Happy Saturday!
Happy Passover, Happy Easter, and Eid Mubarak for everyone who celebrates!
Thank you also for all your reviews and alerts. I love reading your thoughts and theories.
Also thank you to Team Momo, who work tirelessly to help me make this readable. My stories wouldn't exist without them and I'm so grateful they're in my corner.
Alice's White Rabbit and Midnight Cougar are in the editing chairs. AGoodWitch, IAmBeagle, Driving Edward and RobsmyyummyCabanaBoy pre-read.
A playlist for the songs in this chapter will be posted to my FB group, LaMomo's Lair. Do consider joining for teasers, bonus contents like playlists and pics, lots of Rob, and the occasional glimpse into my work in progress. Just type "LaMomo's Lair" in the search bar on FB and it will come up.
So, summing things up:
- Everybody Hates Kate (do we want to pitch a pilot of this show?) and WTF Is Kate Up To? seems to be the general consensus. The answer will be unveiled in time, and it's less of the House of Cards political thriller variety than a lot of you are thinking ;-)
- Esme rocks, and I agree wholeheartedly.
- EditorWard and PianistElla are taking baby steps out of their respective comfort zones. More baby steps below.
Back to the show!
BEHIND THE IVORIES – CHAPTER 14
Later that day, after I've left the workplace woes behind me, I walk toward Sharps & Flats where Alice and Jasper are waiting for me. I'm coming directly from the office. Not Alice. She had to go home and change for the occasion. Of course.
The bouncer—an old acquaintance by now—waves us inside. "Good evening, Mr. Cullen."
We all reply and walk past him. We're not even in the door yet, and Jake is already lying in wait for us. "Are you ambushing us, Jake?" I ask with a raised eyebrow.
He catches on to the sarcastic remark. "Hell, no. You wouldn't have seen me otherwise, Cullen. It's getting crowded in here," he quips, slapping a hand to my shoulder in salute. "Your table awaits. Usual spot."
I like the fact that we have a usual spot, even though the paint is barely dry on the walls here. It feels homey. As if, somehow, we're all meant to be here, together.
When we get to our table, I throw a glance around—Garrett is sitting at the table right next to us. Through no coincidence whatsoever, I bet.
"Edward, my man! Nice to see you again finally." He stands, giving me the standard half-hug, shoulder-slap combo.
"Hi, Garrett. Somebody told me you'd be here. Have you ever met Jasper Hale?"
"No, but I've read him. Nice article on Bella, by the way," he says, extending a hand to Jasper.
"Thank you," Jasper replies, unfazed by the praise. Sometimes, Jasper is as unflappable as Alice is overenthusiastic. It must make for an interesting couple dynamic. "I forget. How do you know Edward here?" Unfazed he may be, but he's still a details-oriented fucker—and as a journalist, he has zero qualms in asking questions of strangers.
"CNN," Garrett replies quickly, no doubt glossing over the implications.
Jasper, who knows when to shut the fuck up, nods sagely.
"Who's the lovely lady?" Garrett asks in a blatant attempt to change the subject.
"Alice Brandon-Hale." She introduces herself without missing a beat.
"Oh, you're the advice columnist, aren't you? The one Bella likes so much."
"At last, someone gets my job title right!" Alice exclaims gleefully, beaming at the recognition. Dwyer doesn't know, but he's just made a friend for life.
"Edward, you remember Charlotte, don't you?" Garrett asks. The lady in question stands from her seat to find some space beside him and in front of us.
His wife of almost ten years? Hell yes, I do. "You still married to this old curmudgeon, Char?"
Charlotte—who used to be a PR executive when Garrett and I were coworkers—responds with a crystalline laugh and moves to hug me. She's a hugger. Always been.
"It's good to see you, Edward. You look well."
"But you haven't answered my question," I quip. It was an ongoing joke we had. Her replies were always hysterical.
"Well, what can I say? I'm attached to the guy by now. He remembers anniversaries, and he's house-trained."
