A Song for Julia

and I got back to work. The problem was simple, really. I was trying to do something that couldn’t be done. Playing with Julia earlier that day had put my brain in a different mode, and what I was really going for here wasn’t going to work without four hands on the keyboard. I scribbled it all down, in a hurry, and there it was. Done. And impossible. I shook my head. I seriously needed a nap, I’d hardly had any sleep, and it was almost ten o’clock already, and I wasn’t making any progress. I switched the keyboard off and headed upstairs for a shower.
    An hour later, the three of us were waved into Bill’s Bar & Lounge. It was packed, as expected, and my head was pounding, even with the four aspirin I took before we left. I put back my first drink in a hurry, hoping it would dull the pain a little and relaxed a little on the second.
    Then I felt a tiny little arm snake around my waist, and I looked down to see Alicia Mosier.
    Oh, damn.
    Alicia had been a mistake, on too many levels to count. She’d shown up backstage one night after we played next door at Lansdowne, and I’d been sitting, drinking, of course, and she just climbed into my lap. I don’t usually turn down that sort of offer. Redheaded, five feet tall, and with a wicked ass and perfect tits, she’d been a firecracker in bed. A lot of fun. Until the next morning, when she somehow got the idea that we were a thing.
    I’d received a lot of dark looks the rest of the day from my bandmates, because they’d all been awakened by the screaming and shouting. Not to mention the coffee mug she threw at me, which shattered into a million pieces against the backsplash in the kitchen.
    “Crank!” she said. “How you doing?”
    Pathin’s eyes widened at the sight of her, and Mark took a gulp of beer. “Be back in a minute, gotta hit the head.”
    Coward.
    “Hey, Alicia … what are you up to?”
    “Just out having some fun, you?”
    I couldn’t very well say to her, I’m about to run like hell, so I said, “Just grabbing some drinks.”
    “You want to dance?” she asked.
    “Not feeling well,” I answered.
    She slid her hand into my back pocket. Oh, for God’s sake. Then she got up on her toes, which brought her to about the level of my shoulder, and stage-whispered, “I could make you feel better.”
    Pathin groaned, and I gritted my teeth. The thing was, I was seriously torn. Alicia was wild in bed. I mean, seriously wild. And despite my headache, the fricken’ traitor between my legs was starting to respond to her curling up against me. She was rubbing her hand in my back pocket in a way that … well, shit.
    I’d regret it in the morning. I repeated the thought to myself to underscore it, give it plenty of weight. If I could put the message on a flaming arrow and shoot it right into my forehead, I would. I’d regret it in the morning. But oh, man, was she hot.
    I was wavering, big-time, when Mark showed back up.
    And that’s when I heard a voice I didn’t expect to hear at all.

    What are you afraid of? (Julia)
    Dinner wasn’t exactly a disaster, but it came close.
    First of all, I was still a mess. After that long, wrenching cry, I withdrew, embarrassed. Jemi didn’t push it, which I deeply appreciated. I went to sleep for an hour then was back up, getting a shower. The lack of sleep was not good. I could feel the weight of my eyelids and a little bit of heartburn. I really, really did not want to go out.
    I was still in the bathroom, getting myself together when Barrett showed up ten minutes early. Jemi answered the door, and in a surprised voice called out, “Julia … there’s someone here to see you.”
    “I’ll be just a minute!” I answered and then went back to putting on makeup. I don’t often wear makeup, but it was a date, even if it was one I’d lost interest in. Why did he have to show up early? Willard, who I’d dated most of sophomore and junior year before he decided he wanted to get serious, was chronically late. I was guaranteed I’d have an extra fifteen or twenty minutes to get ready any time we went anywhere. Barrett had implied we were going somewhere nice for dinner, so I’d worn a dress, wine red with a retro, nineteen-fifties cut that I’d picked up for a steal last summer. This was the first time I’d worn it.
    Not sure whether I liked early or late better. I guess Barrett was eager. I could hear him in the common room, his rich Eton tones contrasting with Jemi’s clipped, more formal