Page 92 of One More Time
‘What do you mean?’ she asked again, her lips moving against his chest.
‘You should get on the plane with me tomorrow and come with me to Europe for a year. And then the US. And then Las Vegas again. I want you to stay with me. To come with me. To be together.’
‘Why don’t you come with me back to Ohio?’ He could hear the incredulity in her tone. Understood every beat and measure of it by heart.
‘I would. If I could, Lou, I’d do it in a heartbeat.’
She raised herself up, rested an elbow on his chest and her chin in her hand so that she could look him in the eye. Her perfectly arched brows were all screwed up in confusion.
He continued, ‘I’ve been over it nine thousand different ways. Unfortunately, Super is heavily committed. We’ve got eleven shows already sold out. That’s something like five hundred thousand people give or take a rugby team.’ He felt her wiggle against him, so he planted a hand on her back. ‘We’re scheduled for something like fifty-five shows in Europe alone. We’ve got maybe a thousand people relying on us for employment. Riggers, sound engineers, security, truckers, roadies, caterers. Another, God, maybe … three thousand locals who will work the shows when we come to town. All of these people would rather I didn’t move to Ohio right this minute.’
‘Holy shit,’ she moaned as her forehead fell to his chest.
‘We’ve got insurance, they’d cover some of it. The twomillion or so we’ve already spent, maybe. But then, I could basically kiss any insurance on future tours goodbye. I’d be an untenable risk. Uninsurable.’
Lucy covered her face with one of her hands.
He had to finish, had to make her understand. ‘Touring is the only way the band makes money now. There’s no such thing as album sales anymore. Not really. But I don’t even care about that. I’d rather be with you, but it’s not just me. It’s Gill and Hoop and Vinny’s livelihoods, too. Plus, managers, agents, assistants—’
‘I get it,’ she said. Then mumbled, ‘Impossible.’ She lifted herself up and off him. It took every ounce of self-control he had not to pull her back down to him.
She sat next to him cross-legged and pulled the sheets up under her chin.
‘My life is smaller,’ she said. ‘Easier to abandon.’
Fuck.‘No,’ Nicky said firmly, sitting up to face her. ‘No. That is not what this is about. This is about you and me, Lou. We are good together. Please tell me you see that.’
‘I do,’ she whimpered. ‘Of course I do. But I can’t just walk away from mylife. I’m up for tenure. It’s been the goal for a fucking decade. Longer. I’ve worked my ass off. Spent months of my best years writing incredibly boring fucking books and so many stupid articles I could paper the Lusso’s lobby with them. I’ve sat through more committee meetings than is entirely safe. The State of California should slap a warning label on those things. Through three lousy marriages and Chloe’s whole magnificent life I’ve been working for this.’
Nicky could only sigh and rub his unshaven jaw, hopingthat some miracle solution would present itself in the silence.
‘Have you been happy, Lucy? Then? Now?’
‘Happy?’ she asked, her voice bordering on hysterical. ‘Happiness is transient, Nicky. It’s fickle and temporary.’
That might be the saddest thing Nicky had ever heard.
Nicky reached out for Lucy. Stroked a single finger on the outline of her thigh under the sheet. ‘Let me tell you something. Since we’ve been together, I’ve been happier than I can ever remember being. In the whole of my life, Lucy. For a solid year I haven’t written so much as a note, until you.’
Lucy shook her head. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I had all these empty fucking notebooks. A goddamn beat-up Martin that I’d drag around from place to place waiting for my mind to start up again and it just … didn’t. There was no music. Until you.’
‘So what? I’m yourmuse?’ she chided. ‘My pussy is magic and the only way to keep your music engines going?’
‘No, dammit,’ Nicky growled. ‘And I’m not going to let you do this.’
‘Do what?’
‘Push me away. Stop it. We’ve got enough shit going on here without adding that. Okay?’
Lucy’s discomfort was palpable. A solid thing that had wrapped itself around her like the sheet she was clutching.
Nicky added, ‘It’sme. The happiness. The music. You make me happy. And that has led me back to something I lost.’
Lucy made no sound but that of her breathing, looking down at the crumpled sheets.
‘Talk to me,’ Nicky said. ‘Just talk to me. We can figure it out.’
