The gigs that weekend went well, he thought, replacing a tire on Monday morning. Fred and Ernie were really stretching their guitars around Finn's beat, giving the Peter Murphy song a more infectious rhythm, and he loved playing with Jack, who was an instinctive bassist, making sure he and Finn worked together to get the audience moving.
"So," Bob said, walking over, "Callie says you've fit in pretty well. The guys all like and trust you. Even Emil." He produced a sly wink.
Finn looked at him blankly, and Bob laughed.
"Emil's fine with you and Callie," he explained.
"Ah, well that's good to know," Finn grunted, pulling a wheel off. "If anything happens between us, that is. She's pretty cool."
Bob nodded, smiling.
"Well the reason I mentioned it is, Callie thinks you're cool, too, and asked me to ask you if she could have lunch with you today. It's her day off."
"She couldn't ask me herself? Am I that scary? " Finn was amused.
"Jesus, Huddy, think about it. We've been working together for what, two months now, and even I barely know anything about you. She asked me about you and I couldn't tell her much, so she didn't want to risk appearing too forward."
Finn did think about it. Part of him wanted to turn her down; he could always say it was to keep their relationship professional, when he really was simply afraid of moving on. He had just broken up with the only woman he had ever loved, for heaven's sake. But he was nineteen years old, and looking at his fifth month of solitude, not to mention celibacy. Callie was pretty, smart and nice. Maybe a change would do him good.
"Sure," he said, finally, and saved Bob the trouble by texting Callie directly, asking where she'd like to meet and when. A nice café. Noon. Finn chewed on an idea. Work was light today, so he asked for a half-day off, and suggested meeting at one so he could get decently cleaned up beforehand. He got a smiley face in return.
Finn left the shop at noon and went straight home. He took a long shower, scrubbing himself—especially his hands-like he used to do before going out with Rachel after he had put in a shift in at the shop. It wasn't that he expected to be manhandling Callie anytime soon. It was something he did to honor Rachel , because she loved it when he made the extra effort to be clean for her, as she was for him. They inspired each other that way, to be better people. He figured it was a good rule to follow in life, even if she wasn't in his life anymore. Getting dressed in a simple white shirt and jeans, he realized he liked wanting to be better. Maybe he always had, but just forgot he did for awhile.
At first he thought he was late, because Callie was already seated at a table. About to apologize, Finn suddenly couldn't speak. It could have been Rachel sitting there: Dark hair, dark eyes, black turtleneck, short red-and-black plaid skirt, black tights and low heels. She looked up, concerned.
"Are you okay, Finn?"
The urge to turn and run was nearly overwhelming. But it turned out he was made of sterner stuff.
"Yeah, yeah…I'm fine." Might as well be honest. "But you should probably see this." He fished a picture of Rachel from his wallet and showed it to her.
"Holy crap," Callie mused, then looked up apprehensively. "Maybe this wasn't a good idea…"
"No, no, no," he said, putting the picture back. "Callie, you're a completely different person." She started to say something but he interrupted. "See? I called you by your name, not hers."
"Okay..." She sounded dubious, but remained in her seat, eventually asking, "Is this as weird for you as it is for me?"
"Probably," he joked, and she visibly relaxed.
The waiter came and they ordered, iced tea for her and black coffee for him. They both decided to try the steak sandwich, hers medium-rare, his medium. He made sure to point out that Rachel was a vegan, and Callie giggled.
Callie recovered from that initial shock quickly, immediately jumping into a continuation of their conversation about music in the bar. She liked progressive rock, with a seasoning of 80's and 90's music; he preferred the classic stuff.
Finn let that conversation end naturally, and then asked, "So, why did you ask me to lunch?"
She tried to bluster her way out of it.
"What, I can't suggest we have lunch and conversation, just because?"
"Is that why? Just because? I'm cool with that."
She looked down at the table for a moment, and when she raised her face again he noticed that, behind her outwardly friendly expression was a touch, just a trace, really, of the inscrutable look he had seen her wear before.
