3. New York-Cult of Patrick the Night Walker

Kat
New York

I cranked me up some Frank as we caught our first glimpse of the city. Patrick rolled his eyes as I broke into a song that was already old when my father was born. When he grimaced, I sang even louder and we came to a dead stop in midday traffic.

A few people were appalled by my taste in music (some were playing gangsta rap, go figure) and rolled up their windows. "That's the problem with people today," I proclaimed, gesturing at a vibrating Mini Cooper to our left. "They'd rather blow out their eardrums with Jay-Z than take the time to appreciate the subtleties of Sinatra."

Patrick snickered. "Playing Sinatra at Def Jam 10 is hardly subtle. You might as well hang an Old Fart flag on your antenna."

That got me laughing, and I kept tittering as we moved forward a few inches. "My Dad delivers babies with Frank in the background."

He eyed me through his curly bangs. "Let me guess. Your arrival was heralded with some near beer and a side of Frank."

"More like The Scorpions, but who's keeping track?" I countered lightly, enjoying the sun on my face and the sound of his appreciative laughter.

"I don't know what's scarier, the fact that your father channels Sinatra in the delivery room, or that you actually know who Jay-Z is."

"Not only do I know him, I shot him." I curved my fingers into an imaginary gun and laughed at the mock horror on his face. "As in, publicity photos for Roc Nation."

"Ooh, bet that opened doors for you," Patrick said dryly.

"Sure did. The money's great, and I'm not so high on my horse that I turn down rap and hip hop clients."

"Or deadbeat exes," Patrick added with a wave of his finger.

The traffic started to unclog and we picked up speed. I was enjoying our little interlude so much that I said, "I've missed this."

Patrick threw me an impish look. "Yeah, there's nothing like that daily dose of venom and blatant sarcasm to put a spring in your step."

"Isn't it wonderful? Just think how we'll feel after 6 weeks of witty banter."

He chuckled. "The possibilities are endless."

"Who knows? Maybe we can turn it into a comedy act."

"Or start up a twitter feed with Luis and Brad weighing in."

I was actually looking forward to seeing those two guys, even if it meant suffering with endless jokes about helpless women and naked mole rats.

*****

Patrick
New York

I pulled up to the Chelsea and greeted Jake the valet, who had taken great care of my car the last time I stayed here for an extended period.

"Jake, this is my friend Kat," I said, realizing we were closer to being friends than we had ever been at Padua.

Jake tipped his hat and smiled when Kat asked if she could take his picture. "Sure thing." He struck an interesting pose and probably figured he was humoring a camera happy tourist.

Kat opened the trunk and removed her rolling suitcase and camera backpack. She lowered the trunk and handed the keys to Jake. Without a glance in my direction, she started moving toward the lobby. Her legs were long and she could really move fast, so she was through the front entrance and closing in on the reservations desk when I caught up. "Can I give you a hand with anything?" I offered.

She laid the back of her hand against my forehead. "No sign of fever. Perhaps the planets are in conjunction."

I pushed away her fingers. "Hey, I'm capable of chivalry."

Kat laughed. "In what universe?"

"You didn't even give me a chance," I pointed out.

She thought about that one for a few seconds and flashed a grateful smile. "True enough. Take the suitcase if you want."

Kat moved up to the counter and exchanged pleasantries with the clerk whose tag said Leigh. "Where are your quietest rooms located?"

Shit. Stupid me for not ironing out the details ahead of time. "Umm…she's with us, Leigh."

The clerk's mouth formed an O of recognition. "Oh, of course, and you've booked three suites on 6."

Kat looked between me and Leigh in growing agitation. "Mind telling me which room is mine?"

That would have been almost funny under other circumstances. Before I could interject, Leigh announced, "You are booked in the suite with Selina Borrego. Do you wish to change rooms?"

Christ, it would have almost been easier to bunk with me. "Yeah, put me in with Luis and Brad. I'll take the couch if I have to."

They would probably be delighted, but Brad was a pig and Luis was not beyond temptation, despite the picture of his beloved Donna that traveled with him everywhere. "No, she can take the extra room in my suite."

Kat shook her head. "No way, Verona."

Leigh was following our sortie with avid fascination, and was willing to let us duke it out.

I pulled Kat aside and muttered, "Why do you have to make everything so difficult?"

"Because I'm not the Staples guy," she snapped, and it took me a few seconds to remember the red button with its 'That was easy' motto.

My own irritation threatened to overtake the good mood that had lingered for the last 12 hours. "Find her a separate room, preferably as far from mine as possible." I shoved aside the suitcase and booked out of the lobby like the hounds of hell were snapping at my heels.

******

Kat
New York

How could he forget that I wasn't easy? That everything had to be discussed and negotiated and not taken for granted. Hadn't he learned that during our short time together?

They found me a tiny room just down the hall from the band, and I settled in with alacrity, packing away my clothes and locking my cameras up in the safe. The only one that stayed out was my D700, which I'd use for some establishing shots and during tonight's rehearsal.

An hour passed before my phone chimed with a text message from Patrick. "Come on down for some pizza. I'm in 614. You can catch up with the guys and meet Selina."

Oh, goody, I'm sure that would go over well. Call it a gut instinct, but I didn't see myself bonding with the tough looking gal from Madrid. I didn't bother replying, and thought about blowing them off altogether and heading out to one of the many clubs in the city with Mandella. Here I was in one of the most exciting cities in the world and I had to choose between blind hatred and the awkward vibe that sprang up when I saw my Goth friend.

"Might as well get this over with."

I shouldered the camera and flash and shuffled down the hall to 614. The door opened almost immediately and I was accosted by the eager arms of Luis, who hugged me and said, "Kitten, you look amazing."

And he looked like an overfed guy with a receding hairline. But his bright eyes and blinding smile were the same as ever, and I knew that at least one member of the band truly liked me. "Hey, Luis. How's your wife doing?"

Luis held out her photo with pride and I smiled at his obvious devotion. "She's beautiful."

"Thanks, and we have a little one on the way."

"Congratulations." Was I supposed to salute him for procreating, an act that could be viewed as detrimental to our gene pool and harmful to our already overcrowded planet? All this went through my head, but none of it came out of my mouth. I was aware that Patrick hovered with Selina at the periphery, and that Brad was stuffing his face full of pizza in the far corner.

I walked over to Brad and bumped my fist against his. "Dude, I hope you're still working hard to save those mole rats."

Brad spit out some beer and smiled up at me with a doughy grin. "Woman, I go out of my way to destroy anyone who dares harm a hair on those little rodent heads."

"Good boy." My fingers ruffled his hair and a second before he realized what I was doing, I pressed the shutter and grabbed some primo shots. With a laugh at his scowl, I danced out of reach and twirled around to face the Dashing Duo that leaned in perfect symmetry against the balcony.

I watched body language and facial expressions closely, and I picked up on something immediately. Selina kept leaning into Patrick, and he kept sidling away. They were embroiled in a tense discussion that almost certainly involved me. Yes, I was a self-absorbed prat who thought the world revolved around me, but all that aside, Selina kept tossing me these steely glances that would have skewered a less formidable person. Seeing the opportunity for what it was, I started snapping away, catching the little nuances of their ebb and pull display.

My zoom lens focused in tightly on Patrick's troubled face and the desperate looks he was throwing my way. Selina up close was a rather marvelous subject, with her high, sculpted cheekbones and tiny mole next to her Angelina lips. Her eyes were a manufactured seafoam green that had to be contacts, and she had the body of Venus. But I saw through all that to the real woman, and that lady was holding on to some desperation of her own. Each time she reached over to touch his hand, he pulled away with increasing discomfort.

