Page 167 of Naughty Dreams
“You're both always on the road.” Marjorie straightened from deadheading the flowers in one of the poolside flowerpots, no matter that he had an army of landscapers to do that. She stretched her back and sat down on the edge of his lounger. Resting a hand on his chest, she gripped the ichthys, drawing his attention to it. “DJ, you are a decent, strong and loving man. He'd be lucky to have you. You are very special. I thought I’d gotten you past the foster child nonsense of thinking you aren’t worth loving.”
DJ stiffened. She was too good at hitting it on the head, and calling a lame excuse out for what it was. “I guess I thought I was, too, but with everything that’s happened…I’m just messed up, Marjorie. So maybe it is better if we take some time and figure out if it’s real.”
“Or maybe you need the one person who can help you work through things and get un-messed up.” Marjorie tugged a short lock of his hair. “DJ, it’s simple. If you love someone, you tell them. Tell them you want to be with them. However, I know you prefer more dramatic gestures.”
She shot him an amused look. “Steve will never forget his thirtieth birthday, nor will the local police department. So if you need to make a dramatic gesture for Roy to express how you feel, stop delaying. Make it. You’ve lost a lot these past few months. Roy doesn’t have to be one of those things.”
DJ thought about it. And kept thinking about it, even when he put her in the car to go home a few hours later.
The song percolating in his head since before the death of his band had been written, the choreography worked out. And yet…maybe he wanted to change a few things, turn a commercial effort into something more personal. Maybe he wanted to be sure the performance said everything the song did.
If so, he’d need to get his ass in gear and everyone else associated with it, because any changes at this point would make the timeline tight. The first public performance of the song was coming up soon.
But before he gave Marshall a heart attack, he needed to get an informed opinion. As he considered who might provide that to him, a slow smile crossed his face. They were on his schedule for after the show, but he expected they wouldn’t object to an earlier meeting. He had the piece they’d requested almost ready, after all.
He texted Madison and received an enthusiastic reply a mere few seconds later. He texted Henry next, letting him know he needed to go to Charlotte in the morning.
“I can’t believe you not only found the time to do this, but came up with something this spectacular.” Madison had finished her third listen to the demo tape he’d brought, this time while following the script together as it played.
“I’ve been working on it in my spare time.” It had been a good break from everything else, a way to pass the long hours of the night, when he put off sleep because he dreaded finding himself in the hallway again.
“I’d love you to be here for opening night. Maybe come out and take a bow for it.” Julie winked at him. She was a curvy woman with vivid blue eyes that might be contacts. Her eyes were lined with dark blue color and two black dyed braids held back her thick brown hair. In a theater T-shirt that barely contained ample breasts, and faded, snug jeans, she looked like a woman dedicated to the dramatic arts.
The biographies on the theater website said Julie had run a community theater in New York City before she came here. When she introduced her to DJ, Madison said she had the determination of a bulldog, the enthusiasm of a golden retriever, and the tenacity of a Jack Russell.
“In short, she’s saying I’m a first-class bitch,” Julie had joked. “But if you want a community theater to thrive, I’m your woman.”
“I’m just kidding. I know you’re busy,” she said, showing the golden retriever side. “We’ll send you a tape.”
“If I can be here, I will, but I don’t want to take anything away from your performers. I’d rather just come as an anonymous guest. I know how to be incognito.”
Being able to go out without being recognized had been unexpectedly freeing, enough that he’d seriously considered cutting his hair back again. But one thought of Roy’s fingers tugging on it, stroking through it, and he knew he wouldn’t. Unless Roy persisted in holding him at arm’s length, and then DJ would shave himself bald out of spite. And tattoo “Roy sucks” across his skull.
DJ opened up another file on his laptop. The three of them were sitting on the same side of a card table that had been set up on the theater stage, the score piped through the music system so they could feel the effect. DJ had been pretty jazzed about the results himself.
Composing music, experiencing the joy of it coming together, was bittersweet. Knowing he didn’t have Steve, Tal and Pete to share it with, to make it even better with their input, was tough. He was doing some of it with his new bandmates, but it wasn’t the same.
He liked Dillon, the new guitarist, though, and Sy was upping his game daily, absorbing information like a sponge from studio musician drummers who were the best in the business. DJ and Moss had arranged for them to work with Sy.
It could still be good. It would just take time.
“If you’re cool with it, I’d like to show you something,” DJ said to the two women. “There’s a new song I’ll be debuting at my next show. I want to change some of the choreography, and I’d like your thoughts. Top secret stuff.”
“Wait. I can’t record this with my spy camera for our social media pages?” Julie made a show of tapping the top button of her shirt, just below her impressive cleavage. “Dang it.”
DJ chuckled, but called up the video of the latest beginning-to-end rehearsal of the piece. As he took them through it, he explained the changes he was considering.
Julie morphed from teasing flirt to intent stage manager, requesting a re-watch without any interruptions. Afterward, her follow-up questions confirmed her experience, and the suggestions she offered improved the message and emotion he wanted to convey. He made a lot of notes.
Julie looked toward Madison. “Grab Des from out back. He can offer input on the rope stuff.”
“This is why I hired her,” Madison told DJ as she rose. “I thought it was a hundred percent fabulous. She sees how to make it better.”
“I plan to shamelessly use her knowledge.”
“She likes to be shamelessly used. Just ask her husband.”
Julie curled her lip in a mock snarl. Madison grinned and disappeared behind the stage. DJ heard the side exit door open and close. So absorbed in what Julie was discussing with him, he ignored his cell when it pinged twice, but when it started ringing, he gave it an impatient look.
