Blur Me Read online

  Blur Me

  E.B. Jones,

  Copyright E.B. Jones 2013

  One

  Her knuckles were white. God I hate turbulence. She felt her fingers dig into the cheap plastic armrest.

  The captain's voice spoke over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, please keep your seat belts fastened. We're having a few-”

  The airplane dropped from under her. There was a crashing noise from the rear of the plane. Her seatbelt, which she'd cinched so tight that it made her need to pee, pulled her downward with the airplane as she felt that sickening sensation of her stomach rising to her throat.

  I never liked roller coasters. And I hate turbulence even more. Hate it with a passion. Her heart had started to beat fast and hard. Aside from the sound of the crashing beverage cart in the back and the small jet engines rising and falling in pitch, it was strangely quiet in the cabin. No, not exactly quiet – there was a woman two rows in front of her, clutching a toddler in her lap and crying quietly.

  This is how people behave when they look death in the eye, she thought. And even in the fog of her own terror, it struck her as strange just how quiet people became.

  “Sorry about that, ladies and gentlemen. We're going to have a few bumps on our trip to Maine this afternoon. We've asked the flight attendants to suspend beverage service for everyone's safety. We're going to try and find some smoother air for you this afternoon. Thanks for your understanding.”

  She thought she heard his voice waver. Was that a note of fear masked in his voice? He knew that they'd just have to ride this one out, didn't he?

  And he's not sure if we can ride it out.

  The seat next to her was empty. For the first time in her life, she actually wished someone else had been sitting there, even if it meant sharing an armrest and having to tap a stranger on the shoulder when she needed to get up to use the restroom. Because on this flight, she would have welcomed a stranger's hand squeezing her own. A touch that would tell her it would be all right, even if the violent gyrations of the commuter jet said otherwise.

  She looked out the milky plexiglass of the window. They were surrounded by towering cumulus clouds, billowing so high above them that she couldn't even see the tops, the sides of them white and inviting. That was almost more terrifying than if the clouds had appeared jet black. It was as though the clouds were saying 'come on in, come for a ride. We'd love to give you a few bumps and jolts. We all fall down eventually. Don't you want to fall down with us? We all fall down.'

  (we all fall down)

  Breathe Melissa, breathe. Just ride it out. Only forty more minutes to go. And when you get on the ground, you can re-evaluate having chosen a career that requires so much airline travel.

  She flew all the time, but for her it was a necessary evil. She had an interview with Liam Sims, singer-songwriter and frontman for the band The Super Unknowns. Why he'd decided to hide out on the coast of Maine after he'd finished his last tour she had no idea. She supposed that she might get that out of him during the interview –

  (if I make it to this interview)

  Maybe I should ask for a transfer to the editing department. Because I'm not sure if going down in a fiery crash, as statistically improbable as that may seem to someone on the ground at this very moment, is worth the thrill of seeing my name printed on the byline of –

  The plane dropped again, and this time one of the overhead bins flew open from the impact, sending two roll aboard bags and a purse crashing to the cabin floor. Melissa thought she heard more crying. She looked up and saw a flight attendant unbuckle her seat belt and stagger toward the open bin, practically crawling down the aisle to reach the loose bags, now semi-lethal projectiles inside the cabin.

  Even when things get really bad, there's always someone willing to be a hero. The thought comforted her, a little. She closed her eyes and gripped the armrest and tried to imagine that she could really accept whatever fate would dish out. And if, by some miracle, she walked off that airplane unscathed into the salty Maine air, she wasn't quite sure whom she'd thank, but she knew that something deep inside her would appreciate life. Yessir – appreciate it deeply and fully, because you never knew what you were going to get.

  Two

  The cabin practically came unglued when the commuter jet landed at the Portland Jetport. Applause and cheers, as though the hometown ball team had just taken the World Series. She felt a grateful welling up of emotion, a moistening of her eyes, and found herself clapping and smiling too. It wasn't even in her nature to make public displays of emotion. But something deep inside her knew that their arrival hadn't been certain – fortune had smiled her own sweet smile, and now they were back on the ground. Sweet mother-of-Jesus earth.

  She passed by the woman who had been holding the toddler as she deplaned. She exchanged a quick glance with the woman. The air around the woman's seat smelled like urine (the poor kid had wet himself), but the woman's eyes said enjoy every second you have in this life, lady. You never know when it might get yanked out from under you.

  Melissa Palmer continued off the plane and headed to the rental car counter. She hadn't bothered checking a bag, since the interview was meant to be an in and out kind of thing. She had booked a flight back to New York the next day.

  Please don't let the world-renowned lyricist Liam Sims be a drugged out egomaniacal prick. I can't deal with someone like that right now. Just let him be normal. Please let him be normal. And please let there be a bathtub at my hotel room tonight. I really need to soak in a tub.

  Three

  She drove up the rocky coast from Portland, and just after Old Powerhouse Road she saw the sign for Falls Landing road, just like Liam had written in his email reply after she'd sent him a note asking for the interview.

  She had found his directions amusing, in a backwoodsy kind of way – It's easy to miss, so don't drive up the road faster than about thirty or you'll have to make a u-turn. And Maine cops don't like out of state folks who make u-turns, so make sure you turn in the parking lot of Town Landing Market if you do miss it. Fourth house on the left down Falls Landing, white with green shutters.

  She put on her blinker and made the turn (see, I didn't miss it, did I?). It still struck her as odd that a world-famous rock star who had made his name tearing apart clubs in the Pacific Northwest with the force of his music would be here, two decades later, in a modest house overlooking the sea far from –

  well, far from everything. That was odd.

