Chapter Twenty-eight, Menage...
Posted by DiF on Saturday, August 13, 2011
Title: Don’t Look Away: Chapter Twenty-eight, Menage...
Rating: R [language, alcohol, drugs]
Summary: Cady likes French wine. So much so, she convinces John to come visit her in France. Meanwhile, in London, Pete writes her a love song, but has no one to share it with...
With her father’s quasi-approval of Pete, Cady left the hotel in better spirits than she had been in awhile. She had not realized she actually cared what her father thought. In fact, she always presumed she preferred to do whatever he did not like. But his silent approval of Pete seemed to create a bit of a hop in her step. She happily shopped in boutiques in Paris, purchasing a number of new outfits for her boyfriend.
As she stepped out of the last boutique, a couple passed directly in front of her, laughing and speaking softly in French. It instantly made her miss Pete, but she was not quite certain she was ready to face him. While defending her relationship to her father cemented her feelings on the matter, it did not help define herself in her mind ― at least not outside of being with Pete. That was the entire purpose of even being in Paris, not London. She was supposed to be finding herself.
Yet now with her father leaving the city, likely on a plane at that very moment, and Marlene out of the city on business, Cady was beginning to feel lonely. She was not opposed to be alone, even liked it from time to time. She had not grown up surrounded by anyone but the images and art in her head. Perhaps that was what she needed: art.
Turning back towards the hotel with her handfuls of packages, Cady slowly walked down the Parisian street. Her eyes absorbed every fact and detail, her soul stirring with inspiration she could not quite contextualize. Yet even her love of the way the fading sunlight hit the upper windows of the quaint medieval French buildings was tempered by her loneliness. Her pace back to the hotel quickened.
With the packages stacked neatly next to the wardrobe, Cady glanced at the clock in her suite and frowned. All of the major galleries and museums would be closed before she arrived. While she might be able to locate a hidden gallery still open, she did not feel like searching on her own. Instead, she sighed, ordered room service, drew a bath, and tried to convince herself the art could wait until the following day.
Sipping a glass of wine after dinner, Cady turned on the television, but could not get into the French programming. She needed more than just a television show. She needed companionship. Reaching for the telephone, she stared at the dial for a moment before deciding who to call.
On the third ring, a smooth voice answered, “Hello?”
“Bonjour, John,” she smiled.
“Cady, how are you, beautiful?”
She smiled slightly, “Lonely.”
“Not enough beautiful people around?”
“Not the right ones,” she replied.
He paused, “Does this mean you’re coming home?”
“Not quite. I am... settled on me and Pete.”
“But?”
“I am not quite settled on me.”
“Cade...”
“Will you come... will you come to Paris, John?” she asked.
He paused, “I’ll ring Pete and make the arrangements. He’ll be excited to see you again.”
“Just you, John. No Pete.”
“Cade, that sounds like a recipe for disaster.”
“Just for a day or two. I’ll return home to London with you,” she declared. “Otherwise, I may be here much longer.”
“All right... call me in a few minutes and I’ll let you know when I’ll be there.”
“Thank you,” she grinned. “This means so much to me.”
“I’ll see you soon, Cade.”
Finishing the bottle of wine while listening to French radio, Cady felt her spirits lifting. She tried on more of the garments left behind by Marlene, dancing around the room. Once the bottle was empty, she called John back, confirmed his early morning arrival, and profusely thanked him again. When they hung up the phone, she returned to dancing around the room and changing in and out of other garments.
After another bottle of wine, Cady plopped down on the bed and snatched the phone back up. With little hesitation, she dialed Pete’s number. As expected, it barely finished ringing the first time before he answered.
“Hello? Cady?”
“Bonjoooooooour, Pete!”
He chuckled, “Bonjour, Cady. How are you?”
“Drunk on wine,” she declared, her words slurring some. “And missing you.”
“Oh yeah? Come home.”
She hiccuped, “I can’t.”
“Why not? Are you okay? Do you need money? I’ll come get you,” panic filled his voice.
“No no no. I’m fine. I’m completely fine. I’m just not yet ready to come home to you.”
He sighed, “I need you to come home, Cady. I need to be with you.”
“You will be. Soon. A few more days. I’ll see you in a few more days.”
“Cady...”
“Soon! I promise.”
He sighed again, “I miss you.
“I miss you too. So much that... well... I have a lot of gifts for you.”
“You didn’t need to do that, Cady.
“I know. But I couldn’t help it. I love you. I love you so much. And I love shopping. And I love you. And I love cats. Do you love cats?”