Patrick looked hopeful when I started to approach, but I dashed his expectations when I stopped to take advantage of the light turning their profiles into an Old Master's wet dream. More than a few words escaped their stage whispers, and it was enough to paint me the entire picture.

Friends with benefits, or whatever the fuck they called their arrangement, was no longer working out. Selina demanded to know why it was suddenly a problem when I was so clearly not into him.

Don't try to tell me how the fuck I feel, bitch.

With a sweet smile, I turned off the camera and cooed, "So nice to meet you, Selina. I adore your bass playing on the last record."

She separated herself from Patrick and offered a stiff handshake. "And you have done marvelous things for Madonna. Can you Photoshop out a few lines?"

"Absolutely." I also thought I could erase out part of her fat butt if my hand happened to slip. What the hell? She would thank me later.

*****

It doesn't matter
What we did wrong
Makes no difference
To me
I see the light in your eyes
And you're dancing free

Anything can Happen, Lyrics by the Finn Brothers

Patrick
New York

Kat was the life of the pizza party. She had both guys eating out of her hand (after half a dozen beers, they performed like trained chimps) and got shots of everyone acting like complete morons. Even I joined in the fun and snatched pizza out of Selina's hands, then pretended to cower in terror when she swung at me. I danced just out of reach and inhaled the Greek pizza (her favorite), then laughed like an idiot when she chased me around the room for taking the last piece. Her last punch landed in my solar plexus, and I felt the force of her anger in that seemingly playful jab. Pizza was an easy cover for her annoyance with me, and it allowed me to escape my own feelings for a short time.

The camera snapped away and it became an extension of Kat's body. I'd never seen anyone merge so naturally into a group and practically become invisible, until a situation called for her to intervene. She kept Selina at arm's length, but dove right into it with Brad and Luis, who loved to mug for the camera when they were shitfaced.

The guys finally got bored with their party tricks and flopped on the couch with my big screen remote in hand. They settled on a Yankees game and had fun dissing Kat's home team when they got thrown out twice. She started making motions to leave, and I wanted to follow her out of there. "Can we talk later?" I implored as she made her way to the door.

Kat yawned. "Maybe. I might be out."

"Aren't you coming to rehearsal?" I kept my tone light, but it wouldn't be the same if she wasn't there.

She snickered and looked over at the band's resident couch potatoes. "If those two make it out the door, send me a text."

I wrote down an address and handed it to her. "It's an old factory. Two blocks down and one block across."

Kat tucked it into her pocket. "Can I bring Mandella?"

"Safety in numbers, right?" I guessed.

She gnawed at her lower lip. "Something like that."

"Cannibalism is only by special request," I joked.

Her smile was faint. "I'll pass that along. See ya."

*****

Kat
New York

I escaped to my room with a manic laugh that echoed oddly in the hallway. When I finally bolted the door behind me, I collapsed to the floor with my camera next to me. I turned on the preview and was rather jazzed about the results. The goofy shots were fun, but the real meat was the series I'd done on Selina and Patrick. Their fraying dalliance had tons of potential, and would make a great spread on some gallery wall.

The rehearsal space was close to Mandella's crib in the West Village. I had second and third thoughts about calling, but she'd be expecting it. Dread tightened my throat when I heard her sweet voice, always ready and willing to lend me an ear. "Hey," I said tightly, wishing I could shrug aside my trepidation.

"Kat, I was hoping it was you. Have you eaten?"

"Kind of, but I'm always up for a few more courses." Good thing I'd eaten so lightly throughout the day.

"We can get some sushi and catch up. Do you mind if someone joins us?" Mandella asked in that careful way she has when she's trying not to cause offense.

"Sure. Anyone I know?"

I heard a voice in the background—female—and started to smile. Could it be she had moved on? My eyes raised to the heavens in silent prayer, even if nothing more than clouds and sun floated around out there.

"Not really. What time do you want to meet?"

"Give me an hour."

"Where are you staying? We can meet you in the lobby."

"The Chelsea."

Mandella chuckled. "Of course. Where else?"

"Not my choice, but it's a crash pad."

"Will Patrick be joining us?"

"No way. This is strictly girl's night out."

"Cool. OK, let me hang up so you can get cleaned up."

I hadn't imagined the relief in her voice. There was no love lost between Patrick and Mandella, but they'd managed to cobble together a grudging respect, right up to the point where he ripped my heart out and fed it to the sharks. If I brought her along tonight, it might spark a firestorm of hostility.

With an evil smile, I decided that when the shit hit the fan, I'd be ready and waiting in the wings with camera in hand.

******

Patrick
New York

I left the room for some ice and happened to catch Kat entering the stairwell. Wondering where she was off to, I decided to follow on the elevator and cut her off in the lobby. I got there just seconds before she emerged, and was about to call her out when I spotted a familiar figure sitting in the lobby.

Mandella (looking rather svelte) and another woman got to their feet and met up with Kat in the middle of the large space. There was a series of hugs and handshakes and an interesting lack of tension in the set of Kat's shoulders. I caught the word sushi and decided that literally eating live bait was not worth forcing my company on them.

Besides, I had a feeling Kat would jump on the chance at throwing Mandella into my path at rehearsal. See, I knew how she worked, and it was a small price to pay for what I'd done to her. Mandella was fairly easy to deal with compared to the wrath of Kat, and she had the bloom of new love on her cheeks. Yeah, she would be a pussy cat, and I could totally turn this to my advantage.

They faded into the late afternoon and I followed them out to the street, but headed in the opposite direction. The bracing spring air felt good on my face, and started to have the head clearing effect I was seeking. I found myself moving toward Central Park and lengthened my strides when I was free of the sidewalk throng.

I edged the famous pond where kids had their boats and skirted some girls who recognized me. With a smile, I ducked behind some trees and almost laughed when I heard one of them say, "He just disappeared. Maybe he really is a vampire."

Yeah, I had that effect on people to this day, and continued to cultivate the numerous myths that were attached to my name. My Wikipedia page had full details on soul suckers, serial killers, cannibals, and vampires. The fact that I had a tan, was often seen during the day, didn't sparkle, and never passed up a chance to admire my reflection should have been a clue, but the Cult of Patrick the Night Walker continued to thrive.

I found a solitary bench and plopped myself down for a spell. With a sigh, I wondered what the hell to do about Selina. For five years, our little arrangement had worked perfectly when the band got together. We were both discreet, and no one outside the band caught wind of what was going on. But when Kat came on the scene, Selina had started to flaunt our fling, and even worse, she had revealed her claws.

Kat may have heard enough to connect the dots, but she hadn't been privy to the snide comments about how my lack of commitment was directly related to my emotional castration by 'that slut'. There was a grain of truth in Selina's accusations, but the part about Kat being a skank and a 'ho was the last straw. I had stormed out of the room under the auspices of grabbing some ice, and had found myself drawn once again into Kat's web, unable to deter myself from following in her wake.

'You're doing it again', Selina had said. 'You ignored us in Boston and spent all your time chasing Kat.'

And I was doing it again. What did that say about me? I sighed again and got to my feet, knowing exactly where this was going, and not sure if I was man enough to let it take its natural course.

Keep it in your pants.

I could hear Walter's voice so clearly that it was like he was standing beside me. With a shudder, I forced myself to think about tonight's rehearsal and focusing on that got me moving back to the walking path.

*******

Kat
New York

Her name was Holly, and I liked her on sight, which rarely happens with me. Her white blonde hair was braided in a thick rope and her cornflower blue eyes were unguarded and radiating with good cheer. She pumped my hand effusively and said she was my biggest fan. In fact, she had commandeered a few of my original prints from Mandella's studio.

