II. Who's To Say
And who's to say that we're not good enough?
And who's to say that this is not our love?
Mother don't tell me friends are the ones that I lose
'Cause they'd bleed before you
And sometimes family are the ones you'd choose
It's too late now
I hold on to this life I found
And who's to say we won't burn it out?
And who's to say we won't sink in doubt?
Who's to say that we won't fade to grey?
Who are they anyway, anyway they don't know
And you say we're too young, but maybe you're too old to remember
And I try to pretend but I just feel it when we're together
And if you don't believe me, you never really knew us
You never really knew
You and I, packin' up my room, we feel alright
But we're not welcome
Soon we'll be drivin'
Cause they don't know who we are
Who's to say we won't stay together?
Who's to say we aren't getting stronger?
Who's to say I can't live without you?
Who are they anyway, anyway they don't know
And you say we're too young, but maybe you're too old to remember
And I try to pretend, but I just feel it when we're togetherWho is to say?
And who is to say?
And who are they anyway?
Who's To Say is the property of Vanessa Carlton.
April in Paris is the property of the Count Basie Orchestra.
The tops of the umbrellas have many hues, like multi-colored rain fell, dyed the cloth in rich reds, greens, purples, ebony stands supporting them. Newly created art, some still drying in the middle of frames, hang securely on bulletin boards, shade from ancient trees undermining their brilliance. Artists should be aware of these things by now. This is where they collect. Montmartre, Montmartre, where even the bistro tablecloths are crimson and clover, where cats are the laziest of residents, where the carousel turns clockwise, without fail. Everything is reliable, luminescent. Then, why does the white house on the hill stand so mysteriously, down the path where druids trekked, where Picasso drew inspiration? The cream-colored domes glow, now an innocent gold, before it will shift to that sinister night red, and people relax, stream across the cobbles of the road, play critic to paintings they pass, chew on baguettes. So the ruby-toned windmill stays still, the neon lights of Moulin Rouge dead due to daylight.
I.
"Head left, head left!" instructs the small man in a French accent, nearly yelling.
In a dark green jacket, and chalk-inked, button-down shirt, he sighs in frustration, waits for his pleas to be heard. Craig stands awkwardly, unable to pick up the meaning of the words.
"He wants you to turn your head left," clarifies Ashley.
"Oh!" exclaims Craig, sitting, immediately doing so.
Wow, he knew artists were temperamental after being on his two rock n' roll tours, but this guy? A little too much. Although, he seemed to be more kind to Ashley, flashing her a smile every now and again as he drew, starting up conversations. Hopefully, the caricature wouldn't have him looking awful next to the girl the artist was so obviously enamored with. Looking at Ashley, he understands, though. Flowing, red-brown hair falls to a demure, artsy black top, with her dark lavender skirt just above black ballet slippers. She looks every inch the artist. He's always been so used to her changing her style up, switching to see what stuck. This eventually stuck, and Craig enjoyed the final choice. When they went to the Louvre earlier, and viewed the Mona Lisa, with her mysterious grin, anxious eyes, sun-kissed skin, it reminded him of a centuries-old Ashley. Ashley was as much his muse, as the woman to Da Vinci, but he actually got to marry his muse.
"Your ears...crooked," mutters the artist, sniffing loudly, glaring at Craig. "Too many curls for my chalk..."
"What?" says Craig, frowning.
Ashley pats his knee, offers him a sweet glance. Eh, he'd let it go this time.
As they pose, the artist giving Ashley's teeth extra shine, Craig stares ahead, wonders what Joey and Angie are doing at this moment. That's what he used to think about when he was alone during the second stint in rehab. He missed Angie's first date, some boy who hung at the local deli, who ended up being the godson of Wheels, Joey's high school buddy. Joey loved that, and it irked Angie at first, but she liked Taylor enough to get past it. There were other things he missed, too, but he'd rather not relive the memories he could've had if he stayed clean. The second trip to rehab meant really cracking down, including cutting off contact with his loved ones for months.
After she fled to his apartment, Ashley joined that elite group. Their night together was beautiful, awkward, but beautiful. He only kissed her, held her to his chest. She was so tired, exhausted by exploding and hidden emotions. Her cell phone rang. They knew it was Jimmy. Ashley slept through the noise after awhile, Craig keeping an eye on her. Everytime her phone rang, he glanced at her ring, diamond glittering in the soft light of his apartment bedroom. One call he didn't expect came around seven in the morning, Ashley stirring for a few seconds, then falling right back to sleep.
Groggy, Craig stretched, picked up.
"Hello?" mumbled Craig after a huge yawn.
"Craig, you were supposed to report to the center by now," said the familiar voice of Dr. Hinton, who preferred to be called Nick. "We let you out to get your apartment in order, expecting you last night or an early morning arrival. Our seven o' clock meeting? That's what we agreed upon."
"I know...I know...," started Craig.
Craig glanced nervously at Ashley, carried his cell to the bathroom, only made up of the shower, bathtub, toilet, and medicine cabinet. He shut the door lightly behind him.