Pete snorted, “Put the wine down, baby.”
“But, Peeeeeete, it’s so good.”
“Put the wine down, Cady, and drink a glass of water. For me, please.”
She pouted, “Do I have to put clothes on to do so?”
He remained silent.
Her eyes dropped down to her attire, “I should change. Nothing about this outfit makes sense.”
“Cady, you’ve had enough to drink.”
“No! I have another lonely bottle after this one.”
“Save it. Bring it back here. Don’t drink it.”
She sighed, “But Peeeeeeeete, it is sooooooooooooooooooo good.”
“Then save it and bring it back to share with me.”
“OH YES. FANTASTIC IDEA, PETE. YOU ARE A GENIUS.”
He chuckled, “Drink some water, Cady.”
“FINE,” she replied. “But I’m taking my clothes off first.”
“As long as you stay in your room, that’s fine.”
“How come?” she asked, wiggling around to begin to undress.
“Because no one else should see your nude beauty but me.”
Cady paused for a moment, thinking it over as she pulled off two mismatched boots, “What if a famous artist wants to paint me.”
“You tell him that you’re taken and talented enough to paint your own self-portrait if need be.”
“What if she won’t take no as an answer?”
Pete laughed, “Love, water, please.”
“Okay, okay. But Pete? Will you tell me a story?”
“With pleasure. Get your water and I’ll tell you a story.”
She stood up and stepped away from the bed, causing the phone to crash to the floor, “I can’t reach the sink with the phone, Pete.”
Stifling his laughter, he responded, “Set it down. I’ll wait for you to come back.”
“Oh okay. I love you.”
“I love you too. Get your water.”
“Okay. Okay. Hey Pete?”
“Yes?”
“I love you. I really, really love you.”
“I love you too. Get your water.”
“Okay... okay... I’m getting my water now. You’ll still be there when I get back, right?”
He chuckled, “Yes, love. Water.”
Waking in a much better mood than he had been in for some time, Pete quickly rolled out of the too-big-bed, used the WC, and headed into the kitchen to make tea. A melody began to take shape in his mind as he abandoned his cup of tea and headed into his tiny studio. Flicking on his recorder, he sat down with his acoustic guitar. Humming the melody in his head, he began to strum his instrument.
Within two hours, he broke a string and flipped off his recorder to preserve what little sanity he had left. Stepping out of the studio, Cady’s voice in his head telling him to remain calm, Pete returned to the kitchen and began to heat his tea up again. As the tea kettle began to whistle, words, a bit disjointed, began to fill his mind. He quickly removed the kettle and bolted back into his studio.
He scrambled for a notepad, re-spooled his previous recording, and sat down. While his guitar melody played through the speakers, as he saw no reason to wear headphones when he was alone, Pete scrambled to write the lyrics in his mind. The tape finished before his lyrics did, making him swear and glower at the machine.
For a long minute, Pete tried to decide exactly what to do. Setting aside the pad of paper for a minute, he set to focusing on restringing his guitar. With the instrument repaired, he adjusted the tuning and began to play the melody once more. It morphed slightly to meld with his sketchy lyrics.
Tea time passed before Pete felt as if he could step away from his studio. He returned to the kitchen and once more attempted to make his morning tea, even though it was mid-afternoon. Managing to remain out of the studio, he practically gulped his tea before turning to find something to eat.
Though he had not eaten much, it was enough to abate his hunger and Pete returned to his studio. He played back the tape, listening carefully. Not entirely satisfied with it, he rewound and played harmony along with it. Deciding that sounded even worse, Pete opted to replay and re-record the song, in its entirety.
Satisfied, he had to share it with someone. His first choice was in France, making him frown more as the song was completely inspired by her. Sighing, he headed to the phone and rang Kit. At least he knew the manager would be there for him.
But he didn’t answer the phone.
Sighing, he dialed the next number, hoping he could at least tell his best mate that he had written a very simple and very classic song for the next album. The phone rang four times before Allison answered.
“Oh, hello, Allison. How are you?” he asked conversationally.
“Oh just splendid,” her voice dripped with sarcasm.
“I see,” Pete replied awkwardly. “Well... may I speak with John?”
“Not at this number.”
He paused, “Is he at his mother’s?”
“No. Much further than that.”
“Um... Keith’s?”
“No. Across the Channel.”
“He left the country?”
“Gone to France. Without me.”
His eyes widened and he struggled for words, “Did he leave a number?”
“Of course he didn’t. Who would leave a number when they’re going out to shag as many French whores as possible?” she spat.
