Double Act Read online

  I’m looking forward to it. Where are you taking me?

  It’s a surprise. But I hope you like seafood.

  I love it.

  Sean began to type something else when another text from Emerson came through.

  Lunch is over, so I have to go. But feel free to call me after work if you have time.

  Sean erased what he had and rewrote his text. I will. Enjoy the rest of your day.

  Emerson responded with a smiling emoji.

  Sighing, Sean lowered his phone.

  “Please get all that sighing out of your system before we get home,” Macie said from the front seat. “I really need you focused today. You’ve been slacking lately.”

  Sean sat up and leaned forward so his chin rested on the top edge of her seat. “I’m nearly done with the album.”

  “Missing two songs is not nearly done.”

  “They aren’t missing. They’re in my head, somewhere.”

  “You need them now.” She turned her head to peer at him. “Don’t let this new guy distract you too much. Work first. Play later.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, returning to his reclined position. And just like that, inspiration hit. He sat up quickly. ”Yeah, yeah,” he repeated, but in two, distinct notes. “Shit! I’ve got it!”

  Frantically, he reached for his notepad, which was never more than arm’s length away for him. He scribbled the lyrics that formed in his head, denoting the chords atop them as he went. It poured from him, like marmalade, a thick, steady stream of emotions.

  Emerson. He had sparked this current feeling. Sean would have to send him flowers tomorrow.

  Chapter 8

  Sean hadn’t called the night before. Emerson was surprised at how sad the lack made him. Sean had texted, though, informing Emerson that he got wrapped up in his project and didn’t have a minute to spare. He’d apologized, and it had seemed sincere.

  The life of a celebrity didn’t cater to normal people like Emerson. He should be thankful Sean remembered to even text.

  The walk to the office Friday morning wasn’t nearly as chilly. The press of people on both sides of him blocked out the bite of the wind as well. The scarf tucked around his neck would have to be discarded on the trek home.

  Up in his cubicle, Rob inquired about Emerson’s evening. Emerson gave him a rundown, the highlights including watching Sunset Boulevard with Ninotchka and cutting his toenails.

  “So no date with your new guy?” Claudia asked. Her short stature, about an inch higher than the dividing walls, made her unnoticeable most of the time. A great gift for eavesdropping.

  Emerson walked to the opening and regarded her. “No. It’s Saturday, remember?”

  She shrugged, or maybe she was only tugging off her jacket. “You know when it’s new you want to see each other all the time. I’m surprised you can wait.”

  That thought actually calmed the slight sting Emerson was feeling. Sean did try to rush things. Perhaps it was good he got distracted. “I’ll see him tomorrow,” Emerson said. “What difference can a day make? I mean—”

  Emerson cut off as a woman in a delivery uniform walked up to their group. She held an enormous bouquet of red roses in her hands. “Emerson Willis?”

  In a sort of daze, Emerson raised his hand.

  The woman held out a tablet for him to sign, which he did, then she handed over the roses. “Enjoy,” she said with a smile. She retreated the way she came.

  “Wow,” Mal said, glancing over her cubicle wall.

  Claudia was already leaning forward to sniff them.

  “There’s a card,” Rob told Emerson, pointing to the top of the elaborate arrangement.

  Emerson grabbed it, but he already knew what it would say. He peeled the envelope open and removed the tiny card inside.

  Emerson, I’ll be thinking about you all day.

  A heart, then Sean’s name.

  The sudden buoyancy startled Emerson. It was only flowers. And yet…he felt lightheaded. He hadn’t been brushed aside yet.

  “I think he’s a keeper,” Mel said.

  * * * *

  Friday night, Emerson found his guitar shoved behind an old box in his storage closet. Three years it sat there collecting dust. He wiped it off with a cloth before settling onto the couch. It fit in his arms easily, as if they’d never spent a day apart.

  It needed to be tuned, and sadly, an app on his phone had to help him. Before, he could do it by ear alone. So much knowledge left when unused.