Holly was a software engineer who designed hot games for computers and gaming platforms. When she rattled off a dozen titles that I recognized, I realized I was a bigger geek than she was, because those games ruled and I owned most of them.

I had cowered a bit when I'd first spotted them sitting there, expecting the same censure and high drama that I'd just experienced on the 6th floor. After all, I could be cast as the villain in no less than two real life soaps. Selina was convinced I was the Great Satan (that hurt worse than the skanky 'ho comments, which hadn't gotten past me), and Mandella's new squeeze probably thought I was the reincarnation of Dick Cheney (alive is a relative term for a brain dead asswipe, but I digress).

But none of that happened, and we passed a few hours of diverting conversation that helped me put Patrick and his cronies away for awhile. The sushi bar also served delectable crab cakes that had me slobbering in anticipation. As I dug into them, I kept one ear on the meandering conversation across from me.

It was boring, domestic talk about window treatments and rugs and that was when I finally got a clue. "You guys are shacking up?" I asked through a mouthful of horseradish and greens.

Mandella's cheeks pinkened becomingly. "We're thinking about it."

Rather than gross them out with another show of crab from my maw, I held up a thumb and took a big swallow of water. "Wow, that's a big step."

"It is," Holly admitted with a sideways look at Mandella that spoke volumes about how far things had progressed. It underscored a level of commitment, comfort, and stability that I pretended to despise because I fell short in all those areas.

"I'm so happy for you." With a smile, I leaned across the table and we had a group hug (it was touching, but part of me wanted to hurl). With that taken care of, I answered questions about my current assignment and nearly spit out my drink when Holly referred to Selina as a barracuda.

"Whew, I thought I was the only one," I said after a big gulp of Macallan (25 year old liquid heaven) that warmed me to the tips of my toes and made me a bit giddy.

"Those types always go for the eyes." Mandella patted my hand and nodded like she'd been there and back.

I wiggled my glasses back and forth. "Good thing I wear specs."

Holly said dryly, "If she's targeting you, it might be wise to carry heat."

This was too funny. "Glock or Walther PPK?"

She looked around with a conspiratorial air before whispering, "I'd go for battle armor and a lance."

"In case she goes medieval on me," I said thoughtfully. "Better include my bow and quiver of arrows."

Our mutual giggles were fueled by alcohol and female bonding, which was in short supply back at the Chelsea. We high-fived it and split the tab. "You guys want to tag along to rehearsal?"

"Oh, could we?" Holly exclaimed with excitement. "I love the Grease Monkeys, and it would be great fun to see you peel the skin off Selina's frame."

"Umm, that's Patrick's M.O.," Mandella reminded her with a grin.

"Oh, but I thought he was into blood sport."

"As in the Cult of Patrick the Night Walker?" I said mockingly.

"Exactly! My niece is a card-carrying member, so I'm up on all their nonsense."

My brain was concocting all kinds of fun scenarios that were sure to make Patrick squirm. "Does she have tickets to any of the shows at the Irving Plaza?"

"We're all going tomorrow," Holly explained.

"Cool. Let me see what I can do to get you backstage." I knew that Patrick appreciated his fans, but he tended to steer clear of the squealing pre-teens. And I was willing to bet that Holly's niece fell into that category.

"That would be awesome. So what time are they rehearsing?"

I checked my cell phone, and sure enough, a text had come in within the last half hour. "Come on by at 7."

"We can head there now," I said.

There was any number of things I could do to throw Patrick under the bus, though Selina was first in line for that honor. With a gleeful smile, I followed them out the door and kicked my heels together in anticipation.

*****

Patrick
New York

I was strumming quietly in a corner when the Kat contingent pulled in. They were full of laughs and I immediately knew Kat was tipsy. She was incredibly funny and sociable when she got sloshed, and people from Padua still talked about the legendary mole rat party.

Normally, the presence of her friends wouldn't bug me, but I'd wanted to discuss what I'd done with her poetry before springing it on the band. This was obviously not the time, so I'd have to wait for a private moment and make it happen.

"Hey," I greeted them as they approached and smiled back at Mandella's girlfriend, whom I instantly recognized as a rare breed: a genuinely nice person who found good in everyone and everything she encountered. She asked intelligent questions and moved away to the side when my crew arrived.

Luis and Brad were eager to get started, but Selina was more interested in checking out the competition. As she sized up Mandella and Holly, Kat circled behind with her camera, looking insanely pleased with herself. She moved in for the kill when Selina flashed one of her famous pouts, which was the precursor for a major snit.

Selina launched into a volley of Spanish, obviously thinking that Kat and company were incapable of following her chain of insults. Kat moved closer and I saw the amusement and total comprehension in her eyes. Her hands matched the rapid movement of Selina's hands and when Kat's prey finally noticed, she turned bright red and started to move toward Kat.

Kat put one hand on her hip and flung it right back at Selina in flawless, idiomatic Spanish. With a snicker, she finished with, "Are we done yet? 'Cuz this is getting boring."

Selina would have launched herself at Kat if I hadn't strong-armed her and pushed her aside. "We're done here," I said with a warning in my voice.

"Good, because if this happens again, I'm out of here. Do we understand each other?" Kat's words dripped with condescension, which did nothing to mollify Selina.

Selina's dark eyes flashed at me but she finally nodded sullenly and stomped over to her bass.

The rest of the rehearsal was mostly uneventful, and everyone behaved. We took a break and I threw on some Roxy Music. Over You came on and Kat started dancing with her friends, who were soon joined by Luis and Brad. One song morphed into the next one and out came the camera, following its owner as she gamboled about the room. She danced over to me and grabbed my hand. "Don't be such a stick."

I dragged my heels, but when Take the Skinheads Bowling came on, even Selina joined the guys for some bobbing and weaving. When I got within earshot of Kat, I said, "Is that what I am?"

"Yeah, sometimes." She spun into a rather nifty move that included some slick footwork. I found a nearby wall and continued to watch as she slipped between the others. Had she always been able to dance like that? I folded my arms and leaned, and I soon had unexpected company in the form of Mandella.

"Do you mind?" Mandella asked tentatively.

I shrugged. "Your girlfriend seems nice."

"Yeah," she said with that dreamy drawl that often accompanied new love. It gave me hives, but I merely smiled in response.

"I'm glad. Now if we could only find someone for Kat," I said with a sideways smirk.

Mandella didn't return my smile. "That will never happen."

I knew what was coming. "Sure it will…in an alternate universe."

"I've seen how you look at her," Mandella stated simply.

There was no point in beating around the bush. "So what? It will never work."

She looked between us and rolled her eyes. "The only thing getting in your way is you."

I scratched at my head. "Now where have I heard that before?"

"Probably your Aunt Rachel. Maybe you should listen to her."

"Don't forget Walter. Daddy knows best," I said dryly.

"Maybe he does," she countered sharply. "Look around you, Verona. Inviting Kat along was a really bad idea. Your band is split down the middle, and your bitchy bass player is about to walk. Unless you plan on doing something, then let Kat go."

One of my internal walls came crashing down, and my fingers bunched against my thighs. "I can't," I said in desperation.

Mandella inched closer and murmured, "Well, then, hear this. If you break her heart, I'll break your face."

And with that stolen quote from Some Kind of Wonderful, Mandella shoved off and said her farewells to Kat. As for me, she looked at me sharply and raised a finger in warning.

Kat skipped over to me and laughed. "Wow, that was a non-event. She sure has mellowed."

