She looks away. “I still want you to go.”
I laugh. “I know, Chrissie.”
The laughter feels good. The touch of her eyes feels good. Yes, it is a good time to leave. No more questions. Better to let it all rest for a while.
I cross the room to her, for the first time realizing that I stayed in the kitchen and talked to her from the there. I stop at her chair and ease down until we are at eye level. I kiss her, just a brief, light contact. Nothing more. But the feel of her lips, the gentleness of her response, and the sweetness of her flesh is everything I remember.
The touch of her feels good. We are in a surprisingly good place considering how this started. A better exit point than last night.
I go for the door.
Chapter 10
By the time I reach Malibu, I’ve pretty much lost interest in all my favorite pastimes: music, drinking, parties, being purposely obnoxious to people, and sex. It doesn’t surprise me. It always happens when I am in this phase with Chrissie.
I’m in the in-between state. We’re not over and we’re not together. I’ve been here before: not good, not bad, just in between. Now comes the part where I figure out how not to fuck it up before she decides what we’re doing.
I contemplate firing the Indian girl when I get home, but that would be just some moronic, pointless gesture that’s only going to leave the girl unemployed without reason. I wasn’t even remotely interested yesterday—that was before I got to even see Chrissie again—I sure as hell don’t want Aarsi today.
I am now in the hold of Chrissie. All women lose their appeal. I can’t see, I can’t feel, and I can’t smell another woman, not when I’m with her. Not even when I only have the possibility of her. The possibility of her combined with that unrelenting want of her is like a testosterone inhibitor with all women except her the second I become aware I can have her again.
I can smell Chrissie’s scent on my clothes even after having only the briefest feel of her and my cock is rock hard—though there is nothing about the scene that went down at Chrissie’s that should give me an erection.
Amusing?
Definitely.
Pathetic?
No doubt.
But I can’t deny it.
The only thing I really want to do is to go home, lie down, jerk off thinking of her and then sleep. The last twenty-four hours have been one hell of a ride. I’m exhausted. Going to bed alone and emptying my cock sounds like a fine way to end the first round of being with Chrissie again.
Two days pass at a snail’s pace.
I sit on my back terrace, staring at the ocean, wide awake and restless at 11 a.m. after having spent days and nights mostly alone, only filling the vacant minutes by repeatedly checking my phone hoping to find a call from Chrissie.
I look at my cell again. Nothing. Then I tense. Oh fuck, somehow I left her house condemned to be the woman in this next phase of our life together.
Waiting.
Checking the phone.
Paralyzed into inaction.
Fuck.
I’m stalled. But then, I’m in uncharted territory. I’m out of my comfort zone. What the fuck am I supposed to do?
Usually Chrissie sets the ground rules, we fight, I say something inane, we fuck, and then we’re together again. This time she set the ground rules, introduced me to my daughter, we fought, we talked, and then she sent me away. I don’t know how to work with this.
I shake my head. There must be a way expeditiously to get out of my isolated purgatory. Maybe I’m just in this wretched place because Chrissie doesn’t want me at the house with the kids and she’s short on staff. It could mean nothing that she’s ignoring me.
The patio door opens and I glance over as Aarsi appears. She smiles and says nothing—her version of being invisible—and starts to collect my breakfast remains from the table beside me.
She’s wearing a tight, short violet sundress with a pleated hem that puffs with the gusts of wind. Nice touch. Clearly the girl didn’t listen when I said I wasn’t interested. Time to send her away. She’s becoming annoying in her obviousness.
I grab my coffee before she can take it and smile. Hmm? Maybe not get rid of her. Relocate her. Better. I definitely could use an ally in Chrissie’s house.
Since Aarsi works for me, she’s been thoroughly vetted, down to the point where even the most minute detail of her life rests in a file with the people who hire my staff. Brian Craig screens my employees better than the FBI. I couldn’t hire a better nanny for Chrissie if I tried.
No risk if she’ll do it. Would she do it?
“Do you like kids?” I ask abruptly.
Her eyes widen, surprised that I spoke to her. She blinks. “Yes. Why?”
“Do you have experience with them?”
She nods. “I have three younger siblings. And I did a lot of au pair work before I got the job here.”
Perfect. Interview done. Decision made.
“Go get me something to write with,” I order.
She runs into the house and returns. She hands me a pen and a notepad that looks like it’s from her school things.
“Here’s an address. Go there. I want you to work there as much as you are needed, whatever hours you agree upon with Mrs. Harris. Tell Mrs. Harris I sent you there as a nanny or a housekeeper or whatever she needs. Call me if there’s a problem.”
She stares at me like she wants to argue—or worse, ask questions—then she shrugs. “OK. When do you want me to go?”
“Now. Then text me with your schedule if she keeps you.”
I’m starting to feel more upbeat. A sense of doing something to move things in the direction I want them to go. A moronic optimism that I might get to fuck Chrissie again sometime soon if I get her a little help so she’ll maybe focus a little more on me.
Probably an asinine move.
I don’t care.
It’s worth a try.
I need to do something.
I’ve had enough of this.
My phone beeps two hours later. I read the text. Brilliant. Chrissie didn’t toss out the girl. There’s hope.
After a run on the beach, I shower, dress, and head out into the garage. I stare at the line of cars, pick one and climb in.
I jerk it into reverse—everything I want, always, and never anything that I need—and back into the driveway. I merge into traffic on Highway 1 and then cut onto the road to Hollywood.
I don’t have a plan. I’m not even working on a new release. I’ve been here three days, Chrissie and I are still on separate pages and I haven’t gotten anything going, but the Rainbow is always a good place to start. A rockers’ bar in Hollywood. Even though it’s afternoon, there will be someone, something going on there.
A good place to start if I want to get quickly plugged in to the goings-on in the LA scene.
Which I’m not sure that I do.
Fuck, I’m going there anyway.
I’m tired of being alone, waiting for Chrissie to call.
The minute I step through the door, I’m quickly swallowed up by people. Christ, I’m not in the mood for this bullshit. I smile. Make appropriate replies and scan the crowd, picking out the faces of a few here I actually like.
Ah, Ian Kennedy, music producer extraordinaire, out drinking at two in the afternoon.
Amusement and diversion.
Success.
I make my way toward him.
He takes me in a wraparound, one-arm, patting hug. “Hey brother, what the fuck are you doing in LA?”
We go to the back of bar, into the VIP private area. I sink on the couch and call out to the cocktail waitress to bring me a coffee. I ignore the amusement that sparks in Ian’s eyes. Fuck, get over it, Ian. I need to stay sharp with Chrissie. I need to cut down on the booze. I need to cut down on my hours in places like these.
“Got sick of east coast gray,” I say casually, “and the east coast got sick of me.”