Lebpreciation

True Love Way

Here begins the story of Caleb, as seen, experienced and remembered by him.

TRUE LOVE WAY

Songs:
No Money, by Kings of Leon
Mi Amigo, by Kings of Leon
True Love Way, by Kings of Leon

Chapter 20

*special thanks to lakelyladtom and closertokol for maintaining KOL gigography. It’s been enormously helpful in constructing an accurate story.

*Poem based on untitled poem by Marily Monroe

Claire Mary Prendergast.
The only love of his life. The one who broke his heart. The one he couldn’t keep.
Did his mother really have to keep their photo in the house? He went into his mom’s bedroom to look for a towel, and there it was—the photo, one among many that his mother kept on the shelves of her built-ins. He didn’t want to look at it, but it drew him in. It was taken at one of the family reunions, the two of them were sitting together on a blanket. He recognized the bend in the creek, though he didn’t remember the moment when the photo was taken. Claire was sitting cross-legged next to him, and he could see her inner thighs, the short jean shorts, the smooth, tanned bare belly and the red top of her bathing suit, the soft shadow of cleavage and the barely noticeable outline of the nipple behind the material. He was looking away from the camera, but she smiled at whoever took the photo—a big smile, pink smear of gloss on full lips, tiny freckles spread over the nose, the big, bright eyes, and hair swept in the air like a chocolate cloud. She was holding his shoulder, and now he regretted not paying more attention, and not being able to feel the squeeze of her fingers on his skin again. He could almost smell the world of that summer; grass and water and wood smoke, and the scent of her sunscreen, and the cherry-flavored lip-gloss that she wore.
He sat down on his mother’s bed, looking at the photo.

The end of 2008 was busy. Right after Thanksgiving, which was so memorable to him, because he and Claire finally patched things up, had their heart-to-hearts, and came to an understanding, the band went to England. He left in a good mood. It was like a huge weight being lifted off his shoulders. He felt like Sally Field, shouting, “You love me, you really, really love me.” He was so enthralled with her, that her presence alone made him sane. Her winter vacation started, and she joined them in the UK, where they went to Manchester and Cardiff, and then to Ireland, to play the O2 Arena. She’s never been to Ireland before, and he showed her what he knew, which was mostly Guinness and good restaurants. They were in Dublin and Belfast, before going back to London, where they played Wimbley Arena. Claire was amazed by the sheer size of the venue, by fan adulation, by thousands of people singing along to every word that came out of his mouth. He was proud. This was quite the homecoming. Nothing that she’s seen in the US rivaled this, even remotely. She’s attended quite a few UK and some European shows, but England was always the biggest, and nothing topped Wimbley. He wondered where they could go from there? Only down? Well, there was still America to conquer, but he was pretty pleased with what was happening everywhere else. “Use Somebody” became a massive hit. He liked the song, though he felt that there were many more that he wrote that were a lot better. However, by now, he’s grown wiser, and gave up trying to predict what would touch an audience. “Use Somebody” was also easy to sing along to, anthemic, and was becoming a favorite cover song to everybody and their uncle. Of course, every effort at covering the song had to be posted on YouTube. Often, he laughed. Speaking of YouTube—Claire finally decided to give him computer and internet lessons. He knew how to open a browser, how to get to some sites, and Jared had shown him how to “favorite” something, and he even set up a MySpace account for him. But Claire explained Twitter to him—something that held absolutely no interest for him, she showed him the ins and outs of Facebook and ITunes. Something he did know how to do—with Nacho’s help—was to get to some KOL-related forums, and sometimes, he read the messages that the girls (they were usually girls) wrote about him and for him. He liked “Dear Caleb” probably the most. It consisted of letters that asked him to: shave, not shave, play “Arizona”, play more older songs, let his hair grow out, show them his bellybutton, wear less clothes, wear vests (what’s with girls and vests?), come to Oz, Poland, Brazil, Colombia, Argentina, Portugal, Italy, marry them, make them babies, marry and make babies, show them his nipples, cut his hair, play “Arizona”, play “Ragoo” and lots of “thank you”, “your music is amazing” and so on. It was a strange thing, these “letters”, messages, other people’s thoughts about him and his music. Claire was calm about it. It didn’t bother her, this love and adulation that others had for him. Sometimes, he sensed that she understood that part of his life even better than he did. He just couldn’t find himself to be so attractive—in any way—that women would think so highly of him. Yet she saw the attraction, and she knew him and that was even more surprising.
For Christmas—another Christmas, come and gone, but thankfully spent with her—he gave her a gorgeous Bottega Veneta tote, and Laboutin pumps. He had to thank Jared for the suggestions. His little brother knew a lot more about women’s fashions and the latest trends. When they were discussing what gifts to get for their women, he suggested Chanel, and Jared rolled his eyes and told him that Chanel was so “old school”. Jared was very pleased with himself—he was now engaged to Alisa, having proposed just before Christmas. It was something that he enjoyed having over his older brother. “Dude, why can’t you commit? She ain’t gonna wait for you forever!” he reasoned with his new-found, “engaged” wisdom. “But then, of course, she can totally do much better than you,” added Jared. “I mean, she is hot as fuck, educated, got that awesome hair, a pretty good personality—if she can deal with you and not be related to you…” “Feel free to shut the fuck up,” he retorted. Jared shrugged, “Sure. That’s all I ever hear from you. But you know that I am right!”

