffing and puffing to our car that fateful night at Filth. Thank goodness, because that quarter was racing toward midterms and my brain felt like mush. I subsisted mostly on caffeine and band-aids, for all the paper cuts my flashcards were giving me. The whole DG house had buckled down in anticipation of exams and papers. Hell, the whole of sorority row was quieter than usual. Even Bea and Kaitlin were scarce, although I couldn’t tell if that was due to midterms, or to other things.

Jimmy texted a few times each day, just to say hello or share an encouraging thought. He told me how much he admired my big brain, how much he missed kissing me, how cold his bed was at night without me in it. The texts never failed to bring a smile to my face, but my happiness faded quickly as I dove back into my work again. On Friday, he asked me to come up for a breather and join him for dinner.

I knew I didn’t have the time. Not really, but I also was going on day three of wearing the same yoga pants and thought a bit of fresh air and a good reason to put on some make-up would perk me up. I relented. Dinner, only.

I’ll come by at 7. I know a great Italian place.

I showered. Worked my hair into shape. I needed to go back into the salon for a touch-up, but there definitely wasn’t time for that, right now. It would have to wait until after midterms. I swept silver and lavender shadow over my eyelids and coated my lashes with mascara. As I lined my lips, I wondered about the Italian place Jimmy Keats knew. Was it well-known? A celebrity hot spot? What would Bea see on the gossip sites, tomorrow? I puckered and popped my mouth, tamping down the nerves that rose up, creating a fine mist of sweat over my arms.

Would I get another letter if I was seen out with Jimmy? The police hadn’t said much when I dropped off the second note. They’d just reminded me to stay in well-lit areas, to lock my doors, to trust my instincts when I was out and about. I took their advice seriously, but I’d mostly been holed up in my room or at the library during daylight hours, anyway, and hadn’t felt particularly unsafe. Now, worry crept up on me again. I hadn’t told the police about my missing tablet or planner. Something made me think they wouldn’t take it seriously. Would think I’d just misplaced it. Like a silly woman. I knew I shouldn’t have felt that way, but I did.

My gaze went to my window. I never left it open, anymore, even when I desperately wanted a breeze in my room. Even when my skin was shimmering with sweat, as it was now, thinking about my things going missing. About the notes. About how unfair it was that I even had to take the measure. To worry.

I swallowed back my nerves.

Thought about staying in. Hiding away until the notes stopped.

But I wasn’t going to hide away in fear. That’s how “they” won.

When Jimmy arrived, I let my gaze linger on him longer than was necessary, taking in his smooth skin, his deep brown eyes, and the dip in his v-neck shirt that I knew led to a gorgeously muscled chest. He flashed a bright, easy smile at me and reached his hand out for mine. We threaded our fingers together and I waved to my sorority sisters, with their half amused, half envious expressions.