I smiled tightly. "If you say so."

******

Kat
New York

In so many ways
I'm the same as you
In so many things
Better left unsaid

A Life Between Us, Lyrics by the Finn Brothers

Shortly after Mandella left, I packed up my gear and slid out the door like I was stealing home. Footsteps sounded after me and I heard Patrick calling, but I made like a bandit and fled the scene. With a whoosh of relief, I collapsed on someone's stoop and wiped the sweat away from my brow. "What the fuck was that?" I whispered under my breath.

Jealousy I could understand, because Patrick was the perfect physical specimen. From head to toe, he was everything that a girl could want, and then some. He was also intelligent, perceptive, sarcastic, and downright funny when it suited him. Layer that with his astonishing voice and musical talent, and he approached God status.

So yeah, I totally get what the female horde sees in him.

And on his better days, he even approaches sweet and kind, but blink and you might miss this brief flash of humanity.

If I'd been banging the guy for 5 years, I might expect something in return. But given their no strings arrangement, could Selina honestly expect him not to stray? Serial monogamy was not in his blood (or mine) anymore.

No, what I'd seen on her angry, mottled face was way past jealousy and quickly approaching lunacy. I knew crazy, hell, my own life had bordered on insanity for a good part of my life. But I'd never been so unhinged over someone that I became certifiable. But the way she targeted me right off the bat was not the behavior of a balanced mind. Selina was judge, jury, and executioner right out of the gate, and not someone I'd turn my back on.

It was Patrick's call, but if I was him, I'd cut my losses and send her packing. Good bass players were a dime a dozen, and they'd come clamoring for work once they heard there was an opening.

Still, despite the fact that she was completely on board the crazy train with Ozzie, she was right about Patrick. He'd been going out of his way to spend time with me, from cooking me breakfast to carting me around to a Frames show. And inviting me to stay in his suite was a whole other shade of fucked up. No wonder the poor lamb (she was anything but, despite her last name) had gone off the rails.

Anyone with half a brain could see that Patrick and I were damaged goods, and we couldn't erase our fucked up history. At this stage of the game, I expected and wanted nothing from Patrick. What was the point of apologizing when every word and action was meant in full measure? He could not take it back, and he damn well knew that tossing out phony platitudes would backfire on him.

I respected that trait, because I was the same way. Neither of us suffered fools gladly, and for that, we retreated into a company of one, or what I liked to call my solo act. My own company was always better than the company of another person. I could bitch and whine to my heart's content, and no one judged me. I could be the biggest slob on the planet, and no one would call me on it. And if I chose to be a switch hitter (actually, it kind of chose me), then so be it.

It set me at odds with my family, and my Dad might never speak to me again. But I was not going to compromise my integrity or my lifestyle to suit him. He'd always expected great things from me, and my accomplishments spoke for themselves. But he would not bend on the rest of it, and no amount of cajoling from Bianca the peacemaker would sway him. He was resolute and willful (traits I shared) and convinced he was the wronged party.

So what the hell was I doing here, sitting on a cold, stone stoop with all these thoughts spinning my world completely around? I got to my feet and started jogging back toward the Chelsea, realizing that sleep was pointless when I was moving at a million miles an hour. The only thing that would quell the rising storm was my archery, preferably with Selina's witchy face as the bull's-eye. But since that was out of the question, I'd settle for the plain vanilla target that I'd brought with me.

*****

Patrick
New York

And we're staring at
Each other
Like the banks of
A river
And we can't get
Any closer

A Life Between Us, Lyrics by The Finn Brothers

A direct approach was probably best, but she wasn't in her room.

Text messages went unanswered and forget about calling, because she would rather hang herself than get tied up on the phone.

So where the hell was she?

I paced around my room and let my late night thoughts swirl around me. If I was Kat, what would I do to calm down? Because after Selina's little episode, I'd be freaking out too. Sex was one option, but she seemed to be taking the celibate route. I suddenly remembered the bow and arrows, and my lame jokes about playing Cowboys and Indians. After she had promised to scalp me, I had wisely dropped the subject, but now it all made sense.

The girl needed an outlet, but unleashing that volley of arrows might prove difficult in an urban setting. Then I realized where I'd go if I wanted to practice, and my feet started moving toward the hallway. With a mental pat on the back for my detective skills, I found the stairs to the roof and took advantage of the many flights of stairs to work off some of my own frustration. By the time I got to the top, I felt my inner calm start to return and I took a moment to stretch my arms out and let the cool night air rejuvenate me.

The city spread out below me and I stopped to take in the view, knowing it was far more spectacular when bathed in a neon glow. The light of day would unveil the less savory 'hoods that surrounded us, and would be far less remarkable.

Moving further down one side of the roof, I finally heard the unmistakable thwack of arrows hitting their mark. I went around one oddly shaped structure and was struck dumb by her moonlit silhouette. Silver limned her frame and transformed her into an ancient elven princess, loosing arrows with the fluid motions of an expert hunter. For whatever she called herself, there was no doubt that Kat would hold her own in the forest. And woe and behold to the poor wretch who found themselves crossing her firing line.

Kat stopped to grab her arrows from the target. "You wanted to talk." She moved close enough to spear me with her sharp gaze. "So talk."

I flanked her and marveled at how easily she pulled the bow back. "I took some of your poems and put them to music."

That got her attention. "Oh, I bet that went over well." Her fingers were twisting and her teeth were probably following suit on her lower lip.

"I didn't tell them. In fact, I might not take these songs to the band."

She smiled faintly. "Ooh, am I sensing a solo album on the horizon? Better yet, will you be going all Kiss and releasing simultaneous solo albums?"

"Not quite," I said dryly. "Remember that M. Ward project with that actress?"

Kat's unexpected grin lit my insides on fire. "How could I forget? My sister played it nonstop for months, and then she dragged me to the show."

"They were actually kind of great."

"So let me guess. You're in search of some hot looking babe with pipes to sing my lyrics."

"Exactly. " I felt like giving her a gold star for cutting right to the chase.

"Good luck with that," Kat said stonily, which completely deflated the hope that had dogged me for the past few days.

"I thought you'd be excited." So much for the gold star.

She glared at me. "Appalled is more like it. Just when I think you can't go any lower, you prove me wrong. First you try seducing me, then you practically steal my poems out from under me, all so you can croon along with some tramp."

My mouth opened and closed and my confusion erupted into the world as laughter. "My God, Kat, you really believe that I'd sink so low?"

Her half nod made me want to shake her. "Probably."

"Don't you get it? I want you to collaborate with me."

The lip twisting returned in earnest. "Why?"

"Because I've heard you sing, and I'm pretty sure you know a few things on that guitar of yours."

The edges of her lips moved toward a smile. "Do tell."

I dared to step closer and extended my hand. She looked down at my outstretched fingers for a long beat, then finally dropped her bow and surrounded my hand with her strong grip. I led her to the edge of the roof and we leaned together, watching the night pass us by as I filled her head with my hopes and dreams. When I finally ran out of words, Kat leaned in and kissed me on the cheek so quickly that when its swift passing finally registered, she was long gone.

*******

Kat
New York

Mandella texted me and promised coffee and muffins in exchange for an early visit. That was an easy yes and it wasn't long before she showed up with breakfast in hand.

It was barely past 9 and I'd only slept a few hours, but I felt strangely energized. "To what do I owe this honor?" I asked.

She handed me a cup and found a nearby chair. "I wanted to apologize."

Mandella was the last person who owed me an apology. "For what?"

"For dropping the bomb about Holly and me."

I waved off her concerns. "Everything's cool."