For his birthday, they were in Los Angeles.
He was sick with the flu, suffering from high fever and a very bad throat infection. But party was to be had regardless. The one consolation was that Claire joined him for the festivities. She was making herself available to him a lot more, and he hoped that she realized just how appreciative he was of her. Although it was unwise, he mixed his booze with the meds that he was taking, and the combination made him paranoid and crazy. At the start of the evening, everybody had a nice dinner at one of LA’s best restaurants. There was a lot of wine and huge mountains of seafood—briny oysters, crab legs, giant succulent shrimp, lobster tails, clams casino, sugar-sweet scallops. Then they dropped off BettyAnn and the relatives at the hotel, and headed off for a night of partying and drinking. By 2am, he was exhausted, yet very hyperactive at the same time, running a fever, his throat feeling so raw, he could barely talk. Claire kissed his flaming forehead and said, “why don’t we go?” He shook his head stubbornly, “Not yet.” She went to the bathroom, and then someone slipped next to him and pressed something into his palm. He saw that it was Vicodine and popped the pills, chasing them with a vodka. Normally, he wouldn’t do something so stupid—accept pills from someone he didn’t know, but his head was already woozy with medicine and alcohol, and he didn’t see the danger. The paranoia set in pretty quickly, and by the time she returned from the bathroom, he was rambling, slumped in his booth. She sat next to him and he muttered,
“Claire, what if I die tonight?”
“Die?” she stared at him. “What the hell? Why would you die?”
“Well, I am turning 27. So everybody died at 27. Hendrix, Morrison, Joplin…Cobain…So I am going to die too.”
“Listen, you won’t die,” she assured him, kissing his neck and stroking his head, “for one, none of them died on their birthday! And most of them were junkies. So unless you shot up some smack when I wasn’t watching, I think you’ll survive the night.”
He shook his head,
“No, I didn’t shoot anything up. But I am scared.”
“You need to go to bed and get some rest,” she got up and took his hand. When she wanted something, there was no arguing. Somehow, she managed to be very persuasive without throwing a fit. He thought that Lily would never dare tell him to go to sleep. She’d just sit there and wait for him, until he was ready to go.
He was feeling terrible. As soon as they got to their room, he went to throw up, all nauseous and shaky, sweating as if he was onstage. Panting, he sat down on the toilet seat and thought that he wouldn’t be able to get up.
“Claire…” he called her. She came into the bathroom and turned on the faucet.
He grabbed her hand and muttered,
“Don’t leave me, okay?”
“Where am I going to go?” she asked gently, squatting before him and then helping him out of his t-shirt, boots and socks. He was trembling with his fever and nerves and she took him in her arms and kissed his shoulder softly. “I love you,” she whispered, “I don’t want to go anywhere. Let’s wash you up and then off to bed.”
She unzipped his pants and slid them down his legs. He was embarrassed, because he knew that if she wanted him to, he probably couldn’t be able to get it up tonight. She knew it as well, so she didn’t say anything, and helped him in the bathtub. He couldn’t even stand under the shower, so he plopped down heavily in the tub. She sat down on the edge and ran her hands over his neck and shoulders. The hot water made him shudder, but also felt good to his freezing body.
“I ordered you some tea,” she said, looking through the selection of all the lotions, shampoos and bath stuffs that were set out in neat rows on glass shelves. “Oh, here,” she picked out what she wanted, and then squirted some in her palm. A soothing smell of mint and lavender filled the bathroom. She rubbed his body with the lotion, and somehow, it made him feel better, particularly when the brick that was lying on his chest eased up its pressure, and then disappeared entirely.
“Better?” she asked him. He nodded, watching her. She’s never been more beautiful to him, though he always thought that she was very beautiful. The long thin arms and the shirt that got splashed with water and was now sticking to her belly, that golden skin and the tempting slit of her cleavage within the opening of her shirt—none of these alluring parts of her were more beautiful to him like they were now.
“I think I am not going to die,” he decided seriously.
“Oh, well, that’s a relief,” she chuckled, soaping him up, running her hands over his chest and shoulders and arms. He snuck a kiss to her breast carefully pulling at her shirt.
“Suddenly he feels so much better,” she rolled her eyes and he laughed.
“The minty, eucalyptus thingy worked pretty well,” he said. “My head is a lot better. And my breathing.”
“Good. That was the idea.”
She lathered his hair with shampoo and slowly massaged his neck and shoulders while he sat there, enjoying the feeling of her hands and the gradual relaxation of his knotted muscles.
“You really got to take it easier,” she whispered. “You are only 27. You don’t look it anymore. And you sure don’t act it.”
“Listen, every night, I have to go out there, and sing and hold an audience of thousands interested for 2 hours. I need to make them dance and laugh and sing and cry and scream. So yeah, it puts a lot of pressure on me. What do you expect?”
“I don’t expect anything. I am just worried about you. That you aren’t singing yourself to a shorter life. Listen, the only thing I don’t want to see is you following in Ivan’s steps. He did the same thing—held his audiences enraptured with his preaching, year after year, night after night. But at the end, it cost him everything—BettyAnn, you guys, his very faith. He was left with nothing, in Oklahoma. At least he was lucky enough to find Kathy!
“So I am just concerned,”
He squeezed her arm and shook his head.
“I am not my dad. I can keep it together a lot better. And I have a better circle of friends and family around me. I have you, and I have Nate, and the other guys,” he put his hand on her neck and kissed her, “so I am good. And I’ll walk away, once I can’t do it any longer. You know that I will. And then it’s straight to a church in the mountains.”
She smiled,
“Of course. The church in the mountains.”
She helped him out of the bathtub and dried him off with a big towel.
“Thanks,” he said, as they walked to the bedroom. “it’s nice to know that someone loves me for me. That you love Caleb.”
“I love Caleb,” she agreed.
He slept well, wishing the night away, still fixated on the thought of death, even in his dreams. He was only vaguely aware that she was next to him, awake.
She sat in bed, for all those hours, watching the night fade into morning, holding his head over her belly, keeping vigil over him, just in case. His breathing was still labored due to his congestion, but it had gotten better as the night progressed. The pills were doing their job, as were all the vitamins, lemon slices and the three oranges that she made him eat. He wouldn’t let go of her hand and it became completely numb from the lack of movement. When it was already light outside and she dozed off for a moment, she felt his hands on her face, and he kissed her face and whispered, “I am alive.” She stroked his head, “You are.” He pulled the covers over her and said, “and now you can sleep.” She was out almost instantly.
His rough hairy sandpapery cheek rubbed against her neck and face and he kissed her.
“Well, somebody is feeling better,” she moaned, stretching and trying to escape the scraping on her face, “you’ll give me a skin burn!”
“I can give you a skin burn in a whole different place,” he vowed in her ear.
“Oh, great. Even better.”
He was behind her, touching her slowly, her back and her hair, kissing her shoulder and her cheek. She smelled of sleep and freshly laundered sheets. That was the memory of his 27th birthday—a rainy day, hotel room, her shoulder, the smell of sleep, medicine, love and lavender.
“All right, since you woke me up, I am going to go and take a shower,” she said.
“No, no…” he vigorously shook his head, “none of that! No showers. We are going to have some sex now!”
Claire laughed and shook her head,
“Boy, you are a romantic guy if there ever was one!”
“I’ll do the romantic stuff later,” he promised and slipped his hand under her t-shirt, moving closer behind her, until his pelvis rubbed against her bottom. “I promise,” he added feebly.
She chuckled and said,
“I won’t hold my breath, if you don’t mind.”
He spat in his palm and quickly rubbed his member under the duvet cover. She laughed and muttered, “classy”.
“Works every time,” he said and slowly slid into her, wrapping his arms around her warm, soft body, easily removing her t-shirt and throwing it on the floor. He filled her gradually, no longer in a hurry, and eager to savor the moment. The look that she gave him, that look of love and desire, and most of all understanding, unnerved him sometimes, because it was as if she was looking straight through him, and there was nowhere to hide. But he didn’t want or need to hide. She was accepted fully into his life and into his head.
She turned her face to him and wrapped her arm around his head, kissing him softly.
“Well, happy 28th year then, my love,” she whispered.

