Page 43 of Shattered Chords

“Exactly how many tables do you need me to move for you to agree?” I asked, leaning over, melting candy still in my hand.

She remained perfectly still. “I did some reading.”

“Really?”

“You’ve got quite the history.”

“That I do,” I confirmed. “But I’m sure you know not everything you find online is true.”

“No, but a lot of itistrue.”

“What exactly is stopping you from saying yes?”

She drew a deep, loud breath and looked away. An expression of concern settled on her face that was flushed from the heat.

I watched her carefully, without interrupting. The faint smell of her perfume tingled in my nose and filled my busted airways. I found it odd that hers was the only scent I could pick out from the multitude of smells that swirled around me. No exhaust fumes, no soap, no engine oil. Just her.

“You’re not the type of man for me,” she finally responded, every word like a blow.

“What type of man are you looking for?” I asked, staring at the candy that was turning into a sticky puddle in my palm.

“I’m not looking for a man, Dante.”

“What are you looking for then?”

“You really don’t take no for an answer.” She shook her head and bit her lip to hide the tentative smile that crept across her face.

“Everyone’s looking for something, Camille,” I whispered, catching her gaze.

“I have everything I need.”

“Do you?”

She took a step back. “We should go check on the food. Some of us have been here since six.”

Ouch!

By noon, a good portion of the volunteers had figured out who I was, and I spent my lunch doing what I did best—being the center of everyone’s attention. At first, it felt strange, foreign even. This wasn’t the type of crowd I was used to. Suburban housewives with their husbands, their teenage kids, and their puppies, who suddenly didn’t care about the fact I was the tabloids’ favorite, who didn’t say “fuck,” and who shook their heads when someone else did. Yet they wanted what I had to offer—a glimpse at greatness, because deep down they were envious. Envious of what I’d achieved—eternity. Because after I was gone, my music would still be alive.

Yes, after months in rehab, I was still a hopeless junkie.

Fame was my other drug of choice that I’d never cared to seek treatment for.

It’d been dormant for months and I’d grown to like the simplicity of my existence, but just like any addiction, it was always there and all it needed was a small push. A sweep of adoration and curiosity. A few precise words and there I was. Back on that adrenaline-riddled train that was going nowhere.

It was the best feeling ever. Being praised for my accomplishments. It overrode the all-consuming sense of defeat that had throbbed in my veins ever since Camille dodged my attempt number two. Unlike other women here, she didn’t seem impressed with my accolades.

“It’s not fair, you know,” I told her as we inched along the table holding trays of food later on.

The midday heat didn’t take any prisoners and people were too tired to pay attention to us or our conversation. On the opposite end of the park, kids were playing with the water hose. To my right, an old man in a US Air Force Veteran baseball hat was digging through the pile of meatballs, looking for the one that would look good next to his baked potato.

“What’s not fair?” Camille tore her gaze from the plate she held in her hands and glanced up at me through the flutter of her lashes.

I leaned closer. “You’re judging me before you even know me.”

Her skin was luminous and her top stuck to her back like mine did.

“I’m not judging you.” Smiling, she plucked a piece of chicken from one of the trays and moved to the next one. “It’s called making an educated decision based on the information available.”

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