Garrett, Jasper, and I all erupt into undignified chuckles far before I can scrounge up another sarcastic repartee. But then I feel something—or someone?—tugging on my jeans, roughly at knee level. I look down to find a blonde, pig-tailed, wide-eyed wisp of a girl, dressed in a purple, glittery sweatshirt with a unicorn on it, jeans, and a fucking adorable pair of children's Chucks—also purple, also glittery. My Spidey sense tells me she must get on famously with Bella.
"Who dat, Mama?" she asks, still tugging on my jeans but looking at Charlotte with those wide, guileless brown eyes of hers.
Charlotte smiles at her indulgently. "That, Beatrice, is Edward. He's a friend of your dad's. Leave the gentleman be, please."
"But he pwetty," the little miss replies with the kind of sass she could have picked up from either her mother or her aunt. Suddenly, I'm imagining Bella with this little girl. More butterflies. Dammit.
Garrett's reaction to this pronouncement is an unbridled snort. "Good lord. Not my daughter, too."
Jasper and Alice also snicker along, for good measure.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh at my expense. Glad I amuse you." I'm acting all grumpy, but the little girl's antics are fucking endearing. I've never been around kids a lot, and the fact I'm not having a fit of nerves is a new, startling development.
Charlotte retrieves her daughter, who gets shy as soon as she's in her mother's arms. "This little rogue is obviously our daughter. And I happen to think she has good taste," she adds with a wink in my direction.
"Mama?" Beatrice asks in a small voice.
"Yes, baby?"
"Where is Aunt Bewwa?"
Charlotte turns toward the stage where the shiny black piano awaits Bella's arrival. "See that? It's Aunt Bella's piano. We're waiting for her to play."
"She pway wif Uncoe Jake, too?"
"Maybe. If you're good. Are you going to be very good, Bea?"
Emphasis on the word very. Methinks I'm witnessing covert blackmail tactics otherwise known as parenting.
Beatrice nods with a more earnest look than I'd expect from a … three, four year-old? I'll have to ask.
"I big girl. I good," she announces.
"Oh, I knoooow you're good," Garrett quips, reaching for his daughter and delivering a nice helping of tickles.
Beatrice laughs, squirming in her mother's arms. When she gets so antsy that her legs start scissoring here and there, Charlotte throws Garrett a withering look, but her words to Beatrice remain patient—almost diverted. "We don't kick, Bea. Remember?"
"Oh. Sowwy," Beatrice replies with a chastened look. Charlotte lets her slide down to stand on her own, and the kiddo latches on to her father's pant leg. It must be a habit.
With a conspiratorial look, Alice leans down to whisper in her ear, "I know, I know. It's exhausting to be among tall people all the time, right?"
Beatrice leans her head to the side, squinting at the other not-so-tall person who's giving her attention. "You not tall. You big?"
Garrett crouches beside his daughter. "This is Miss Alice, Bea. Can you say hello?"
The little girl sticks out her hand, and in that motion, a tangle of colorful plastic bracelets rattle and sparkle in the dim light of the club. "Hi. Me Beyya."
"I'm Bea," Charlotte sweetly corrects her.
"Nice to meet you, Miss Bea," Alice replies.
"You not big, Miss Awice?"
That's when the semantic mishap clears in my head. In Beatrice's simpler world, big people are older people. Her parents or "big" men like Jasper and me. But Alice is five foot and change with heels on, and she looks like a sprite. Her current attire of leggings, a colorful tunic, and a cobalt blue scarf in her hair makes her more relatable and accessible to little Bea than most of the adults around here.
"I'm going to tell you a secret, Miss Bea," Alice tells Bea, who listens in rapt attention. "I'm a fairy, but I live with big people all the time."
Bea's eyes go even wider, if possible. "Weally?"
Alice nods while Charlotte mouths, "Thank you," in her direction with a relieved look.
I'm about to ask how old Bea is when Ross makes an appearance. "Ed, it's been such a long time. How are you?"
