Page 37 of A Much Younger Man
“And you live alone.”
“Well, that kind of goes with the sixty-hour workweek.” It felt like we’d gone from talking about him to diving unabashedly intomypersonal life. I wasn’t ready to go into all the reasons I didn’t have someone.
“This ex who said you ruined everything…what’s that about?”
“I’d rather not talk about him.”
“Okay.” He moved next to me on the couch. “Let me teach you a chord you don’t know. You know A minor seventh?”
“I don’t think so.” He took my hand and placed my fingers between the frets to form the chord.
“Strum.”
I did as he asked. “That it?”
“Mmhmm.” He didn’t let go of my fingers.
“Is it warm in here?” With his body so close, heat flooded my face and sweat stung my forehead. “I could open the slider.”
“I’m not warm, but I’m nervous. Are you?”
“No, of course not. Why would I be nervous? I mean, unless you’re a serial killer. Are you a serial killer? Not that there’s anything—”
“No.”
“Good.” I breathed a sigh of relief before getting up and leaving my guitar with him. “That’s good.”
“Are you?”
“Nope. Haven’t killed anyone.” Then suddenly I remembered the awful day I’d had and why. “Oh God. Not people anyway.”
“What would you say if I told you that you make me nervous?”
“Me? I’m…” I had no idea what to say to that. “I’m harmless. Mostly. You’re completely safe with me.”
“Oh, Doc.” He laughed softly. “You have no clue, do you?”
“What are we talking about?”
“Everyone in your office says you’re oblivious. I didn’t really believe it, but—”
“Oblivious? To what?”
“I shouldn’t have to be the one to tell you this.” Beck’s fingers moved automatically along the neck of my guitar while he picked out arpeggios by rote. “You’re the total package, Doc.”
“Iam?” I asked, incredulous. “You’re joking.”
It was the perfect moment for one of Rico’s zingers, “You ruineverything” or my personal favorite, “Not that younoticed.”
Of course, the bird stayed silent.
“Okay, wow.” Beck laid the guitar aside. “Guess they were right. Don’t you know how hot you are? And nice? Wow, are you nice. This. Dinner. Sitting here with you. I’m—I guess I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“You don’t have to do anything.”
“But I want to. You live here all alone. You eat with a bird and read from a scrapbook your mom made. You don’t have to do that. You could have anyone you want.”
My whole body got cold because he was singing my song, and I didn’t want to admit it.