"I like your company," she replied. Her voice sounded warm, though, and under his amused encouragement, she admitted, "And back at Hensley's you mentioned having written and performed a song. I wanted to ask if you'd mind looking over one I've been working on, back at my place. "
"What about the others? Have they seen it?"
She shook her head. "Just Emil. He has the most musical training of all of us, but isn't much of a writer, I'm afraid. And he gives lousy feedback. The others weren't interested, either."
"Sounds like fun," Finn said. "I have the rest of the day off. You want to start after we finish here?"
Callie shook her head, apologetically. "I have to run a few errands beforehand," she said. "How about coming over at five—I'll cook dinner."
"Why don't I bring dinner?" Finn suggested. "Is pizza okay? That way we can spend our time working." She happily agreed.
During the meal he learned a bit more about her. Her name was short for Calypso. "My parents are big Harry Belafonte fans," she explained, singing, "Day-o! Day-o! Daylight come and me wan' go home." Finn laughed. He loved that song, ever since watching "Beetlejuice".
Callie grew up in Chicago, and sang in her parent's church choir and the classical choir in her high school. She fell in love with rock and roll, however; her musical idol was Janis Joplin. And when she graduated (with honors) she ran off to join a band in Madison, Wisconsin. It was there that she met Emil Valerio, and the two of them went back to Chicago to join a new band that was forming at the University of Chicago, called Leuce.
"Leuce, by the way, was an ocean nymph in Greek mythology. She was the lover of Hades, god of the underworld."
After the meal, she gave Finn her address. "See you at five." She touched his hand, just barely, before leaving with a grin. He watched her go, still marveling how much she looked like Rachel in that outfit. He felt strange thinking of Callie like that. Hell, he felt strange thinking about Callie at all.
In truth, Finn was relieved he wasn't going over to her place right away. He needed some time to prepare himself, because the wounds Rachel left, as well as his self-inflicted ones, were still healing. Back at home, lying on his bed with his hands clasped behind his head, listening to music, he tried to deal with the feelings of guilt, that he was somehow cheating on the woman he loved, even though they were no longer together. If just thinking about the breakup gave him so much pain, wouldn't he be crazy to try and enter into something new?
As if on cue, a song came on his iPod.
There's a haze on the skyline, to wish me on my way.
And there's a note on the telephone - some roses on a
tray.
And the motorway's stretching right out to us all,
as I pull on my old wings - one white duck
on your wall.
Isn't it just too damn real?
I'll catch a ride on your violin - strung upon your bow.
And I'll float on your melody - sing your chorus soft
and low.
There's a picture-view postcard to say that I called.
You can see from the fireplace, one white duck
on your wall.
Isn't it just too damn real?
That Jethro Tull song had always made him smile, especially the idea of singing Rachel her chorus. She had to have a chorus-deserved a chorus—all her own. Maybe he should write one? Yeah, maybe.
Unfortunately, the song continued, and he realized how it now summed up all of his insecurities regarding her:
So fly away Peter and fly away Paul - from the
finger-tip ledge of contentment.
Where the long restless rustle of high-heeled boots calls.
And I'm probably bound to deceive you after all.
Something must be wrong with me and my brain -
if I'm so patently unrewarding.
But my dreams are for dreaming and best left that
way - and my zero to your power of ten equals
nothing at all.
Exactly, he thought. Rachel was a power of ten beyond him. And, unlike fairy tales, love sometimes just wasn't enough:
There's no double-lock defense; there's no chain on my door.
And I'm available for consultation,
But remember your way in is also my way out, and
love's four-letter word is no compensation.
It didn't occur to him, it seemed beyond his imagination then, that if he increased his zero even just a little, her power of ten could raise him to heights he never dreamed possible.
