35 - Are You Dead?

Cassidy took another deep swallow of coffee and checked the time.  The Jeep’s dashboard clock read five minutes past noon, which meant she was late for the studio. 

Wasn’t it peculiar how a week – a day – could change one’s perception of things? 

Last time she was parked in the lot at Blackbird Studios, she had been so very worried about being punctual so that Obie wouldn't have to wait on her.  She recalled hurrying across the pavement in her high heels and arriving breathless - but on time - to make a good impression.    

Today she wasn’t so worried about being late.  Today it was more important to be a civilized human being when she did finally get there and, until she drank at least half of this cup of coffee, it wasn’t happening.  Fortunately, she was now familiar enough with the men waiting inside to know that they would understand and wholeheartedly agree with that reasoning.    

Last night had been a very long night with Jon spending half the drive back to Nashville trying to apologize while she adamantly assured him there was nothing to be sorry for.  Cassidy was the only one who needed to be sorry, for being senseless enough to indulging in a “special” feeling and for letting him make her think this “muse” setup was more significant than sex. 

All that was on her, not him, and she'd actually ended up issuing her own apology for the sarcasm she hadn't been able to contain.

Once he’d finally accepted both the apology and the idea that she wasn’t going to take him to task over his bout of brutal honesty, that was pretty much that.  They got to work – and when the man worked, he worked.

His original goal had been to get through two songs.  Those had come together so quickly and easily that he’d decided to do another.  And another.  And one more since it was only two in the morning.

The final setlist for their rehearsal was “Lay Your Hands on Me”, “I’ll Be There For You”, “Always”, “Amen”, “and “Who Says You Can’t Go Home”, and they wrapped it up about four this morning.  Exhausted, she had stumbled directly toward bed, leaving him to write because he said he was still wound up.  She wasn't entirely sure that was true, since he'd been somewhat distanced from her since they'd returned, but she was too tired to care.

When she’d awoken at nine after a restless sleep, it was to discover he wasn't there.  A note, accompanied by her pay for the second week, was on the table saying he was in the hotel gym and to order room service if she wanted.  

She hadn't wanted.

Cassidy had tucked the tainted money in her purse and taken the opening to leave a return note that said she was going home to shower, which she had done, feeling like little more than a zombie for the duration of the thirty-minute drive.  A leisurely, hot shower had helped, but only marginally.  She found herself dawdling over the bandana she’d fashioned to hold loose hair away from her face, dawdling over her makeup, and dawdling over getting dressed.

The slight crankiness from her poor sleep was taken to the next level when she discovered that she was down to her last clean pairs of panties and Levi's.  She was extra irritated to find that, after putting on the red t-shirt that perfectly fitted her curves, the only clean clothes she had were a Tully's t-shirt, a white blouse with a small stain on the front, and a faded black t-shirt with a huge hole.

Certain things could not be ignored and dirty laundry was one of those, so, in addition to a full day at the studio, she was going to have to find time to go to the laundromat.  That had her cursing mildly as she packed two garbage bag with the dirty clothes and towels and slung it into the back of Jeep.

When she very nearly rear ended Methuselah's older brother because he was going fifteen miles an hour in a fifty-five zone, she knew that a stop at the nearest Starbucks was in order.  It was a public service to herself and all those around her.  

With biggest available cup of Pike's Place Roast in hand, she’d finally arrived in Blackbird’s parking lot at five minutes before noon.  That’s where she still sat, with her head cushioned against the headrest while the first sips of pitch black coffee worked through her veins and ate away at her irritability.  

Lord, I reckon You’re gettin’ tired of hearin’ from me, but here I am again.  My thoughts are a chaotic mess and I could stand with a little direction, if You have the time or inclination to provide some.  I thought I was startin’ to let my heart open to this man – You know the one – since I thought that’s what he was aimin’ for.  I reckon’ he’s changed his mind about that, or I misunderstood.  One or t’other happened, anyway, and that’s all well and good, but I’m havin’ a hard time puttin’ things back the way they used to be in my head.  You think You might be willin’ to help me see him as a friend in need instead of anything else?  It would make things a lot easier today.  Please and thank Ya.  In Jesus’s-

“Are you dead?” 