"If we can't work together, if you can't make commitments," sighed Nick. "Craig, you've come such a long way, all the progress you've made..."
Ugh, he hated when Nick sounded disappointed. Nick had a daughter in rehab, so all his efforts and scolding came from the heart. He particularly liked Craig, since his daughter and wife were fans of his last and only CD. Craig liked that Nick was patient, and more importantly, confidential. Nick didn't even reveal anything to Craig's manager without his permission, let Craig share what he wanted to share. And if he knew what I did last night, thought Craig, shaking his head.
The kiss happened. He can't, wouldn't change it, but half of him regretted doing it. He knew the rule. Wait at least nine months for a romantic relationship, a year if recommended. Nick pushed for a year, and because of his past relationship troubles, particularly the failed attempt with Ellie, Craig agreed. They even had alternatives to sex in these little pamphlets, like exercise. Yeah, tell that to his hormones. Well, he didn't go all the way. But maybe it's best to tell Nick.
"Um...there's someone...someone here," admitted Craig, running a hand through his hair.
"Craig!" whispered Nick, urgently. "Okay...okay, just...tell me what occurred?"
Craig stared at his white socks, then sat on the cold toilet lid.
"Remember the girl I told you about...my random first fiancee..."
He heard Nick take a deep breath. During his first stay at rehab, he didn't mention Ashley. The first counselor was way more interested in his parents, particularly his father; his career and the temptations the doctor assumed showed up during that year; Ellie, the girl who got him to come to the center. All their conversations were odd, ending with the doctor, fifty with greying hair, telling him he had to conquer his demons. They wrote down his demons. Craig didn't find that it helped since he already knew what they were. Eh, his intentions were good. Nick, on the other hand, really dug, asking Craig when he last felt really, really happy. He recalled playing in his garage, without any critics slamming his music, loving the freedom of it, simply jamming with friends. And Ashley. Nick was very interested in Ashley, his first girlfriend, the girl who drove him to earn respect and give respect. That's what Craig wanted, he realized. He'd love to be a respected son, brother, musician, perhaps a husband and father. Respect yourself too, urged Nick after hearing of Craig's impromptu proposal. Slow down. The ring will come later.
Ashley showed him some respect by calling him her friend. Those words were the words he carried into every session, every group meeting, because he wanted to be a good friend, show others he wasn't a lost cause.
"Only kissed...I swear," assured Craig.
"Craig, we've had so many talks about waiting, not jumping into things," said Nick. "These first few months out are going to be crucial. You remember what happened with Ellie."
Craig nodded, though Nick couldn't see him.
"I know Ashley's special to you, but if she...she can't wait, then I don't see any good coming of it," continued Nick.
"She...she broke off her engagement," shared Craig.
"Wait...she was engaged too!?" cried Nick.
Hmmm, forgot to tell him that, remembered Craig.
"I'd advise you to step away," warned Nick. "Let her figure out what she wants."
"She has!" insisted Craig.
"You may feel that way, but we've gone over how your feelings aren't always time conscious, haven't we?" replied Nick.
"Yeah...yeah, I guess," whispered Craig, shaking his head.
"So...a year?"
Craig remained silent, staring sadly into the medicine cabinet mirror. A year now that Ashley is interested in him again? Truly torture, but he can't miss any other huge events in his friends' lives. How many weddings, graduations, births would go on without him? How much of Joey's money and his manager's money would he waste with more stints at the center? How long before he himself gives up, lets the addiction conquer him?
"A year," promised Craig, clicking off.
The buzz of the dial tone burned his eardrums. He parted the door to an awake Ashley, knees hunched to her chin, seated on his bed. She appeared a little frazzled. She thinks the kiss was a mistake too, guessed Craig, gently sitting next to her.
"Eggs? Bacon?" offered Craig. "Fries with gravy?"
Ashley snickered, played with the edge of the blanket.
"There's a restaurant around the corner," said Craig.
"Breakfast would be going overboard in the hospitality department," replied Ashley, throwing the blanket off, standing.
Craig gets up quickly too, straightens his jeans, new, wrinkled. She was so scattered, and suddenly Nick's words made sense. He couldn't expect too much. The ring was on her finger, she only left the night before, Jimmy's calling her.
"So that kiss...thinking it was a mistake," breathed Craig, hesitantly staring at her.
Ashley's mouth dropped, darting her eyes. "I...I didn't."
"Oh, me either!" said Craig. "I mean...I thought you thought that we thought...sorry."
She shrugged, apparently understanding. Good. He always loved that she eventually understood him despite the verbal vomit.
"Your...your recovery," whispered Ashley. "Doesn't...then you and Ellie..."
"A year," filled in Craig.
Craig slowly approached her, took her hand, diamond still attached to that finger. He loved touching her, yearned to kiss her, stay. That was an option too. No, it would be an option he'd have to pass on, for the time being.
