Coda (Songs of Submission #9)(17)

“Yeah,” I said. “I know all this. Why are you stalling?”

“I don’t want you to compare this to what you get, because you, I mean you’re getting a different kind of deal.”

“Oh. My. God. You got signed.”

“It’s nothing,” he said. “It’s music for a video game. City of Dis, if you’ve heard of it.”

“I have.”

“Well, it’s a good gig and good money. And I didn’t even mention it because who cares? But it just got us noticed enough that we’re getting signed by Beowolf Records for a really small thing—”

Adam dropped his phone on the table. “And this is why I said, ‘Marry me now, or I’m done with you.’ Nothing is a big enough deal for him. He’d accept my proposal after his fifth Grammy, maybe.”

“Are you guys having a party or something? I want to give gifts and get drunk. You owe me that.”

“When we get a place not in the slums of Los Angeles, so sorry,” Adam said. “Something nice on the west side with a big enough yard for a reception.”

The look on Darren’s face told me there had been some contention over either the size or the location, but I said nothing. I’d get it out of him later.

My phone rang.

“Let me get this.” I slid the phone off the table and walked outside.

Jonathan and I had made a new deal after he reclaimed me. If he called, any time, any place, I picked up. If he called during a show, I had to pick up in front of the audience. The only way to avoid that was to tell him when I would be on stage and when I would be in the studio, then he’d only call if it was an emergency.

“Hello, goddess,” he said.

“Hi.” I felt warm and giddy.

“I think we should cancel on Sheila tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“I noticed you were walking straight. Can’t have that.”

As appealing as the thought of him making it hard for me to walk was, he needed to be at Sheila’s tomorrow. “We can work around it.”

“Since when are you so eager to see my family?”

The rule of never lying to save each other pain was still in effect. I couldn’t travel thinking he wanted me gone, and he couldn’t chase me out to save me from being around him. We were to be direct in our insecurities and our desires, even if they would hurt.

“I want to go,” I said, telling the truth but keeping a tiny lie to myself. “I happen to love almost all of your sisters as much as Margie.”

“Truth?”

“Truth.”

“Come home.”

“May I finish lunch?”

“Hurry. I want to f*ck you blind.”

Fluid rushed between my legs. I almost buckled at the knees. We hung up, and I dialed Margie while leaning against a parking meter.

“Yes?” she snapped.

“He’s trying to wiggle out of tomorrow.”

“You have one job, Monica. One job.”

“I can do my best, but—”

“For the tenth time, he is not going to have a heart attack when we yell ‘surprise.’ You’re going to give yourself an ulcer,” she said.

“The doctor said no stress. That’s stressful.”

“Is he taking all his rejection meds?”

“Yes.”

“Eating right?”

“Yes.”

“Is he exercising?”

I sighed, frustrated. She was building a case, and the jury would find in her favor. “Jogs miles and miles a day.”

“Is he not taking care of himself in any way possible?”

“He’s a model citizen.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I love him, and I don’t want to lose him. That’s the problem. When are you going to tell him about the Swiss thing?”

“Tomorrow I’m going over to your place to get some things signed. I’ll bring it up then. Be scarce.”

“Okay.” What I said with that “okay” was that she’d better do it or I would blurt something out in the bedroom. We’d agreed that it should be presented as business, and Margie was business, but after one more day, it would feel like withholding.

“What did you get him for his birthday?” Margie changed the subject.

“I wrote him a song.” As soon as I said it, I knew the song was wrong. It was about a flat compromise over a house. I’d written it before he’d reclaimed me, and I suddenly hated it.

Margie’s sigh was audible over the traffic. “You’re a good wife. It’s almost sickening.”

chapter 10.

MONICA

The morning of Jonathan’s birthday, I woke him by putting his cock in my mouth, and he twisted me around and put his mouth on me at the same time. He didn’t even say good morning before I came, groaning with his dick down my throat.

“Monica, you didn’t ask.”

“But, wait, we’re in scene?”

“Get up and stand by the window.”

I had to write him a new song, and dinner was at five. I was already cutting it close. I wasn’t a particularly quick songwriter. Since we’d both collapsed without f*cking the night before, this could go on for hours.