Henry
“Thanks for the warning,” I muttered to Rod, who raised his eyebrows in apology. Wayne Lee was there too, as well as Jamie Dupont, who was Adrienne’s keyboard player.
“Mac.” Adrienne rose and cheek-kissed me. I inhaled her scent—not perfume but the subtle musk of someone you’ve known intimately. Memories crowded my mind: echoing bedrooms, twisted sheets, sweaty summer nights, loud arguments and louder making up.
“Dree.”
She held both my hands. “It’s been so long.”
Not long enough, I was tempted to reply, but getting angry would be playing her games. I should have known only Dree would have insisted on Rod’s secrecy. She liked the maximum in drama, and a surprise reunion was right up her alley—as long as all the surprise was on my end.
We all sat down, and Wayne spoke first. I swallowed my anger. Maybe she had changed. The last time I’d seen her was three years ago at some awards night. Today, she was as lovely as ever, her pale and delicate beauty a contrast to her manipulation and ruthless ambition. If I had her drive for success, Shawville could have been huge. Dree and her band The Palace were headliners, both in Canada and Europe, but I hadn’t heard much of her music recently.
I tried to focus on what Wayne was saying about collaboration over the rising panic inside me. Dree was exactly the kind of hurricane who could demolish my embryonic creativity.
Everyone was looking at me expectantly.
“Sorry. What was the question?” I said.
Rod cursed softly. “Wayne’s asking if we’re in for working together. It’s like a consulting gig, we get paid regardless of what gets done.” There was panic in his voice, the kind that happens when you’ve got rent due and zero money coming in. If I could hear his vulnerability, then Dree could too.
“No,” I said. “That’s not something I can do right now.”
I could tell that Wayne was shocked. Maybe I’d missed the large amount of money he offered. Or perhaps he assumed the honour of working with a big star like Adrienne Anderson would be enough for small fry like us.
“C’mon, Mac,” Rod muttered.
I had to give a reason, or they’d never leave me alone.
“Look, I’ll level with you. I’ve been going through a writing block—the first one in my career. It’s just gotten better. So, when Rod mentioned songwriting opportunities, I thought it was something the two of us could knock off in our usual way. But co-writing with a big gang is not something I can handle right now. Besides, I’ve got a good routine going in Ottawa right now—it’s peaceful there and distraction-free. Maybe later.” The last line was mere politeness. Working with Dree was right up there on my things-to-do-when-hell-freezes-over list.
Rod switched into sales mode. “Hey, maybe we can all work together in Ottawa. We could rent a house and live together for a couple of weeks. It would be a great way to focus.”
Astounded, I could only stare at him. He must be desperate to propose this, but Dree and me—living under one roof—would be a Titanic of a trip.
Thankfully, Wayne shook his head. “I can’t do that. I have too many other commitments here.”
There was a short silence, then Dree turned to the others. “Could you give me and Mac a few minutes alone? To talk.”
“Of course.” Wayne, Jamie, and Rod rose. The door clicked shut behind them with the solidity of a cell locking.
I swallowed, feeling like a rabbit trapped with a python. The whole situation was tricky; while I didn’t want to alienate someone as powerful as Dree, there was no way we could work together.
Dree’s gaze raked over me. “You’re looking good, Mac.”
“Thanks,” I replied. There was no need to return the compliment. Dree knew exactly how good she looked. While her ripped jeans, thin t-shirt, and oversized sweater looked thrown-on, I’d been privy to how long it took her to get ready.
She leaned forward, and I inched my chair away.
Dree laughed. “No need to be frightened. I thought that maybe I could alleviate any personal concerns you might have about working together.”
Was I fully immune to her charms now? Pitifully, my nine months with Dree were the closest thing I’d had to a real relationship. “Not working with you is nothing personal. It’s just not something that interests me right now.”
She ignored this. “What Wayne didn’t say—because he doesn’t know—is that I’m not happy with our last album. I’m going through exactly what you are, a creative block. So, I searched through my earlier processes, and you know what I discovered? The songs we wrote while we were together were some of the best of both our careers. I was your muse, Mac, and if we could recapture that magic again, this would help both of us.”