“Hellfire and damnation!”  The loud question was accompanied by even louder knocking at her window and Cassidy’s eyes snapped open at the same time she jolted upright, splashing hot coffee over her hand.  Turning a disdainful eye to the man who had so rudely interrupted her prayer, she kicked up a condemning eyebrow.

“You reckon anybody ever answered ‘yes’ to that question?” she drolly quizzed David Bryan.  “No, I’m not dead and, if you’ll take a step back, I can get outta the car.   What are you doin’ here, anyway?”

“Oh, good.  I’d hate to see you dead when I’ve just decided to nominate you for sainthood.  Jon asked me to come help out today.”

Completely ignoring whatever nonsense he was spouting in favor of third-degree burns, Cassidy placed the coffee in a cup holder and found a wadded napkin to mop the coffee from her scalded hand.  When just the scent of Pike’s Place Roast remained, she put her arm through the straps on her purse and picked up what was left of the coffee.

“It’s nice to see ya, but what in tarnation are you talkin’ about?” she demanded, opening the driver’s door and planting the soles of her ruby stilettos on the asphalt.

As quickly as she’d lifted the coffee cup from the holder, she was relieved of it when David snatched it away and put it on top of the vehicle.  She was about to ask what he was doing when long arms wrapped around her for a hug.  It wasn’t one of those phony polite hugs, either.  The fierce embrace that literally swept Cassidy from her feet was filled with genuine warmth, and she was clasped firmly against his chest for so long that it was on the verge of becoming awkward. 

“David?” 

No more protest was required.  Her feet were immediately returned to solid ground and he took a quick step back.  “Sorry.  I get a little overexcited when I’m in the presence of a miracle worker, but that’s my way of saying thank you.”

If Obie was a Chihuahua, David was a squirrel, darting this way and that without warning.  Cassidy was going to suffer whiplash before all was said and done.

“Honey, you are the teeny tiniest bit difficult to keep up with at times,” she laughed, stepping to the side to lock and close her door.  “What in the world are you goin’ on about?”

He stretched out one long arm to retrieve the Starbucks cup from the top of the Jeep and waited for her to turn so that his other arm could settle comfortably around her shoulders.  The loose grip was used to gently guide her toward the studio entrance as he smiled down into her face and passed over the coffee.

“Put your arm around me and I’ll tell you.”

“You’re crazier ‘n a bedbug, but okay.”  Her free arm obligingly stole around his waist, and they found a mutually agreeable gait as they walked. 

“Once we get in here, it would be super if you could mention that I stuck my tongue down your throat.”

Forget the sanity Jon kept looking for in Cassidy.  The way David so casually uttered that bizarre request gave her serious reservations about his sanity, and her mind raced back to that semester of mental healthcare in nursing school.  He clearly suffered from some type of ailment, but what?  Bipolar?  Maybe, but not likely.  Borderline Personality Disorder?  Nah.  Schizophrenia?  That involved hallucinations and delusions, so maybe. 

“Honey, you are about thirty seconds away from me callin’ a psychiatrist to treat you.”

His blonde curls flew back along with his head and a boisterous laugh rang to the furthest corners of the parking lot.  “Wouldn’t be the first time, but there’s no need today.  My mouth can’t always keep up with my mind and it only spits out the most recent thought instead of the logic leading up to it.”

“Alright,” she indulgently accepted his peculiar explanation as they approached the entrance door.  Sort of.  There was no way she was going inside until she’d figured out what he was going on about, so she slid her arm free to take his hand and pull him aside.  “Now let’s go back to sainthood and work our way up to tongue, shall we?”

His grin was oozing sheer delight.  “You’re cute.  No wonder he’s into you.”

The squirrel also had attention deficit disorder, it seemed.