XXXxxx
Callie lived in the Ogygia Apartments, 2A, on 36th street, one of the less attractive areas of town. She wasn't as disturbingly dressed this time; just black yoga pants and a dark blue t-shirt, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and bare feet. Comfortable. The apartment itself was small and somewhat dark, with posters of Janis Joplin and PJ Harvey on the living room walls. He liked the faint smell of incense, and the expensive-looking turntable and stereo in the living room. And the records. Hundreds of them, it looked like, and much to his surprise, about equally divided between classical, popular, and jazz. A Mahavishnu Orchestra album cover lay on the small coffee table. She had to pull him away from them as they made their way to the kitchen with the pizza.
She liked sausage and mushroom pizza, his favorite. Of course, Rachel liked it too, as long as he ate her sausage. Finn also picked up some beer, Heineken, not his first choice, but decent enough, and he had noticed her drinking it at the bar. It was funny how he never seemed to get carded, but he wondered how Callie got away with it. He suspected a fake ID. They sat at the table in her very small kitchen.
"I picked up dessert," Callie said, with a very sly grin, and he wondered what that meant.
He asked her about the stereo, and she said it was really sort of Emil's, but the records were hers, and he lived in such a small place all of his records were in storage, so he let her keep the rig at her house.
"So…you guys are still friends, right?"
She laughed, with a wave of her hand.
"Oh yeah. Everyone used to call him my Svengali, since he's twenty-eight, and studied music at the University of Chicago. He wanted to be a concert violinist. But he was too Bohemian for that…or something. He just lost his drive, I guess."
Rachel would never lose her drive, he found himself thinking, almost guiltily.
"What happened between you two, if you don't mind my asking?" There was that faintly inscrutable look again.
Another wave of her hand. "Just the usual relationship bullshit."
Of course, Finn had no idea what she was talking about; none of his relationships had been normal by any stretch of the imagination. Thankfully, Callie didn't seem overly interested in why he and Rachel were no longer together, so he just nodded in response.
They went into the living room. Besides the album cover, there were pads of paper and pencils on the coffee table. Callie sat down cross-legged at the table and beckoned him to do the same.
"This is where I work on songs," she said, and pushed a notebook over to him. "Would you look at this one I'm working on?"
It was called "Three-Minute Egg". A jilted lover still sets a place for him at breakfast, boiling an egg and placing it in an egg cup, slicing the top off with a knife:
Deliberately I salt the wound
Cut your heart out with a spoon
Leaving me an empty shell
No place for a soul to dwell
Tossed in the trash, out on the street
Like my love, once true and sweet.
"More of the usual relationship bullshit?" he joked, looking up.
"It's not autobiographical," Callie countered, laughing.
"That's a relief, and all the more impressive." Finn felt wonderfully comfortable, as he had when Rachel had asked him for feedback for her songs. She once told him that she admired his intuitive feel for songwriting, that she had taken every suggestion of his to heart, and that he always made her songwriting better. So he felt comfortable saying, "I love the way the empty shell can mean her, or just the egg shell. But that last line needs some work."
They spent some time trying to come up with better ways of saying what Callie wanted to song to express. Finn admired her openness to his suggestions, as well as her confidence in rejecting some of them (always with a solid reason for doing so). They also looked at some of her other songs, mostly snippets, and, after a couple of hours, Finn, still sitting on the floor, leaned back against the couch and stretched his legs. Callie rose to her feet.
"Ready for dessert?" she asked.
"Sure," Finn answered, looking puzzled when she disappeared into her bedroom instead of the kitchen. She emerged with an ashtray and a joint. "Care to indulge?" she asked with a sly grin, "If not, I have cake!"
"How about both?" They laughed, and she joined him on the floor, sparking up with an old silver lighter. After a few hits, Callie got up, taking the Mahavishnu Orchestra album off the turntable and choosing another album.
"Time for some decent tunage," she winked.
The music was strange, percussion-heavy, with odd instruments, sometimes sung in a strange language, sometimes English. It sounded ancient, mystical. The male vocalist had a rich baritone, reminscent of Frank Sinatra.
"Who is this?" Finn asked, intrigued. He felt dreamy, adrift in time and space.