Mandella still looked worried. "But how can it be? I made you think I was in love with you, then said we'd hang out together, and then showed up on your doorstep with the love of my life."

"That's excellent." I was so relieved that I wanted to jump up and down with joy. Knowing that Mandella could be a bit capricious, I sincerely hoped that Holly was the real deal.

"Am I crazy?" she asked suddenly.

Crazy was catching, but I am pretty sure it passed Mandella by on the way to the Stratford house. "That depends," I replied. "What are you referring to?"

"This thing with me and Holly…it happened kind of fast."

"Does that matter?" Mandella obviously needed reassurance.

"Well, good relationships take time."

I rolled my eyes. "Says who, the unwashed masses?"

She laughed. "I know I shouldn't care what people think."

"Damn straight." The coffee was the daytime version of Macallan, and it was hitting the spot in a big way. The muffins were freshly baked and nearly evaporated in my mouth.

"So why do I care so much?"

"Insecurity. Fear." I shrugged. "If it makes you feel better, you're not alone."

She raised an eyebrow and it was like she saw straight through me. "Hmm, so maybe you're not as immune to public opinion as you think."

Mandella was right. I put on a good show of not giving a damn, but I cared way too much. "Look, all I can say is do what feels right. If it works, then don't question your good luck. Someone like Holly comes along maybe once in a lifetime, and if you throw that away, you might never find it again."

Her smile was a sight to behold, and it lit up the room with her radiance. She hugged me hard before sitting back down. "But sometimes you do, right?"

Oh, fuck, now she was turning the focus to me and Patrick. "Could be," I said mysteriously, thinking about last night's rather sweet interlude. My reaction couldn't be blamed on alcohol, so I must have caught my temporary insanity from Selina.

"Look, you're not fooling anyone, Kat. You two have this soul mate vibe, and everyone knows it. That's why Selina has gone 'round the bend."

"And here I thought she was off her meds," I quipped, not realizing how close to the mark I was hitting with that comment.

"I think he needs to send her packing, or he'll never get any peace," Mandella stated, picking her muffin apart like it was a delicate flower.

"I agree, but I have to stay out of this." I finished up my muffin and went to the nearby sink to wash my hands. "He said something about going over his itinerary for tonight's concert, so I may have to jet in a few minutes."

She tossed out her trash and wiped up the crumbs. "So we'll see you tonight. Along with about a dozen girls from the Cult of Patrick the Night Walker."

Ah, this sounded like heaven. The thought of all those hormones converging on the hapless guys in the band might very well be the pinnacle of this tour. "Sounds great. I'll make sure you guys are on the list."

There was only one list that let you backstage, and beyond the radio station and music rag scribes, only friends of the band and their trusted companions got by the goons that guarded Patrick.

"Thanks." She gave me another hug before making like Snagglepuss and exiting stage left.

******

Patrick
New York

I was getting ready to round up Kat and head over to the Irving Plaza to get the lay of the land. We'd played there before, but it had been awhile since we'd performed in smaller venues. In fact, since none of us needed the money, I proposed that we return to the clubs we loved and play multiple nights in one location. It would give us time to rest up, and would provide the face time with our fans that we never got in arenas.

So just as my hand reached for the phone to call her, I heard a quiet knock on my door. Thinking it might be her, I opened the door with a ready smile, only to feel it fall away at the sight of Selina. "What's up?" I said, knowing there was an edge in my tone that had never been there before.

She looked around me to see if anyone was with me. "Can I come in?"

I blocked the door with my body. "I was just on my way out."

"Please," Selina pleaded. "It's kind of important."

"You have 5 minutes." I pushed myself away from the door and found my favorite leaning spot near the balcony.

She twisted her hands together and finally met my eyes. "I can do it in 3. This thing between us isn't working for me anymore. I thought I could handle…" I could see a swear forming on her lips before she changed course and continued, "I'll do the rest of the tour with you guys, but after that, I'm leaving the band."

Selina had just saved me a whole lot of aggravation. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I miss my family, and might go back to Spain for awhile."

"That sounds like a plan." On the lame scale, this conversation was pushing 11 and competing with Nigel Tufnel.

"I also wanted to apologize for my behavior. It was unprofessional, and well….my meds kind of ran out," Selina admitted with a sheepish smile.

"Kind of?" I echoed flatly. In all our years together, this had never happened. Oh sure, she'd come unglued a few times, but never like the last day or so. Selina was bipolar, and when you finally found the right cocktail of drugs, you stayed with it. I know that Selina hated what the drugs did to her figure, and she was constantly dieting to offset the inevitable weight gain. So feeling insecure around Kat, she'd probably stopped on purpose, even though it was dangerous to do so.

"Sorry," she said, but there was nothing sincere in her smug smile.

I looked at my watch. "Your time's up."

"In more ways than one," Selina retorted, before launching herself through the door and slamming it behind her.

If I was one of the good guys, I'd feel a tinge of remorse for letting her walk. But nice was something you took with your cream and sugar, and I was a black coffee kind of dude. The only thing I felt was free, and I swear there was a bounce in my step as I bounded down the hall, finally liberated from the band's albatross.

*****

Kat
New York

I pulled on my I'm Not Easy tee, comfortable black jeans, and black suede boots. Not knowing how long we'd be gone, I threw protein bars and two bottles of water into my camera bag. By the time Patrick arrived, I was pacing back and forth and nibbling on my left thumbnail.

I thought I had lost that habit, but apparently Patrick brought out the best in me. From the snarling feminist to the softer side he'd reached last night, he knew me better than anyone, even my Dad. "Hey," I said, grabbing my stuff and closing the door before he got any ideas about coming in.

His eyes crinkled as he read my T-shirt. "Nice to know some things haven't changed."

"Damn straight," I replied with my tough girl voice. "You got to me last night, but that's as far as it goes. Got it?"

Patrick saluted. "Noted. Any other demands before we storm the fort?"

I smiled despite my determination to be cranky. "Well, since you're asking so nicely, there's this." My fingers fished around in my pocket and grabbed Mandella's list from C.O.P (Cult of Patrick).

He held out his hand with a furrowed brow. "What the hell is this?"

"A list of people," I answered with complete sincerity and not one hint of my inner hilarity.

Patrick made an impatient sound. "I can see that. What's it for?"

"The list to go backstage."

He rolled his eyes. "You're kidding, right? I can't let hordes back there. One person here and there is already one too many."

"And here I thought you lived and died for your fans," I retorted. "Isn't it the whole reason you opted for clubs and theatres?"

There was nothing he hated more than having his words thrown back at him. "Yeah," Patrick replied tersely. "But a dozen names? That's bordering on fan club size."

Damn, but he was astute, and I was afraid that I couldn't pull this off. "Naw. just some fans hanging out."

Patrick walked around to face me and we stopped on the sidewalk. "What's in it for you?" he asked suspiciously.

It was better to offer a half truth than a complete lie. "I kind of promised Mandella…" My words trailed off as I pulled out my best begging face, one that had fooled people more than once.

He steepled his fingers and speared me with that look I'd learned to steer clear of. "Ah, so it's OK to piss off my band, just so you can stay on your friend's good side."

"Would you rather piss off Mandella?" I said with a raised eyebrow.

Something shifted in his gaze and I almost knew the exact second that he caved. "I see your point. OK, I'll do it, but there's a price."

"What's that?" I resumed my long strides and was rather amused by his attempt to keep up.

"You'll have to wait and see," Patrick said with a cryptic smile and a laugh as he passed me and took advantage of his greater height to win our little test of wills.