"You asked for more time at the party," said Ashley, tears at the edges of her eyes. "I...I don't know why I'm crying."
His own eyes were getting wet, cloudy.
"Join the club," comforted Craig, hugging her. "Ash, if you can't...I get it."
"There's nothing to get," assured Ashley. "I remember a boy who waited for me to come home from London. I owe him."
"Well, time owes us," said Craig, kissing her forehead.
He wanted to say more, but the door bell rang, breaking them apart. Ugh, he hoped he wasn't someone from the center coming to drag him off like a disobedient schoolboy. Once, when he was eight, his grandfather tried to escape from the retirement home, and a nurse came to get him from the racing track. Now, that was cool. Getting taken from his apartment, in front of the girl he's in love with, not cool.
Leaving Ashley to freshen up in the bathroom, he went to the door, opened it. Jimmy's intense, coal-black eyes stared up into his, fists furled.
"Jimmy," greeted Craig softly.
Craig heard the elevator door slam, as Jimmy tries to look past Craig's tall body.
"Do you know how embarrassing it was to ask Ellie for your address?" asked Jimmy, glaring at Craig.
He gave Ellie and Marco the address to his apartment, wanted them to be his first two visitors upon his release.
"As bad as it was asking Marco for directions to your engagement party?" returned Craig, raising an eyebrow.
"Funny," said Jimmy, smirking. "If the music thing tanks with your next album, consider comedy."
Craig rolled his eyes, stood stark in the doorway.
"Where is she?" demanded Jimmy. "She's either here or she's out on the streets. My bet is...you took her in."
"As opposed to you, who sent her running," said Craig, stepping to the side.
Jimmy refused to look at Craig as he wheeled in, instead staring at the emptiness of his apartment. It had to be more bare than the apartment he shared with Ashley, thought Craig, even with the boxes unpacked.
"What I'm having trouble with is why you're still involved," spoke up Jimmy. "She left your tired butt when she went to England. Didn't contact you when your tour ended, in rehab. You must be a last resort."
Jimmy's words stung him, but he kept his composure. Craig went to the counter, retrieved the sole coffee mug in his cabinet. Add the year wait to these insults, and man, is he tempted to do a few lines, get high to forget.
"Let me talk to my fiancee," whispered Jimmy, wheeling right behind Craig.
"Not a good idea, Jimmy," said Craig, facing him, leaning against the counter.
"Yeah, it is," argued Jimmy, tone surprisingly low. "You don't know anything about me and Ashley, alright? You won't take advantage of her when she's confused..."
"Advantage of her?" yelled Craig. "I love her!"
Craig closed his eyes in shock, lets out a breath. Definitely shouldn't have said that. Jimmy would find out eventually.
"I knew it," said Jimmy, eyes dropping. "What was Ellie? A way to get to Ash?"
"Man, shut up," muttered Craig, walking past him.
"Don't tell me what to do!" barked Jimmy, voice raising. "Suddenly, my girl's unhappy with everything, running off to...to..."
"To me," inserted Craig, raising his arms.
"As cocky as you were in high school," said Jimmy, giving him a disgusted look. "Ashley's not the same, Craig. I don't know if this is some trip down memory lane because she's got cold feet or law school is driving her up the wall..."
"She's not a lawyer, Jimmy!" exclaims Craig. "Or someone who's meant to get married before graduating. Or...or some girl who lets you do whatever while she doesn't do anything she wants."
"But she is wearing my ring," asserted Jimmy.
Craig's cheeks went red, and he slammed the mug against the counter top. The sound resulted in the bedroom door opening, Ashley appearing, completely dressed, hair fixed. Craig and Ashley shared a reluctant stare, him unable to detect what she wants. It was all so clear when they were by themselves. This is all some dream, he guessed. Some dream. They'd never last a year.
"I...I have to go to the center," stammered Craig, grabbing his leather jacket from the futon.
"Craig...," began Ashley, starting to him.
"Talk," said Craig, wiping his eyes. "Just...close the door on your way out. Locks automatically."
He walked briskly out, into the dark hallway, the morning sun not warming him as it comes through the complex's windows. Warmth wasn't for him. After all, there must be some reason why the ring never left.
"Oooh la la!" praises the caricaturist, taking the portrait off his easel.
Ashley excitedly grabs Craig's hand, and Craig curls his fingers over hers. Letting out a dramatic sigh, the artist allows them to see his masterpiece. The Sacre Coeur Basilica stands erect, engulfed in rays of orange and yellow, pink and light blue buildings revolving around the central square, where he's placed them. Ashley is Ashley, olive complexion smooth, gorgeous blue eyes large and seeking, smile charming and alluring. She has her head cocked to the side, near Craig's. Craig believes he doesn't look too shabby, shaggy dark hair with less curls, leather jacket housing his skinny frame, eyes the shade of a bleached evergreen. Honestly, he was anticipating a total massacre. His only complaint is the goofy grin, in comparison to Ashley's joyful grin. He'll pay.