Feeling slightly better that she did not mention his girlfriend, Pete thanked her for her information and hung up the phone. Sighing, he turned away from the phone. There was no one left to share his music with, as he did not feel like ringing his mother. He did not feel like doing anything any more ― except maybe drinking. Maybe that would make his dark, jealous thoughts disappear.
Seated across Cady in a swanky Paris restaurant, John sipped a glass of wine as she talked about some artist she met for breakfast prior to meeting him at the train station. They had spent the day together, after depositing his luggage at her hotel, visiting the sights in Paris. While some of the locales, John visited while with the band, everything seemed different with a pretty bird by his side. Her ease in speaking the language certainly helped as well.
“So,” John glanced at the server as he filled their wine glasses again, “have you found what you were looking for?”
“I feel... better about so much already, so it’s quite possible,” Cady responded, reaching for her wine glass. “I feel like I can go back to Pete and feel comfortable in my own skin, in my relationship with him again.”
“Excellent. We’ll go back to your hotel and pack up and head back tonight,” he declared, setting his napkin on the table.
“Oh no. Not yet. There’s a couple of galleries I want to see first,” she responded
John sighed, “That’s something you should do with Pete. He’s the one who likes art.”
Cady frowned, “Just one museum at least?”
His eyes left hers and focused on her pouty frown, “Okay, fine. One museum.”
“Excellent,” she beamed. “But that’s tomorrow. Tonight I want to go to this club I found the other night. I think you’ll like it.”
“Cade...”
“We’ll head back to the hotel, get you checked into a room, get all changed, and I’ll show you the exciting Parisian nightlife!” she grinned.
“Um, well... about that...” he rubbed the back of his neck.
“What?”
“I kinda spent the last of my money getting here.”
Cady shrugged, “That’s no problem. I’ll pay for everything.”
“Not that it’s any of my business, but how? I might not be as bright as Pete, but I havenoticed your... lack of concern about the cost of anything... anywhere. I don’t know many birds who don’t work and just set off to ‘find themselves’ in Paris, and certainly not in that posh hotel. So how do you do it?” he asked.
“Um,” she glanced down at the table briefly before motioning for the waiter and requesting their check. “It’s not a simple answer.”
“Well...”
Cady retrieved her purse and paid for their dinner before standing, “Let’s walk back to the hotel. The night is nice.”
As they headed down the quaint street towards the hotel, Cady softly spilled her family history to John. He remained silent, only asking brief questions to clarify matters. Pausing on the walk to stop and light a cigarette, he carefully considered what she explained to him, trying to understand why she kept her family and wealth secret from him. He did not even question why she hid it from the band, but in the months spent together, John was surprised she had never once spilled it to him.
Stopping outside the hotel, he realized one night during the American tour, she hadbegun to tell him, but stopped herself.
“Cady?” he reached out and touched her elbow, guiding her away from the hotel entrance.
Her blue eyes went to his, trying to figure out how he felt in regards to the fact she was a wealthy heiress, “Yes?”
“I don’t care that you come from money or that your father could buy and sell anything he pleases in this world. You are still the beautiful, intelligent, artistic woman who loves my best mate. Money doesn’t change a thing.”
“But it makes everything easier,” she pointed out.
“Not everything,” he countered. “But a lot of things.”
Cady smiled slightly, “Come on. Let’s go get you a room to stay in before we go out.”
They stepped up to the front desk a few moments later, inquiring about a room for John. As fate would have it, there were no further vacancies. They stepped away from the desk, heading towards the elevator. John intended to collect his luggage and find a different hotel; Cady intended for him to just share her room with her.
Reaching the room, he followed her in and headed directly to his luggage, “I’ll just find another place to st ―”
“Nonsense. There’s plenty of room here,” Cady declared, looking at the sofa covered with clothing. “Well somewhere under there is a couch.”
“Cady, I don’t want to put you out,” he declared.
Her eyes went to his, “You came to France for me. You won’t be troubling me at all. In fact, I’ll sleep on the couch. You can have the bed.”
“Not at all. That is not acceptable.”
She rolled her eyes, “We’ll discuss this later. Let’s go out.”
Sitting in a booth in the back of a French disco, John smirked as he watched Cady dance with some French bloke. Pete certainly was a lucky wanker, and he did not even bring her financial stability into the equation. However, now that he knew, how could he not take it into account? She was beautiful, intelligent, artistic, and well-off. If anyone could hit the relationship jackpot, Pete had.
And he would be a liar if he said he did not envy that. Hopefully, no one would ever ask. John would hate to lie.