The never-ending tour had begun. Not that it ever really ended, since they only took a week off here and there, but now they were booked solid. In just two weeks, they were playing Madison Square Garden. He didn’t believe his manager until the very last moment, until the tour schedule was handed to him and there it was, clear as day. Even the unflappable Matt was somewhat nervous about that one. They couldn’t believe that they had booked one of the biggest and most prestigious venues in America, and that—most shockingly—it was selling out! Not with the lightning speed with which their European dates usually sold out, but all indicators pointed to the show being eventually sold out. It blew everyone’s minds!
But, before there were huge arenas to conquer, there was a more pleasant bit of business to take care of, in Chicago.
“Can you please calm down,” implored Nathan, “you’ll go to your fucking Chicago!”
It was actually Claire’s doing. She’s been involved with the children’s charity Dare 2 Dream for years now, and now that she was in Chicago, she was in charge of organizing the annual concert event that raised money for the charity and for pediatric cancer. She didn’t think that either he or the management would say yes to her request, but as soon as she explained what she wanted, he said “yes!”. He had an ulterior motive in agreeing to do the House of Blues show. Of course, he wanted to help sick kids, but he also wanted to have a chance to spend some time in Chicago, with Claire. She was in her last semester of school, and he had that massive tour looming ahead of him, so both were aware that their time together would be limited before May.
Nathan was standing in the hallway, sipping on his beer, watching.
“We could all just go together,” he said reasonably, “will 2 days make such a difference?”
“Your woman is here, my woman is there. And I miss her. What do you want me to do?” he zipped up his bag and put on his jacket.
“Okay, okay. Go. See you. You know…I am not sure if you know this, but,” Nathan paused and then said, “you are in love. For all your shit talking, it’s as plain as day.”
“Good, thanks for pointing out the obvious!” and he was on his way.
Nathan shook his head and whispered, “And he is off faster than a prom dress…”

