“I didn’t hear him protesting,” I replied. But my background chorus told me I knew that was no excuse.
“Alex is a sixteen-year-old in a twenty-five-year-old’s body,” Helena said. “He’s not going to fight off any woman. He may even initiate the... festivities. He may have initiated things with you, I don’t know — the starlight wasn’t quite bright enough for me to see.”
“I don’t know who initiated what,” I told her.
“The point is, Alex is a little boy who never grew up.” She faked a laugh. “Do you realize that he proposed to me after our first night together? He thought it was required, the only gentlemanly thing to do after ravishing me. He has this terribly constricted background... I bet he was too shy to take off his shirt, right?”
“True.” And I was glad he didn’t. If unbuttoning his shirt released the Singer...
“He’s so unsophisticated,” Helena said, nodding, “and that’s why there’s a problem. I’m a broad-minded woman, I don’t own him...” Her thoughts yelled, “He’s mine!” and added softly, “Why can’t he just be mine?” She put on a brittle smile and said, “Alex can’t handle the complications of dealing with both of us. Someone like Roland...” I picked up a snap memory of Helena in bed with Roland. Well, well. “Roland wouldn’t get hung up about an idle one-night stand. He’s not one to confuse sex with loyalty. But Alex... he confuses easily. You see?”
“See what?”
“That someone is going to get hurt. Certainly Alex, and maybe you. Not me,” she added airily. “I don’t get hurt. I just have to pick up the pieces.”
“Noble you.”
“Noble me.” Internally she debated whether to threaten me. She could fire me, and could probably arrange that the major recording labels wouldn’t let me into their studios; but backing me into a corner held too many risks. Especially when she believed I could steal Alex with one nudge of my nipples. So keep it cool, keep it sophisticated, woman to woman, one tuck-and-tumble doesn’t have to mean anything.
“If I were you,” she said, “I’d tell him this was just a brief... weakness on your part. You could say you were under the influence of some fiendish psychological weapon still at work on the battlefield. A lust gun. Makes you rut like a mink in heat no matter how ridiculous you look. No matter how damaging it might be for your career. Lust grenades. Lust lasers. Alex would believe that.”
“You don’t give Alex enough credit.”
“I give Alex all the credit,” she replied. “I do the work, he gets the credit. If you want to start a tug-of-war, Lyra, you may pull Alex away from me. But without me, he’s no star. He’s just a not-too-bright guy with a so-so voice. Not a great catch, believe me.”
“What about the Singer?” I asked.
Her thoughts shriveled. Fear. Cold fear so sharp and similar to mine I jerked my hand away from the parrot. “You can have the Singer,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “If you can catch the Singer, he’s yours.”
She turned abruptly away and started walking toward the edge of the hill. Without turning, she called back, “I’m sure you’ll do the right thing, Lyra. The smart thing.”
I watched till she was gone. At the last second, I brushed my finger across the parrot. On the surface, Helena fretted about me watching her walk away — she was sure I was laughing at her, at her hips and ass thickening with middle age. But deeper down ran a current of terror: wordless, imageless fear of the Singer.
Her thoughts echoed my own.
When she was gone, I made my way in the same direction, keeping my hands off the parrot. Even so, the parrot dominated my attention... like when you meet someone who’s completely wrong for you and you know he’ll screw up your life, but every minute of the day you find yourself thinking about him. Not love, not lust, and you know you’re too sensible for obsession; but you still keep turning it over and over in your mind. I could laugh at how I was getting in so deep with the parrot, I could tell myself it would only take a tiny effort of will to set my parrot free...
But I didn’t do it. Fixations can be sweet.
Following Helena’s footsteps through the dew soon brought me back to camp. Music played in the main Quonset hut, the timeworn feel-good classic “Orange Puppy,” recorded by “Vivaldi’s Love-Child.” That meant the hut had been taken over by roadies — only they were old enough to play such a rusty dusty nostalgia number. I could imagine them sitting around, wearing sloppy T-shirts from old groups like “Madrigal Canyon” or “Freckles on a Green-Eyed Girl,” and saying spiteful things about the music scene today.
I considered joining them, but didn’t think I’d be up to eavesdropping on a crowd. Besides, what could the parrot tell me that I couldn’t guess myself? The roadies all said exactly what they thought the moment it crossed their minds... except for the wet-dream fantasies a few of the guys had when they looked in my direction, and who needed telepathy to pick up those?
Instead, I turned toward the huts that served as sleeping quarters. The nearest belonged to Alex and Helena, but I didn’t want to see either of them again tonight. A few meters farther was the hut that songwriter Roland shared with our equipment manager. The equipment manager would surely be keeping company with the rest of the roadies, and Roland would be alone.
I knocked on the door.
“What?” The question sounded angry, but Roland always sounded angry.
“It’s Lyra,” I said. “Are you busy?”
“Yes.” The door opened and there was Roland, a towel draped over one hand but still fully dressed in his usual black. “I was just going to take a shower.” He snorted an unpleasant laugh. “Unless you’d care to join me?”
“I have a shower in my own hut,” I answered.
“Once you’ve had the best, don’t settle for the rest,” he muttered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I wanted to reach for my parrot, but he was staring at me so intently there was no way I could make the gesture look natural.
“Alex doesn’t keep secrets,” Roland said, still blocking the doorway. “Even if he doesn’t blurt it right out, it’s written all over his face. I guarantee Helena will know about you and Alex within the hour.”
“She knows already.”
“And?”
“No ’and,’ “ I told him. “We’re both being civilized. Sophisticated women of the world. Although it would obviously be best for all concerned if I dropped Alex immediately.”
“She’s right,” Roland said. “Not that I expect common sense to prevail. You still haven’t mentioned why you’re here.”
“Just to chat,” I replied, stretching as if my shoulders were stiff and casually reaching toward my pocket. “I thought maybe I could talk to you about Alex and...”
His hand snapped out and grabbed my wrist. He pulled it tight to his chest and dragged me closer, eye to eye. “No games, Lyra,” he said, his breath hot on my face. “No casual little chats. I know.”
He held up his other hand, the one that had been covered with the towel. The towel slid down his arm to reveal a parrot squeezed between his fingers.
“I wondered why Jerith was so possessive of his damned parrots,” Roland said. “I found out. And if you ever try to eavesdrop on me, I’ll know it. If you can hear my thoughts, I can hear yours. Toy with me, and I won’t act civilized like Helena.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but he interrupted. “You think I’m bluffing? That I don’t have the balls to play vicious?” He put his fist against my face and roughly dragged the parrot’s snout along my cheek. The moment the parrot touched me, Roland’s fury screamed in my ears like a howl of feedback from an amplifier; then he pulled back the parrot and the noise cut off. “Now you know it’s no bluff,” he said. “No one gets into my head but me.”