Tracks (Rock Bottom) (5 page)

My head is spinning. 'What a pig,' I think.
'A womanizer. A...An...almost statutory rapist!' I mean, that blonde girl must have turned 18 yesterday. I'm trying so hard to be mad at him and dislike him to squash away the thought of his eyes running up and down my body. And to kill the nagging feeling of regret for not using the marker. I KNOW I did the right thing. I don’t need to be getting involved in things like this.

When we finally get through the glass door and out into the cool Boston air, I stomp wordlessly towards the parking lot. I see a police officer directing the last of the traffic in the distance. Gees, it's taken peo
ple an hour to get out of here.

"Ok, now, stop!" Theresa says b
reathlessly. I continue anyway.

Theresa grabs my arms and pulls back on it. I st
op. "What?" I say, exasperated.

"What the hell was that about?" she says, trying to stifle her excitement unsuccessfully. She bounces up and down on her heals. "He wants to see you again?!"

"I guess. That's what he said, right?" I continue walking, but slower. Theresa walks beside me. I search my jean pockets for my keys.

"So, what happe
ned?" she eyes me suspiciously.

"Nothing.
We exchanged pleasantries. Really the proposal of him seeing me again came out of nowhere." I sound mystified, even to myself, as I pull the keys out of my pocket.

"Not
‘nowhere’," Theresa says as we spot my beat up red convertible in the parking lot and head towards it. "You ARE gorgeous."

I make a
n appalled sound at her. "Righhhhttt..." I say as I open the car door and hop in.

She sits in the passenger seat and we buckle our seatbelts. "Well," she says. "You
didn't want to see him again?"

I sigh. I'm going to choose my words carefully. It's not that I didn
’t want to see him again, but his lifestyle intimidated me. And it seemed wrong. And I need a one-night-stand with a famous rock star like I need a hole in the chest. But I can't tell her that, because she'd make me feel guilty about what she would say was 'missing an opportunity.' To her, if I could have had a one night stand with him and turned him down, I'd be the craziest person on earth. She'd probably have me locked up.

"Two girls walked in the room pretty much naked and they asked if I wanted to join their, um," I look at Theresa and she's smiling a devilish
smile. I turn bright red. "
Group
," I stammer out.

She laughs hysterically. "Oh I see, and that went over r
eal well with YOU prudy pants!"

I smile. "Shut up, bitch." We both laugh and drop the subject the rest of the way home, blaring music as we speed away from the theater.

             
At home we don't talk much about the concert, but as I suspected, Theresa pulls the ticket stubs out of her pocket and thumb tacks them on the wall above dining room table.

"I'll get a frame for them later. This is a night I don't want to forget!" she yawns as she heads to her room.

I am torn on that statement. I wish I could forget the way his eyes trailed my body. The way his rough hands felt on my skin…

I finish cleaning the rest of the kitchen counter and put the dishes in the dishwasher before I finally decide that I should get some sleep. I appreciate my dad's offer on helping me pay my mortgage for the
year so I don't have to find a job until January or so, but I honestly think I should look for a job anyway, especially since I'm taking out loans to pay for Harvard. So tomorrow will be a long day of job hunting.

I go into my bedroom, throw on a pair of shorts and a tank, and climb into my bed. The cool silk sheets feel good on my skin, and I silently thank
God once again for our very well furnished apartment. I lie awake for a while, trying not to think of ice or blue or chocolate or music. I'm especially not trying to think of what he is doing right now, with prostitute pixie and well-endowed jailbait. I make a mental note to write a letter to Mattel for ideas for their next Barbie’s.

When I finally drift off to sleep, I dream of his fingers p
laying his gray, glimmering guitar. They slide up and down the neck of it, caressing it as if it’s a body. The lights reflecting from the strange instrument is blinding, illuminating his perfect face. His eyes open and he looks at me, and he whispers my name, “Dylan…”

I wake up to the sound of our doorbell ringing. The sun looks a little too low in the sky. I stare at the clock. Holy shit, is it really 1 p.m.? What’s up with me sleeping so much?

I stretch and yawn as I sit
up. I hear the shower running, so I get out of bed to answer the door. I throw a silk white robe over my barely clad body, embarrassed that my shirt is so see-through. I run out of my room and open the door, but no one is there. I look down and see a box sitting by the doorway. I pick it up and bring it inside.

It's a cardboard box with flowers on it. I smile,
wondering which one of Theresa’s admirers they’ll be from this time, when I turn the box around and see it’s addressed to me.

I stare at it, confused. I open the top of the box and pull ou
t two dozen beautiful red and black roses. The vase was plain black, striking and heavy. I spot a card hidden amongst the roses.

In black
permanent marker, it reads: "Bought you these flowers and called it a night early. Hoping you could give me another chance to get to know you- J"

I catch myself with a girly grin
. How astoundingly sweet! I’m used to male attention to be honest, but it usually doesn't consist of sweetness. His handwriting is beautiful and elegant, bordering on calligraphy. His letters have swirls and curves in them. I can imagine what his original songs must look like when he composes: like artwork.

Suddenly I wonder if I shouldn't be creeped out. I mean, how did he know where I live? I ridiculously look over my shoulders, as if someone is standing behind me
or watching me. I chuckle once under my breath. 'Dylan, he's super rich with 17 thousand people working for him. You told him you just bought a town home on Massachusetts Avenue,' I thought. 'Wouldn't be too hard for him to find you.'

I hear Theresa turn off the water and step out onto the floor. I sigh, put the card into its stand, and place the flowers on our dining ta
ble, in the spot where the sunlight from the windows is hitting the wood. I start walking into the bathroom as Theresa is walking out. She smiles at me and I smile back. "Morning sunshine!" she says, perkily.