  He plucked the first E-string, then fine-tuned it to perfection. Ninotchka growled low in her throat at the sudden noise.

  Laughing, Emerson lowered the guitar to floor level for her to inspect. She flinched away, initially, then cautiously approached, her long nose twitching. She sniffed its base, its strings, its neck. Her tongue quickly lapped at a knob. Satisfied it wasn’t food or something interesting to chew, she retreated to her bed beside the television stand.

  Emerson returned the guitar to his lap and strung another sting, twisting the next knob. Then another and another. When all were in tune, his fingers shaped a C-chord and he played it hesitantly. The sound wavered, due to his lack of confidence.

  Just like a bike, Sean had told him. Emerson doubted it. Though the instrument felt familiar in his grasp, it also seemed so foreign. His hand hurt from the way it wrapped around the neck, and the weight of it dug into his thigh.

  He tried again. A C-chord, then a D, an F, an A. Each sounded better than the one before. A song suddenly flared in his memory. One he played the most through his college days. His fingers flexed as he played the E-minor chord that opened Tom Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down.”

  Instincts kicked in and he played the whole first verse without a mistake, his voice softly carrying the lyrics throughout the room.

  His fingers stilled. He couldn’t remember the chorus. But it probably wouldn’t take him long to familiarize himself with it again.

  After looking up tabs and a couple YouTube videos, he could play the whole thing. Of course, it had been an easy song.

  Now to up the challenge, he searched for the tabs to Sean’s latest sensation, “Flyin’ High.” Not that much more difficult than Tom Petty.

  Emerson played Sean’s official music video as he tried to strum along. Of course, the close-up shots of Sean, standing on the street with rain falling across his skin, or in swimming trunks on the beach, made focusing difficult. He’d notice Sean’s stray smile and Emerson would miss the chord change.

  In an act of desperation, he turned the laptop screen away from him. That way, he got through the whole song. He grinned with self-satisfaction. Maybe it was like riding a bike.

  He spent almost an hour strumming until his sore fingers made him put the guitar down.

  “Ow,” he told Ninotchka, shaking his hands briskly. “I’d forgotten how much it used to hurt.”

  She walked up to him inquisitively, so he lowered his fingers to her. They were red and raw. Ninotchka licked his pointer finger then moved into the kitchen, ready for her bedtime snack.

  “All right, girl. ‘Nough said.”

  He followed her to the counter where her treat jar sat. As he lifted the lid, his phone rang. Quickly, he grabbed a tiny bone and tossed it to her. She must have caught it cause her loud smacks echoed as he raced to his phone.

  An unknown number, but local. Could it be Sean? He pressed the button, just in case.

  “Hello?”

  “Emerson Willis? This is Margaret Blanche, from News 8. I’d like to ask you some questions about the incident with Sean Stirling on Wednesday. Do you have time now?”

  “Uh,” he answered.

  “The public is very interested in what made you push Mr. Stirling out of the way of oncoming traffic. We’d love to hear your side of the story.”

  “How did you get this number?”

  There was a pause. “It’s listed in the phonebook, Mr. Willis.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you. Please don’t call m
e again.”

  He hung up. Then his phone rang. A different number, but local.

  Shit.

  With a lump forming in his throat, he pressed the ignore button. He walked to the television and turned it on. After flipping to the news channel, he sank onto the couch. Ninotchka jumped up beside him.

  The weather report was on now, highs in the mid-fifties this weekend, lows in the forties. Rain unlikely, so go out and enjoy the warmer temperatures.

  When they switched from the smiling meteorologist to the newscasters, there was Margaret Blanche, sitting next to Liza Row.

  “We have an update on the incident involving Sean Stirling,” Margaret said. “The police have released the 911 call issued by the Good Samaritan, we know now is Emerson Willis. Here’s the recording.”

  Emerson stared in shock at the screen. Didn’t he have a say if his voice was aired on live television? Apparently not.

  His phone rang again and the sinking feeling increased. Then he saw it was Sean.

  “Hello?”

  “Emerson. Are you watching the news?”

