Deep (Stage Dive 4)

Soon enough we were going to be a family. Already we were each other’s home.

Turned out Ben did get a somewhat hefty bill for the cleaning of the suede couch. The man swore it was worth every cent, bless him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Hell of a fucking coincidence,” said Jim, adding more baked salmon and broccoli to Lena’s plate.

“Thanks, babe.” She dove right in.

It was beautiful, the way he way he paid such keen attention to her. The woman was clearly his world. Lena had no sooner looked at something than he was serving it up. She shifted in her seat and he ran for more cushions. A queen couldn’t have been treated better. The love in her eyes and the soft smiles every time she looked at him made my heart ache. It was an intense love, so open and honest. Every love, every relationship, was different. And no way could anyone who wasn’t on the inside understand how that couple worked. Let people judge. People didn’t know shit. Shoot. At any rate, I didn’t need to be the center of Ben’s world. But I knew me. I did need to be up there, vying for top position with his music, having his trust.

One day Ben and I would get there. Without a doubt.

Each of the Stage Dive couples was pretty much variations of the same. Maybe that’s the way musicians and artists loved, how they committed. All or nothing. They were in touch with their passions, so those passions tended to run large through their lives.

We’d all attended the concert tonight to hear the first performance of one of the band’s new songs. Not a slow love song, though there’d been a lot of love in it. More of a hot, raw, rock ’n’ roll, doing-my-girl-makes-me-pretty-damn-happy kind of thing. A little awkward when you knew the guy and girl in question. David did like to write songs about his wife, and damn he did it well. The crowd had gone wild.

Yesterday we’d had a day off. Given that the news of my whorish money-making scheme had hit the papers just the day before, Ben and I had stayed in. It’d been nice. We’d slept until ten and had a late breakfast in bed. I’d even bravely dealt with all the missed calls from my mom. There’d been some yelling and tears on her part. A fair amount of what would the neighbors think. Thing was, my mom checked out of my life a long time ago, to Anne’s and my detriment. That I permitted her back in at all was sort of a miracle. Her opinion on my life was not required. I let her carry on for five minutes exactly and then told her I had to go and hung up. My life currently held enough drama without her getting involved. I didn’t want to hurt her, but nor would I allow myself to be hurt by her. The end.

Ben and I watched movies and caught up on some sexing. In the afternoon a plethora of boxes and bags from places like A Pea in the Pod, Neiman Marcus, and some boutique called Veronique arrived. All the maternity wear and then some. I didn’t dare ask what it cost. Ben gave me the Look. What with now being in a relationship and having my own Look, signifying a line which should not be crossed, I respected his need to support me and Bean and wisely let it go. At seventeen weeks, I looked rockin’ good that night in my maternity jeans and black tunic, both of which actually fit for a change.

But back to the dinner conversation.

“Marty can definitely be rabid when she puts her mind to it,” said Mal, his arm slung around the back of Anne’s chair. “Wouldn’t have thought she’d sic the press on someone, but like Jim said, hell of a coincidence, timingwise, for the story to break the day after her visit.”

We sat gathered around a big mahogany dining table in David and Ev’s suite, sharing an extravagant dinner. The chefs in these places knew their stuff. Foodgasms galore.

“I don’t buy it.” David sat back, fingers pinching his lips. “She knows that’d only lead to them being all over Ben too. For all her faults, she loves her brother. No way she’d do anything again to directly fuck with him.”

“She didn’t do it.” Ben remained adamant. And rather peeved, if the furrows on his forehead and sliver-thin lips were any indication.

I put my hand on his leg, gave him a small smile. Frankly, I wouldn’t put anything past the crazy-ass bitch. Right now, though, Ben needed me on his side. With next to no evidence, I’d be cautious but I wouldn’t damn her just yet. Nor would I be letting her near me, however. “What does it even matter who did it? It’s done.”

My sister gave me a long, assessing look.

“It was bound to come out sooner or later, especially with us on tour,” said Anne, taking my back. “God knows how many different people have seen her coming in and out of Ben’s suite, or just seen them together in general. And she’s showing now. It wouldn’t take much to put two and two together. There’d be big money up for grabs for a story like that. Especially once they had the right pic to sell it.”

“Exactly. I doubt the girl will be throwing me a baby shower anytime soon. But let’s not assume the worst until we know more.”

Ben gave my hand a squeeze of appreciation.

“Pumpkin’s right. It was bound to get out. Fact is, we’ll probably never know who the helpful little shithead was who ratted Lizzy out.” Mal swirled a glass of red wine before downing it in one fell swoop. “Let’s just enjoy our night off.”

Various nods and murmurs of agreement. Thank goodness.

“Hear Down Fourth are breaking up after the tour,” said Ben, one hand holding mine and the other holding a beer.

“No shit?” Jim hand-fed Lena a chocolate-covered strawberry.

“Keep that up I’ll be as big as a house,” she said after swallowing it down.

“Making babies takes a lot of energy.”

“Lead singer got offered a solo deal and their drummer’s moving on to Ninety-Nine,” continued Ben.

“Hard on Vaughan and Conn,” said David.

“Nature of the business. Some bands are just pit stops on the way to other things. Surprising, though. They’ve been together a long time.” Mal beat out a rhythm with thumb and forefinger on the table. “Vaughan’s actually a damn good guitarist with not a bad voice. Heard him messing around the other night. Think he just got stuck playing bass for them. Might be a chance for him to trade up.”

“Nothing wrong with bass,” said Ben, giving the drummer a foul look.

“Be fair, Benny-boy. There’s nothing right with it, either.” Mal grinned. “Is it true bass players can’t count past four?”

“Says the dickhead that can barely hold two sticks.”