"It's on me," says Ashley, digging into her purse.
"Ash...I've...," starts Craig.
"Nah, you paid for my baguette," reminds Ashley, handing over the money.
The caricaturist places the portrait in a large frame, slips it into a carrying bag, hands it to Ashley.
"Knew I like mademoiselle better," says the caricaturist, gratefully grinning at Ashley. "Ma petite cherie."
"Hey!" protests Craig.
"Craig, it's my little darling," clarifies Ashley. "He calls Marie that. Told me I looked like his daughter before we sat down. Your French can't be that shabby."
Ashley leads him away from the easel, wraps an arm around his waist.
"Never had it in university," plays off Craig. "Or any university, for that matter."
"What happened when you met your French fans?" laughs Ashley. "Drag out the little you know from high school?"
"There's not much talking,"jokes Craig. "There's panties..."
Craig chuckles as Ashley playfully hits him in the stomach. They go past a couple cafes, accents cutting through the air, summer winds blowing their hair. An organ grinder diligently cranks his instrument, dancing to the bouncy, melodic tune. A monkey with black fur dances in front, paws hitting the heated pavement, pink skirt attached to the waist. Two children skip in synch to the music, the organ grinder dipping his hat to Craig. They stall, exchanging a smile.
"I play anything...for you," says the organ grinder.
The monkey bares his teeth at Craig.
"For him?" says Ashley, pretending to be offended.
"Hey, chalk dude liked you more," reminds Craig. "My turn."
He goes to the side of the organ grinder, strokes in chin thoughtfully. Does he know any French songs? None, except like Frere Jacques.
"I got nothing," confesses Craig, returning to Ashley.
The monkey scurries over to Ashley, dancing around her feet. She holds her skirt to her sides protectively.
"Pierre like the lady to sing," explains the organ grinder. "We pay you a nickel and he dance for you?."
"I...um...monkey!" whispers Ashley, glancing at Craig. "Why is the boy monkey wearing a skirt?"
"That would please me," agrees Craig, beaming.
He bumps Ashley forward, massages her back. Clapping, the children sit on the side of the street, clearly ready for a show.
"I'm so getting this for you," whispers Ashley though gritted teeth.
"My organ will do the classic everyone know," asserts the organ grinder. "The April in Paris? Familiar?"
"That's...that's a standard," stammers Ashley. "I know it."
"You do?" exclaims Craig.
"Music theory...university," explains Ashley. "Section on jazz."
Craig tosses her an impressed look, takes the portrait, lowers himself in between the two children, anxious to hear her. He's heard her sing a couple jazz songs casually in the car, but never anything serious, not that this is serious too. The organ grinder changes the pitch, then starts to play, a slow, enchanting rhythm.
Ashley sings, folding her hands in front of her:
April in Paris
Chestnuts in blossom
Holiday tables under the trees
Her voices carries, everywhere. Strong, learned, confident, beautiful. It's grown with age, like wine, matured like these children, also enraptured, probably have.
April in Paris
This is a feeling
No one can ever reprise
The beauty of her voice halts a few tourists, as they gather to watch her with increasing interest.Craig's fairly certain not all of them speak English, but he feels like they don't have to, as Ashley belts out. He can't imagine her ever wanting to give up music, sacrifice her expression for a salary job. You can't sing with this much passion and power without your soul being exposed. That's what got him on stage every night during his tours. There's got to be some desire to please yourself at the end of it all.
II.
I never knew the charm of spring
Never met it face to face
I never knew my heart could sing
Never missed a warm embrace
When Ashley reaches the second verse, she feels herself surrender to the song. The summer breezes are cool enough, the crowd is listening hard enough. It hurts to remember when she didn't play at all, sing whatever she desired to sing.
The first year they were together, the Brooks often invited her and Jimmy out to eat, and there would be a pianist grazing his fingers over the keys grandly, or an in-house singer who seemed to sing only to her, as if she meant to spark that guilt buried in her heart. Why feel bad, she'd ask herself. I haven't betrayed anybody. She pretty much changed her mind when she saw Craig at the engagement party, despite all her efforts to convince herself that law school is where she should really be. At Degrassi, they talked about making it big, what artists they'd love to collaborate what, what artists they wouldn't sit next to at awards shows. All their decisions were seamless, natural, almost as much as their duets. Their duets weren't always successful, as the Christmas one was interrupted due to Craig's infidelity, and the Kevin Smith project faltered, but they had so much fun writing and arranging, they cared little about success. Now, Craig has it, and she couldn't be more proud. Apparently, Craig wanted to be proud of her, eventually convincing her to start a demo. Twenty-five's not too late, he says. She doesn't know, honestly. Most acts were younger nowadays, but he said it with such conviction, she's willing to try.
She was done trying with past decisions, decisions that only made sense when she made them make sense, reassured her mind that it all made sense. Jimmy's arrival at Craig's apartment was expected. She hated being so cold to him, but it had all been building up, and secretly she thinks Jimmy wasn't shocked. In fact, he was more hurt, than anything, she believed. Hurt covered his face when he came into the bedroom, viewed the wrinkled sheets. They weren't sleeping together, though she suspects Jimmy wouldn't believe her.
