“We’ll record a lot.” What was he if he wasn’t playing? Nothing at all. “And we’ll just fuck off and jam. It’s Austin, you know? There’s music everywhere, and there’s always somewhere to join in.”
“Sounds like fun. I could totally get into that. Bet you’re gonna miss Kyle, though, huh?”
“Yessir.” But he’d miss Kyle if he stayed here too. The man was booked solid, and he… well, he had lost his chance to be. At least in Texas he’d be among friends.
“Thanksgiving will be good. Kyle throws an amazing party. That townhouse he has is built for it.” Timmy licked his fingers and put out his joint, then leaned forward and set it in an ashtray. “Are you gonna play at it? You should. His friends should hear you play.”
“I don’t think so, no. I’m gonna just enjoy the day.” He didn’t play around Kyle no more. He didn’t know how to explain, really, so he didn’t bother. Kyle didn’t believe his gift was worth having, so Colt wasn’t going to waste it. It wasn’t no big thing. Lots of folks needed him to do what he did. Kyle needed him in the bed, needed him to talk to. Someone else could jam with him.
Timmy had taken that on pretty good. You could look at Timmy and just see a stoner who worked at a recording studio. But kind of like Norv, kind of like a lot of artists Colt knew, if you sat with him on a couch for five minutes, you learned a lot more. Timmy got it. Maybe even better than most because he knew tons of musicians from all over. He knew how to turn a rough studio session around. He knew when to interrupt and feed people and when to step back and let the magic happen.
So he knew what Timmy was thinking. Looked like the guy knew how to cut through bullshit too.
“Dude. You just told me you’re going to spend your vacation playing. I don’t see you ‘enjoying the day’ without your guitar. What’s up? You and twinkle toes are the real deal, man. It’s time those dancer friends of Kyle’s got it, don’t you think?”
He shook his head. “What I do ain’t theirs.”
He sort of reckoned it was like lots of stuff. It was just fine to enjoy things that made up more than where you came from, but it was trashy for it to go the other way. His mamma had been that way. He’d been okay until she married money. Then he wasn’t. His music had been okay until Kyle was fixin’ to have to show it; then it had taken one late morning to be enough of an excuse. It was the way shit worked, he guessed.
“I guess. I mean, you’re right. But don’t you ever want to show off a little? I’d love to see their faces.”
“Oh, boo. If that was what got me what I needed, I’d be on a stage and be someone famous. I need to share my music—on a street, in a studio, with someone else having it.” He shrugged. “I got my pride, huh? At least a little of it.”
And he knew he was cracked a little and not all the way back to healed. It wouldn’t take much to break him bad. Soon he would be back to patched, and the scar left behind would be stronger than ever, but not quite yet.
Soon.
“Dude. You’re gifted. Scary gifted, and you have everything to be proud of. Man, I’m proud of you. I love telling people I know this guitarist that absolutely will not let them down. I can keep you in session work forever, if it’s what you want to do. I just think you’re a lot more than that.”
“You’re good to me, boo. Feels good to have your faith.” He didn’t know what else to say. He hadn’t tried to let Kyle down, but he had. That was that. Sometimes, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t be enough. C’est la vie.
“Rock solid, bro. Rock solid.” Timmy clapped him on the knee as the door buzzer went off. “Ooh. Pizza’s here!”
“I got it. You sit. We’ll feast.” He had time ’til he got called up to see Kyle. Time enough to relax and breathe easy, eat pizza and have a beer.
17
Just lookingat the buffet table for his Thanksgiving party made Kyle happy. There was barely any food on it yet; it was just starting to come out of the kitchen, but it looked like fall—the oranges and reds and browns. The paper leaves and the tall taper candles gave off just enough “wow” without going overboard.
It was technically a casual party, but as much as he loved to show off his ink, he got a little dressed up—slacks and a luxuriously soft button-down shirt that he actually tucked in, even a belt.
The house smelled divine too. Colt was up early this morning, starting something amazing, and now the caterers were here too. Guests would be arriving any minute, but first he ducked into the kitchen to see how things were going and to just watch the carefully orchestrated chaos.
“Y’all put them shrimps out with your trays, and the boudin. I’ll get on the potatoes and eggs.” Colt was in a T-shirt and jeans, his hair all pulled back, directing with a wooden spoon.
Jesus. Colt looked every bit as appetizing as the food. The party hadn’t even started and his lover was already on the dessert menu. “There is nothing hotter than a man in the kitchen.” He moved toward Colt, smiling. “Unless the man is you.”
“Ain’t you fine?” Colt smiled for him, warm and easy. “You excited about all your people coming to feast and give thanks?”
“I am. I love a nice party, and this is the perfect day for one. Good food, nice wine, good company.” He hooked a finger in Colt’s belt loop and tugged on it. “You’re working hard in here.”
“It’s a good working, though. Careful with your pretty shirt. You don’t want it ruint.” Colt lifted his face for a kiss.
“Mmm.” Colt’s kiss was sweet and easy as anything.
Things seemed good between them now. Colt was over regularly, and that part of their relationship was wonderful. There was something still a little off, something he hoped they could rebuild if he could just figure out what it was. They didn’t go out a lot, and Colt hadn’t been back to see him dance, but Colt was easily as busy as he was. He was starting to think maybe he was just oversensitive. He was a dancer after all.
Colt’s bag was in his room. His lover was flying out to Texas tomorrow for a writing vacation while he was swamped. It was going to suck, but he got it. There wasn’t any work for Colt here with Timmy heading off to the ocean, and Colt wasn’t happy unless he was… unless he was playing.