I'd reply with my own brand of sarcasm, but even I know to keep my language cleaner around children. "You … smarty-pants."
"Nice save there, Mr. Cullen," she quips, bussing me on the cheek. "Have you met the real star of the show?" she asks, angling her head toward Bea, who runs to hug her shins.
"Wose! Where's Aunt Bewwa?"
Ross picks up Bea, and with a tenderness I wouldn't have guessed from her, says, "She's preparing. You know, what she does before she plays?"
Bea concentrates, then stumbles adorably over her words. "Pace, heppace?"
"Yes, darling. Her headspace. She focuses really hard so she can play really well and doesn't get any of the notes wrong."
"She pway ma song, too?"
"Depends. What song would you like?"
"Curiogge … Curio …"
She tries a few more times, but when frustration seems to overtake her, Charlotte isn't far behind, rubbing her back to soothe her and providing a helpful suggestion. "Did you mean Curious George, baby?"
She nods emphatically, sending her pigtails in a dance of blonde curls. "Dat one."
"Curious George, you say," Rose repeats. "I'll see what I can do. I have to go check on her now. I'll see you later, Miss Bea," she reassures, rubbing her nose to Bea's.
When she releases Bea to her mother and turns to walk away, I elbow her side, unable to resist a quip at her expense. "So, she's human after all."
She chuckles. "Hush. Like I didn't see you all googly-eyed at little Bea's antics."
"She said I'm pretty," I retort with a strange wave of pride.
"Oh, for fuck's sake. Don't let it go to your head, Cullen," she quips, walking away. Then, abruptly, she throws me a curve ball over her shoulder. "This Cake Fairy must be really well informed to know that Bella would need more chocolate cake tonight."
I shrug. "Your point?"
She tries to look indifferent, but her eyes twinkle with mischief. "Just stating facts."
Right then, the lights flicker, announcing the show is about to begin. "Am I late, or is the show starting early?" I ask to nobody in particular as Ross scampers away.
After taking a seat and settling Bea on his lap, Garrett replies, "Show's starting early to accommodate the guest of honor," he adds, cocking his head toward his daughter.
I'm about to ask something else when Bea herself swats at her father's thigh, hissing, "Ssshhh, or Aunt Bewwa don't pway."
Solemnly, I mimic zipping my lips and throwing away the tab with flair, just for Bea's benefit. She giggles, but then turns toward the stage in rapt silence. So do I.
&&&IVORIES&&&
Tonight's playlist has a few pieces I'm familiar with, by now, and some that are entirely new to me. When Bella starts playing "Seaglass," a wave of calm, a sense of belonging, washes over me.
Fast-paced, almost jittery notes jolt me out of my cocoon of peace soon after. Bella introduces the new-to-me piece as "Union Station." The syncopated chords are a perfect echo of the cacophony of humanity that would pullulate Union Station on any given day. There's a cinematic, experiential quality to Bella's music that is almost unique. No frills, no window dressing. Just a girl playing a piano, and yet, she conveys so much. I'm starting to understand why performers who cling to tradition and form over substance would be consumed by jealousy at her popularity and reach.
After the seven-minute rhythmic feat of "Union Station," a new dose of soothing notes flows from the keyboard. With a faint grimace, Bella introduces the song as "In My Heart," saying that sometimes, it's best to let the heart speak.
I allow myself to get lost in its melody. I've never had much of a taste for instrumental music, but it's starting to grow on me. Well, Bella's music is starting to grow on me.
I'm still amazed at how this wisp of a girl commands so well a piano that's longer than she's tall, at how the rest of the world seems to disappear while she plays and only the music exists. Her face loses any trace of tension or care in the world. She's lost to everything but the music.