*******

Patrick
New York

Tryin' to remember when i could
Fix anything with sound

Beautiful Beat, Lyrics by Nada Surf

Kat radiated this energy that snapped me up and made me want to dance to her beat. It only lasted for a picosecond, but I felt like she was the Pied Piper of Hamlin and I had no choice but to follow her to the ends of the earth.

The thing is, if the choice was real, I'd go anywhere she went. That old Carole King song said it all, better than I ever could. Which is why most of my songs about her are laments, because I ripped that choice away from her back in high school.

Kat was going on about this and that, and I loved listening to the rise and fall of her voice as we approached the club. She babbled excitedly about tonight's show, meeting Rob Dickinson, and possibly helping out at the merch table. And all was sweetness and light, until she spotted our band's poster that urged fans to support the RIAA.

"You can't be serious," she said in a deadly tone that sent my good mood straight to hell.

I folded my arms across my chest and matched her glare with my own. "Dead serious," I intoned ominously, sounding far more sinister than I intended.

"So you think it's OK to sue little old ladies and poor college kids?" Oh, yeah, the girl was itching for a fight and I was more than happy to give her one. It wasn't her livelihood on the line. Wonder how much she'd squeal if people started poaching her prize winning photos off web sites without paying a royalty?

"I didn't say that," I said defensively, aware that we were attracting attention from more than a few folks with camera phones.

My nod toward the club's entrance was ignored as Kat reached for the poster to rip it down, only stopped at the last second by my wicked fast reflexes. "Sure you did," she hissed. "By posing for these assholes, you rubber stamped their ongoing efforts to ruin people."

"It's not that simple," I sputtered, wanting to drag her inside kicking and screaming but knowing she'd never forgive me if I attempted to play caveman.

"Sure it is. And don't even get me started on the fact that you give away your fucking music for free, then slam people who share it with their friends."

I pointed at the growing crowd and whispered, "You're making a scene. If you don't want it plastered all over YouTube, I suggest we take it inside."

"Too late," a blonde girl said cheerfully as she snapped her phone closed.

Shit. This was the last thing I needed. "Giving it away was our choice, which is hardly the same as people downloading it illegally."

"Wow, I never imagined you'd lower yourselves to Metallica's level," Kat said almost under her breath as she finally followed my lead for a change.

"And I never imagined you'd make such a huge deal over nothing," I retorted, rubbing my hands together like I was washing my hands of this discussion (which I was).

"You call this nothing? When the RIAA is pocketing all the proceeds from their stupid lawsuits? Like I believe any musical artists are getting a penny of that money."

I had no defense for that and decided to change the subject before we traveled down 40 miles of bad road. "Look over there. I want you to meet someone."

She looked annoyed that I had backed down and turned her head toward the sound board. "Who?"

"That's Anj, the lady who spins here. And I have a feeling you two will have a lot in common."

And with that, I deposited Kat into the kindly hands of Anji Bardakian, one of my Aunt Rachel's college pals who'd migrated to the East Coast and made a living off the music industry.

I had my own aggravations to deal with before I took Kat around to meet some of the staff members she'd need to work with tonight.

More than that, it would give us both time to cool down before we queued up for our next bout.

******
Many miles, many roads I have traveled
Fallen down on the way
Many hearts, many years have unraveled
Leading up to today

I Deserve It, Lyrics by Dean and Britta

Anj said I could help her pick out music for tonight. No sane person could pass up an offer like that. "So, ask me anything," she offered as she programmed in tracks.

I was so immersed in the liner notes of a rare Raincoats 45 that it didn't register at first. "What was that?"

"Patrick. You want the scoop, then I'm your source."

The 45 was returned to its case as I thought about the many ways I could use this to my advantage. "Tattoos. I've only seen one, and want to know more."

Anj teased, "Only one? Should I ask which one?"

I felt a rare blush break out on my face. "Umm, the one on his arm?"

"Ah, that's the Chinese symbol for tranquility."

That was my only foray into Pat's tats. "So he has more?"

"Lower back and right shoulder. One is a cat and the other is a wolf."

"Huh." The cat was no coincidence, and the wolf fit right in with his self-defined persona as a lone wolf.

"Is that all you wanted to know?"

I pointed at the RIAA poster. "Does he really support those thugs?"

Anj shrugged. "Who can say? Considering that every penny from publishing, record sales, and touring goes right back to the band, they're hardly in a position to complain.

"Exactly what I said," I said fervidly.

She shook her head. "It's not worth your energy, Kat. Patrick knows how to play the media game, and this is merely a political move. But in his heart, he's still the orphaned kid with no money. Do you honestly think he paid for all that music on his iPod?"

I'd never given it any thought. Sharing was just what we did, back and forth with all our pals. No one questioned the source. And why it set me off now was just indicator of my true state of mind. My therapist thought I was cured, but ten years hadn't completely buried the anger. "Probably not."

The other three members of the band arrived and Selina somehow managed to single me out and give me the evil eye. Anj cursed under her breath and said, "I've never liked that girl."

"Me neither. But we all have to play nice and be professional."

"Not for much longer. After this tour, she's history."

My mouth opened into fly catching mode. "What? When did this happen?"

"Last night. Patrick contacted his people this morning and it's official." She looked at my expression and added, "Guess he forgot to tell you."

Maybe he'd planned on telling me on the way over this morning. "Guess so," I replied with barely concealed hurt.

Anj patted my shoulder. "Don't let it trouble you. When Patrick remembers not to put his foot in his mouth, he gives it to you straight."

She was right, of course. Despite his mysterious airs and closely guarded private life, Patrick was as honest as they came. Trouble was, he had no crap filter, so he sometimes said exactly what came to mind. "Did he ever mention me to you?" I asked quietly, wondering how widely known our contretemps was.

"Not much, but Rachel talks about you all the time."

Ah, yes, the Aunt Rachel connection. "I heard she's not feeling so great."

"Actually, she's improved a great deal since she met this doctor."

My head snapped up and I almost cracked my skull on some overhead equipment. "Doctor?" I echoed stupidly.

"Yeah, I guess they're complete opposites, but she seems to be crazy about him."

Crap, crap, crap. "Does this guy have a name?"

"Umm, I think it's Wally?" Anj finished tapping in some numbers and looked over at me. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," I replied, trotting out my best fake smile and timing it so perfectly, Patrick showed up right at that second.

"Get me out of here," I muttered.

She called him Wally?

"What's wrong?" Patrick asked with a slight show of concern.

I threw up my hands and said, "Where do I start? Buy me lunch and I'll spill."

*****

This girl was meant for me
And I was meant for her
This girl was dreamt for me
And I was dreamt for her

I Deserve It, Lyrics by Dean and Britta

Patrick
New York

I hailed a cab and directed the driver to Little Italy. There was a tiny cafe tucked away from the street that had the best Italian food in the city. It was also free and clear of stalkerazzi.

Kat was silent for the entire ride, which had to be a world record. From curb to curb in heavy noon hour traffic, I clocked it at 20 minutes. "You up for some Italian?"

"OK." Another one word answer. I was starting to worry.

"What did I do now?" I asked, knowing in advance that it was always my fault and after that was settled, I'd promise never to do it again.

"Nothing. Everything." After that overly helpful response, she followed me to our table (farthest from the door) and promptly ordered an espresso.

"Tell me," I said simply, deciding to go for some plain old water with lemon.

"Were you aware," she started, "That Rachel was dating my Dad?"

"What?" I chortled. "That's ridiculous. They'd tear each other apart."

Kat shrugged before pinning me back against the booth with a meaningful stare. "Sometimes opposites attract."