Claire was waiting for him, bundled up in a big scarf and wearing a funny hat.
She smiled widely and as soon as he emerged from behind the ropes, she jumped into his arms.
“Hi!” she kissed him loudly. He held her to him, longer than expected, but she was wrapped around him too and didn’t want to let go.
At last, she pulled away and handed him a hat.
“Ahh, Chicago winters,” he glanced outside where it was snowing and put on the hat. She smiled, looking at him. “You have no idea how cold it is outside! Snow is nothing.” Quickly, they were lost in the mass of people and were anonymous. It was nice for him, just to be a guy, walking with his girl. Simply Caleb. He took her by the hand and held it until they reached the car. Only once they got inside did he pull her close to him and kissed her voraciously, her cold cheeks, her eyes and the lips, which stung his mouth with some kind of menthol-flavored balm. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, slipping her soft tongue along his teeth, her eyes closed, her breath warm against his skin. Neither one of them was comfortable with public displays of affection, and as silly as it was to be sitting here, in the car, steaming up windows, it was the best homecoming that he could think of.
“This is fun!” he finally announced.
“Is it?” she pulled out of the parking space and they exited the garage.
Snow was falling and swirling in the dirty yellow light of street lamps. Even though it was after 8pm, there was still heavy traffic on I-90. The snow wasn’t helping. Claire was cursing, as was her habit when there was a lot of congestion and she had to dodge lanes like crazy, slamming on the breaks, accelerating, and generally giving him mini heart attacks. He kept the comments to himself, so to avoid her throwing him out of the car. At last the freeway freed up a little and they drove with reasonable speed.
He chuckled and said,
“In 2007, when we were playing Lollapalooza here, I remember there was some Irish band, and we were having drinks with the singer and he said how he loved Chicago!”
“Why?”
“Well, he said, “So I am walking and I see a sign which says, “Columbus is closed. Take LSD.” So I figured that this is my kind of town!”
Claire laughed along with him.
“You want me to take LSD?”
“If you can. It’s such a pretty drive.”
She didn’t argue, got off the highway and in about 10 minutes, they were driving on Lake Shore Drive (LSD for short), along Lake Michigan, the glittering, immense downtown rising ahead of them in the whirl of snowflakes.
“I like Chicago,’ he said, “it’s a nice town. I think that they were the very first ones who “got” us in America. Before, everywhere we went, we were viewed as either dudes from the 70s, or queers in tight pants, or some hick country show. Or queer 70’s hick country band.
“We came here, played in some club, and I remember them really cheering for us, and singing along, and actually knowing a lot of the music, and not looking at us like we were The Strokes’ retarded cousins who were let out of the cage for the night.”
She smiled,
“I liked your initial look. I don’t think that it was freaky or particularly weird. I mean, you all had that awesome hair, and beards. Now everyone has beards! It’s like flannel in the 90s. You were the pioneers of beards for bands.
“And with all due respect to The Strokes, but where the hell are they these days?”
“Ouch,” he huffed, “don’t be a meanie. The Strokes are okay guys. They really helped us out in the beginning.”
She shrugged,
“I don’t have anything against them. But let’s face it, they’ll always be the band of 2001.”
He thought for a second and then nodded,
“That may be true.”
She took his hand and kissed it.
“What’s the name of the neighborhood you live in?”
“Wicker Park. It’s “up and coming” and filled with people with tattoos and with bums.”
He laughed,
“You sold it, girlfriend! Good thing you are not a realtor.”
“It’s actually a really nice neighborhood. Friendly, people are walking around, there are bars and stores and restaurants along the main road. And no one is stuck up.”
They parked and when he got out, he felt the bitter sting of the winter evening. The street was covered with fresh fluffy snow. He stuck his tongue and threw his head back, catching the floating snowflakes.
She stood there, smiling, looking at him. He looked funny in his hat and behaved like a big kid, seeing the snow.
“Let’s go, before you catch some kind of horrible cold. I need you in tiptop shape, so you can do good by some sick kids.”
His arm wrapped about her waist and he whispered in her ear,
“I want to do good by you.”
She smiled, threw her head back and kissed his chin.
“You are doing all right, so far.”
She had a nice, if small apartment. It was probably twice as small as her Nashville place, but it had a nice layout, a fairly updated kitchen, good floors and a fireplace.
“Well, it was between a fireplace-parking space combo and a second bedroom,” she explained, while he removed his jacket and scarf and began to tinker with the fireplace. He was not good at tolerating cold, and he made his feelings known,
“How do you live here? I mean, snow is cute for about five minutes, but after that, I want to hop on the plane and go back to Nashville…or anywhere, where it’s not freezing.”
“You are such a wuss,” she shook her head, hanging their coats and shaking her hair once she took off her hat.
“Ugh, I am not a wuss…You got any whiskey? I need a shot just to warm up my bones.”
“Yeah, right, I am going to give you whiskey,” she huffed loudly, and he chuckled at her indignation. “I’d rather you huff and puff on top of me for an hour—to keep warm—than have a shot of whiskey.”
“Whoa! That’s quite a come-on little lady. All lusty and sex starved, I see.”
Claire laughed loudly,
“But of course. Craving your manly touch…”
“Well, I can’t imagine that you’d be so willing just to keep me away from the bottle.”
“Oh, no? you are right, I am changing my mind, rather quickly, because you are kind of annoying me.”
“Annoying you? Already? But I just came,” he finally started the fire, and it crackled softly, the flames licking and swallowing newspapers.
“Exactly!”
She went to the kitchen, while he pulled an ottoman closer to the fire and warmed up his hands over the flame. He looked around and smiled. This was a transitional apartment, and for some reason, it made him happy. It was neat and she had put some personal touches on it, but it was a far cry from her Nashville place, and somehow, it convinced him that she wasn’t planning to stay here for long. That’s all he wanted to see. He was always sort of uncomfortable asking her about her plans for the future—it always felt as if he was pressuring her to devote her life to him. But she was good. She often dropped subtle hints, with things that she did and said that assured him that she was in for the long haul. It would’ve been reasonable for him to assume that she would be, that she’d never leave him, but Claire was a tricky person and she never revealed herself to anyone entirely. He liked being kept guessing, but it also unsettled him.
Drowsy, wintry calm settled in.
“Hey you,’ she came from behind and kissed the back of his neck, “sleepy?”
“Not at all. Comfortable,” he threw his head back and she kissed his mouth. Then she sat beside him and handed him a cup of tea. A whiff of lemon and rum hit his nose and he sipped with pleasure.