"Yellow,
" I say, getting into the bathroom and shutting the door. I turn on the water and steam fills up the room again almost immediately. I start to undress myself, letting my breasts free from my shirt and my shorts fall to the floor. I climb into the shower and let the warm water run on my skin. It loosens up my aching muscles. 'Sleeping this late really throws me off,' I think. 

"Dylan!
" Theresa cries. I roll my eyes. "Who are these flowers from?"

Oh boy.

"Can't hear you!" I cry. "Shower!"

A few seconds later,
I hear Theresa's loud shriek. I giggle.

Of course when I get out of the shower, I'm ambushed. "How does he know where we live? Are you going to respond? HOW are you going to respond? Doesn't this freak you out? If YOU don't respond
, I will!! You're going to see him again! You MUST!"

I'm literally in a towel in the middle of the hallway, dripping water onto the floor. Theresa stands 6
inches from my nose, practically bouncing as she talks. I hold my hands up. "Woah," I say. "At least come into my room so I can get dressed."

She steps aside so I can squeeze by her. Honestly, I hadn't thought about how I'd respond
even if I wanted to. I hadn't thought of actually responding. I'm still in the shock stage.

"SOOOOO???"
Theresa says and throws herself on my bed, as I pull out a pair of jeans and a blue and green wrap shirt from my closet. I walk over to my drawers and pull out some underwear and a bra.

"I don't know. I
guess I would see him again. But I have no way of contacting him. I don't even know if he's still in Boston."

"He is!" Theresa screamed. "He's from here, you know. He's playing three shows here to kick off the tour. There
’s no show tonight, but Friday and Saturday he's having one. He's here until at least Sunday night!"

I surprise myself by being relieved.
Strange… I shake my head as I fasten my bra. I'm losing it.

"I'm STARVING!" Theresa says. "I'm going t
o make something to eat. Ziti?"

"Ziti," I confirm as I throw on my shirt. I run ove
r to my mirror to brush my hair.

After I dress, Theresa and I sit at the table for lunch. The roses sit in the middle between us, but off to the side a bit so we can see each other. I stare at the huge flowers. The black rose
s, I decide, remind me of him: beautiful and dark and lovely...

'And a big fat WOMANIZER,' my rat
ional brain interrupts. I sigh.

"Why...so...silent?"
Theresa says slowly. "Deep in thought?" She raises an eyebrow.

I tighten my eyes at her when I hear a knock at the door. I stand and put my plate
in the sink before I answer it.

When I open the door, the big security guard who pulled me from the crowd is standing there. He has black jeans and a black shirt on, with black sunglasses o
n his big, bald head. I freeze.

"Hi
, Miss," he says in a big booming voice. 

"Hi..." I breathe
in shock. Theresa has left the table and stands behind me.

"Can you come with me? Mr. M requests
your company." He stands like a brick wall in front of my door.

I wonder if I really have a choice again as I turn to Theresa.
Would Jeremy dare to have me carried there? Something tells me I shouldn’t put it past him.

Theresa’s
eyes are wide and excited. She smiles at me and runs over to my bedroom. “What are you doing?” I say as she runs out with a pair of sandals and pushes me down on the floor.

"Wait!" I scream,
falling to the floor. She shoves the first sandal on my right foot.

"You're going don't you even dare fight with me I'm not letting you blow this oh how exciting!" she says quickly as she shoves my
other sandal on my foot and pulls me up from the floor. She grabs my purse from the couch behind her, slams it into my chest, and pushes me out the door toward big man. I turn back to her and give her a dirty look.

"Do your make-up in the car!" she says and waves. I try to get back inside. I need to think about this r
ationally before I actually go.

Theresa slams the door in my face. I was prepared to yell through the door, but big man grabs my right arm. "Let's go," he booms as he drags me down my steps and towards a black car parked on the street behind by red
convertible.

He opens the back door to the black car and throws me down in it. I rub my arm as he shuts the door. Gees, I'm getting sick
of being manhandled like this.

He sits in the front seat, and before I know it, we're moving. After a few moments of gett
ing my bearings straight, I try to decipher where we are. "Are you going to tell me where he's taking me?" I hope it's not to his place…I hope it is to his place…I mean,
not
to his place!

"
He’s at the record store right now, I’ma take you there."

I raise a
n amazed eyebrow. Not what I was expecting, but okay. I decide maybe it is a good idea to throw on some make-up. I dig through my purse and pull out my black make-up bag. I open my little mirror and immediately direct it at my hair. Thankfully, it’s dry, long and straight. The summer sun has really lightened it. I throw on some concealer, blush, and shiny lip gloss. I skip the eyeliner. I almost never wear eyeliner. Why dry attention to things so obvious to begin with?

I zip up my make-up bag and put it back in my purse just in time. The black car pulls up outside a white building with records painted on it. It's sandwiched in between two abandoned shops. On the top of the shop, the
dingy sign reads, "Hal's Records." 

The door suddenly opens and a dark hand extends to me. I g
rab it as big man pulls me out.

"By the way," I say to him as we walk to the door. "Since we keep running in to eac
h other, can I have your name?"

"Rich," he says in a booming voice.
 

"Rich," I say, looking at the huge gold R
around his neck. "It fits you."

I think I get a hint of a smile when he op
ens the door and I step inside.

The store is huge
, much bigger than it looks from the outside. As I walk in, there's one cash register at my left, the shelves behind it lined with band memorabilia. In front of me are what look like hundreds of rows of records and CDs. They go vertically across the store from wall to wall, with another row behind the ones in front. There's a staircase in the back that leads to an upper loft.