Page 39 of Melt With You

This was no joke.

Van had his foot set on her knee, and he watched carefully as she painted each toe a vibrant, shimmery turquoise. She glanced at the bottom of the bottle to read the name: TOTALLY TUBULAR.

‘You always have your nails painted?’ she asked him.

He winked at her. ‘Just before a gig. It’s superstitious, I guess. But I think it’s good luck.’

‘And do you always have a girl paint them for you?’

Now, he stared harder at her. She thought he was about to make a joke, but the seriousness of his expression caught her off guard. ‘No, Emma,’ he said, voice low. ‘Sometimes, I have a boy.’

She heard the inflection in his voice. Heard him say ‘have’ the way Nina had said ‘have.’ (‘Did you have Van last night?’ And her response, ‘I had fun.’)

‘Oh,’ she said, not thinking. Not able to come up with anything more clever in the way of a response. She sounded so naïve. Why did Van always manage to appear to have a wealth of experience when he was so much younger than she was?

‘Is that a problem?’ he asked next. She didn’t have any response to that either. Was it a problem? A problem for who? A problem for her?

She shook her head, not meeting his eyes, pretending that the job of painting his toenails was taking her total focus.

‘I wouldn’t have said anything,’ he continued. ‘But you asked.’

Had she? She’d asked about nail polish, not bed partners. Did they equate to the same thing for Van? Did the people who painted his nails always share his bed? Or did he only let people he’d fucked paint his nails?

Dori focused on the pedicure rather than try to continue the conversation. She painted each nail and then blew on his toes to dry them. Van reached down and put one hand on hers. She still didn’t meet his eyes.

‘Is it a problem?’ he asked again, slower.

Dori thought hard about the query, and then she shook her head. There were more serious problems in her world, weren’t there? The fact that she’d slipped back in time twenty years seemed much more of a pressing problem than the fact that her new lover was bisexual. But still the thought lingered. Did she have a problem being with a boy who also went with boys? She spent so much of her time with gay men, hairdressers and stylists, and every so often she’d developed a minor crush on one. But Van was different. He seemed equally divided, so testosterone-driven one moment, and then absolutely feminine the next, foot up for her to reach each toe.

‘So who’s in the group?’ she asked, and he grinned at her and started to explain.

He was in a band, a garage group of kids he’d known since junior high. Dori thought she remembered this from working at the beauty supply store, remembered that he was good. Better than your average group. They were called ‘Back Door Delivery Boys,’ in that tongue-in-cheek style that came from Van’s sense of humor. She tried to recall what had ever happened to them. Something … they’d been going to a competition, and something had happened to his truck.

She started to ask, and then caught herself. Undoubtedly what she was going to ask about was still in the future. She tried hard to think back, only half-listening as Van continued to explain where he’d found the drummer and how each one of the band members was really committed to the mutual goal of …

Dori thought harder. Chelsea’s boyfriend Dameron had been in the group, too, hadn’t he?

‘Please say you’ll come,’ he said, taking her silence for a lack of interest, and she nodded immediately. ‘Of course, I will. I’d love to.’

‘Nina and Bette will be there, too. I’m looking for as many friendly faces as we can find. If we raise enough cash, we’re going to this big gig in Los Angeles. It’s a competition. The winning band gets signed.’

‘Signed?’

‘A record deal. Can you imagine? Real records.’

He was so excited, that she couldn’t help smiling at him, the way he seemed lit up when he talked about his music. But even as she listened to him continue, she tried to remember exactly what had happened. Why the band had never made it to the gig.

She was surprised when he took her by the hand and led her to the bathroom. Her mind was still on her past and his future, so much so that she didn’t know what he wanted from her when he handed over a razor. He sat with his leg poised elegantly against the lip of the sink, then looked at her.

‘Will you?’ he asked, and she realized he wanted her to shave his legs. She fought back the giggle that threatened to give away her nerves. ‘Seriously?’

He nodded.

Carefully, she spread the shaving cream along his lean, muscular legs, realizing as she did so that he was actually a blond. That his hair must have been dyed black, then streaked emerald green, because the hair on his legs was golden. Biting her bottom lip to concentrate, she used well-placed strokes to shave him clean, but even as she focused on the task at hand, her mind continued to trip back in time.

The truck had caught fire. That’s what had happened. The boys hadn’t been able to make the show, because not only their ride, but their instruments had gone up in the blaze. She was still lost in memories as she used the razor to give him the sleekest shave.

Van had continued to play gigs after the fire. He wasn’t the type to just give up. But the destruction of his truck along with the demolition of the instruments had been too much all at once.

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