"You okay?" asked Jimmy, managing to look away from the bed.
"I'm fine," answered Ashley, weakly.
Jimmy put his arms behind his head, let his head rock a little. He always did that in times of great stress, when the store wasn't going well, or he was struggling with an introduction or conclusion for a college paper. Ashley imagined Jimmy's father doing the same thing.
"I've thought about what you've said," admitted Jimmy, lowering his arms. "I'm sorry. If you want to play, that's cool. We'll work it out."
Work it out? There are things that are impossible to work out, namely the guy who just left so they could talk. Saying nothing to Craig in his departure, offering him no explanation, killed her. He had to know last night wasn't some fluke, that Jimmy can't argue his way into her affections.
"Wish it were only the music, Jimmy, because that would make this easier to fix," replied Ashley, starting to pace across Craig's room.
"Seriously confused," sighed Jimmy. "Ash, what do you want? What I want is to make you happy."
Ashley fought back tears, let a couple fall. Even if there's someone else that she cares more for, even if her heart is breaking to tell him this, Jimmy's still Jimmy. Her first boyfriend, the first guy she's lived with, in general a kind and good person. Most girls would die to be with him; for her, her soul is dying in this relationship.
Crouching next to his chair, she puts her hand over his.
"None of this is your fault, Jimmy," she starts.
Jimmy's eyes become teary. "You...you act like it is."
"It's not, believe me," chokes out Ashley. "But...we aren't meshing. We don't want the same things anymore. I don't know. Must've been easier in high school with us trying to fit in, especially me. We...we can't live a dream that's a lie for both of us."
"What are you saying?" whispered Jimmy, clenching her hand.
"Stick with the store, go to art school," said Ashley. "Find...find someone who won't run."
"You weren't running til Craig came," breathed Jimmy, his voice breaking at the mention of Craig's name.
"I've been running a long time, Jimmy," corrected Ashley. "And when I don't, I'm wanting to."
Jimmy let Ashley's hand go, tears drying on his hardened face. This may be too much to take, but he has to know the truth, swallow the truth.
"I love you, Jimmy," said Ashley, trying to hug him. "You mean so..."
"Don't finish that," snapped Jimmy, inching away from her. "Like you don't finish anything."
Ashley froze, stared pathetically at him. It took her awhile to come out of it, hand pulling off the ring. Lips tight, Jimmy accepted the ring, backed up his wheelchair, started for the door. Ashley followed him, trying to conjure some words to say.
"Jimmy, can't we...," began Ashley.
"Be friends?" asked Jimmy, his back to her. "No. You don't get it both ways, Ashley."
There was a soft knock at the door. Craig. Ashley immediately came forward. Jimmy opened the door to a confused Spinner, clothed in his basic training uniform.
"I...parked the car...waited," stammered Spinner. "You guys ready?"
Jimmy said nothing to Spinner, instead facing Ashley, who wouldn't meet Spinner's gaze.
"My mom and I are going to New York for the weekend," said Jimmy, calmly. "Have your stuff packed before I come back."
Without another glance, Jimmy wheeled past Spinner, glaring at Ashley. This is it. She can't believe Jimmy listened, though she can tell he's making his retreat as swift as possible so as not to cry anymore. She anticipated Spinner attacking her, but he coldly looked at her, closed the door with a resolute slam. How long he'd hate her she's not sure. Spinner was funny like that. Jimmy, she wasn't clear if they'd ever speak again.
The next few months were hard. They flew by, but were hard. Her first act once Jimmy left was to call Craig, tell him they split up for good. Craig proved unreachable, and she lay in her bed at her parents' home, crying. Ellie later confessed he called her to say he'd be out of contact. Kate and Jeff kept checking on her in her old bedroom, and so did Toby, who'd chosen to remain at home to help lower the cost of his university attendance.She wouldn't name the reason for the break-up all throughout the spring, which aggravated Kate, who thought the marriage to Jimmy was a sure thing. In the summer, she agreed to room with Geri, a British girl from one of her law classes. The dorms weren't too bad either; sharing a bathroom was the main annoyance. She and Geri got along well, discussing their respective London haunts, and despite Geri continually asking why Ashley was dropping law for music.
Changing majors was liberating. She had never actually declared her major, but she felt so pumped about doing it then, she went to the academic office as soon as it opened. The secretary glanced at her card, remarked, "Music? How nice. We haven't gotten many music majors this year." The difference thrilled her.Because she wasn't a first year, or even a sophomore, and in addition to her high marks at Degrassi, she got to take advanced level music courses. Music theory turned out to be her favorite, and Professor Carew asked her to be a part of the after-school program for elementary students the following semester.
