And my drummer doesn't share, for the record. He's dead. He was the first one to vacate earth under the pressure from leading so many. But I don't miss Cole, not anymore.
I went to work this morning (how formal, geez. I walked over to the boathouse, coffee and phone in hand). I function as Caleb's frequently sexually harassed personal assistant while he pretends to be a venture capitalist/mogul/financier. It's very exciting, oh, yes it is. Mostly I schedule conference calls and file statements and listen to music.
I figure he is already working when I walk in this morning. I don't knock and he hardly ever locks the door so it's sort of an expectation that I am always welcome.
Except that when I walk in this morning, there is music playing and I smell perfume. It's lingering in the air and I say his name, switching to professional because I don't know what to expect.
Mr. C____?
I hear him laugh and then he walks out into the hall wearing only a towel wrapped around his hips, his straight razor in his hand, and the remainder of his face to be shaved.
I'm alone now, Bridget. You don't have to be formal but I appreciate the lack of implied complication if I weren't.
Someone was here?
Yes. Her name was Peyton. Medium height, brown hair. Very attractive, actually. I sent her home in a car around one this morning.
And you had a good date?
We went to dinner and a show and then came back here for a nightcap.
And you're going to see her again?
No, Bridget, I'm not. She was an expenditure I didn't want, but I can't live like a monk so I contract services to look after my needs. I'm not like the boys in that house. I can't live like that.
I know. We're down to whispers and thanks to the look on his half-shaven face I change the subject out of a sudden need to feel better. Coldplay this morning?
It's beautiful, isn't it?
Yeah. I nod and point back behind me. I'll make some coffee for you, okay?
That would be great. I want to get a lot done today. He steps back into the bathroom and resumes his routine. He starts singing along with White Shadows and he sings it well, I know it's a favorite but I sort of forget sometimes what Caleb sounds like when he sings, too. I have to lock my knees so I don't hit the fucking floor.
When he finally comes into the kitchen, fully dressed and ready for some work, I can't resist the dig. He's in a good mood (fancy that) so I know I can get away with almost anything this morning.
You realize her name probably wasn't Peyton, right?
I'm well aware that that was not her name, Bridget.
What name did you use?
I'm not going to talk about this anymore, okay?
You said your name was James, didn't you? James Bond but not THE James Bond?
So busted. Against his efforts not to, he breaks into a grin. Can we PLEASE get to work, Bridget?
Yes, Mr. Bond. Right away, sir.
Please, call me James.
Depends. What's the going rate for me to call you that?
Bridget!
Hey, you left your virtue at the door with one phone call. It's open season, Diabhal.
He smirks through the grin. Fine, I'll give you until noon to get it out of your system and then I will exact payback.
Oooo. Payback. Will it be shaken or stirred?
Christ. You're impossible.
Come on! I'm just having a little fun! No one ever lets me have any fun!
He stops smiling abruptly. It's as if I have thrown a switch.
Maybe you get what you wanted
Maybe you stumbled upon it
Everything you ever wanted
In a permanent state
Maybe you'll know when you see it
Maybe if you say it, you'll mean it
And when you find it, you keep it
In a permanent state
A permanent state