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I didn’t want my overly involved mother-in-law asking any questions.
I left Kingston Court that evening in my every day mommy clothes with a plan to pull over at a familiar rest stop. My hands felt clammy and my heart raced when I saw the exit off the 5 North.
I clicked on my blinker and parked the car. Since the first time I met him, Alik and I had been exchanging furtive glances. Just looking at him made me feel like a nervous teenager. Toying with fantasies of Alik taking me on a first date or seducing me in the back of the newsroom distracted me during painful trips to visit Mark at rehab and from the monotonous day-to-day routine of poring over homework with the kids, driving them from activity to activity, and carrying on pointless conversations with my mother-in-law. Thoughts of him often consumed me.
Inside the rest stop’s swampy cinderblock bathroom stall, I changed into a slinky black dress. It was tight, with extra ruching around the hips to accentuate my curves. Besides my nights with Inna, I spent most of my evenings throwing my hair up in a bun to fold laundry or wash dishes after the kids went to bed. This was the first time I’d been out like this since the accident occurred five months ago.
Monday, just after the show wrapped, Alik found me in the break room and invited me to listen to his band tonight. Against my better judgment, I said yes.
After pulling off the 405 onto Wilshire Boulevard and crisscrossing numerous congested side streets, I glanced at the clock and realized I was early. Letting out a deep breath, I pulled into an empty parking lot situated behind the non-descript single-story nightclub.
The sun, just beginning to set, painted the sky pink, contrasting the older building’s simple black matte exterior. I sat in my car, the moon roof open, windows rolled down, and enjoyed the balmy autumn air wrapping around me like delicate cashmere.
This was the type of weather that seduced Mark into moving to Southern California. He said he was home the day he set foot in San Diego. I had grown up here, and even so, the beauty of this state never failed to get me.
I pushed the driver’s seat back and slipped on my five inch heels. Mark loved the way these simple black shoes elongated my calves. Now he was living in rehab learning how to read and write, while I was putting on these stilettos to catch the attention of another man.
Guilt, upended by desire, tore at my conscience. I reminded myself that after three months in rehab, my husband still looked through me when I spoke to him. He barely remembered my name. I was only here to have a little fun, and I certainly deserved it.
Aside from one other vehicle, the lot was empty. I got out of my car and shut the door with a firm whoosh. Remembering a book I had forgotten in my glove compartment, I walked around to the passenger side to retrieve it. I figured I could browse through the pages again to prepare for my morning interview with the author.
I stood lost in thought, shuffling through my glove compartment when I heard his voice.
“Natalie?”
I poked my head out of the car in embarrassment and stood up straight. Alik was dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, his dark brown hair swooped up a bit in the front giving him an edgy, rock-star appearance.
“Oh. Hey. What are you doing here so early?” I asked, shutting the passenger side, and wondering if he had checked me out from behind. The saleswoman had said my butt looked fantastic in this dress, a selling point that clinched the purchase.
“I always arrive early. I’m the drummer, I need extra time to get set up.” He pointed to the open trunk of his Jeep Cherokee, parked several empty spaces away from my car.
He moved closer to me, so close I could smell the soapy sandalwood scent of his skin. I wanted to bury my head into his chest and breathe him in. “Need some help?” I asked.
“In those heels?” he smirked. “You sure you want to be hauling heavy instruments?”
I smiled and looked at the ground. “I have flip flops in the car. Wait a second. I’ll put them on and give you a hand.” I opened my door again and searched under the seat, listening for his footsteps to walk back to his car. Instead he waited for me.
When I stood before him in more practical shoes, he gave me an approving nod. “You come prepared.”
“I’m a mom.” Now that was sexy, remind him I’m a married mother of two.
“Come on.” He led me to his car and handed me a large cymbal and a drum stand to carry. I followed him through the parking lot to the back door, watching him carry some of the heavier pieces of his elaborate drum set.
“Hey Tom, we’re here,” Alik called out through the dingy low lit hallway. The place smelled of stale beer and lingering perspiration, like every college bar I’d ever trespassed.
“You’ve played here before?” I asked, changing my grip on the drum stand so I didn’t accidently smack it against the wall.
“All the time.” He looked back and watched me juggle his equipment. “You look pretty cute hauling my stuff around.”
“Thanks,” I said, at a near loss for words.
He walked to a small stage and set down two of his drums. “There’s more in the car.”
“I noticed,” I said with a light laugh.
“I’m good though. You can hang out here while I get the rest.”
“No way,” I said, following him back to the vacant parking lot. “It gives me something to do while I wait for everyone else to show up.”
“I can’t promise that nothing’s going to happen if you come back to the car with me.” He looked back at me over his shoulder and smirked again as if he was joking.
Once everything was accounted for, Alik went to work setting up.
I stood near the would-be dance floor and watched him move on the stage. He placed the snare drum on its stand, his toned biceps flexing as he adjusted its height. Next he set up his stool. Alik fiddled with the height so his long legs were bent at just the right angle. Even that was sexy.
“I didn’t realize how much detail went into something like this,” I said, trying to sound interesting. What was this guy doing to me? I tingled at the thought of his hands running over my body instead of that drum set. He would grab my hips, pull me in close to him and tell me he needed to make love to me.