I risk a glance at my companions for the night. Alice stares almost slack-jawed at her idol, no doubt soaking up every note. She'll give us a complete rundown later, whether we want it or not. Jasper sits as still as a statue, barely breathing, barely moving, but his attitude is less fangirl and more music critic, absorbing a performance from an artist he's profiled. He's comparing it to other shows, looking for patterns in song choice and playing order. Over the years, he's told me that you can tell a lot about how artists feel regarding their work based on what they decide to play and the pieces they shun.
When the last note of "Whisper" hangs in the air before dissolving into stunned silence, it takes me a few seconds to realize a good hour has elapsed, and this is when the show would normally end.
The lights on stage go completely dark for about ten seconds, then a spotlight encases Bella in the foreground. She's sitting on the edge of the stage while a couple club employees in the background set up a bar stool, a mic stand, an amplifier, and a guitar.
"Hello, everyone. I hope you've enjoyed the show so far. We're going to do something a little different tonight. We have a very special guest in the audience tonight, you see. Last month, it was her birthday, but I couldn't be there. So please join me in celebrating her tonight."
Bella wasn't even stateside a month ago. It figures she must have missed Miss Bea's birthday.
At that moment, the little miss disentangles herself from her father's hold, and before Garrett or Charlotte can stop her, Beatrice runs toward the stage—the whole three yards separating her from it.
From my perch a table away, I'm in a prime spot to observe the unfolding scene. Bea stops right in front of Bella and, in a now familiar gesture, tugs on her skinny jeans.
"Hello there, my Little Bug."
"I no wittle, Aunt Bewwa. I big."
Because Bea's so close to Bella, the mic picks up her words, enough they resonate through the sound system. Add to it the club isn't much of a cavernous, sprawling space, and the little miss's words are met with a cascade of giggles and muted "awws."
"Of course, of course. My bad, Little Bug. I know you're big. Do you know what happens now?" Bella asks, bending to pick up her niece in her arms and sit her back on the stage.
"You pway ma song?"
"Have you been good?"
Predictably, Beatrice nods. It's almost a Pavlovian reaction. Bella raises an eyebrow, but her expression is awash in delight. Bea's too cute for words, after all.
"Well, in that case … Jake, you ready over there?"
Another spotlight bathes Jake in a pool of mellow, gentle light. Jake is now sitting at the barstool, tuning a fine-looking acoustic guitar. He nods and bestows a big smile on the little miss.
"Uncoa Jake?"
"Yes," Bella replies, kissing Bea's temple. "Do you want to go back to your momma?"
Bea shakes her head. "I stay wif you."
"Okay. Go take a seat. You know where."
Throughout the brief exchange, the audience has observed in rapt silence, mesmerized by the two girls on the stage. When Bella takes a seat at the piano bench beside her niece, they both turn toward Jake.
"Uncoa Jake, pway Curiorge. Pwease."
Jake must have been briefed on the song selection because he smiles at Bea again, nodding. "One 'Curious George' coming right up."
Bella and Jake sync their timing, then Jake starts strumming his guitar. He's surprisingly good. After a bar or two, Bella joins in with a quirky, unfamiliar piano arrangement, but even I recognize the tune. It's Jack Johnson's "Upside Down"—Curious George's theme song, case in point.
Jake sings the lyrics with a velvety, soulful but playful voice. When he gets to the chorus, Bea, who evidently knows the words, attempts to sing along, and Bella lets her hit a random key or two.
It's an unorthodox performance—as perfect as it can be with a toddler joining in an off-key rendition of the chorus and a few rogue notes disrupting the melody here and there. But it radiates carefree happiness, and Bea is eating up the whole thing like caramel on an ice cream sundae.
When they finish, Bea scampers off the piano bench to step closer to Jake. He jumps off the stool to crouch at her eye level.
In a bigger, swankier, more formal venue, we couldn't experience this. It wouldn't even happen. We—the unsuspecting audience—would never be able to participate in something this intimate, this personal. The thought hits me: I've been to other clubs in Boston and elsewhere, but not to a place quite like Sharps & Flats. Jake has created somewhere unique where clubgoers think they're going to listen to a performance from a world-renowned composer, but they end up witnessing an aunt give her niece a belated happy birthday celebration.
