Page 81 of Final Serenade

Dante leaned forward, lips stretched into a smile, the meaning of which I couldn’t read. It was a puzzling blend of various expressions. Like Frank, he was a man of many faces.

We stared at each other for a good minute until he finally said, “I guess Frankie-boy hit his head harder than I thought.”

My stomach flipped. “You need to check yourself, Dante,” I hissed.

“And you need to mind your own business, darlin’.” His tone wasn’t mean. He sounded…wounded. Jealous. As if I’d trespassed on their relationship. “You know absolutely nothing about Frank and me, so I suggest you stop playing the role of his mental health counselor and stick to doing what you do best. Fucking him.”

The wrath hit me then. It pulsed through me like a savage beat. A wave of disappointment, anger, hurt. A combination of emotions I didn’t want to feel.

“Stop the car,” my tremulous voice ordered. My gaze darted over to Corey. He didn’t react.

“Stop the car,” I pressed, returning my attention to Dante.

He cracked the divider and told the driver to stop.

I wasn’t sure exactly where I was when I stepped out of the vehicle. Loud breaths raked my chest and blood rushed through my temples. It took me a moment to regain my control and shake off the unease. I stood near the curb, my eyes following the limo until it turned the corner. Streetlights and condos lined both sides of the quiet road and the distant noise of traffic told me I’d been dropped off only a few blocks away from a busy neighborhood.

There was a text message from Levi on my phone when I drew it out of my pocket to get an Uber.

Levi: R U good?

Yes, all good,I typed back and added a thumbs-up emoji. I knew I needed to come up with some kind of story because he was going to ask about this next time we spoke, but my mind was hollow and my hands shook when I tried to navigate the Uber app.

I called Frank from my car.

“Ashton lost his key,” I lied. “I’m going to have to drive to Burbank. I think I’ll just see you tomorrow.” Part of me craved the calm of the intimacy with Frank and wanted to drive to Malibu, but the meeting with Dante and Corey had left a bad aftertaste in my mouth. I needed a short break from my secret life. Although it’d already started to mix with my public one. The video of Isabella’s “Ambivalent” cover had piqued Frank’s interest and he’d asked me for copies of her recent performances.

“Are you sure?” His voice was low and sad on the line and cut through me like a knife through butter. It was sick how much I missed him when he wasn’t around. “I was going to get the hot tub going.”

“Rain check?” The offer was very tempting.

“Do I have a choice?”

“The hot tub isn’t going anywhere before tomorrow, right?”

“I don’t think so.”

After we said our goodbyes, I drove to Burbank to sleep in my bed for the first time in over a week.

The following day was busy. I woke up early and loaded myself with coffee to put together a recap of the art show. Levi and I met up with a couple of his college friends for lunch to discuss the documentary. Apparently, to get this project off the ground, we needed to involve the entire city.

After the meeting, we drove downtown to interview the drummer of Bleeding Faith, who’d recently gotten out of rehab. His publicist had been begging us to run an exclusive. We couldn’t pass up the opportunity. As a matter of fact, reformed musicians who’d been through hell and back always got the most hits.

Levi kept asking about Dante and why the guitarist wanted to talk to me, and I wasn’t sure if the story I told him held water, but I’d decided to play it safe and insisted it was a coincidence that he’d ended up in the gallery’s parking lot. I had a bigger dilemma to face. The confrontation with Dante and Corey left me confused and rattled, and at some point, I needed to tell Frank.

Afternoon traffic was bad and I didn’t make it to Malibu until eight.

I knew something had happened the moment I stepped inside. The house was quiet and cold and far from inviting. Frank sat in the dining room, facing the glass wall, and stared at the flickering spread of the ocean. His posture was stiff, shoulders corded with tension. A drink sat next to him on the table. This was how I knew the incident with Dante needed to wait.

I dropped my bags on the floor and started my approach. Light tremors rushed through my limbs.

“Frank?” I reached for his arm. He didn’t move. “What’s going on?”

The hard stillness of the welcome rattled me. I grabbed the glass and brought it to my face. The sharp smell of liquor crept up my nostrils. This was the second time since we’d met that I’d seen him consume alcohol. All pretense of normalcy that had lingered inside these walls was gone. Tonight he slipped, deviated from the path he’d been on to prepare for the upcoming shows. And I needed to find out what had pushed him into the abyss of ignorance.

Alarmed, I breathed out a heavy sigh and set the glass back on the table. “You know you can’t drink, Frank.”

He didn’t say anything. His hand searched for mine and he pulled me closer. His cheek pressed to my stomach. There was something awfully fragile in his movements. Unsure of what to say, I ran my fingers through his thick sandy strands. They were silky and soft to the touch, like a tangle of feathers.

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