“I like doing it.” He looked over at me. “It helps put me in the right state of mind.”
“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked, needing to take a step away and compose myself. Standing there in that intimate space was getting the best of me.
“Sure, a Sam Adams would be great. You gonna get anything?”
I shook my head. “I’m good for now.”
“Tom’ll give it to you on the house. Order something if you like.”
“Great. I’ll let him know when I get thirsty.”
As I rushed out to my car to put my heels back on, a mild evening breeze caressed my arms and legs. The final gasps of sunset, burnt oranges and blood reds, slipped off the horizon. I felt another deep blow of guilt. What was I doing here in this grungy LA night club lusting like a schoolgirl over a sexy young guy? I should have said no to his invitation, should have behaved like a proper married woman and gone straight to Inna’s and called it a night.
It was too late. I was already here. My decision made. I chose to shake off the shame as I walked back inside. Tom gave me a beer for Alik and told me to make myself comfortable at any of the tables. After handing off the glass bottle, I chose a seat several paces back from the stage and pulled out my book, gazing over the top of the pages to watch him.
Alik put his bass drum in place and began attaching the legs, slipping them into the holes and tightening their hold by turning the knobs. As he leaned over, the bottom back of his T-shirt pulled up, revealing a sliver of his brown skin, and the sinuous curves of his lower back.
I imagined him at college parties stealing off to a quiet room after playing a set with his buddies, he would take off his clothes and make out with the girls who would taste the salt and sweat on his lips and fingers. These days, he probably had his choice of who he went home with at night. Anyone who set up his instruments with such care and devotion was sure to attract attention.
Alik sat on his stool and repositioned the drums around him while the rest of the band trailed in and began setting up. He took his sticks in his hands and looked at me with a mischievous smile, giving his drums a hard whack.
I forced my eyes back onto the pages of my book and thought of my husband, tried to remember when he was young and strong and full of promise. My co-workers would be here soon. I needed to appear casual, like I wasn’t completely infatuated with Alik and trying to calm my racing heart.
***
In a darkened room, surrounded by Inna and my other co-workers, the lead singer of Alik’s band shook her wild blonde hair and wailed into the microphone. The handful of people on the dance floor began to sway. Alik lifted his arms and beat the drums. Slow and steady, he created the timing for the rest of the group. Inna leaned over and squeezed my knee. “He’s really good. You must be dying right now.”
I ignored her and let my feet and body move to the rhythm of his music. Alik was better than I’d expected, the music flowed through his every move. His hair fell in his face and his lips puckered. I wished again I hadn’t come tonight, hadn’t heard the way he played.
Toward the final set, the free-spirited lead singer yanked Alik up to the front of the stage and handed him the microphone. I felt jealous of this young, creative woman, simply because she stood so close to him, and because she shared with him a special musical connection. I wanted to be the one standing there next to him in the spotlight. I could tell by the way she looked at Alik, she reveled in her proximity to him.
He stood awkwardly at the front of the stage, his head bowed down before looking up. The girl disappeared into the shadows. His audience cheered, encouraging him to sing.
Alik switched the microphone from his left hand to his right, while his eyes cut across the crowd and found mine. Why is he looking at me? What is he thinking right now? I felt raw and vulnerable, afraid he would lose his nerve, afraid he wouldn’t.
The dark crowded room faded. I imagined him walking off the stage and coming to me. He would pull up a chair, look into my eyes, and tell me I’m the only woman he thinks about, that he wishes he met me first, before I was ever taken by another man.
Did he know that I was consumed by thoughts of him, that every time I left LA and confronted my real life, I daydreamed of making love to him? Alik was my fantasy, my escape, and in this moment, my singular desire.
I wanted to feel fully alive, to dive head first into the deep end, to feel that rush. Not only because of all the recent trauma, but also to make up for the last twelve years of dedicating myself without question to the people I loved most. In the past, I took pride in my sacrifices, certain they made me a better mother and wife. I had turned off some of my most basic female impulses, like buying the impractical fuchsia-colored high heels, staying out past midnight on a weekday, or flirting with the cute guy who was clearly checking me out.
As Alik opened his mouth and began to sing, his voice hushed the crowd. He sounded raspy, soothing, and thick at the bottom. He finished one song and began another. It was free flowing and upbeat. Inna and my co-workers shouted with enthusiasm. “Bring it,” one of them yelled. My producer, Kim, drained her glass of wine and let out a loud yelp of appreciation. “Killing it Alik!”
He was causing a scene and it only made me want him more.
I knew when his set was over he would come to our table and say hello. I knew that if he sat close to me, I would reach out and touch him, put my hand on his knee, brush my lips against his ear. I would ask him to walk me to my car—just the two of us. My longing would overtake my common sense.
I took a sip of beer and ran a hand through my hair. I was a grown woman. He was twenty-four-years-old. I had a budding career, school aged children, a life at risk. For him, I might amount to little more than his latest conquest. Maybe he didn’t even really like me, forgot I existed when I wasn’t around. Maybe I was a fun diversion while he made his way through his work days. Nothing more.
I didn’t want to be another one of his flings nor did I want to do something I couldn’t erase. Shouting into Inna’s ear over the din of the music, I told her I would see her back at her place.
It was getting late. I didn’t trust myself to stick around.