As the lights turn back on, dispelling the magic atmosphere of Jake and Bella's impromptu duet, the awed silence that permeated the audience also disappears, drowned in the usual disjointed rumbling of voices from animated conversations.
J elbows me. "Did you know?" he asks, angling his head toward the stage.
I shake my head. "Nope. And since when did I become a privileged source of information?"
He snickers. "Since you got invites for the whole damn week. I talked to her for eight weeks straight, twice a week, and the whole newsroom got invitations. From Jake," he ends, tsk-tsking at me.
"I have no clue what you're implying, J."
"And denial is a river in Egypt. Suit yourself, Ed. I'll be here with a keen eye and a notebook."
"Hush, Jazz. Leave Edward be. And be nice," Alice chides him.
"But, Ali …" he protests with a petulant expression he could have stolen from Mac's arsenal.
"Don't Ali me. Ah, ah. Zip it," she orders. And he zips it. Wow.
I'm about to throw a zinger at J, razz him a little for getting chewed out by the wifey, but the sound of a throat clearing stops me in my tracks.
"Edward, man. You got a minute?"
"Garrett. Sure. Do you want to take a seat with us?" I invite, motioning to the free chair at our table.
Garrett throws an unsure glance at J and Alice. He's only just met them; his reluctance tells me he's not flagging me for idle chit-chat.
"Why don't we go grab a drink at the bar? On me," he adds as further incentive.
Alice and J wave me off, and I stand to join him.
"How old is your daughter?"
Garrett flashes me a proud, fatherly smile. "She just turned three last month. Bella makes it a point to be there for her birthday, but this year, the schedule didn't cooperate. So here we are."
"They look like birds of a feather, down to their footwear," I reply, chuckling, as we take a seat at the bar.
Garrett flags a server, who glides toward us in a flash. "Mr. Dwyer, what will it be?"
There's one thing you can say about Jake's staff; they're professional through and through, and they know their patrons. I've been here for a solid week, and I've not run into one employee who didn't know to address me by my name. More proof of Jake's stellar chops as a businessman.
"Uhh … Ed, what's your poison?"
"I'll have a draft Guinness, please."
Garrett seems to hesitate for a second, then caves. "What the hell; I'm not driving. The same for me."
A minute later, two foamy pints sit in front of us. Garrett still hasn't spoken a word beyond his offer of drinks.
"You didn't need to abscond from Charlotte for a clandestine pint, did you?"
"What?" My query discombobulated him apparently.
"I had a feeling you didn't approach me to reminisce about the good old days. What's on your mind, Garrett?"
He shakes his head. "I forgot how observant you are. But you're right. When Bella told me you'd be here tonight, I was a little …"
"Surprised? Astounded? Flabbergasted? Aghast? Disconcerted? Bewildered?"
"Yeah, yeah. Stop it with the deluge of synonyms. We're all in the same trade; we know an adjective or twenty. Look, I thought the two of you didn't …"
"Spit it out. I'm not a mind reader." And I have no intention of putting words in his mouth. I'm intrigued, but I'm not about to put into this conversation more stock than it deserves.
"Well, it's not like my sister took an instant liking to you, so forgive me for being all kinds of surprised to hear you've been at every show this week. How come?"
I shrug. We were coworkers, not close friends. We shared some camaraderie, but never painted each other's toenails—so to speak. I'm not going to divulge my personal business to him, and whatever Bella told him or didn't tell him is her prerogative.
"Bella asked. I saw no reason to refuse her."
"It hardly looks like your scene. Not enough distorted guitars or plaid shirts, if I remember well."
"That may be the case, but … Look, what are you getting at, exactly?"
