2

All of this makes me sound very jaded, very calculating, and I suppose I am to an extent. In my line of work, it's impossible not to be. But this decision wasn't like that. It was just me, alone and lonely and so sick of the thoughts chasing around and around and around in my head, searching for a way to turn them off, and really you'd understand if you'd been there, seen his face, heard his voice. I cannot imagine the kind of willpower it would have taken me to walk away. More than I had.

So I didn't. I sat down at the bar and ordered a drink and listened to him, watched him as he brought my song to an emotional crescendo and then to a lilting close, and tried to strategize. My success with this was minimal, distracted as I was, and in the end fate took care of it for me by ensuring he came and sat next to me. Not on purpose, or at least I don't think so, but either way the outcome was the same, and I couldn't have orchestrated a more perfect setup.

I panicked internally for a moment, running through my disguise. Hat? Check. Glasses? Check. No makeup? Check (pity, really). So far no one had recognized me, but then I'd only spoken to the bartender so that didn't mean much. At this moment, I almost changed my mind (Am I insane? But I want him. What if he recognizes me? But I want him. What if he sells his story to the tabloids? But I want him…) As I was debating with myself, I glanced over and noticed the way the light limned his profile. He was breathtaking, I am not even kidding, but that wasn't enough to affect my decision. No, for the first time I realized that the way he'd been singing my song, the anguish and grief that had pierced me so deeply, had been an expression of his own feelings; I could see them on his face, just below the surface of his apparently neutral expression. And just like that, I made up my mind.

"You were great up there," I said, smiling.

He turned to me, and the full intensity of his eyes, of the emotion in them, struck me without warning. Looking into them, I didn't just hurt for myself, I hurt for him too. I could see the effort it took for him to mold his lips into a smile, but once it was in place it almost seemed genuine and I was impressed. "Thanks. It's been a… Kind of a crazy week."

I nodded. "I know all about those. Can I buy you a drink? You look like you could use one."

"I've had too many," he answered, then added, "or not enough. Both. Yes, I'll take a drink, but I'm buying. How does that sound?"

I smiled at him, no real effort required. "That sounds perfect."

"I saw you when you walked in," he began after ordering our drinks, "I thought it was funny that you look so much like Norah Castle when I was singing that song… You probably get that a lot."

My stomach clenched uncomfortably with nervousness and guilt, and I reminded myself that withholding information isn't the same thing as lying. "Yeah," I answered, "I do get that a lot." Which was completely true, of course; I get it all the damn time.

"You should be flattered, she's beautiful. And her voice! And she can write… I could go on and on about her." His smile didn't look forced at all now, and I was suddenly in the strange position of being jealous of myself.

"Sounds like you're taken, maybe I'm buying the wrong guy a drink," I teased.

The smile slid from his face, and he looked down at his hands. "Maybe you are," he responded quietly. "Or would be, if you were buying."

Interesting. I decided not to say anything, see if he'd give any more information, but the silence began to hang heavy between us. "I'm sorry," I said finally. "Did I say something wrong?"

"What?" He looked up at me like a man just coming awake, and I realized that his thoughts had been far away from the bar and the two of us. "No, no. It's not your fault, I'm just… You know. It's been a-"

"Crazy week, I know," I finished. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't know, seems like pouring out all my troubles might not be the most effective seduction technique," he answered wryly. "Not that I'm trying to… You know what I mean."

I didn't, really, just hoped he meant the opposite of what he'd said, but I matched his tone with the twist of my lips, an almost-smile. "Let's just assume I'm already seduced, shall we? Tell me about it. Might make you feel better." Might take my mind off myself.

He stared at me intently, searching for something, and for a moment I was afraid again, ostensibly that he'd see through my disguise, but really I think I was just afraid because I should have been, because I could tell he was dangerous to me. At any rate, he just pursed his lips and nodded. "I left my wife a week ago," he announced, and I glanced automatically to his left hand. There was no ring, but I could make out a pale line, an inverted shadow where a ring had been until very recently.

"For good or just for awhile?" I asked, feeling a little put off. It hadn't occurred to me that he was a married man, and for all I knew he could be faking for sympathy. But no; I remembered the way he sang, and the devastation hiding in his face, and I believed him.

"I think it's for good," he said, and then stopped like he'd surprised himself. "I think it's for good. Oh, god. I didn't even… I didn't realize it until now, until it was the only thing I could say."

"What happened?" I placed my hand on his shoulder, feeling his warmth and wanting to enjoy it but working hard to make my touch comforting rather than flirtatious.

He gave me a defeated look. "It's a long story."

I wanted to laugh but didn't want him to think I was laughing at him. "I have no pressing engagements at present."

He took a deep gulp of his beer, either for the taste or the courage, and considered his words carefully for several moments. "We were going to have a baby," he whispered finally. "She told me we were going to have a baby, and I thought… I was so happy. I've always wanted kids. I'm a teacher, actually, and I couldn't stop imagining how wonderful it would be to have my own to teach."

At first I was distracted, imagining the kind of havoc that would have ensued if he'd ever been my teacher, but then the overall impact of his statement hit me. I looked at him with a mixture of horror and pity, telling myself not to ask the obvious question because surely the answer was obvious too. In the end I couldn't help myself. "Did she… I mean, did something happen with the baby?"

He laughed suddenly, a bitter sound without humor. "Yeah, something happened… It didn't exist." I caught my breath at his statement, utterly shocked by the cruelty of it. And this is coming from someone who works in the recording industry; my standards for that kind of thing are understandably high. A lie of that magnitude… I couldn't imagine the kind of person who could do that to anyone, let alone someone they loved.

"She said she was afraid she was losing me, that the baby was the only thing keeping us together," he continued, "but it's funny. I'd never have left her… I'd have stayed with her and tried, and tried, and tried, because I loved who she used to be and I wanted to feel like that again. But the way she lied, what she lied about..."

Raising his beer to his lips once more, he drained it, then stared down at the bottle like a gypsy reading tea leaves, desperately trying to see the future. It was an impulse I could understand. Sometimes I would stare into an empty bottle and wonder if there was even a future to see. I didn't share this, however, because it's not the kind of thing you say out loud. Instead I turned to him and touched his hand. It was long and elegant, artistic somehow, and I could feel the bones and tendons under his smooth skin as I stroked it. He felt both powerful and fragile, as though his bones were hollow, as though if I grasped hard enough they would break. But there was heat there too.

"Do you want to get out of here?" I murmured, moving my hand to the underside of his wrist, caressing him with clear intent.

Our eyes met, and his were dark and tortured and just like mine, really, just like mine if I bothered looking in a mirror. I wondered if he could see that, then thought it didn't matter. "Yes," he breathed, expression serious. "Yes I do."

TBC