"Dead Can Dance," Callie replied. "Like it?"
"Yeah, it's incredible."
She smiled, then got up again. "I have some decent bourbon, which will go perfectly with this." He watched her go, closing his eyes, as a new song began.
It was a slow waltz, played on what sounded like hammered dulcimers, repetitive and dreamy. Soon a single dulcimer joined them, playing a strange melody, only to fade into a man's voice singing in a strange language, with others shouting, like sailors preparing a ship for sailing.
He was on the deck of a ship, feeling a light, salty spray from the wind-blown whitecaps on his face. Above him, a huge, blue sail, with a golden star, filled his view, as the ship rose and fell with the waves, and an endless blue horizon stretched before him. The sun glittered on the swells, two dolphins rode the creamy bow wave, and as he clung to the rigging, an island poked its peak above the horizon, and grew.
Suddenly the dulcimers were joined by the sound of a carousel calliope, then a hurdy gurdy, churning out a strange melody as a man's voice began singing:
John Francis Dooley, wipe the sleep from your eyes
And embrace the light
You have slept now for a thousand years
Beneath starless nights
And now it's time for you to renounce the old ways
And to see a new dawn rise
In former days, the masks were raised
When the god came down from off the mountain
And a sacrifice was made
For they knew that the day of wrath was fast approaching
Just like yesterday, before the war
John Francis Dooley, the scapegoat has run
All our sins are disowned
And now it's time for you to take off your mask
And cross the Rubicon
The dolphins leaped out of the sea, crossing paths, and he felt a woman's arms wind around him from behind, yet the island in the distance was foremost on his mind…
If you and I were one within the eyes of our designs
It would still not change the fact of our leaving
For tonight we must leave with the first gentle breeze
For the Isles of Ken we are assailing
Just like Ulysses on the open sea
On an odyssey of self-discovery
His eyes snapped open, revealing Callie kneeling before him, holding two glasses. Her dark, bottomless eyes seemed to shine without light. Taking his glass, Finn sipped, needing the bite of the liquor to break whatever spell he felt was beginning to envelop him, because the urge to kiss those full lips, now, was almost overwhelming. But it didn't work. He accepted her crawling into his lap, and he tasted her mouth, excited by the full lips, the tang of the whisky, and her warm skin. She wriggled around until she was straddling him, and his hands ran under her shirt and up her flanks, his thumbs meeting the soft swell of her full breasts, then up over her nipples, as she moaned in his mouth.
He wanted to lash himself to the mast, so that he could keep steering towards the island, but he couldn't resist her pulling him away, and the ship hauled around in her embrace.
This had to stop. His breathing was hard and ragged; it felt like he was on a runaway train. And as much as he liked Callie, as much as his body was screaming for release with her, the image of that island stuck, and finally he pulled away, to apologize.
"I-I'm sorry, I just can't do this right now, Callie." She left his lap, but remained kneeling in front of him. Her face was calm, and an enigmatic smile grew. The blackness of her eyes remained unreadable. Her right hand reached out to caress his cheek.
"Maybe some other time." A trace of regret, but she seemed to understand.
"Yeah." He was relieved.
She leaned forward and kissed him soundly, and he returned it without reservation.
"Thanks for the help on the songs, Finn."
"I hope we can work on songs again, maybe even my ideas," he said.
"And maybe finish this properly," she replied, with a wink, looking down at his crotch.
He laughed and groaned at the same time.
Later that night, alone in his bed, he reached for his phone. He wanted, desperately, to be able to move on. But there was this island, you see. He pulled up her number, not surprised in the least that he never deleted it.
*Please don't forget me*
He was asleep when his phone gently buzzed a few minutes later.
*Never*
A/N: The Harry Belafonte lyrics are from "The Banana Boat Song". The Jethro Tull lyrics are from "One White Duck/ 0^10 = Nothing At All." The Dead Can Dance lyrics are from the song "Ulysses". Callie's lyrics are her own.