Assisting kids with playing their mallets on the xylophone, or learning vocal exercises, or perfecting their first scale on the piano, she loved them, the experience. It was kind of like she was twelve again, guiding Terri through one of her first compositions. They called her "Miss Ashley", were bright and inquisitive, only acted up on certain days, mainly whenever a school break was on the horizon. Spring break that year...started off stressful.
"Have you guys tuned yet?" asked Ashley, laying her sheet music on the piano.
"Yes," replied Cady and Eddie simultaneously.
She could tell by the tone that they were lying. Whose bright idea was it to have them practice their duet the day before break? Oh yeah...hers. Cady was so fidgety; she was rarely fidgety. Eddie prompted it by poking her lightly in the shoulder.
"Stop!" cried Cady. "I'm telling."
"Eddie, stop it!" scolded Ashley. "Give me a B."
Ashley played the note on the piano, Eddie producing a robust B.
"Good," complimented Ashley.
"I don't wanna sing no duet," moaned Eddie. "Especially with a girl."
"What makes you think I wanna sing with you?" said Cady, sticking her tongue out at him. "You forget the lyrics almost all the time."
"Hey!" intervened Ashley. "You guys have two of the best voices in the class, and you blend beautifully. Your voices make a perfect team. Let's start where we left off last rehearsal."
Ashley played a few introductory bars, Cady swaying to the beat, Eddie rolling his eyes. Eddie was probably hesitant to sing this since Cady chose the song. Still, he chose to go along with it. Her own personal belief as to why Eddie usually forgot the lyrics? He was too nervous around Cady, who he secretly liked. Right on cue, every time he came into the room for class, he'd blush when he saw her. Cady, totally oblivious, didn't pay him any attention. Young love...always so complicated. Ashley smirks as Cady starts to sing:
And you say we're too young, but maybe you're too old to remember
And I try to pretend but I just feel it when we're together
And if you don't believe me, you never really knew us
You never really knew
Her voice was so chipper and sweet, and Ashley always thinks of herself at that age, when her tone wasn't as good as Cady's. Cady admired Ashley's piano skills in return, asked if she knew any other piano/singers. Ashley recommended a couple Vanessa Carlton songs, seeing as the subject matter of them wasn't too risque for a nine-year old. Carlton was okay, not too mainstream.
Cady glanced over at Eddie, signaling his entrance. Eddie gulped, started to sing softly:
Who's to say we won't stay together?
Who's to say we aren't getting stronger?
Who's to say I can't live without you?
Who are they anyway, anyway they don't know
"Louder, Eddie!" instructed Ashley over the roar of the piano.
Eddie obeyed, looking cautiously at Cady. Ashley knew the duet would go well when it was actually performed. Eddie pulled through, when he could stare out into the crowd, ignoring Cady. That was the opposite with Ashley. Her last duet, at prom during grade eleven, she looked to Craig for comfort, barely able to glance out into the throng of semi-formal attendees, Jimmy included. Craig had a good time, playing his axe, loving the moment. His excitement made her love the moment.
Unfortunately, Eddie's mouth lost the words yet again, causing Cady to groan in frustration. He shrugged at Ashley.
"Break is breaking my brain," said Eddie. "Can we...leave?"
"Okay, you'll just have to work longer when break's over," informed Ashley, standing, thinking letting them out five minutes early won't do any damage.
Eddie and Cady exchange joyful looks, fetch their bookbags.
"Bye, Miss Ashley," they chimed in unison.
"Bye...have fun!" called Ashley after them.
"I need a ride home," said Cady as they exit.
"Ugh...fine," replied Eddie. "Don't kick my seat when you're in the back, though."
Ashley laughed quietly, collected her things, zipped her own bag. She wondered if Geri picked up Japanese for them. The last time she had Japanese was so awkward.
Out of the blue, Jimmy did call her, invited her out for sushi. Honestly, she would've loved if Craig called first, despite the action making her remember they'd be waiting a year. Jimmy was unexpectedly nice, however. They sat, talked about their original sushi date, when Jimmy presented her with a handmade portrait. Ashley told him she had that picture up on her wall in her new place, which made Jimmy smile. She also showed him a picture of her kids, including Cady and Eddie. First romance, she proclaimed. That elicited a knowing look between them. Most of the rest of the dinner, Jimmy told her that the clothing chain decided not to go with his line after all. Jimmy thought it was for the best, so he could concentrate on art school. Not meant to be, he reasoned, like some other things. Ashley quietly agreed. The better news was that the art school awarded him a scholarship. Ashley told him she was proud, and really, it was the first pride they'd shared in the past two years, finally an accomplishment where one didn't have to secretly want something else. Funny how it took years to get there. Maybe not so much.
Ashley had his friendship again, and everyone else gradually accepted it. Spinner came with Paige to check out Ashley's new living arrangements, offered to move a few pieces of furniture when the movers dumped stuff unceremoniously in the hallway. They were good friends, staying most of that day to help. Geri thought Spinner was adorable.