“Good call on the fireplace,” he complimented, and drank more.
“And there is also AC! So it all works out,” she smiled.
He turned to her and took her face in his palm.
“Nate said that I am in love with you,” said he.
She kissed him lightly on the lips and said,
“Nate’s very perceptive. And what did you say?”
“That he is good at pointing out the obvious.”
“Want to go out to eat? Or stay in?”
He shrugged,
“I am kind of feeling the snow—lets go out. And…I have a surprise for you,” he glanced at his watch and said, “there should be just enough time.”
“What surprise?”
He stuck his tongue out at her and shook his head.
“Come on, tell me!” she begged.
“Nope.”
She rolled her eyes, and he reasoned,
“Then it won’t be a surprise, would it?”
They argued about his light jacket, and finally she put him in her parka, which was tight on his shoulders, but as their general build was very similar, it fit him pretty well.
She was pouting at him, but he stood his ground, and wouldn’t tell her what he had planned. They went to Francesca Forno, which was a hidden gem of an Italian restaurant in the city that was filled with Italian restaurants.
“Don’t expect Mamma’s meatballs here,” she promised.
It was a busy restaurant, located on a corner of a busy intersection, with floor to ceiling windows, which made people watching the best kind of entertainment.
“And what would my lady like to drink?” he muttered, sizing up the wine menu.
“I’ll let the gentleman decide,” she smiled, picking on an olive.
He read further and then decided on prosseco.
“Good choice,” she smiled.
They ordered wild mushroom pizza with taleggio and white truffle oil, and since the place was known for its cheeses, he couldn’t help himself and ordered an entire selection, along with Italian cured meats.
“You know me too well,” he said, digging into the cheeses.
“Why do you think I brought you here?” she chuckled.
They drank the bottle of prosseco between the two of them, and ended the dinner with an amazing lemon-almond polenta cake.
They were waiting for their bill, when he said, “Claire,” and his voice was serious.
She looked at him.
He bit his lower lip, as he usually did when he was thinking of something serious.
“I can walk away from it all,” he said at last, “if that’s what you want.”
She was silent. He waited and then continued,
“I am kind of at the crossroads right now, temptation on one hand, and salvation on another. And I will do what you want me to. I think that I’ve kind of proven myself to myself. I’ve done what I set out to do. But now, I have a fear, that is perpetually present. That this life, this achievement, would eventually cost me you.”
He shook his head and added,
“And it’s not a price that I am willing to pay, even to be at the very top.”
She put her hand over his and said,
“I would never make you decide on something that would cause you to be unhappy. And since you are unable to decide for yourself that you are done, then we both know, that you are not actually done. And that’s fine. We got nothing to complain about. Life’s pretty good.”
“Life’s all right.”
“And don’t worry about me. I’ll stick it out with you,” she winked at him and he laughed.
They got a cab and he whispered the directions to the cabbie, intent on keeping her in the dark. She didn’t even care anymore. He held her hand during the ride, and she was smiling.
“By the way, I am the best boyfriend a chick can have,” he whispered in her ear.
“The best, hah? And what makes you so good?”
He buried his face in her scarf, inhaling the scent of her hair and her skin, softly kissing her neck, and catching an amused glance of the driver.
“We could’ve stayed home, ate Ramen and I could’ve had my way with you,”
She laughed quietly,
“Your way with me? Tell me more…”
“Well…I’ll show you what I mean when we do finally get home,”
“And you’ll have your way with me?”
“Absolutely!”
“All right, but you are an amazing and the best boyfriend because…”
“Because I am not doing any of those things. Instead, I’ve made plans and I am sticking by them.”
The cab stopped at a club. A sea of people spread around the doors and a long line snaked around the corner.
Claire looked at him questioningly, and he reached into his jacket and took out two tickets.
Tom Waits.
She let out a shriek of happiness and excitement, and cried, “Oh my G-d, you are the best boyfriend ever!!!”
He grinned.
She was a huge fan of Tom Waits, and this unannounced concert was something that he could arrange tickets for, hard as it was. Sometimes, his fame was an asset. “Oh my G-d!” she was bouncing on her toes, just about jumping up and down, “I love you! It’s incredible! A couple of years ago he was in Memphis and we drove all the way there, even though we didn’t have tickets, and we tried to buy them off some scalpers, but they wanted $250 and we just couldn’t afford that…”
“Well, here is your chance.”
He was all right with Tom Waits. Claire’s introduced him to some interesting musicians, the likes of which he’d probably take years to discover. He saw the new wave of musicians at festivals, and he knew the classics, but there was always more to find out, and while Jared usually had something new and cutting edge playing on his iPod, their tastes didn’t always mesh. Lily taught him things too, but she tended to follow his direction, and quickly adopted his likes, be it Townes Van Zandt or The Whigs. What was special about Claire, was that the two of them shared their tastes in music. She liked a lot of country, “My Morning Jacket”, bluegrass, classic stuff like Pink Floyd, as well as oldies. But she also had a wider knowledge of music, which she gave to him to learn.
They went inside and spent the next two hours with Tom Waits, his husky voice and unforgettable performance.
Claire was in heaven.
He should’ve paid more attention, but in the euphoria of love and contentment and happiness, no one ever pays attention to the good moments. He didn’t know it then, but this went down as one of the best nights of his life.
…The light woke him up.
He lay immobile for a few moments, eyes closed, then slightly squinting. From this spot, he could see the lights of the Christmas Tree, which Claire still had up. They illuminated the living room with warm glow, and he could see snowflake swirling outside the windows, in the darkness.
Claire’s soft stomach was beneath his cheek, and he didn’t want to move from the spot, his hand resting on her naked hip, the smoothness of the duvet just below his chin, covering the tempting flesh, which he fought not to touch. His muscles felt strained—the best kind of strained though—from incredible sex. Their clothes were strewn on the floor, jeans and shirts and her wispy lace bra, which for some reason looked very sexual to him right now. The memories of what they did here, after they returned from the concert made him lick his lips as he felt perspiration cover his body. Jesus Christ. Virgin his ass. He smiled and carefully moved his head. She was slumped above him, her long dark hair draping the mounds of her white breasts. She was asleep, her mouth soft and pink and he fought the urge to kiss her. Then, he saw a piece of paper by her side. He took it and read a poem, written in her hand:

