Sweet Forty-Two(34)

“Ember, why do you take her so personally? I haven’t seen or heard anyone with her, and, really, it would be none of our business if I had.”

“I’m sorry—”

“No, it’s not okay. Your attitude has really sucked lately, and I’m kind of over it.”

Bo called after me, but I ignored him as I fled the recording room and sped down the hall, exiting the building and slamming my car door shut behind me.

I don’t know why I was so protective over Georgia’s reputation. She didn’t seem to care what the hell anyone thought as she strutted around the bar and flirted with anyone and everyone. Plus, I hadn’t seen her since the night at E’s when she told me about Willow.

Who was now at my car window.

Willow tapped her fingernail to the beat of the song we’d just finished until I turned on the car and pressed the button for the window to go down.

“What’s up?” I tried to sound composed, and unlike the tantrum I’d just thrown.

“She’s not mad about Georgia, you know.”

“What?”

“Ember. She’s not mad about that girl from the bar. She’s mad at me.”

I shook my head and shrugged. Male code for I need more information.

“I made a pass at Bo two weeks ago, and she lost her shit.” Her tone was nonchalant as she picked at her fingernails.

“You what?”

“Oh for God’s sake, Regan, they’re not married.”

“But ... they’re together.”

She arched the same eyebrow Ember always did. “So. They’re not married. Anyway, I tried; he declined the offer. We move on.”

I had a million things I wanted to say to her, but nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand of them would have guaranteed my departure from the album project, given her parents were thirty percent of the band.

“Nice,” I settled on. “Well ... I’m heading out.”

I drove away, as Willow stepped back and slid into her black Beetle convertible. I considered calling Ember to apologize for my outburst with her, but I couldn’t deal with that right now. I hadn’t played much in the studio over the last two days, and I was itching to get to E’s and let some of my pent up energy out on stage.

A sense of relief overcame me when I reached the parking lot at E’s, and saw Georgia’s car there. I found myself missing her smile and her lack of apology for anything she said or did. She wasn’t crass or anything, but she didn’t waste time filtering through everyone’s facades to decide what she should or shouldn’t say.

The crowd was modest for a Saturday night, but that worked in my favor in terms of finding an open stool at the bar. I hadn’t eaten anything but raw fruits and vegetables, largely in the form of salads, for lunch over the last week and a half, and I was dying for deep fried meat.

“Hey hot-shot recording star, I thought we’d never see the likes of you in here again.” Lissa caught me out of the corner of her eye, not looking up from the pints she was filling as she addressed me.

“It’s good to see you, too,” I teased.

“What can I get for ya? You’re playing a set tonight?” She leaned forward, and where her cleavage should have been I just saw pale skin stretched across visible ribs in the center of her chest. Far too skinny.

“Wings. Hot. And, yeah, if there’s an opening.”

“For you, I’m sure there will be. Celtic Cross will be in later to do an after-hours set, I think. Maybe they’ll let you play with them.”

I shrugged and she handed me a Guinness I hadn’t ordered, but needed. Badly.

After a refreshing sip, a more satisfying voice came up behind me.

“Well, well, well. How’s life at the commune?” Georgia sat on the empty stool next to me, setting the oversized food tray on the bar.

Her voice was bright and normal, but her eyes looked tired. More grey than blue, and dark circles were starting to form all around them. Not just underneath. I realized she could have been sick, or something, and I wouldn’t have known. Not very neighborly, I thought. And, certainly not watching after her as I’d promised CJ I would.

“It’s good. Long days, a lot of lettuce ... and yoga breaks.” Not that I participated in them. Neither did Bo. We usually took them as an opportunity to sneak a beer at the bar next door. “How are you doing? We’re neighbors and I never see you.”

She sighed while smiling. “Busy here, then when I wake up you’re gone. Oh! That reminds me, the mail came yesterday and there was a large envelope they needed a signature for. I was on my way here, signed for it, and stuck it in my car. Let me go get it.” A thousand words a minute and she bounded on short heels out the front door.

“Here.” She was slightly out of breath when she returned, handing me the large thin envelope with David Bryson and his Concord, New Hampshire return address in the top left corner.

Instinctively, my palms began to sweat. It wasn’t that it was David I was worried about. Bo’s surrogate father and business partner was a hell of a guy. It was that I hadn’t spoken much with him since Rae’s funeral.

I remained silent, feeling Georgia’s eyes on me as I ran my finger between the seal and the envelope. I felt something square at the bottom of the envelope, but I pulled out the larger single sheet first, setting the handwritten note on the bar as I read it.