Control (Songs of Submission #4)(24)

“I just want to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m. All. Right.” My voice was tight and firm, pure intention in every syllable.

“I didn’t think it was that big a deal.”

“Fuck? What? You don’t think it’s that big… Are you from another planet?” I paced my living room as Dave pulled his truck out of my driveway.

“Monica, calm down.”

“Calm… What? No! I will not calm down. This is serious. This is a problem. And you know what? I don’t have time for it. I don’t have time to describe to you proper boundaries outside the bedroom.”

“You’re out of line.”

“Don’t you use that voice with me now. You’re out of line.”

“Monica.”

“Jonathan.”

“I’m coming over there.”

“Don’t bother.”

I hung up.

CHAPTER 13.

MONICA

I wanted to run. I wanted to somehow foil his stupid f**king plan to come over and soothe the common sense right out of me. But I had to shower and change to play at Frontage. Rhee and I had agreed to continue on a trial run, and I wanted to be my best, not all screwed up. When I got out of the shower, my phone was ringing. I picked it up without looking, thinking it was Jonathan.

“My doors are locked.”

“Okay?”

Fuck, not Jonathan. The caller ID identified the caller as Jerry, the producer I’d done a scratch cut with two weeks earlier.

“Hi, sorry. Thought you were someone else. How’s it going?”

“Good, I’m having drinks with Eddie Milpas tonight. He’s one of our acquisitions guys. You playing that dinner club?”

“Frontage, yeah.”

“You playing the song we cut?”

“I don’t usually play my own stuff. I can ask.”

“Do it. He’s looking for something, and I think you have it.”

My heart raced. “Thanks. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Great. Keep the doors locked.”

I hung up. It had been twenty minutes since Jonathan called. I stuffed my crap in a bag and ran out with my hair still wet.

CHAPTER 14.

JONATHAN

“Lil.” I knocked on the window. “Forget Sheila. Take me to Echo Park.”

“Yes, sir.”

Turning around was no small feat. She had to crawl off the exit of the 134, crawl back on, and sit in rush hour traffic. Dinner with my favorite sister and attendant children was officially cancelled.

When I got to Monica’s house, she and her car were gone. I stood on the porch calculating my next move. She’d said something about a gig at Frontage, and I was tempted to go over there. I saw Dave pulling up the hill in his dually.

“Hey, Jon. The lady of the house home? I had a few more permits to pull.”

“Nope. What happened today?”

He leaned out his window and offered me a fry from a McDonald’s bag, which I refused. “What do you mean?”

“Did you say something about watching her?”

“No, man, I was watching, not telling.”

“When I said to keep an eye on her, it was a casual keeping an eye. Because she knows, and she’s pissed.”

“Sorry. I didn’t say anything. She did tag up that car with whipped cream. Don’t know what that was about.” He craned his neck to see the other side of the street. “Right there.”

I followed his gaze to a green minivan. I got a sinking feeling as I walked toward it. The whipped cream wasn’t just whipped cream. It was the kind from a can, and Monica was sending me a message.

I used my hankie to wipe the whipped cream away and saw a camera behind the glass.

Ah. She thought I did that. The thought had crossed my mind, but I did have boundaries.

And then the other question: who did it? Who wanted her watched?

I said good-bye to Dave and crawled back into the Bentley. “Lil, take me home.” I needed my car, and Lil had been driving all day. Monica would be trapped behind that piano. I could still make it.

CHAPTER 15.

MONICA

“One song,” I said to Rhee. “The rest can be the same as we’ve always done.”

She chewed the inside of her lip, glancing around the room. It was already getting crowded. “What’s it sound like?”

“Like a woman on the piano,” I said. “Here are the lyrics.”

Asking permission to sing my own songs wasn’t something I would have accepted a month ago, but so much had happened, and I depended on the job at Frontage to keep Gabby’s memory alive.

The lyrics made me nervous, but I had to do it, just once. If I didn’t take opportunities when they presented themselves, they’d dry up.

“Little hardcore, sugar,” Rhee said. “Collar? Licking the floor?”

“It’s metaphorical.”

“I figured that.”

Of course she did. What woman would have to lay that out for a man literally?

“It’s important to me,” I said. “Someone’s coming to hear it. A producer and a record exec. And the composition, Gabby wrote it. I laid the lyrics over after…”

“Okay, okay.” She handed back the sheet. “You’re fine. Have fun. You deserve it.”