my love sleeps besides me -
in the faint light - I see his manly jaw
give way - and the mouth of the
child returns
with a tender softness
His eyelids trembling
in stillness
his eyes must have looked out
in wonder, from the cave of the little
boy - when the things he did not understand - he put in song…

He quickly snatched the paper, his heart beating fast. He didn’t want her to wake up and hoped that she’d forget about writing it. This was the most genuine and tender expression of love that one could ever give him…At times, they shared moments that were perfectly pure—pure love, pure understanding, where words were unnecessary—but as with all people, there was still a wall present, erected around their emotions. This was a pure moment. He folded the paper and put it under his pillow. Then he leaned in and kissed her mouth. Her eyes lids fluttered and she woke up. He kissed her neck, drawing his tongue over the long vein and gently kissed her shoulder, as he slipped between her legs.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” she murmured.
He cupped her face in his palm and kissed her harder, his tongue slithering into her mouth and licking on her, as he felt her arms tightening around him and her long legs sliding against the sides of his body.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too, my darling,” she vowed, and pushed his hair back, kissing his forehead, “are you all right?” a look of concern spread over his face.
He nodded,
“I am actually really good. It’s been an incredible evening, and I am fucking…happy…or something.”
Claire laughed,
“…Or something…”
He leaned against her, crushing her breasts with his chest, kissing her hands. She moved her hips against him, softly biting his chin and then whispered,
“Where is my poem?”
“What poem?” he tried to look innocent, but she shook her head and said, “what did you do with it? It’s mine.”
“No. Now it’s mine. And you can’t have it.”
“But I wrote it!”
“Well, now it’s mine,” he shrugged unapologetically. “Sorry.”
“Nice.”
She freed herself from under him and said,
“I’ll be right back…and you should sleep.”
He rolled onto his back and folded his arms behind his head, watching her long, slender, naked body with pleasure. She looked smooth and creamy everywhere to his discerning eye, and he smiled, watching her skip to the bathroom.
“My G-d, it’s 2am! Why are we up?” he heard her exclaim.
“You are up. I was sleeping.”
She returned in a few minutes, her lusciously full breasts swaying while she walked, the pink nipples tempting him into almost instant hardness. She climbed back on the bed and kneeled in front of him, tucking her feet under her bottom. He sat down and brushed her hair away from her shoulders. His big hand cupped her breast and he squeezed her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, sliding behind her and softly kissing her shoulder.
“Very amorous today,’ she whispered, turning her head and kissing his eyelids and cheeks.
“I suppose that’s how I am feeling…amorous…” his other hand rested on her belly and he pulled her closer. “Maybe more in place…less crazy. I got you, and that’s a good thing for me.”
“Mmm,” she purred, the teasing of his fingers on her nipple softening her up against his body.
“You are good for me as well,” she admitted, “so very, infinitely, perpetually good…”
He smiled and buried his face in her shoulder.
“One more time?” he murmured.
“As if I can escape you,” she laughed.
“Oh, now she wants to escape me!” he exclaimed.
“Nah, not really,” she turned her head and her fingertips stroked his face, while she kissed his lips . Behind her, her fumbled for a moment and then next moment, a heavy breath filled his mouth, as she inhaled sharply, while he eased himself slowly inside of her. His hand cupped her other breast and she pulled on his lower lip with her teeth, kissing him harshly. His eyes traveled the length of her, watching her over her shoulder, and the warmth of her skin, the familiar blush, the heavy eyelids that drooped over her eyes, took him back, to the place where he always returned in his head, the familiar country, the creek, the birds and the sun of hay-scented afternoon, where it was them together, for the first time. He recalled how he loved her then, how much he wanted her, and how in his mind, he chose her. It was so simple. There was never any inner fighting or internal angst in him. It was clear, it would always be him and her.
He pushed his head into her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight against him. Her teeth rested in her flesh, as he pushed strongly, but with measured, thorough strokes, too far gone with his own pleasure to even remember hers. She was lushly wet, warm, marvelously tight and so unbelievably beautiful, in this dim light, enveloped in her long hair and his flesh, that he was truly in awe, more of himself and his luck. He delved deeper, murmuring her name and all sorts of gentle endearments, and she held his head within the crook of her arm, kissing his face and his hair. For a moment he stood still, kissing her wildly, almost bruising her lips, and she thought that for tomorrow’s event she would be looking like Angelina Jolie. Her knees buckled, and together then fell on the mattress, with him swiftly turning her on her back and pushing hard into her, insatiable and eager, determined to claim his own. His arms lay around her, clasping her carefully, stroking her thighs and her breasts, his lips covering her with kisses. At last, he watched with pleasure the arch of her back and the gentle clawing of her fingers over his arms and shoulder, as she pulled him deeper, since whatever he was hitting inside of her was making her moan rapturously into his lips. She cried his name over and over again, her bottom no longer on the bed, and her hip bones digging into his sharply. His shoulder was slick, and she licked the salty sheen with pleasure, loving the twitch of his member inside of her.
“Oh my G-d,” he groaned loudly, finally rolling off her.
She was breathing heavily, her breasts falling up and down. She was silent for a moment, taking it all in.
“Cock—broken,” he concluded.
She burst out laughing.
He laughed as well, wiping his brow.
“Well, what do I need you for then?” she demanded, “with a broken cock?”
“You can use me for my money,” he proposed.
“Pah,” she shrugged. “I never have, so why start now? I’d rather fix your cock.”
“Oh, all right. Good to know, that instead of my money, I get used for sex.”
She nodded and rolled towards him, kissing his cheek.
“I love you so much,” she murmured, her eyes gleaming in the darkness.
The snow swirling outside. His arm tightened around her and she pulled the blanket over them. He pulled her closer and said,
“You are the best. I love you too.”
She smiled and asked,
“The true love way?”
“Yeah…sure. How do you define it?”
“When a woman slaps a man and a man slaps her back,” she chuckled, “isn’t that true love?”
He rolled his eyes and puffed his cheeks.
“Whatever, you are just making fun of me!”
She laughed and kissed him.
“Just a little bit…I think it surprised a lot of girls out there. They’d like to think of you as being a bit more gentle. Without violence towards the ladies.”
“I don’t exactly behave violently towards ladies. I just think that passion should be true. No phony stuff, like most people are content with.
“Like…” he looked straight at her, “with us. We never fake it, you and I. We lay all out on the line and there it is. The good and the bad.”
She raised her eyebrow and didn’t answer.
“Though when it’s bad,” he added, “it’s pretty bad. So I prefer the good.”
“I would agree.”
His heavy arms lay on her possessively. She stroked his chest lightly, her head resting against his shoulder.
“Then it would be wise for us to put the bad behind us.”