“I assume you mean Jon?”

“Naturally.”  Long pianist’s fingers were leisurely propped on both of his hips as he made himself comfortable for their chat.  “He said you told him to wish Richie well and get on with his life.”

Her chin dipped in a slow nod, relieved that he’d finally said something that made sense.  What he’d relayed wasn’t exactly verbatim, but it was close enough. 

“Yeah, more or less.”

“Well, I guess he completed the well wishing yesterday and now says he’s moving on.  Finally.  So thanks for that, since he wasn’t listening to anybody else.”

A slow smile ate up the lower half of her face.  Jon had contacted Richie?  He’d really done as she suggested?  Too bad he hadn’t told her about it.  She would’ve liked to know how his messed up head was faring since then.

He didn’t tell you David was comin’ either.  Y’all weren’t exactly sharin’ a lot durin' that work-a-thon last night. 

“I'm glad he's movin' on,” she said simply.

“I know, right?”  His grin went from delighted to mischievous.  “I was pretty damn happy about it myself and, when I found out it was because of you, my excitement may have led me to tell him I was going to express my appreciation with a big old sloppy kiss, complete with tongue."

"Well isn't that just charmin'?"

David was a nice guy, but she couldn’t imagine letting him kiss her.  Number one, psychotic wasn’t really her type.  Two, he was Jon’s friend and that screamed of a smarminess that she didn’t want to associate herself with.  Three, he was married, which carried a whole different brand of smarmy.  He probably wouldn’t think that would be a deal-breaker for a woman playing mistress, but he didn’t know her.

"I’d be damn delighted to carry that out," he assured her.  "But I assume you’re not interested in a quick game of tonsil hockey.”

“Good assumption.  I don’t need to be kissin’ married men.”

“Now, now.”  David dropped an exaggerated wink and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.  “Don’t you mean any more married men?”

Maybe it was the fact that she still hadn’t finished the coffee in her hand, or maybe it was her conscience eating at her, but the knowing tone of his voice hit her in precisely the wrong way.

“You got somethin’ to say to me, then say it outright,” she demanded sternly.  “I'm runnin' a little short on sleep and don't have the inclination to tolerate snide remarks.”

“Calm the fuck down.”  His hands went from his hips to being raised up in innocence.  “Despite my curiosity, Jon hasn’t told me shit about you and him, and that was just my way of being nosy.  No offense intended.”

Still think you wanna be a mistress?  It means you'll get to second guess comments like that all the time.  Won't that be fun?

“I didn’t intend any either,” she apologized.  “Forgive me for the snippiness, but if you find out anything about mine and Jon’s friendship, it's gonna come from him.  I will never have anything to say on the subject.”

David looked at her in a way that she’d only seen from her grandmother.  The most easily recalled instance was the day Cassidy had gotten her R.N., which also happened to be the same day Calliope graduated kindergarten.  She’d always assumed MeMaw was proud of her, but when seeing it shine from David’s eyes, she wasn’t wholly convinced it was the same thing. 

“I'll apologize again," he contritely murmured.  "You're obviously a woman of character, and that's all I need to know."

Then again, maybe it was the same thing, even if she found it a bit unexpected.  “Well, I… thank you.”

“Now,” he continued waving one hand.  “If you’re on the FBI’s ten most wanted list or the two of you sacrifice small animals together, my sick and morbid curiosity would love to be included in that loop.  So if you could keep that in mind...”

He's joking. Don't react, just distract the ADD squirrel.

Cassidy stepped close, stretching high on her tiptoes to lightly brush their lips together.  “There.  Now you can say we kissed.”

He studied her much as one would a bug under a microscope, searching in her eyes for the key to some unanswered question that he hadn’t even asked.  She was half-afraid he would, but Super Squirrel darted in a totally different direction.

“Word of advice.”  One long finger tugged at the neckline of her t-shirt to fully expose the spot where Jon had bitten her yesterday.  “Garlic necklaces keep vampires at bay.  Just sayin’.”