Things were getting normal, thought Ashley, locking the music room with Professor Carew's keys. Pocketing them, she started down the hall, nodding to people she knew. In the middle of the stretch, she saw someone else she knew, doesn't nod. Truth be told, she hasn't kept track of how many days it had been. A year seemed like forever. But the engagement party was in April, and yes, it was April. Craig stared at her awkwardly, Ashley moving slowly to him.
"Ellie gave me the room number. I hope..."
"You're looking good. I was..."
They talked at the same time, laughed anxiously. Craig shrugged, smiled, stuffed his hands in his jeans. Ashley's eyes fell to the floor.
"What have you been up to?" asked Ashley.
"Recording," replied Craig. "Friend set up a studio not too far from the center. Perfect proximity if I ever get antsy. Lucky."
"So Vancouver...," said Ashley, voice dropping.
"Yeah," sighed Craig.
Ashley wasn't sure what to say. It was understandable why he hasn't called, especially the way they left things. He also had no clue as to how things were with Jimmy, and perhaps he was anticipating a call from her after that first week. When to talk was the issue. The whole situation, as awkward as the sushi catch-up dinner with Jimmy.
"How many students?" asked Craig, a few fifth graders pointing at him.
"Ten. Not a big class," answered Ashley. "How many songs?"
"Nine...you win," said Craig.
They both laughed, comfortably, thankfully.
"Nice to see you, Craig," whispered Ashley, hugging him to her.
Craig pressed her more firmly to him, stroked her back. He really did look good, sober, healthy, genial. If he decided that the promise shouldn't hold, she would force herself to understand. Her heart's tender, but it's a little stronger. Growing up usually does that. And she wouldn't run. She'd stand to hear his decision.
He released her, bit his lip.
"Feel like talking?" encouraged Ashley. "It's okay if you don't. A year is..."
"A year and six days," said Craig, grinning slightly.
Ashley smiled, happy he kept track like she did before. None of their waits have been wasted, or maybe she wanted to believe they haven't been wasted. What is she to say to that? Regrettably, she doesn't get the chance.
A fifth grade hops to him, socks against the linoleum.
"I love you!" cried the girl. "Can you sign my shoe?"
Craig offered her an amused grin, took the shoe and the pen from one of her friends. Ugh, maybe this wasn't the right day to do this.
"Call me?" said Ashley, eyeing Craig sadly. "Cell's the same."
Ashley waved, walked a little.
"Wait!" called out Craig.
She stopped, kept her sight on the doors to the school's entrance. A familiar, shaky voice sings, echoing in the halls:
"Something 'bout the way you shine, when the lights go out, wanna make you mine. Something 'bout the way it seems, you're always here, in my dreams..."
The lyrics were still so resonant with her. Why were they? Man, this was from years ago in high school, when she was more worried about zits rather than engagements and career planning. But yes, the tears are slipping down her cheeks, and she turns to him.
"Oh, no, I'm not scared, but I'm in love...with you," finished Craig, then clearing his throat.
Ashley cried more deeply, in an ugly fashion where she curses herself. She probably looked a mess, though she went to Craig anyway, hugged him. Craig beamed, handed the shoe to his admirer, who was all confused, talking in raised voices with her friends as they left.
"I can't wait another year without you," breathed Ashley against his chest.
She never did, as Pierre the monkey prances across the street, moving wide-legged to the spontaneous audience. He was trained to dance for cash, so the act was only natural. Pierre is given a nickel, which he knaws on.The organ grinder motions for him to hand it to Ashley, but she declines.Ashley continues:
I never knew the charm of spring
I never met it face to face
I never new my heart could sing
I never missed a warm embrace
Till April in Paris
Whom can I run to
What have you done to my heart
Ashley immediately finds Craig, pulls him into an embrace with the final word. Sturdy, welcome applause enters her ears as her heart beats.
III.
"And if I may, I will speak highly of our crepe suzettes, topped with the finest Grand Marnier. Carmelised sugar, raspberries...tres magnifique," encourages the maitre' d, taking Craig's menu.
"I'm stuffed," breathes Craig, slouching a bit in his chair.
"Oh, come on," nudges the maitre' d. "Here, in the City of Lights, it's only right you indulge in the best of cuisine. Our chef would be more than happy to whip up anything you like."
One garcon dips politely, claps his hands to call two garcons. Ashley stares meekly at Craig. He may be used to this type of treatment, but it's very odd for her. They went to a couple fancy restaurants on his second tour. Craig usually asked for chicken, gave up after that. Ashley identified a few things on the menu, had trouble with the wine. Order champagne, shrugged Craig. Save yourself the trouble.
"Ash?" asks Craig, taking out a credit card.
"Um...more champagne?" replies Ashley.
Smiling, the maitre' d retreats, two servers in two, clearly pleased to be getting more money out of their well-known guest.
"Jean knows how to treat a rock star," sighs Craig, happily.