Claire woke up alone.
She could hear him in the kitchen. He was making something, and by the smell of it, either pancakes or French toast, and coffee was already on. She lingered in bed for a little while, until he thrust his head in the room and said,
“Jeez woman, how long are you planning to sleep for?” he looked at his watch and said, “it’s almost eleven!”
“I’ve only slept for about four hours. I am sorry, I am not a lead singer of a band—I can’t pull all nighters like you can.”
He laughed and jumped on the bed, lying on top of the covers.
He was wearing only jeans and a t-shirt and was barefoot. Crossing his hands behind his head, he said,
“Last night was pretty darn good.”
She nodded and scooted closer to his side, sliding her warm hand under his shirt and putting it on his hairy stomach.
Last evening was a success indeed.
The day was brutally cold, and when they arrived to the House of Blues, she felt bad for all the fans who were huddling outside, in the frigid cold. In the venue, the evening began with a meet and greet, and after the concert, there would be a cocktail hour, as well as an opportunity for parents and their kids to hang out with the band.
To the committee and the organizers, he introduced her as his “girlfriend”, and she was the toast of the evening, since she was chiefly responsible for bringing the band here, and making the evening happen.
“You know, you are looking a little too hot,” he complained jokingly, right before they were about to take the stage.
“Me? Define a “little too hot”?” she laughed.
“Well, all…this,” he made a wide swipe with his hand and then gestured at her breasts, “and these…What the fuck are all these dudes doing looking at you?”
She didn’t do anything over the top, other than wear black slacks, high heeled boots and a gray turtleneck—ok, the turtleneck WAS a bit tight and accentuated her assets very well—but there was nothing scandalous about her outfit. But men did look.
“I think you might have to ask them, however, I would advise against it,” she added quickly, ‘we don’t want to start a rumble in front of sick kids!”
He thought and said,
“All right, but only ‘cos they are sick kids.”
“Thanks!” she smiled and kissed him quickly, before anyone could see.
He pulled her closer, and kissed her a lot harder, his hand making contact with her breast.
“Hey, no feeling up in public!” she hissed.
He chuckled gruffly and said,
“All right, all right. Just, you know, putting a claim on what’s rightfully mine.”
“Would you like to pee around me?” she suggested, “mark your territory in earnest.”
“Well, that’s just silly,” he contradicted primly.
During the concert, one of the big shots, the chairman of the of the Board of Directors of the charity came up to her.
“I wanted to personally thank you for arranging this,’ he said. “They are a big draw,” he nodded towards the band, which was in the middle of “Fans”, “I’ll be honest, I had no idea who they were, when I was told that they would be interested in performing. Good thing I listened to my sons!” he smiled.
“Well, the guys were very excited to do this. They are finally at a level here, in the US, where they could be a big draw. Later in the month, they are performing at Madison Square Garden!” she felt a surprising surge of pride for her “boys”.
“Well, you are a genuine rock start girlfriend!” he exclaimed.
She didn’t know how to answer, having been called that for the first time in her life. A genuine rock star girlfriend. She didn’t know if she liked the sound of that.
After the cocktails and obligatory hanging out with the attendees and big donors, the band finally was able to leave and they went to a bar.
Drinks flowed freely and a lot of junk food was consumed—nachos, wings, jalapeño poppers (Nacho’s favorite), pizza puffs. The fat in the food could not, however, offset the strength of alcohol in the drinks. The boys were playing darts with some guys, and a lot of whooping and hollering was coming from that corner. Claire and Jessie were semi-passed out on the couches. The pressure of the benefit was finally behind her, and she could breathe easier.
The guys moved to the pool tables. Jessie looked at her watch and asked,
“So, how long do we give them?”
Claire did the same and said,
“18 to 23 minutes.”
17 minutes later Caleb got his ass beat in pool and 20 minutes later, voices were raised and threats, mixed with heavy cursing, could be heard from that side of the bar.
“Well, here we go,” Claire laughed.
“They’ll never change,” said Jessie.
“Nope.”