He huffs and takes a swig of his beer. As far as procrastination techniques go, it's basic and transparent. "I don't even know what I'm doing here, man. I'm just … Bella's had a few crappy years in Europe, she's having the time of her life, we just got her back, then she has that fucked up interview with you, and now you're here … and I have no clue …"
"And, pray tell, how does yours truly factor into all of that? Because from where I'm standing, we're barely getting to know each other. And the overprotective stepbrother shtick doesn't really suit you."
"Oh, for fuck's sake. I'm crap at this, aren't I?"
Cue my raised eyebrow. "A tad?"
"Char warned me off doing this. I should've listened to her. I'm sorry, Ed. I didn't mean to come across as such an asshole."
I shrug again. I can sorta understand where he's coming from. "Meh. No harm done. Your heart was in the right place. Only … there's nothing to be worried about. On my side, at least. I'm not … I'm not looking for anything."
It occurs to me this isn't the first time I've had to defend the status of my relationship with Bella—or lack thereof—in the last few days. And though technically true, those few last words sound hollow to me. What am I looking for? And where? With whom? Would I be looking for anything with her? What would I find?
Garrett relaxes, deflating like an empty sack. He downs the rest of his pint with gusto, and I'm about to ask some innocuous question about former coworkers—I have better deflection techniques, I flatter myself—when I feel a recognizable tug on my pant leg.
"Ewar?" There's only one person in here who'd speak with that voice, from about three feet or so above ground level.
"Yes, Miss Bea?"
"Aunt Bewwa says to tell if my daddy is being mean to you," she announces, concentrating on every word, with a serious expression on her face. For good measure, she looks up at Garrett, less than impressed.
"No, he's not being mean to me. I promise."
She turns to face her father. Her bracelets dangle as she moves to perch her little arms on her hips. "You bein' good, Daddy?"
"See what my life is like? I'm being monitored by my daughter," Garrett commiserates, gathering her in his arms. "Yes, princess. I am. Are you tired?"
"Nooo," she declares with a headshake that sends her pigtails into Garrett's face. To his credit, the man just stands there and takes it with good grace.
"Wanna go back to Mom?"
"Is Ewar comin', too?" she asks, batting her eyelashes in my direction.
"I bet he will, if you ask nicely," Garrett replies, winking at me over her head.
I'd like to tell him what I think of his surreptitious wink, especially after the failed third degree he tried to subject me to, but I keep my peace for the kiddo's sake.
"Ewar, you comin' wif me to Aunt Bewwa?"
"Sure, Miss Bea. I need to congratulate her on her show."
Bea's face scrunches up in an adorably puzzled expression. "Wassat?"
"I have to tell her how well she played."
"Oh. Dat. Lessgo." She squirms to get out of her father's embrace.
Garrett lets her go, and the little miss takes off at full speed. "No running, Beatrice Isabella."
She stops, turning toward him with a full-on pout on her face. "But, but …"
Garrett and I step closer to her. She was no more than a few feet away from us, but the club is still crowded, she's an itty-bitty thing, and waitstaff zip back and forth in all directions, their arms laden with trays and drinks. One faux pas and disaster could ensue.
"Mom and I told you the rules for tonight. Stay close to us, and no running. There are people working here."
"Sowwy," she says, her voice breaking.
Garrett picks her up again and throws me an apologetic glance. "She's getting tired, despite her protestations. Shall we get back to Mom, princess?"
She nods, rubbing her eyes. "Ewar come, too?" she asks, turning toward me.
"Yes, Miss Bea."
"Oh, for goodness's sake," Garrett mutters, probably thinking his daughter is too sleepy to notice.
I, on the other hand, heard him perfectly and let out a snicker at his expense.
When we get back to the table, Bella's sitting next to Alice, and J is deep in conversation with Ross and Charlotte. Bea makes a beeline for her aunt, who plops her onto her lap.
"Aunt Bewwa!"
"Little Bug! Come here. I have cake."
Bea doesn't need any more invitation—she's already reaching for Bella's spoon.
"Please don't pump my daughter with sugar this late," Garrett protests.