With her hand clutching the other man’s hand, Cady headed back to the table. She slipped into the booth next to the bassist, pulling her new friend with her. John silently shifted closer to the wall to make room for the bubbly woman, but said nothing. His eyes remained watching her every move, uncertain what she was talking about with her dance partner.
A bottle of champagne arrived at the table a minute later. Glasses filled passed around the table, Cady clinking her glass with both men before sipping the bubbly alcohol. She giggled as the bubbles hit her nose, her bright blue eyes flicking to John’s. He smiled, raised his glass to her, and took a large swig. She giggled again, before spinning her attention to the Frenchman.
A moment later, John’s breath caught. He watched in surprise as Cady leaned over and snorted a line of white powder with the Frenchman. Instantly his defenses went up. He knew very well the kinds of things that particular drug could do, having sampled it a fewtimes on tour. His blue eyes looked over to the other man, watching him rub Cady’s back suggestively. John bristled.
“Cade, love,” he leaned over, whispering in her ear, “why don’t we go back to the hotel?”
“Mmmm, splendid idea,” she replied. “Francois will come with us.”
John’s eyes flicked to the Frenchman briefly, recoiling slightly when the man winked at him, “Cade, love, I don’t want to share you or... be shared.”
Her eyes met his briefly before she leaned forward to kiss him. John’s hand slipped up between them, keeping her lips from touching us. He motioned to the other man with his eyes, using her new... friend... as the excuse for resisting physical affection. Nodding, she turned to the Frenchman and spoke softly to him. He kissed her deeply before moving out of the booth and holding his hand out for her. Cady slipped out of the booth, turning back to offer her other hand to John, ignoring the other man kissing up her arm. John’s eyes darkened and he quickly stood up. His hand grabbed Cady’s and quickly pulled her away from the other man. The Frenchman smirked and stepped closer, speaking something in French.
“I don’t know what you’re saying, mate, but keep your hands off her,” John spoke evenly.
The man continued to speak, words that made Cady giggle for some reason. A minute later, he reached forward and groped John’s crotch, rubbing it. Rage quickly filled the bassist’s face and he pushed the man away, snatched Cady’s purse off the table, and stalked towards the door, pulling the young woman with him.
He did not stop until he was a good distance from the club. Only then did he turn to face his best mate’s girlfriend. Her eyes were certainly dilated, indicating the euphoria of the white powder already coursed through her veins. Deciding they would walk it off as he was not entirely sure he could handle her in a small room in that state, John turned and continued to walk.
“John?” Cady asked, her pace brisk to keep up with his longer strides. “Are we going back to the room?”
“Yes, but not yet,” he responded. “We need to walk... for a bit.”
“But why?” she asked innocently.
“Because I’m a bit soused and quite a bit aggravated with your friend back there. And you’re more than a bit soused and a touch high. A walk will do us good,” he declared.
“If I’m a good girl, will you fu―”
“Absolutely not. You’re my best friend’s mate.”
“But my body’s on fire, John,” she claimed, stopping abruptly to force him to stop and look at her.
He looked directly into her eyes, “It will fade.”
“I don’t want it to.”
“Cade...”
“If we have sex, I’ll ―”
“No, just no,” he argued, turning away before she could attempt to kiss him and break down his resolve. “Let’s go see the Eiffel Tower.”
An hour later, after Cady crashed from her high, John escorted her back to the hotel. His arm remained circled around her waist, supporting most of her weight as the elevator headed to their floor. He paused at the door and dug around her purse for the key. Brushing a small bag of white powder, he hesitated briefly. Ignoring the drugs, he fished out the key and opened the door. Aiding her into the room, he dropped her purse by the door, closing and locking it behind as she stumbled towards the bed. She lost one shoe on the wobbly walk, but fell face down onto the bed with the other. Shaking his head, John approached the bed, pulled off her other heel, and tossed it with the other. With little struggle, he moved her properly into the center of the bed, tucking the blankets around her.
“John?” she muttered.
“Yes, sweet Cade,” he whispered in return.
“I wasn’t going to let him fuck you,” she claimed and rolled over on her side, her back to him.
Smirking, John shook his head before turning to flick the light off. He found the sofa in the darkness, glad they cleared it off before leaving for the eventful evening, and sat down. Boots and belt removed, he felt around for a blanket and laid down on his side. Refusing to relax until he was certain she was happily asleep, John finally relaxed for the first time that night. Between men leering at Cady to her befriending the one who wanted to bed them both to fending off her cocaine advances, he had not enjoyed the night as much as he should have. But it was a small price to pay to protect his best friend’s girl; a very small price.