  Emerson gulped. “Yeah, I just got a call from News 8.”

  “Did you issue a statement?”

  “N-no, I told her not to call me again.”

  Silence for a heartbeat, then, “Maybe that’s for the best. I’m sorry you got dragged into this. I know you wanted to stay out of the spotlight.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Yes, it is. If I hadn’t needed rescuing, you never would have had to come to my aid.”

  Emerson chuckled, and some of the tension left his shoulders. “I guess you’re right. But it was my own fault. I should have let you get hit by the car.”

  Sean’s laughter was light and melodious. “Are we still on for dinner? Or has this completely turned you off?”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Me, too. And if you want to issue a statement, I can have Macie or Jake do it. Hell, I can do it myself.”

  Emerson fell quiet. This was just a passing fancy, for Sean and the media. In another week, his name would disappear from the minds of the people, and he’d be back to normal. No reason to fuel the fire. “Thanks, but no. I’ll just stop answering my phone.”

  “Whatever you want. But let me know if you change your mind.”

  “I will. And thank you for the flowers today. They’re beautiful.” Emerson glanced at the small table, where the bouquet sat. It looked out of place in his meager apartment, but it did brighten the room considerably.

  “Just an apology for not being able to call you yesterday. In fact, I had a breakthrough, and I didn’t get to sleep till about one this morning.”

  “A breakthrough? Meaning?”

  “I got another song done for my new album. I told you my usual method is to compile songs from snippets I’d already written. But this one came brand new and almost fully formed. It hardly ever happens that way.”

  “That’s amazing. Creativity is something I don’t possess. Where did your initial spark come from?”

  “You, of course.”

  Emerson’s jaw dropped. When he could speak again, he said, “Me?”

  Sean laughed. “Is it so hard to comprehend?”

  “Uh, yeah. How could I inspire you? I mean…there’s no way it’s possible.”

  “You don’t give yourself enough credit. Can’t you see how infatuated I am with you?”

  “I still think it’s the bump to your head,” Emerson said softly.

  “Don’t dismiss yourself, Emerson. You’re an incredible person.”

  The subject made Emerson uncomfortable. No one thought him incredible. He was mediocre at best. That was why he couldn’t keep a steady boyfriend. They thought him shallow and uninteresting.

  “So you won’t tell me where we’re going for dinner?” Emerson asked, moving to a different topic.

  “No way,” Sean said. “I can’t wait to see your face. I hope you like it.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  “What are you doing right now? Am I interrupting a movie?”

  Emerson leaned back onto the couch, getting comfortable. His other hand absently pet Ninotchka’s back. “No, I was just re-familiarizing myself with my guitar. I tried to play one of your songs.”

  “Oh? How did it go?”

  “Not too bad, but not too good, either.”

  “What made you want to try again?”

  “You, of course. And holding it tonight made me realize how much I missed it.”

  “We’ll have to have a jam session sometime. I’d love to hear you play.”

  Emerson scoffed. “I don’t think so. That’s like Picasso asking someone to paint him a picture.”

  There was a slight pause, then Sean’s voice was soft and low. “You think I’m Picasso?”

  “Yes, Sean, you’re very talented. Your playing and vocals are amazing. I’d be way too afraid to try in front of you.”

  “That’s sweet of you to say, Emerson. Especially since you didn’t know I existed three days ago.”

  A hot flush ran up Emerson’s cheeks and he was glad Sean couldn’t see the embarrassment. “I bought all your albums,” he admitted. “I listened to the newest when I went jogging yesterday.”

  “You liked it?”

  “Very much. I think my favorite was ‘My Own’.”

  Sean barked a laugh. “I knew you’d like that one. Could you tell who it was about?”

  Emerson grinned. He could guess. “It’s about your old dog, Domino?”

  “Yeah. But most people don’t realize that. What gave it away?”

  “The line that goes, My constant companion, never abandoned through trouble and strife. Honestly, I’ve never met a person who fits that description, and I was pretty sure you hadn’t either.”