"Just one spoonful. It's cheesecake; it's not even that sweet. Come on, big bro, live a little."
"You say so, but then I'm the poor fu—" Garrett doesn't even finish the sentence. Based on Charlotte's elbow to his side and her withering look, there's a good indication it may not have been kid-friendly.
"One spoonful, Bea," Char concedes.
Bea's face lights up, and then her mouth opens wide, waiting for the treat, which Bella delivers with great fanfare. Seeing her with her niece, sharing a cake I made—though nobody knows—kindles something inside me. More butterflies. A sudden thought that it might more realistically be a case of gastritis dawns on me. I preferred the butterflies theory.
I park my butt in the only open seat at our table, which ends up being next to Bella. Ross and Charlotte sit across from us, facing Alice and J. In the scarce ten minutes Garrett and I were away, it seems our tables have merged and more chairs also appeared. Garrett resumes his original seat. Nary a minute later, Jake appears, sequestering the now-empty chair Charlotte abandoned for her new spot.
"So, what did I miss? Oooh … cheesecake!" Jake erupts, his hand hovering over Bella's plate.
"Nope. You're not touching this. It's my cheesecake," she counters.
"From the famous Cake Fairy," Ross quips, inserting herself into the conversation.
I don't miss the inquisitive look she throws my way either.
"Is Ewar your friend, Uncoa Jake?" Miss Bea asks.
It's almost sad that I have to rely on a three-year-old's non-sequiturs to divert attention away from my covert cake-baking operations. But I'll take it, if it means keeping that pesky detail on the down-low for a little longer.
"Yes, he is," Jake replies. "Do you like Ewar, Bea?" The bastard even snickers when enunciating Bea's version of my name. And he's looking straight at me, all of his pearly whites on display.
"He pwetty," Bea declares.
Alice, Bella, and Ross all devolve into a cackle of laughter. Jake endeavors to remain somewhat serious, but I can tell he's in stitches.
"Ewar, you no tell Aunt Bewwa. You tell!" she orders me. Her attitude, determined and sassy at the same time, is so reminiscent of some of Bella's fiery expressions that I can't resist a chuckle of my own.
"What is Edward supposed to tell me, Little Bug?"
"Ewar, you tell!" Bea repeats.
Then it dawns on me. "I told her earlier that I would congratulate you on another exceptional show. So here's my congratulations."
Bea listens intently, and I see her try to repeat my words. Too many syllables for the little miss. My bad. She turns toward her aunt, cradling her small hand to Bella's cheek. "You pway good, Aunt Bewwa."
Bella's eyes turn watery, and she gives Bea an Eskimo kiss. "Thank you, Little Bug."
"The carriage is about to turn into a pumpkin, Bea. Time for bed," Charlotte announces.
Bea doesn't agree and protests by hiding her face in the crook of Bella's neck. "Noooooo …"
Bella whispers something in her ear, and Bea stops fussing. There's no knowing, for us poor mortals, what Bella promised to ensure the little miss's compliance. But it works because Bea is back in Charlotte's arms in a flash.
After getting the kiddo and themselves bundled up against the elements, and after dispensing promises of not being strangers, goodbyes, and hugs left and right, Charlotte and Garrett are ready to leave.
But not before the little miss plants herself beside my chair, patting my knee. "I go home, Ewar."
"I know, Miss Bea. It was a pleasure to meet you."
She acts all shy and giggly, then looks up at me again. "Hug, Ewar?"
Before making sure my understanding of her wishes is correct, I throw a glance at Charlotte, who nods indulgently at her daughter. "She'll want a kiss, too, the little rascal."
"Tiss, pwease, Ewar," she insists.
And who am I to refuse? Like everyone else, I've fallen under the spell of this little girl. "You want a hug and a kiss, Miss Bea?"
"Yes. Pwease," she adds, almost as an afterthought. Demanding but polite all the same.
"Well, at least, she has manners," Charlotte concedes. "Say goodbye to Mister Edward, baby. It's late."