Rating: R [language, alcohol, drugs]
Summary: Cady likes French wine. So much so, she convinces John to come visit her in France. Meanwhile, in London, Pete writes her a love song, but has no one to share it with...
With her father’s quasi-approval of Pete, Cady left the hotel in better spirits than she had been in awhile. She had not realized she actually cared what her father thought. In fact, she always presumed she preferred to do whatever he did not like. But his silent approval of Pete seemed to create a bit of a hop in her step. She happily shopped in boutiques in Paris, purchasing a number of new outfits for her boyfriend.
As she stepped out of the last boutique, a couple passed directly in front of her, laughing and speaking softly in French. It instantly made her miss Pete, but she was not quite certain she was ready to face him. While defending her relationship to her father cemented her feelings on the matter, it did not help define herself in her mind ― at least not outside of being with Pete. That was the entire purpose of even being in Paris, not London. She was supposed to be finding herself.
Yet now with her father leaving the city, likely on a plane at that very moment, and Marlene out of the city on business, Cady was beginning to feel lonely. She was not opposed to be alone, even liked it from time to time. She had not grown up surrounded by anyone but the images and art in her head. Perhaps that was what she needed: art.
Turning back towards the hotel with her handfuls of packages, Cady slowly walked down the Parisian street. Her eyes absorbed every fact and detail, her soul stirring with inspiration she could not quite contextualize. Yet even her love of the way the fading sunlight hit the upper windows of the quaint medieval French buildings was tempered by her loneliness. Her pace back to the hotel quickened.
With the packages stacked neatly next to the wardrobe, Cady glanced at the clock in her suite and frowned. All of the major galleries and museums would be closed before she arrived. While she might be able to locate a hidden gallery still open, she did not feel like searching on her own. Instead, she sighed, ordered room service, drew a bath, and tried to convince herself the art could wait until the following day.
Sipping a glass of wine after dinner, Cady turned on the television, but could not get into the French programming. She needed more than just a television show. She needed companionship. Reaching for the telephone, she stared at the dial for a moment before deciding who to call.
On the third ring, a smooth voice answered, “Hello?”
“Bonjour, John,” she smiled.
“Cady, how are you, beautiful?”
She smiled slightly, “Lonely.”
“Not enough beautiful people around?”
“Not the right ones,” she replied.
He paused, “Does this mean you’re coming home?”
“Not quite. I am... settled on me and Pete.”
“But?”
“I am not quite settled on me.”
“Cade...”
“Will you come... will you come to Paris, John?” she asked.
He paused, “I’ll ring Pete and make the arrangements. He’ll be excited to see you again.”
“Just you, John. No Pete.”
“Cade, that sounds like a recipe for disaster.”
“Just for a day or two. I’ll return home to London with you,” she declared. “Otherwise, I may be here much longer.”
“All right... call me in a few minutes and I’ll let you know when I’ll be there.”
“Thank you,” she grinned. “This means so much to me.”
“I’ll see you soon, Cade.”
Finishing the bottle of wine while listening to French radio, Cady felt her spirits lifting. She tried on more of the garments left behind by Marlene, dancing around the room. Once the bottle was empty, she called John back, confirmed his early morning arrival, and profusely thanked him again. When they hung up the phone, she returned to dancing around the room and changing in and out of other garments.
After another bottle of wine, Cady plopped down on the bed and snatched the phone back up. With little hesitation, she dialed Pete’s number. As expected, it barely finished ringing the first time before he answered.
“Hello? Cady?”
“Bonjoooooooour, Pete!”
He chuckled, “Bonjour, Cady. How are you?”
“Drunk on wine,” she declared, her words slurring some. “And missing you.”
“Oh yeah? Come home.”
She hiccuped, “I can’t.”
“Why not? Are you okay? Do you need money? I’ll come get you,” panic filled his voice.
“No no no. I’m fine. I’m completely fine. I’m just not yet ready to come home to you.”
He sighed, “I need you to come home, Cady. I need to be with you.”
“You will be. Soon. A few more days. I’ll see you in a few more days.”
“Cady...”
“Soon! I promise.”
He sighed again, “I miss you.
“I miss you too. So much that... well... I have a lot of gifts for you.”
“You didn’t need to do that, Cady.
“I know. But I couldn’t help it. I love you. I love you so much. And I love shopping. And I love you. And I love cats. Do you love cats?”
Pete snorted, “Put the wine down, baby.”
“But, Peeeeeete, it’s so good.”
