Wicked White
Page 17
Bodies swaying to the beat block my path, and I push, pull, and squeeze until I make it off the floor with Birdie close on my heels. My eyes dart back to the spot where I last spotted Ace, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
I stand there, completely frazzled as I shove my hair back and search the sea of faces one by one, hoping he’s merely just moved. A long sigh pours out of me as Birdie finds her spot next to me.
“Where did he go?” Birdie asks as she begins looking around too.
“No clue,” I answer and am glad for the loud country music covering the pouting tone in my voice. “I don’t know why he would come here and then run away when he knows I’m about to approach him.”
“You should stay away from that guy, Iris. He seems like nothing but a bunch of trouble to me—sexy trouble, but trouble nonetheless.”
She’s right, but that doesn’t stop this strange pull I feel toward him that lingers inside me. Him showing up here tonight tells me that he is interested in me but is holding back for some reason, and I want to know why.
On the way back home, Birdie cranks up the radio as the DJ continues to go on and on about some pop rocker who’s gone missing, while my drunken brain tries to figure out the riddle that is Ace Johnson.
“They should try looking in every sleazy hotel around where he was last seen. The dude’s probably on some two-week drug binge and doesn’t want to be found.” Birdie snorts in a fit of laughter as the radio starts playing an upbeat song by a band called Wicked White.
The repetitive lyrics of the song quickly get on my nerves and I turn the music back down, not able to handle the annoyance of a song I don’t like in my drunken state. “I hate pop music. It has no soul.”
Birdie laughs, instantly turning the music back up. “You think any song where the music overpowers the lyrics has no soul. Sometimes, Iris, music is just meant to be fun.”
“Singing is a difficult talent to master, and the craft should be respected, not hacked to bits by synthesized drums created by a computer.”
“Says the woman who dreams about being a singer on Broadway.” She nags me all the time for being too picky musically, so her statement doesn’t shock me. “You should lighten up and learn to have fun with music—to not take it so serious all the time—like this band, for example. They’re relatively new on the scene but have already had like four or five songs on the radio. Are they memorable? No. But they’re fun as hell to dance to.”
I know what she’s getting at, but music is special to me. When I discovered I had the gift of singing, it helped my self-confidence so much. People praised me for it, and in some weird way I felt like it would’ve made my mother proud of me too. So, needless to say, singing became serious business to me. It was important to perfect every note and feel every emotion in the lyric, which is why show tunes really grabbed hold of me. They all mean something. They tell a story. Not like pop music, where most songs are written to make money. Pop isn’t written for the purity of conveying feelings.
“Let’s agree to disagree.” I lay my head back against the headrest in her Corolla and close my eyes as things around me begin to spin.
Ugh. I shouldn’t have drunk so much. This is going to be so bad in the morning.
The next thing I know Birdie has the passenger door open and is nudging me awake as the dome light in the car assaults my eyes.
“How did you ever make it on your own in New York being a sloppy drunk like this?” Birdie complains as she helps me out of the car.
I lean against her as she walks me up the sidewalk and helps me fish the house keys from my front pocket. “I never drank there. New York is a tough city—nothing like here—and you always have to be on top of your game. Plus, I never wanted to be hung over if I ever got an unexpected callback.”
A hiccup squeaks out of me and I sigh. “I just want to sing.”
She laughs as I pull away from her and attempt to do a little spin to show her how good I’d be on stage, but my legs tangle together, causing me to fall backward.
A pair of strong arms hooks around me, halting me from hitting the ground. I close one eye and stare up at Ace’s face to bring him into better focus. “Where’d you come from?”
He pulls me upright and attempts to stand me on my feet, but with the liquor coursing through my veins, I wobble and then fall back into him.
“Whoa, there.” He wraps his arm around me as I lay my head against his chest.
It feels so nice being this close to him, and on top of it all he smells good enough to eat with his spicy scent. “You smell good.”
Ace chuckles and the sound reverberates in his chest. “How much did you have to drink after I left?”
I glance up at his face with a goofy grin on my own. “So you were there.”
He’s hesitant at first, but then reluctantly nods. “I had to make sure you stayed safe. So I was there, and then moved when you saw me.”
A gooey feeling of warmth envelops my chest at the thought of him wanting to take care of me yet again. Even though on the outside he seems to hate me with the passion of ten fiery suns because of how he’s always so short with me, on the inside I think he likes me just as much as I like him.
I wrap my arms around his waist as I snuggle in closer to him, loving this confirmation of how he feels about me. I can’t help myself. I’m so attracted to this man. It’s nice to finally be able to touch him like this.