“I don’t want to leave,” he whispered, eyes closed.
They lay in comfortable silence. It was snowing outside.
She was stroking his stomach slowly, head resting on his chest. He had long narrow feet. And it was at times like these, when no words were said, that she knew that she loved all of him, completely unconditionally.
“Actually I do want to leave,” he then decided, “because the weather here sucks dick, if I may say so myself. But I hate leaving you. It fucking destroys me every time.”
“Honey,’ she began, but he interrupted and said,
“Yeah, yeah, I know, we agreed. Don’t make it any easier, does it?”
She sat up. His thick hand brushed against her back and said,
“Stay.”
“You are moping. Come on.”
“No. I don’t want to.”
“Fine. Lay here all alone.”
“This Chicago place made you kinda bitchy,’ he groaned. “You were so nice and agreeable back in Tennessee.”
She put on her robe and went to the bathroom.
By the time she was done, he was in the kitchen, sitting at the table, drinking coffee. A platter with a stack of pancakes stood in the middle of the table, along with butter and warm maple syrup.
“Wow, this looks really good.”
She came to him and kissed the top of his head. He caught her hand and pulled her on his lap. She kissed him softly.
“Can we make a baby?” he blurted.
She pulled her face away from his lips and stared at him with surprise.
“A baby? What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know…I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. It would be so nice for us, and you are the only one I’d ever want to have a baby with. Why shouldn’t we have one? Make it with love…We can certainly afford it!” seeing lack of reaction on her part, he added with some annoyance, “I know, I know, you are going to give me 101 reasons why we shouldn’t, but I can give you 101 why we should.”
She was silent for a long time. He thought that he had crossed some major line with them, though why that would be, he couldn’t understand.
“Claire,”
“All right,” she said.
“All right?” now it was his turn to be silent. Then he said, “All right what?”
“All right. To baby. To everything. Pretty sure you are the guy for me. Kind of knew it when I saw you first, in that black t-shirt, with long hair and tight jeans, back in Tennessee. “
“Are you serious?”
She pointed to her ring finger,
“You know what you got to do first.”
“Yes, yeah!!!” his eyes were blazing with excitement. “I mean…you serious, right?”
“Come May, I am finished with school. And as promised, I am yours.”
He rubbed his hands together and his face spread with a wide, amazed, blissful smile.
“All mine.”

“Hey, where are you? You coming?” he heard Jared’s voice in the hallway. “You forgot you are barbequing?”
Jared stuck his head in the bedroom, messing with his hair.
“I flipped the hotdogs already!”
“Yeah, I am coming. I was looking for a towel, for the pool.”
Little brother gone, he uncovered the photo over which he had hastily thrown a towel.
The beautiful Claire was smiling at him, her eyes luminescent, her hair swept in the wind. She was holding onto his shoulder.
Clearly, his mom, along with everyone else, was “Team Claire”.
He set the photo back on the shelf. His nose wrinkled and his eyes hurt. He rubbed his face vigorously thinking what a pussy he was. He was actually crying.