“Put the wine down, Cady, and drink a glass of water. For me, please.”
She pouted, “Do I have to put clothes on to do so?”
He remained silent.
Her eyes dropped down to her attire, “I should change. Nothing about this outfit makes sense.”
“Cady, you’ve had enough to drink.”
“No! I have another lonely bottle after this one.”
“Save it. Bring it back here. Don’t drink it.”
She sighed, “But Peeeeeeeete, it is sooooooooooooooooooo good.”
“Then save it and bring it back to share with me.”
“OH YES. FANTASTIC IDEA, PETE. YOU ARE A GENIUS.”
He chuckled, “Drink some water, Cady.”
“FINE,” she replied. “But I’m taking my clothes off first.”
“As long as you stay in your room, that’s fine.”
“How come?” she asked, wiggling around to begin to undress.
“Because no one else should see your nude beauty but me.”
Cady paused for a moment, thinking it over as she pulled off two mismatched boots, “What if a famous artist wants to paint me.”
“You tell him that you’re taken and talented enough to paint your own self-portrait if need be.”
“What if she won’t take no as an answer?”
Pete laughed, “Love, water, please.”
“Okay, okay. But Pete? Will you tell me a story?”
“With pleasure. Get your water and I’ll tell you a story.”
She stood up and stepped away from the bed, causing the phone to crash to the floor, “I can’t reach the sink with the phone, Pete.”
Stifling his laughter, he responded, “Set it down. I’ll wait for you to come back.”
“Oh okay. I love you.”
“I love you too. Get your water.”
“Okay. Okay. Hey Pete?”
“Yes?”
“I love you. I really, really love you.”
“I love you too. Get your water.”
“Okay... okay... I’m getting my water now. You’ll still be there when I get back, right?”
He chuckled, “Yes, love. Water.”
Waking in a much better mood than he had been in for some time, Pete quickly rolled out of the too-big-bed, used the WC, and headed into the kitchen to make tea. A melody began to take shape in his mind as he abandoned his cup of tea and headed into his tiny studio. Flicking on his recorder, he sat down with his acoustic guitar. Humming the melody in his head, he began to strum his instrument.
Within two hours, he broke a string and flipped off his recorder to preserve what little sanity he had left. Stepping out of the studio, Cady’s voice in his head telling him to remain calm, Pete returned to the kitchen and began to heat his tea up again. As the tea kettle began to whistle, words, a bit disjointed, began to fill his mind. He quickly removed the kettle and bolted back into his studio.
He scrambled for a notepad, re-spooled his previous recording, and sat down. While his guitar melody played through the speakers, as he saw no reason to wear headphones when he was alone, Pete scrambled to write the lyrics in his mind. The tape finished before his lyrics did, making him swear and glower at the machine.
For a long minute, Pete tried to decide exactly what to do. Setting aside the pad of paper for a minute, he set to focusing on restringing his guitar. With the instrument repaired, he adjusted the tuning and began to play the melody once more. It morphed slightly to meld with his sketchy lyrics.
Tea time passed before Pete felt as if he could step away from his studio. He returned to the kitchen and once more attempted to make his morning tea, even though it was mid-afternoon. Managing to remain out of the studio, he practically gulped his tea before turning to find something to eat.
Though he had not eaten much, it was enough to abate his hunger and Pete returned to his studio. He played back the tape, listening carefully. Not entirely satisfied with it, he rewound and played harmony along with it. Deciding that sounded even worse, Pete opted to replay and re-record the song, in its entirety.
Satisfied, he had to share it with someone. His first choice was in France, making him frown more as the song was completely inspired by her. Sighing, he headed to the phone and rang Kit. At least he knew the manager would be there for him.
But he didn’t answer the phone.
Sighing, he dialed the next number, hoping he could at least tell his best mate that he had written a very simple and very classic song for the next album. The phone rang four times before Allison answered.
“Oh, hello, Allison. How are you?” he asked conversationally.
“Oh just splendid,” her voice dripped with sarcasm.
“I see,” Pete replied awkwardly. “Well... may I speak with John?”
“Not at this number.”
He paused, “Is he at his mother’s?”
“No. Much further than that.”
“Um... Keith’s?”
“No. Across the Channel.”
“He left the country?”
“Gone to France. Without me.”
His eyes widened and he struggled for words, “Did he leave a number?”
“Of course he didn’t. Who would leave a number when they’re going out to shag as many French whores as possible?” she spat.