“I like you.” My words come out like a dreamy sigh. “I wish you’d be this nice to me all the time.”
I stand there, completely frazzled as I shove my hair back and search the sea of faces one by one, hoping he’s merely just moved. A long sigh pours out of me as Birdie finds her spot next to me.
“Where did he go?” Birdie asks as she begins looking around too.
“No clue,” I answer and am glad for the loud country music covering the pouting tone in my voice. “I don’t know why he would come here and then run away when he knows I’m about to approach him.”
“You should stay away from that guy, Iris. He seems like nothing but a bunch of trouble to me—sexy trouble, but trouble nonetheless.”
She’s right, but that doesn’t stop this strange pull I feel toward him that lingers inside me. Him showing up here tonight tells me that he is interested in me but is holding back for some reason, and I want to know why.
On the way back home, Birdie cranks up the radio as the DJ continues to go on and on about some pop rocker who’s gone missing, while my drunken brain tries to figure out the riddle that is Ace Johnson.
“They should try looking in every sleazy hotel around where he was last seen. The dude’s probably on some two-week drug binge and doesn’t want to be found.” Birdie snorts in a fit of laughter as the radio starts playing an upbeat song by a band called Wicked White.
The repetitive lyrics of the song quickly get on my nerves and I turn the music back down, not able to handle the annoyance of a song I don’t like in my drunken state. “I hate pop music. It has no soul.”
Birdie laughs, instantly turning the music back up. “You think any song where the music overpowers the lyrics has no soul. Sometimes, Iris, music is just meant to be fun.”
“Singing is a difficult talent to master, and the craft should be respected, not hacked to bits by synthesized drums created by a computer.”
“Says the woman who dreams about being a singer on Broadway.” She nags me all the time for being too picky musically, so her statement doesn’t shock me. “You should lighten up and learn to have fun with music—to not take it so serious all the time—like this band, for example. They’re relatively new on the scene but have already had like four or five songs on the radio. Are they memorable? No. But they’re fun as hell to dance to.”
I know what she’s getting at, but music is special to me. When I discovered I had the gift of singing, it helped my self-confidence so much. People praised me for it, and in some weird way I felt like it would’ve made my mother proud of me too. So, needless to say, singing became serious business to me. It was important to perfect every note and feel every emotion in the lyric, which is why show tunes really grabbed hold of me. They all mean something. They tell a story. Not like pop music, where most songs are written to make money. Pop isn’t written for the purity of conveying feelings.
“Let’s agree to disagree.” I lay my head back against the headrest in her Corolla and close my eyes as things around me begin to spin.
Ugh. I shouldn’t have drunk so much. This is going to be so bad in the morning.
The next thing I know Birdie has the passenger door open and is nudging me awake as the dome light in the car assaults my eyes.
“How did you ever make it on your own in New York being a sloppy drunk like this?” Birdie complains as she helps me out of the car.
I lean against her as she walks me up the sidewalk and helps me fish the house keys from my front pocket. “I never drank there. New York is a tough city—nothing like here—and you always have to be on top of your game. Plus, I never wanted to be hung over if I ever got an unexpected callback.”
A hiccup squeaks out of me and I sigh. “I just want to sing.”
She laughs as I pull away from her and attempt to do a little spin to show her how good I’d be on stage, but my legs tangle together, causing me to fall backward.
A pair of strong arms hooks around me, halting me from hitting the ground. I close one eye and stare up at Ace’s face to bring him into better focus. “Where’d you come from?”
He pulls me upright and attempts to stand me on my feet, but with the liquor coursing through my veins, I wobble and then fall back into him.
“Whoa, there.” He wraps his arm around me as I lay my head against his chest.
It feels so nice being this close to him, and on top of it all he smells good enough to eat with his spicy scent. “You smell good.”
Ace chuckles and the sound reverberates in his chest. “How much did you have to drink after I left?”
I glance up at his face with a goofy grin on my own. “So you were there.”
He’s hesitant at first, but then reluctantly nods. “I had to make sure you stayed safe. So I was there, and then moved when you saw me.”
A gooey feeling of warmth envelops my chest at the thought of him wanting to take care of me yet again. Even though on the outside he seems to hate me with the passion of ten fiery suns because of how he’s always so short with me, on the inside I think he likes me just as much as I like him.
I wrap my arms around his waist as I snuggle in closer to him, loving this confirmation of how he feels about me. I can’t help myself. I’m so attracted to this man. It’s nice to finally be able to touch him like this.
“I like you.” My words come out like a dreamy sigh. “I wish you’d be this nice to me all the time.”