Was she inferring something about us? Because she and I were alike in all the ways that mattered. "Look, I know they've been hanging out, but somehow I just can't see Rachel knocking boots with Walter."

She flagged down the waiter and ordered a shot of tequila. "She calls him Wally."

I nearly spit out my water on hearing that tidbit. "Are you serious?"

"Couldn't make that up if I tried."

Her and Anj had been deep in discussion when I dropped by, so that was Kat's source. And knowing how tight she still was with Rachel, it had to be true. "They are consenting adults," I reminded her.

"That's hardly the point, Patrick. First you and I were involved, and all of a sudden, our parental units decide to hook up."

All of a sudden was more like 15 years, but bringing that up was not productive. "It is a little strange, but we'll get used to it."

"Not me."

It took me a few seconds to realize why this was bugging her. Kat was 33, but no one could ever replace her Mom in her eyes. "Give it time," I said gently as the waiter came to take our order.

"I'm not real hungry. How about insalata with a side of shrimp?"

My order was a lot more substantial, because I was ravenous and I knew Kat would end up eating off my plate. "Sure." I rattled off my own order in Italian and ignored Kat's wide-eyed expression.

"When did you pick up Italian?"

"Here and there," I said idly. "So, what else has gotten your panties in a twist?"

Her brows crowded toward the center of her forehead. "Oh, I dunno, maybe the part where you forgot to mention that Selina was leaving the band?"

I smiled weakly. "I wanted to tell you, but you went off on one of your tangents." Better to mention that than my inability to get a word in edgewise.

"Ah, so it's suddenly my fault," Kat said crossly.

This brought me back to the night when I tried to explain why I'd ditched her at the dance, only to end up in yet another fight. "Of course not. I'm easily distracted, and when you started raving about our poster, I lost my focus."

Kat wasn't so easily mollified. "Is that your politically correct way of saying I talk too much?"

There was no way out of this one. "I'm sorry, OK? It slipped my mind."

"Whatever." She tossed back her shot of tequila and tore into the basket of Italian bread. Maybe the booze would mellow her out. Sure enough, in a matter of minutes, a smile crept onto her face.

"There, see? I knew you had it in you," I commented dryly.

"What's that?"

"Humanity." Her face turned sour for a second but quickly reverted to its former status.

"You should talk...vampire."

So we were back to jocularity. "Bet I'm more human than you."

"Prove it," she challenged.

Kat was playing my sort of game, and I was clearly outclassed. "You've got me, Stratford." I pretended to shoot a dart at my heart and keel over. "Now can we be serious for once?"

Our food came, and there was silence for awhile as we dug in. "Serious about what?"

"That stuff we talked about last night." My plate was nearly empty.

She made a face and I wondered if she was thinking more about how the night ended then the part about us collaborating. "What about it?"

Kat was going out of her way to be obtuse. Maybe it was easier to play vampire than put up with her nonsense. "Playing songs together. You. Me. Ring any bells?"

"Oh, right."

"Playing dumb doesn't suit you," I scoffed. "When we get back, I'll run through one of the songs with you."

I could see her weighing her words, so apparently one shot didn't make her walk the 'loose lips sink ships' plank. "Sure."

Kat
New York

Note: Rob Dickinson is a real person, and he is indeed involved with custom Porsche designs, but all the events in this section are fictional.

Last night, I was totally drawn in by Patrick's plan. But in the light of day, starry eyed and laughing turned to cold and terrified. Drowning out my inner demons with a few shots of tequila didn't quell my unease. Those poems were never meant to see the light of day, and now he was planning to publish my innermost turmoil. Airing my dirty laundry for all the world to hear was not in my 5 year plan. It was like letting a stranger walk into my house and rifle through my underwear drawer. How could I tell him this without insulting him? He thought he was doing me a favor. Hell, most people would see this as the chance of a lifetime. But despite my sad attempts to play Rock Band with Bianca (she'd trounced me), I'd never thought to fashion myself as a singer songwriter.

We got back to the club and I was delighted (enthralled, excited, and a hella excuse to avoid hearing my tone poems) to see Rob Dickinson and his coterie of sound techs, fawning fans, and Porsche devotees. Without waiting for an entree, I jogged over to his group and high-fived Rob. We'd met a number of years back when he'd regrouped with the Catherine Wheel, and he remembered me. "Kat Stratford, as I live and breathe. How is that car of yours coming?"

"I finished it. Can you believe it?"

Rob laughed. "This I have to see. Did you bring the car with you?"

"It's back at the Chelsea."

Patrick came to stand next to me and shook Rob's hand. "I see you two have already met."

"I never forget a fellow car enthusiast."

We talked shop for a few more minutes and then Rob excused himself. "How'd you coax him out on tour?" Rob focused almost exclusively on his custom Porsche makeovers and had sidelined his music for quite a long time.

"With wine, women, and song," Patrick joked. "C'mon, let's meet some people."

In a virtual whirlwhind, he swept me through the large space. We pressed the flesh and names and faces flashed by me, and I only grabbed on to the ones that affected my photography. He cut me loose with a promise to go over "our" song before soundcheck. Since the show was all ages, the doors were opening early and Patrick's band would finish before 11. I took advantage of my little hiatus to have fun with the camera, and discovered some camera buffs among Rob's entourage. They invited me to take photos of Rob as he practiced, and I got some great close-ups. Rob tended to sweat a lot, so it was better to get pictures when he wasn't fully immersed in a set.

I saw Patrick discussing something with one of the security goons and judging from their body language, I guessed Patrick had just handed him my list of vampiree devotees. A short time later, I saw from the set lips (security goons never have a sense of humor) and frown on Goon A's face that Patrick had won the day. It was time to hightail it, because he'd be looking for a return on his favor.

My long legs almost got me out the stage door, but Luis came in at the exact moment I was exiting. "Going somewhere, Kitten?"

"Just to get some air."

"Aw, you bored with us already?" he joked.

"Of course not." Patrick caught sight of me and moved my way with that resolute face I knew so well.

Luis was no stranger to the weird dynamics between us and he rabbited out of there. "Hey, do you mind? It's kind of warm in there."

"I do mind. You're avoiding me," Patrick complained.

"You're right," I said, pushing him off balance by agreeing with him. "I know you're jazzed about this project, but it makes me uncomfortable."

"But you said...last night, you were jumping with joy." Patrick's eyes were deep wells of ember, and I could get lost in there if I wasn't careful.

"It's a great idea, Patrick. And it's totally sweet. But I'd rather come up with new ideas than dredge up the past."

"But those words are brilliant. People should hear them."

Maybe he was right, and maybe someday I could sing those words and not feel like the fire of a thousand suns was burning me to a crisp. "I'm sorry. I can't do this right now."
*****

Patrick
New York

I'd gone all out with these poems, and the music I'd composed was the best of my career. This could be a landmark album, but only if she was along for the ride. We'd call it Penance, and maybe then we could work on mending what was broken all those years ago.

Does she think I don't get it, that I don't understand fear? I've laid it all out there for critics and fans to dissect, and they've had a field day at my expense. But once you moved past the doubts and just got out there and did it, you'd wonder why you waited so long.

I wasn't going to wait around for her approval, I was going to take action and bring these songs to life. Once she heard them, I had no doubt she'd change her mind. That was how powerful they were, and with that female perspective, they'd be even better

Anj helped me find a 4-track and I set it up in the backstage bathroom. Without a glance at my band mates, who were more interested in scoring booze and drugs, I started playing quietly and ran through the 6 songs I'd thrown together. They were rough, but the potential was there. I found my voice cracking on one of the songs and I stopped in mid-strum to center myself, knowing that emotion was getting the best of me. I put both feet in the fire and finally got through the song. "Catharsis," I whispered, thinking the name might stick for that one.