Feeling slightly better that she did not mention his girlfriend, Pete thanked her for her information and hung up the phone. Sighing, he turned away from the phone. There was no one left to share his music with, as he did not feel like ringing his mother. He did not feel like doing anything any more ― except maybe drinking. Maybe that would make his dark, jealous thoughts disappear.
Seated across Cady in a swanky Paris restaurant, John sipped a glass of wine as she talked about some artist she met for breakfast prior to meeting him at the train station. They had spent the day together, after depositing his luggage at her hotel, visiting the sights in Paris. While some of the locales, John visited while with the band, everything seemed different with a pretty bird by his side. Her ease in speaking the language certainly helped as well.
“So,” John glanced at the server as he filled their wine glasses again, “have you found what you were looking for?”
“I feel... better about so much already, so it’s quite possible,” Cady responded, reaching for her wine glass. “I feel like I can go back to Pete and feel comfortable in my own skin, in my relationship with him again.”
“Excellent. We’ll go back to your hotel and pack up and head back tonight,” he declared, setting his napkin on the table.
“Oh no. Not yet. There’s a couple of galleries I want to see first,” she responded
John sighed, “That’s something you should do with Pete. He’s the one who likes art.”
Cady frowned, “Just one museum at least?”
His eyes left hers and focused on her pouty frown, “Okay, fine. One museum.”
“Excellent,” she beamed. “But that’s tomorrow. Tonight I want to go to this club I found the other night. I think you’ll like it.”
“Cade...”
“We’ll head back to the hotel, get you checked into a room, get all changed, and I’ll show you the exciting Parisian nightlife!” she grinned.
“Um, well... about that...” he rubbed the back of his neck.
“What?”
“I kinda spent the last of my money getting here.”
Cady shrugged, “That’s no problem. I’ll pay for everything.”
“Not that it’s any of my business, but how? I might not be as bright as Pete, but I havenoticed your... lack of concern about the cost of anything... anywhere. I don’t know many birds who don’t work and just set off to ‘find themselves’ in Paris, and certainly not in that posh hotel. So how do you do it?” he asked.
“Um,” she glanced down at the table briefly before motioning for the waiter and requesting their check. “It’s not a simple answer.”
“Well...”
Cady retrieved her purse and paid for their dinner before standing, “Let’s walk back to the hotel. The night is nice.”
As they headed down the quaint street towards the hotel, Cady softly spilled her family history to John. He remained silent, only asking brief questions to clarify matters. Pausing on the walk to stop and light a cigarette, he carefully considered what she explained to him, trying to understand why she kept her family and wealth secret from him. He did not even question why she hid it from the band, but in the months spent together, John was surprised she had never once spilled it to him.
Stopping outside the hotel, he realized one night during the American tour, she hadbegun to tell him, but stopped herself.
“Cady?” he reached out and touched her elbow, guiding her away from the hotel entrance.
Her blue eyes went to his, trying to figure out how he felt in regards to the fact she was a wealthy heiress, “Yes?”
“I don’t care that you come from money or that your father could buy and sell anything he pleases in this world. You are still the beautiful, intelligent, artistic woman who loves my best mate. Money doesn’t change a thing.”
“But it makes everything easier,” she pointed out.
“Not everything,” he countered. “But a lot of things.”
Cady smiled slightly, “Come on. Let’s go get you a room to stay in before we go out.”
They stepped up to the front desk a few moments later, inquiring about a room for John. As fate would have it, there were no further vacancies. They stepped away from the desk, heading towards the elevator. John intended to collect his luggage and find a different hotel; Cady intended for him to just share her room with her.
Reaching the room, he followed her in and headed directly to his luggage, “I’ll just find another place to st ―”
“Nonsense. There’s plenty of room here,” Cady declared, looking at the sofa covered with clothing. “Well somewhere under there is a couch.”
“Cady, I don’t want to put you out,” he declared.
Her eyes went to his, “You came to France for me. You won’t be troubling me at all. In fact, I’ll sleep on the couch. You can have the bed.”
“Not at all. That is not acceptable.”
She rolled her eyes, “We’ll discuss this later. Let’s go out.”
Sitting in a booth in the back of a French disco, John smirked as he watched Cady dance with some French bloke. Pete certainly was a lucky wanker, and he did not even bring her financial stability into the equation. However, now that he knew, how could he not take it into account? She was beautiful, intelligent, artistic, and well-off. If anyone could hit the relationship jackpot, Pete had.
And he would be a liar if he said he did not envy that. Hopefully, no one would ever ask. John would hate to lie.
