Part 26 (1/2)

I realized that not only was my room crowded with two parents, the twins, a four-year-old, a twelve-year-old and my seventeen-year-old sister, but they were managing to block any exit from around the bed, and they were all watching me as I talked on the phone.

”Can't really talk right now, guests, you know?”

”All right,” he said. ”I'll be sitting here alone. Imagining you without your clothes.”

I felt the blood rush to my head. My face and neck grew hot, even though I knew ... or at least hoped ... my parents couldn't hear what he was saying. I'm fairly certain, however, that my face telegraphed some of it, because Carrie grinned at me, my father looked away, and my mother's expression became grim. I turned away, toward the window, feeling almost naked.

I found myself hoping one of the twins would start bouncing again, or do something else to catch my parents' attention. Maybe Sarah would break something?

”That sounds great,” I said, keeping my voice quiet. ”I'll see you in the morning?”

”Only one question: did you talk to Murray?”

”I did ... or rather his a.s.sistant, Terry Woolard. We're having lunch next week to hammer out details.”

”So, no deal yet?”

”No, not yet. We're going to have some negotiating to do.”

”They made an offer, though?”

”Yes. But very low. I'll fill you in on all the details later, but I've got to go now.”

”All right. Tomorrow,” he said.

”Bye,” I said.

”Bye,” he replied.

I didn't want to hang up the phone, but I did. Slowly. I snapped the phone closed and turned around to face my family. ”So ... let's go?”

Too good for you (Crank) What do you do when there's absolutely nothing you can do? I desperately wanted to call Julia back. Get all the details of her conversation with Murray's a.s.sistant, every nuance of the conversation. What exactly did he offer? What did she mean by 'we have some negotiating to do'?

I paced in my room in circles, frustrated as h.e.l.l. Lunch next week? Why the h.e.l.l was it going to take that long to hammer out a deal? I could go insane in a week.

Finally, agitated, I went downstairs to the studio and sat down in front of the keyboard. I'd been wrestling with the same song for nearly two weeks. Something just wasn't working, and I hadn't been able to even get started on anything else while this was still stuck in my head, there, but not quite there. I'd tried twenty different arrangements, but they all came down to the same thing. I needed four hands on that keyboard for this song to work.

Frustrating. I was stuck.

”Something's missing.” Serena spoke the words from the bottom of the stairs. I'd been so occupied, playing through the chorus over and over again, that I didn't notice her come down.

”Yeah, I know,” I said.

”It's almost there,” she responded. She was wearing a tight tank top with spaghetti straps and white capris. Enough to inspire l.u.s.t in anyone, but she was safe with me. The band was more important, always had been. And now ... Julia. That changed everything. Except maybe it didn't, because the only thing Julia would commit to was confusing the h.e.l.l out of me.

That didn't mean I couldn't look.

”What did you think of Julia?” I asked. Okay. That might have been a little pa.s.sive-aggressive on my part.

Serena gave me a sour look. ”You're all tied up in her, aren't you?”

I shrugged, trying to give away nothing.

”I didn't want to like her,” Serena said. ”I really didn't. But I couldn't help it. She's smart. And I get the feeling she won't put up with any bulls.h.i.+t from Mark. Or you.”

I sighed and pivoted around so I was sitting backwards on the piano bench. ”What bulls.h.i.+t from me?”

She chuckled and looked directly at me. It was a seductive look. ”You know what I'm talking about. I don't think pulling girls on stage and grabbing their t.i.ts is in your future, Crank. Or taking them home afterward.”

”That was getting old, anyway,” I said. ”What do you care?”

She shrugged. ”I don't. Except, as always, how it affects the band.”

I said, ”The only way I can see it affecting the band is if you let it.”

She shook her head and gave me a wry smile. ”You're very full of yourself, aren't you?”

I snorted.

”Seriously, Crank. It's been amusing to pretend I had a thing for you the last couple of years. But don't ever mistake me for being serious about you.” She walked closer and sat on the bench near me.

”How am I supposed to know what to think?”

”You aren't, Crank. That's the point.” She rolled her eyes as she said it.

”I don't get it.”

”That's because you know nothing about me.”

”You never talk about anything before you came to Boston.”

”And why should I?” she asked. ”It's not as if you ever asked.”

I leaned forward and said, ”I'm asking now.”

She shook her head. ”I don't have any horrible sob story to tell you, Crank. My parents emigrated from India and had me. I ran away when I was eighteen to avoid an arranged marriage. And here I am.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. ”Did you say arranged marriage?”

”Yes. My parents wanted me to marry this obnoxious pig from Lansing. It's common in India, but not so much here.”

”So what happened, exactly?”

She shrugged. ”I broke his nose. And bought a bus ticket for Boston.”

”You broke his nose? That's actually hilarious,” I said.