Perhaps he ought to look in a mirror and reconnect with the good man he was when he started to feel jumpy about his personal life. His conscience would guide him to the right decisions.
A series of knocks struck the door in a jaunty rhythm, cutting short the camaraderie.
Brian opened the studio to Helen. She wore a goofy grin and a T-shirt with a graphic of a kitten riding through outer space atop a slice of pizza. “Hey. I recognize that guitar from Minneapolis.”
Puzzled by the random intrusion and clumsy, forced comment, he stroked Lady S’s glossy finish. “Right, well, she’s my special instrument. What’s going on?”
Helen waved jazz hands in the air. “I know, I know, I’m totally pulling a Yoko right now, crashing your practice. But I have big news.”
The excitement in her voice perked him up. “Do tell.”
She bit down on her bottom lip, drawing out a dramatic pause. “Two words: Soul Krush.”
Many of his acquaintances in the entertainment industry took spin classes and practiced yoga in the elite studio, though he found it odd that she chose this exact moment to mention the gym. “What about it?”
“They’ve invited me to guest teach a couple of classes while I’m here as long as I give a good audition. This could really open doors for me back in Minneapolis. Be a huge opportunity to enrich my brand and gain some name recognition.”
“Congratulations.” He stepped forward and wrapped Helen into an embrace.
The way she returned his hug, with two pats on the back and her bottom stuck out so their pelvises didn’t touch, confused him. But Helen was a bit awkward, so maybe this stiffness came with her feeling nervous about auditioning.
“Thank you. Can I ask a favor?”
“Of course.”
“I was hoping to go over there this afternoon and scope out the space. Would you mind coming along and watching me practice my sequence? Give feedback?”
Thick jumbles of questions about her request floated around his mind.
“I don’t know how much help I’d be, seeing as I’ve never done yoga. I’d snap these old bones in half.” He bent his head at a comical angle, an attempt at humor mismatched to his state of mind.
“I value your opinion, though.”
Helen didn’t know anyone in Los Angeles and therefore didn’t have anybody else to ask for help. She was reaching out to him, and he wouldn’t push her away. Not when she was trusting him to weigh in on an important part of her identity. Helen’s request represented an effort to bring them closer after she’d pushed him away in the car. So what if she hadn’t nailed the delivery.
“Sure. Give me fifteen to wrap up.”
“You got it.” She shut the door behind her.
Brian returned to the jam session, though a nagging feeling as bothersome as a rock in the shoe irritated the back of his mind.
“That was off the wall,” Jonnie said.
“She’s so hot. Let me know if you two split up.” Thom pumped a suggestive fist up and down the neck of his bass, coaxing a moan from his instrument.
Jonas slugged Thom’s arm. “How does it feel, being a stereotype of the oversexed rocker?”
“Feels like a wet dick and an empty set of balls.”
“Off the wall how?” Brian asked Jonnie, unfocused anxiety rushing over his skin.
“Never mind. Forget it.” Jonnie fiddled with the volume on his amp.
“Tell me.”
“I thought her voice sounded a tad fake,” he muttered.
“Fake in what way?”
“Don’t get pissed. You asked for my honest opinion, and I gave it. Helen gives me pause. She made a questionable first impression. I get a strange sense from her, like she’s hiding things. There, I said it. But you’re a grown man, and I don’t purport to tell you how you ought to live your life.”
“Yet you just did.”
“Can we please not bicker?” Jonas said. “I’d love it if we could get through this finale show without bungling songs we’ve been playing for thirty years due to you two fighting about a woman. After the finale we have six months before we’re back in the studio, and then you can do whatever you wish.”
“He’s right.” Thom played an early Fyre song. “Focus.”
The remainder of band practice transpired with a marked, uncharacteristic lack of socializing, and when all concerned were confident they’d shaken off the rust, Brian hung Lady S on her wall-mounted hook. “You three sticking around?”
“Yeah, figure we’ll do a bit of experimenting.” Thom rested his instrument against a chair and made his way to the sound booth in a carefree gait.
“Alright. Take care. Jon, you remember the new security code for the house, yeah?” Brian asked.
“Of course.” Jonnie grabbed Brian’s arm, his eyes darkening.
“What? You look like you have something you want to say.” Brian tensed against his best friend’s hold. The last thing he wanted was to suspect Jonnie of secrets.
Jonnie drew in a loud breath and hissed it out. “No. I don’t.” He let go.
Fighting a destabilizing, flummoxed feeling, Brian left his studio and ambled up the carpeted steps. He popped out of the door adjacent to the kitchen.
Helen stood at the island chopping produce. The sight of his chef’s blade in her hands, ten inches of sharpened Japanese steel gleaming in the remains of sunlight, caused the willies to slip down his spine. Ugh, what was wrong with him?
“Glad to see you’ve made yourself at home.” He kissed the top of her head, seeking comfort in her distinct aroma but finding little. Her hair smelled like roses and coffee. “New shampoo?”
“Huh?” She sliced a carrot, polished blade sliding through the root vegetable like it would a stick of butter.
“Nothing. Ready?”
“You bet.” She leaned on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek, her lips cool and dry. He’d remembered the feel of Helen’s mouth as warmer, juicier, though perhaps the change in climate or smog affected her body chemistry.
Helen hummed a tune and crouched, pulled a