When I finished my session, I packed up the tape for later transfer to digital and returned the deck to Anj. "How's it going with you and Kat?"

"It's not," I retorted.

She looked like she wanted to hug me, but I stepped out of reach. "She's a tough one," Anj commented as Rob took the stage with his scaled down band.

"Yeah." Kat was right up front and she stayed there for most of Rob's performance. To her credit, she was snapping away and doing her job, but I couldn't help but feel if Rob had asked her to record with him, she would have said yes without thinking about it. Why did everything have to be such a chore with her and me?

When it was finally our turn to perform, I felt curiously removed from the whole experience. Selina, Luis, and Brad were in top form, and only I felt myself lagging behind. I was off on the first few songs, and it wasn't until I saw Kat giving me the fist of approval that it all clicked into place. She was all over us with her long lens, and she spent plenty of time capturing Selina. It ended all too soon, and after bumping fists with the guys, I booked time to take a leak. We were doing at least one encore, and maybe two if the others agreed. We went back out there, and did one of our newer songs, and that was a hit with the crowd. I didn't have another encore in me, and I told the band I was hanging it up for the night. They looked a little stunned, and I guess they wondered if I was also leaving the venue. If I could get away with it, I was leaving it all behind for the rest of today.

I packed up my acoustic guitar and some assorted crap and was about to escape through the stage door when I was accosted by a parade of Goths in long capes and theatrical makeup. Accompanying them was Kat, Holly, and Mandella and I knew I was well and truly trapped. The Goth girls surrounded me with outstretched hands and I shrunk away from the tall one with the black tipped nails that managed to snip off a lock of my hair. As Kat came up to me with a falsely bright smile, I hissed, "You're going down for this stunt."

"Is that so?" Kat replied. "Hit me with your best shot, Studly."

The girls all shoved CDs at me and I pointed to a nearby table. "We can do it over there."

"Yes, my Master," the tall girl crooned.

"Let me guess," I commented to Mandella. "These are members of C.O.P."

"Got it in one. Don't worry, they're mostly harmless."

"Mostly?" There was a note of panic in my voice that set off a round of giggles from the Goth set. It did nothing to reassure me, and I resigned myself to at least an hour of misery, and then more wretchedness when I got around to wringing Kat's neck for this stunt.

******

Kat
New York

I can be an asshole. And sometimes I reveled in it.

Like right now, for example.

Payback really was a bitch, as in, me hovering over Patrick with a smug smile that only widened as the throng of shrieking pre-teens closed in on him. They encircled him as if offering him up as a sacrifice to their Night Walker god.

Yup, I had really thrown him under the bus, and I knew his retribution would be swift and memorable. But it was so worth it to see him squirm, and get it all on camera.

Brad handed me a Bass ale before finishing off his own with a loud burp. "I heard you're responsible for this nightmare."

"Sure am," I admitted.

I expected belligerence and got a bump of his fist instead. "Long live the naked mole rats."

That was Brad's way of saying he liked my style. "Why not? It's all in good fun."

He chuckled. "If you say so. All I know is, I wouldn't want to be in your shoes."

We both looked down at my sneakers. "I can envision cement blocks. What do you think, East River?"

"Nope, it's Hudson all the way, baby."

"Good think I can swim." I'd barely eaten and the Bass hit me like a ton of bricks. With a giggle, I pretended to swim and Brad joined me in my drunken crawl. Soon Luis joined us just for the sake of acting like an idiot, and we collapsed against the wall in laughter. Selina walked by with a shake of her bleached mane and set us off again.

"So, Kitten, I hear you and Patrick might be doing a side project," Luis commented slyly.

"Lies, damned lies," I replied with a tight smile.

"Really?" Brad bathed me in a boozy miasma and moved too close for comfort. 'Cuz we got it straight from Verona."

I stepped away and regained my personal space. "I'm sure he was yanking your chain."

"Doubt it," Brad averred. "He recorded half a dozen songs earlier today. Didn't sound like any chains rattling."

My eyes closed for a moment, and I managed to contain my frustration. "What did he tell you?"

"Just that you'd written some poems that were worth putting to music," Luis explained.

I felt a headache starting up behind one eye. "Is that all he told you?"

He nodded. "That's pretty much it. Can't say I'm surprised. Pat's been itching to record some acoustic stuff, and this will give him that outlet."

I'd been relegated to the realm of side projects, which generally ended up in the cutout bins. "Cool beans," I said, just because I liked the expression after hearing Bianca say it a bunch of times on the phone.

"Better watch out, Kitten. Verona's gunning for you after tonight's stunt, and he may decide to cut you loose."

My eyes widened, but not with anything approaching shock. In fact, this could be the answer to getting him off my back. If I continued to be a brat, he might even toss me off the tour. But when he caught my gaze over the heads of his minions, it wasn't anger that filled those dark eyes. I could be imagining that I saw a grudging admiration, but when he pushed his way through the gawking Goths and headed toward me, I was sure of it.

*******

Patrick
New York

I folded my arms and leaned against the wall, noting the way her nostrils flared slightly at my profile. Nothing watered down about the effect I had on her. With the smile I rarely bestowed on anyone but her, I said, "You really got me."

"As in the Kinks, or something else?"

"Both by the Kinks, but that's irrelevant."

"Ooh, is this music trivia? Because I am not afraid of you and I will beat your ass."

Yeah, she was definitely more fun when she was even slightly liquored up. "Yo La Tengo," I said with feigned boredom.

"OK, so you know your shit."

Her eyes were sparkling and dancing with good cheer. Her feet tapped in time to Interpol and she swiveled slightly as if dancing in place. I let the aura of Kat fill my senses and breathed in her intoxicating blend of soap, sweat, and Bass ale. Before I could help myself, I closed the already tiny gap between us and traced my fingers down her cheek before tucking her hair behind her ear. She looked up at my fingers before smiling beatifically and that was the only signal I needed.

I slanted my head and saw a tiny mote of fear cross her face before she let me close the distance. All my pent up longing burst into flame at the first touch of our lips in 15 years. For a second, we stared at each other like a bug had landed on our noses, but that tiny bit of awkward flitted away as I molded my mouth to hers and stole my arm around her waist. Her fingers were tightly clenched, but I felt the exact second she unfurled, opening to me like a blossom to the morning sun.

One hand found my shoulder while the other one distracted itself with the curls that brushed my collar. Neither of us were into PDA, but both of us were so starved for real affection that we no longer cared who was watching, recording, twittering, or posting. Squeals of Goth girl laughter faded to black as I touched her with the tip of my tongue and exploded into a supernova when she let me in. Our teeth collided, and between my curse and her laugh, we got it right and our tongues started the dance that could only end in one place. Swirling, pushing, biting, and sucking turned to gasping as we paused to take a breath.

Sound and motion returned with a smattering of applause and people telling us to get a room. Kat turned crimson and hid her face against my chest. "Get me out of here," she murmured.

"I can't. Promised some college kids I'd give them an interview."

Kat laughed. "Haven't they seen enough?"

Thinking of BTO, I said, "They ain't seen nothing yet."

She punched my arm and telling me to stop listening to crappy 70's rock that was old when her father was in high school. With a laugh, I pushed away from the wall and found the three guys from a local college. They high fived me on my 'hot babe' and drew me off to a quieter area where I let them grill me for the next half hour. But none of it touched me as much as the gift Kat had given me by cracking open the door and giving me another chance.