With her hand clutching the other man’s hand, Cady headed back to the table. She slipped into the booth next to the bassist, pulling her new friend with her. John silently shifted closer to the wall to make room for the bubbly woman, but said nothing. His eyes remained watching her every move, uncertain what she was talking about with her dance partner.
A bottle of champagne arrived at the table a minute later. Glasses filled passed around the table, Cady clinking her glass with both men before sipping the bubbly alcohol. She giggled as the bubbles hit her nose, her bright blue eyes flicking to John’s. He smiled, raised his glass to her, and took a large swig. She giggled again, before spinning her attention to the Frenchman.
A moment later, John’s breath caught. He watched in surprise as Cady leaned over and snorted a line of white powder with the Frenchman. Instantly his defenses went up. He knew very well the kinds of things that particular drug could do, having sampled it a fewtimes on tour. His blue eyes looked over to the other man, watching him rub Cady’s back suggestively. John bristled.
“Cade, love,” he leaned over, whispering in her ear, “why don’t we go back to the hotel?”
“Mmmm, splendid idea,” she replied. “Francois will come with us.”
John’s eyes flicked to the Frenchman briefly, recoiling slightly when the man winked at him, “Cade, love, I don’t want to share you or... be shared.”
Her eyes met his briefly before she leaned forward to kiss him. John’s hand slipped up between them, keeping her lips from touching us. He motioned to the other man with his eyes, using her new... friend... as the excuse for resisting physical affection. Nodding, she turned to the Frenchman and spoke softly to him. He kissed her deeply before moving out of the booth and holding his hand out for her. Cady slipped out of the booth, turning back to offer her other hand to John, ignoring the other man kissing up her arm. John’s eyes darkened and he quickly stood up. His hand grabbed Cady’s and quickly pulled her away from the other man. The Frenchman smirked and stepped closer, speaking something in French.
“I don’t know what you’re saying, mate, but keep your hands off her,” John spoke evenly.
The man continued to speak, words that made Cady giggle for some reason. A minute later, he reached forward and groped John’s crotch, rubbing it. Rage quickly filled the bassist’s face and he pushed the man away, snatched Cady’s purse off the table, and stalked towards the door, pulling the young woman with him.
He did not stop until he was a good distance from the club. Only then did he turn to face his best mate’s girlfriend. Her eyes were certainly dilated, indicating the euphoria of the white powder already coursed through her veins. Deciding they would walk it off as he was not entirely sure he could handle her in a small room in that state, John turned and continued to walk.
“John?” Cady asked, her pace brisk to keep up with his longer strides. “Are we going back to the room?”
“Yes, but not yet,” he responded. “We need to walk... for a bit.”
“But why?” she asked innocently.
“Because I’m a bit soused and quite a bit aggravated with your friend back there. And you’re more than a bit soused and a touch high. A walk will do us good,” he declared.
“If I’m a good girl, will you fu―”
“Absolutely not. You’re my best friend’s mate.”
“But my body’s on fire, John,” she claimed, stopping abruptly to force him to stop and look at her.
He looked directly into her eyes, “It will fade.”
“I don’t want it to.”
“Cade...”
“If we have sex, I’ll ―”
“No, just no,” he argued, turning away before she could attempt to kiss him and break down his resolve. “Let’s go see the Eiffel Tower.”
An hour later, after Cady crashed from her high, John escorted her back to the hotel. His arm remained circled around her waist, supporting most of her weight as the elevator headed to their floor. He paused at the door and dug around her purse for the key. Brushing a small bag of white powder, he hesitated briefly. Ignoring the drugs, he fished out the key and opened the door. Aiding her into the room, he dropped her purse by the door, closing and locking it behind as she stumbled towards the bed. She lost one shoe on the wobbly walk, but fell face down onto the bed with the other. Shaking his head, John approached the bed, pulled off her other heel, and tossed it with the other. With little struggle, he moved her properly into the center of the bed, tucking the blankets around her.
“John?” she muttered.
“Yes, sweet Cade,” he whispered in return.
“I wasn’t going to let him fuck you,” she claimed and rolled over on her side, her back to him.
Smirking, John shook his head before turning to flick the light off. He found the sofa in the darkness, glad they cleared it off before leaving for the eventful evening, and sat down. Boots and belt removed, he felt around for a blanket and laid down on his side. Refusing to relax until he was certain she was happily asleep, John finally relaxed for the first time that night. Between men leering at Cady to her befriending the one who wanted to bed them both to fending off her cocaine advances, he had not enjoyed the night as much as he should have. But it was a small price to pay to protect his best friend’s girl; a very small price.
blog comments powered by Disqus