  He could tell Sean was nodding on the other end of the line. “That’s it. I knew a fellow dog person would get it. God, I still miss him so much.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emerson said, pulling Ninotchka a bit closer. “I know how hard it is to lose a pet.”

  Sean made a noise, as if to say these things happen. “We’ll have to plan for our doggie playdate next. Pip is really looking forward to it.”

  “I’m sure Ninotchka will like it, too.”

  Sean sighed, almost like a groan, then said, “I better get going. Macie’s tapping her watch.”

  “You’ve still got work to do? This late?” He glanced at the clock on his microwave. It was already past nine.

  “Yeah, I’ve got to put in an appearance at a party hosted by my record label.”

  Emerson grinned. He couldn’t help himself when he said, “What are you wearing?”

  Sean’s voice took on a lower tone. “I’m wearing black skinny jeans, a floral print shirt, and a black denim vest.” With a purr, he added, “I’ll probably wear sunglasses.”

  Emerson’s mouth went dry, from Sean’s voice and the image brought to his mind. Sean was very attractive, and skinny jeans did wonders for his naturally lean physique.

  “If you want to be my date, I’ll pick you up on the way?”

  He hesitated only a moment. “No, thanks. Maybe next time.”

  “Next time,” Sean repeated. “But I’ll see you tomorrow. Seven o’clock.”

  “See you then. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Chapter 9

  Emerson spent Saturday morning avoiding phone calls. He answered the ones from his mom and sister, but everything else he ignored. Mom had been ticked off, hearing the gossip from the local news channel instead of her own son. Hazel had just wanted free tickets to Sean’s next show.

  He didn’t tell either of them he had a date with Sean that night. In fact, he denied seeing Sean more than that encounter. It would have opened a discussion he didn’t feel like having.

  The morning passed slowly. Emerson sipped his coffee while The African Queen played on the television. The movie didn’t hold his interest. His nerves were too wound up. The coffee wasn�
��t helping.

  Around noon, he finally decided to get out of the house. He dressed in sweats and took Ninotchka out for a jog. Sean’s songs playing on his MP3 player didn’t soothe him. It reminded him he had a date with a celebrity in a few hours.

  The knot in his stomach didn’t lessen as he showered, shaved, dressed. His leg bounced ceaselessly if he sat, or even if he stood still.

  When the door buzzed at five till seven, Emerson thought he might faint from nerves. He rushed to the intercom and pressed the button.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Emerson,” said Sean’s staticky voice. “You ready?”

  Emerson gulped. “Yeah. Shall I come down or do you want to come up?”

  “I’d love to say hi to Ninotchka.”

  With a nod, Emerson hit the button that opened the door five stories below. Then he paced, Ninotchka at his heels. She could sense his nervous energy and she fed off it. She also knew that a visitor was on their way up—she was a smart little thing—and her whole body wiggled with excitement.

  The elevator was still broken so it took a lot longer than it should have for the knock to sound on his door. Emerson threw it open and Sean stood there, looking immaculate. His hair was brushed to the side and held with gel. His green irises were highlighted by a light touch of black eyeliner. His outfit—gray slacks, a button up dress shirt, and suspenders—-looked delectable. Emerson would have felt out of place in those clothes, but they fit Sean.

  Emerson suddenly felt underdressed. He was wearing khakis and a sweater.

  “You look amazing,” Sean said, eying Emerson up and down.

  It felt a lie, but Emerson accepted it with a nod. “So do you.”

  Sean waved a hand, dismissing the compliment. Then he bent down and slowly extended the back of his hand. His caution wasn’t needed; Ninotchka launched herself at him, licking any piece of his skin she could get to. He laughed, an adorable sound, and circled his arms around the rambunctious dachshund.

  “Hello, Ninotchka,” he said in a sweet voice. “You’re such a good girl, huh?”

  She calmed slightly as he stroked her fur. She was a glutton for attention.

  “You’re getting hair on your pants,” Emerson pointed out. Ninotchka’s white strands stood out sharply against Sean’s gray slacks.