Page 61 of Shattered Chords

“It’s a bit more complicated than it seems,” I said, putting the pick back on the coffee table and glancing at my cell phone.

It was six minutes after seven. The hour was up and then before Ally had a chance to dig deeper, Camille strode out from the kitchen. She wore a pair of black sweats and a yellow top and looked adorable with her fiery hair mounted into a messy ponytail on top of her head.

“So how did it go today?” she asked, surveying the living room as if looking for damage. Obviously, there was none. We weren’t out to ruin her house, only to make some noise.

Ally stiffened. “Fine.”

I stood up. “We’ll touch base in a couple of days about our next session, yeah?” My gaze darted to Camille first, then to Ally. I felt like I was walking a very fine line here between the two, unsure who was the real boss in this family.

“She starts school on Monday,” Camille reminded.

“Right.” I nodded. “Education comes first.”

“It’s only two hours a week, Mom!” Ally protested.

“We’ll talk about it later, Bug.”

“Well, I guess I’ll see you when I see you, Hendrix.” I was about to start for the door when she blurted out, “Can Dante stay for dinner, Mom?”

There was a long moment of hard silence and the world outside ceased to matter.

Camille’s face was the picture of contradiction. “Umm…” The corner of her mouth bunched up. “I’m not sure…” She looked at me. “Are you hungry?”

Oh, this was extremely dangerous territory to tread in. I liked her and I wanted her. I didn’t know why. I just knew that I needed to have her in my life, but as I was getting to know Ally more, I was getting to understand where Camille was coming from when she rejected my dinner invitation.

I’d ruin her and her daughter if we crossed that invisible line that we’d drawn.

Suddenly, I felt every bit the homewrecker I’d been labeled by Frank after he discovered me and his wife doing the nasty in his bedroom.

I shoved the image—his face twisted with horror and disgust—out of my mind and snapped back to attention.

Camille and Ally were staring at me expectantly. “I am hungry,” I said finally. “But I’m very limited in what I can eat.” Shit, this made me sound like a total douchebag.

“Oh, it’s nothing crazy. Just chicken and broccoli.” Camille smiled softly.” And I use spices instead of salt.”

“If you insist.” I returned her smile.

“Awesome.” Ally set her guitar aside. “I’ll go get another plate.” She disappeared down the hallway and into the kitchen, leaving us alone in the room.

There was a pause that seemed to stretch on and on. Dishes rattled somewhere in the house.

Camille spoke first. “Was this your plan all along?”

“Not really.” I met her stare with vengeance. For a second there, our eyes were engaged in a silent battle. Finally, I said, “I can go if you want.”

“Ally likes you. And as much as I hate the idea of a stranger spending time with her, I do think you can be a positive influence. Just remember, she’s a human being and she won’t forgive you if you break her heart.”

“I promise I won’t.” I felt the solidity of these words when they left my mouth. I’d never really cared about what people thought of me, but with Camille and her daughter it was different. For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to let someone down.

We ate on the terrace. The heat was still at large, but the sun had dropped low and there was a huge fan plugged in near the table, which made the dinner with the back yard view more than bearable. Pleasant even.

Ally talked the most. She also asked countless questions, which I didn’t mind answering. The topics we discussed weren’t off-limits. Tour life. Performing in front of large crowds. How to fight stage fright. Nothing my publicist would advise me to keep a secret. Also, I wasn’t Frank. I didn’t carry loads of confidentiality agreements with me just in case.

Camille hardly participated. She didn’t eat much either. At first, I blamed it on the heat, but then I realized she was perhaps too nervous.

Ally finished first and rushed inside to text “something important” to her friend named Pauline, who kept coming up in almost every conversation. I remembered her from the show at Valley Club. Short hair, flashy makeup, cut-up clothes. Screaming voice that hadn’t matured yet. She’d sound different in a couple of years. How different? To be determined in the near future.

Camille and I were alone again, and this time, I felt compelled to make a joke. “So we’re finally having that dinner you’ve been putting off.”

---