Ashley smiles, glances to her left and right. Only a few people are staring, in contrast to the many stares that greeted them when Craig lead her to the restaurant, Altitude 95. The name of the restaurant sounded really scary to her. She was calmed by the gorgeous design of it. Wood-paneled floors, immaculately dressed servers, candles in silver candlesticks, and the grey, grated ceiling, the Eiffel Tower overhead. She had a similar reaction when she went with her parents to Niagara Falls, and they went under the Falls. Being underneath something important is eerie, but wonderful.
"You've been here before?" asks Ashley, as Jean sets down two champagne flutes in front of them.
"Four times," speaks up Jean, beaming.
"I like the chicken," defends Craig, checking the bottle Jean hands him.
Craig shakes the bottle, pops the cork, which goes flying to the next table. A woman in a black dress screams. Craig covers his mouth as Ashley giggles.
"My apologies, madam," says Jean, running to her. "My fault."
"Oh boy," says Craig, scrunching his face as he pours Ashley a glass.
"Something tells me Jean's got it covered," assures Ashley.
"Must tip abundantly," notes Craig, looking up at the ceiling.
"So wild to think we're under one of the most artistic buildings in the world," says Ashley, taking a sip.
"I know, especially when you could be under one of the most artistic men in the world," whispers Craig, winking at her.
"Dirty...real dirty," chastises Ashley, blushing.
"Our last night in Paris," reminds Craig, handing Jean his card. "I can afford to be a little dirty. Unless, I send corks flying everywhere and have to tip everyone."
"At least your French is getting better," consoles Ashley.
"Wearing the beret really helped," jokes Craig. "I look at pretty girls, and go Je t' adore or Je t'aime or le coup de foudre. They faint, they sigh..."
"Sacrebleu!" exclaims Ashley playfully.
"Touche," says Craig, laughing.
Craig and Ashley polish off their glasses, Craig taking out a wad of bills, putting them on the table once Jean returns with his credit card. Ashley, a tad light-headed, grips Craig's arm for support as they leave. The car Craig ordered is there. In Spain, they really didn't have too many run-ins with his fans since he never toured there, just the usual request for a picture or autograph. In France, a totally different story, resulting in Craig asking for a car with a driver and tinted windows. Ashley could tell he hated ordering the automobile, that he wished his last album hadn't gone platinum here. Ah, it would pass. Craig loved his fans, even with the increasing loss of anonymity.
They settle into the rear of the car, Craig lowering the window momentarily. The tall structure is upright, lighted by the moon, then a few moments later, starts to flash in a wave of lights. It's like a beautiful steel Christmas tree, thinks Ashley. A few tourists swoon at the lit Eiffel Tower, kiss their significant others.
"I made the tower pretty," chuckles Craig.
"You called for that?" gasps Ashley. "Awww."
Ashley caresses his chin, moves her mouth against his. The driver starts the car, Craig raising the window up as they kiss.
"Mmm?" complains Craig as Ashley pulls away.
"Champagne really went to my head," moans Ashley, leaning her head against the seat.
"Thanks a lot, Jean," mutters Craig, resting an arm around Ashley.
The car moves down the avenue, pass the Seine, towards their hotel, a reasonably priced one Ashley found in her books. Despite her buzz, Ashley takes in the sight of the water, golden street lights illuminating the black water, boats sailing towards Notre Dame. From there, she can make out a couple gargoyles sitting high atop the tan cathedral, more opaque because of the black tinted windows. The gazing makes her sleepy. She closes her eyes, rests her head on Craig's chest.
When the car pulls up at the hotel, she opens her eyes, grips his hand as he thanks the driver for the excellent service. They pass the red-and-gold lobby, Craig fetching the card key. He mumbles a few numbers as they trudge to their room, enters the key, opens the door. Ashley crashes on the bed, laughs a little.
"I get so tipsy so easily," she says.
Craig shirks off his leather jacket, lays on the bed next to her.
"I only had a little," says Craig. "Wanna watch more bad Parisian commercials?"
"Can do that at home," waves off Ashley. "Mom and Jeff's TV has...interesting channels."
"Porn," whispers Craig.
"Shut up!" says Ashley, playfully shoving him.
Craig laughs, starts smoothing back Ashley's hair from her face. Ashley pretends to wince.
"You and your oh so subtle foreplay," moans Ashley.
"What?" exclaims Craig.
"It's the hair first, then hand going to a button, then we both know what comes next," says Ashley.
"Then why delay the inevitable?" whispers Craig, maneuvering on top of her.
Ashley sighs, starts inching up Craig's shirt. She gives in way too easily half the time, but he is her husband. The fact makes her smile, reach for his belt. Craig starts to kiss her neck, his mouth grinning as his nose touches the bottom of her ear. Ashley closes her eyes, listens to the near silence of the room, only the sound of their stripping off each other clothes, his breathing.
"I think you like me, Mrs. Manning," whispers Craig, raising his head to meet her gaze.
"Oh?" replies Ashley. "Well, that explains the wedding."
They laugh, resume kissing, breathe every French term of endearment they've heard until the night ends.