With tentative gestures, I gather Bea in my arms. She isn't tentative when she circles my neck with her own little arms. She launches at me, hiding her face under my chin as if she's always been here. I buss her forehead because she asked for a "tiss." Bea sighs then squirms again to get back on the ground. I let her go. Charlotte holds her by the hand as their little family walks away.
When I turn to face the rest of my party, Bella's staring right at me. Her eyes—chocolate and whiskey—are still watery, but there's a serene, peaceful expression on her face. And all I did was kiss a child goodbye.
Conversations and noises swirl around us—the sometimes strident, sometimes merry sounds of people's lives and adventures. And yet a sort of silent bubble seems to unfurl around Bella and me—a cocoon of sorts, like Bella's music. It lasts for a long minute, then it's gone.
"Bella?" Jake's voice almost jolts her out of the bubble.
"What?"
"I asked about the cheesecake. Twice," Jake says, eyebrow duly quirked.
"I told you—you're not touching my cheesecake."
She's possessive about my cheesecake, and that fuels another bout of butterflies. Butterflies and pride. For a cake. And a girl who loves chocolate.
"I wouldn't dare touch her majesty's cake," he protests, hands raised in defense. "But let me call someone; they'll put it back in the fridge for ya. You don't want that beauty to go bad."
"Hell, no. Here, see to my cake, minion."
He laughs but complies. Cake in hand, he stands. "Well, duty calls. It's been great to see you all again. Until tomorrow, Edward?"
I nod. "Yep. Goodnight, Jake. Thank you again for tonight." He knows what I'm referring to. No need to advertise.
After he leaves, a moment of uneasy silence descends. Apart from the two of us, only Ross, Alice, and J are still around the table. Ross and J are discussing recording artists, based on the names being flung back and forth. Alice is just … being Alice, I guess. Observing the scene. Unless she's on one of her rants, she doesn't need to fill every silence with a torrent of words.
"So, I'm done with shows here after tomorrow night," Bella says at last.
"I know. I'm bringing Mac tomorrow. Did I tell you already?"
She nods, smiling. "Yes. Can't wait to see the big lug again," she adds, nodding her head toward Ross. "I'm … sorta, kinda in your neck of the woods tomorrow."
"Huh?" I can't muster a more eloquent response right now.
"I have a meeting at the Berklee campus."
"Berklee College? Wow." I am duly impressed. It's one of the top music universities in the country.
"Well, it looks like my days as a hustling musician might be over," she explains, twirling a lock of her hair between her fingers.
"Hustling musician? That's quite the way to put it."
I wish this conversation didn't sound so stilted. So tentative.
"Well, one day, I'll tell you all about it. Those days, when I didn't know if I'd make rent, or whether I'd have to end up tutoring recalcitrant teenagers instead of writing my own music."
"One day, I'll listen. What time's your meeting?"
"Shit. Don't remember. Ross?"
Ross turns, signaling a time-out to Jasper. "Yes, Shock?"
These two, I swear. They have an interesting dynamic, that's for sure. And that nickname again. I make a mental note to ask about it next time. Because now, I know I'll have a next time.
"The meeting tomorrow, what time?"
"At ten a.m. sharp. They swore up and down they wouldn't keep you more than two hours." After her rapid fire of information—which, to be sure, divulges zero details about the meeting itself—Ross turns back to Jasper.
"Well, tell you what," I say. "If your meeting doesn't run late, how about you drop by the newsroom?"
She nods again, this time with a smile that lights up the room. "Just like that?"
"Just like that."
What the fuck did I just get myself into?
Yeah, EditorWard. What did you do? We'll find out next Saturday.
As I said above, the songs in this chapter will be posted to the Lair in another YouTube playlist. They are all Giovanni Allevi originals, except for Jack Johnson's Upside Down.
Little Bea is inspired by my real life niece Beatrice, also blonde, also a lover of glitter. She's five, artsy, and opinionated. I love her to bits.