I shook my head. “We can’t go backwards. We inspired each other because of what was happening between us, of what we felt for each other. Or what I felt, anyway.”
Dree’s body tensed like a cat ready to pounce. I’d made the mistake of mentioning our emotional past.
“We’re both professionals, we don’t have to be fucking to make beautiful music.” Her eyes were wide with innocent surprise. But I wasn’t going to fall for this.
“Bullshit. If you thought for one moment that fucking me again would create good music, you’d have my Levi’s off in two seconds and we’d be doing it on this table.”
Dree threw her head back and laughed. Her laugh was deep, vibrant, and redolent of good times. And that promise of fun made my stupid cock twitch.
She laid a hand on my thigh. “Oh Mac, I missed your brutal honesty.”
I slid out of her reach. I hadn’t been that honest when we were together, I’d been too busy playing the besotted sap. Busy writing lame odes to her fragile beauty and the passion between us when we weren’t fucking. We’d done a shit-ton of fucking.
“Whatever. Besides, I don’t agree that Shawville’s best songs were from that period. We’ve progressed since then.”
She lifted one shoulder, like a full shrug was too much effort. “Would your label agree? Oh sorry, your deceased label.”
Ouch. Sure, if you measured commercial success, then the songs I wrote during and after my whirl with Dree got the most radio play and sold the best. Neil complained I was getting too cerebral and dark, but that was where my head was at.
“Maybe more people can relate to songs about lust and heartbreak. But that doesn’t mean I want to keep writing them.”
She rose and sat on the table in front of me. Then she cupped my cheek. “Did I break your heart, Mac?”
Dree had orchestrated everything about our relationship, and I was too lovesick or stupid to understand. I brushed off her hand.
“What’s it gonna take to convince you that my decision is not about us or our past? It’s only personal to the extent that I know how difficult it is to create with you around and I’m not up for all that work.”
Dree needed drama and excitement to make music, and right now I needed peace. In her memory, we created together but in reality, I’d written my songs in the lulls of our relationship. The times when we were apart or taking breaks. But in the fiery hot moments we’d been together, music was the charred sacrifice I’d made.
Her eyes fixed on mine. Dree’s eyes were an unclassifiable shade of amber or bronze, which I’d tried to write about too many times.
“For years, I’ve wanted to apologize about how things ended between us. I have no excuse except that I stupidly wanted everything.”
Of everything she’d said, this made me the angriest. What prevented her from apologizing earlier—maybe five years ago when it would have made a difference? But no, she waited until she had some use for me again. I didn’t even reply to her insincerity.
She continued, “Rod told me how things have been for you lately—how you’re in an emotional freeze. Feel how angry you are now. Maybe I’ve been pressing a few of your buttons today, but I know you so well, Mac.”
Dree again invaded my space, coming so close that all the memories of us returned. I couldn’t stop looking at her mouth and recalling her ravenous kisses all over my body. I groaned, and her lips curved up.
“Isn’t it better to feel passion—even if it’s anger—than nothing at all? We can channel that emotion into our work. It’s what we both want.”
I hated everything about this, especially the fact that she was right. I’d had more mood swings in the past half-hour than I’d had in the past six months. And if I could harness that emotional power to the more philosophical themes I’d been playing with—that music could contain multitudes.
I shook my head. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”
Her smile blazed. “Wonderful. That’s all I ask.”
I was falling in a deep pit, so I sent up a lifeline. “There can’t be anything between us again.”
Dree nodded but bit back her triumph.
“Just so you know, I have a girlfriend,” I said.
For the first time today, Dree looked surprised. Clearly, she had pulled every bit of intel on me from Rod. Not that I blamed him; she was too smart and too devious for someone as open as he was. A few drinks, and he was everyone’s best friend.
She watched me intently. “Really? What’s her name?”
“Sophia.”
Dree knew I was a crap liar, but I was pulling this off. Half-truths were better than complete lies. In any case, she rolled with it.
“Well, that’s perfect then. You don’t have to worry about getting—overly involved—with me.”
“Not a worry,” I assured her.
Dree held out her hand. “Perfect. Then it’s a deal? We’ll work together on some music.”
As I shook her hand, I realized with a sinking feeling that she’d gotten her way once again.