  She parked along the curb, pulling up on her emergency brake with two hands because, shit, this was a steep hill that led straight to the water. She'd taken the full damage protection on the rental car (magazine policy – interviews with rock stars were known to sometimes have unforeseen effects on hotel rooms and cars), but still, she didn't think she'd be able to look her editor in the eye and explain, 'I went inside to interview him, and when I came back outside the car was ass up in six feet of salt water two hundred yards away.' No, that wouldn't do.

  Time to get this business over with. The sooner I get done with this, the sooner I can find myself a glass of wine and relax chest deep in some warm water.

  She walked up to the plain red door of his house and knocked, then flattened out a crease in her skirt as she waited for the door to open.

  Four

  She heard footsteps from inside and he opened the door for her. His hair was just like in the pictures she'd seen, still hanging down to just above his shoulders, with a few light streaks of grey. His brown eyes seemed deep, and you'd never know it if you saw him in concert, but up close he had beautiful, long eyelashes.

  She felt his eyes fall on her, truly look at her for a moment, and she could feel the heat build in her face.

  I cannot believe I'm starting to blush right now. Get a ho
ld of yourself Melissa. This is just another interview with just another guy –

  But his strong, skilled hands can make a guitar sing, and his baritone can shake walls and hearts.

  She smiled, trying to ignore the very physical reaction she had to being in his presence for the first time.

  “Come in, Melissa. It's nice of you to come by.” She found that his voice had a soothing, real quality to it. Like he meant every word that he spoke. He stood aside and gestured for her to walk inside before closing the door behind her and taking her coat.

  Manners. He has manners. Not what she'd expected. Now, as she watched him hang her coat, she realized that maybe it made sense. He wasn't some self-absorbed kid with a social media account, a guitar, and cute hair blinded by the sudden headlights of fame. This was Liam Sims. He'd been doing his thing for twenty years. And if you listened to him, his music was still good. It got under your skin. Made you feel something.

  “This is a peaceful spot you've got for yourself,” she said. He laughed.

  “I know, it's in the middle of nowhere, Maine, right? I think I do my best writing here. I've had this house for the last ten years, and when I need to be alone to think this is where I come. You want anything from the kitchen? You must be hungry after your flight.”

  “I don't know about hungry. I had a near-death experience in the airplane, so I think I left my stomach somewhere around 32,000 feet. But I could use a glass of water.”

  “Coming right up,” he said. He disappeared briefly into his kitchen.

  What struck her then was the ease with which the two of them had started their conversation. He spoke to her with a familiarity that made her feel like she didn't particularly need to hurry to get anywhere else. They'd get to the interview eventually. For now, it was good just to talk.

  He came back with a glass of water and handed it to her. As she drank, she peered up from her water glass through her dark-rimmed glasses and could see him looking at her. His warm smile shone toward her. It was the sort of smile she could get used to.

  Forget it Melissa. You have a job to do. This is not the time to think about how charming Liam Sims is. Her heart fluttered, just a few beats, as she finished her water.

  “You had a hell of a scare back there, didn't you?” he said. He'd crossed his arms and was holding his trimmed beard, as though that observation brought back some memory for him.

  “It was nothing, we all made it down fine –”

  (we all fall down)

  But really she knew that it hadn't been nothing. Something inside her had changed. Somewhere in the part of her brain that senses mortality, a bit had flipped. She had peered into the dark well of her life and seen that there was an inky bottom staring up at her from the blackness. The thought of living her life as she had before, drifting from deadline to deadline, getting caught up in the mundane without being aware of it...that thought terrified her.

  “Come here,” he said. “Stand right in front of me for a sec.” She didn't bother asking why. She just knew that the invitation to stand closer to him was something that had awakened a welling up of longing inside her, like a deep ocean current rising with its sustenance.

  What's happening here? What about journalistic objectivity? How am I supposed to write an article when I have a crush on my subject?

  She did as he asked and stood in front of him. His hands fell on her shoulders gently, and she felt his thumbs work their way into the muscles just below her neck. She exhaled deeply and closed her eyes. Her heart leapt inside her and started to beat faster.

  You haven't known Liam more than five minutes, and already you imagine that he's clutching you close to him in the dark, his naked body pressed against yours, feeling the rising and falling of his chest against your tits. She felt the heat spread throughout her body, reaching its fingers between her legs.

  “You were tense, Melissa. I know this isn't par for the course for an interview, but you looked like you needed it.” His hands kept massaging her neck, unwinding the knotted fibers one by one, with a deliberate tenderness.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Maybe it was more of a scare than I cared to admit.” She felt like a marionette in his hands, as though he could make her do anything with just a single movement of a finger. This was the most sublime sensation she had felt in a long time. A long time.

  As she stood in front of him, she could hardly believe that the hands she felt working firmly in the muscles of her upper back belonged to Liam Sims. The Liam Sims. She wouldn't be able to tell anyone about this. But if she wrote the article, and somehow, someone found out that she'd had a less than professional relationship with him...well, that wouldn't look too good either.

  You're getting ahead of yourself Melissa. This is just a friendly touch. These rock stars can be that way, don't you remember? They don't think about boundaries the same way normal people do. Boundaries. Do you even care about those anymore yourself?

  She became aware of her clit, aching to be touched, and suddenly realized that her pussy felt empty. Her face flushed again.

  “Melissa, I need to tell you something,” he said. He stopped massaging her neck for a moment and she froze. She was afraid that –

  There's always something. That would be my luck with guys, wouldn't it? The good ones always seem to be taken by the time I talk to them. Watch him say he just got married. But if he did, where's the ring? It could have been an engagement...

  Stop Melissa! You're just getting ahead of yourself. It could be nothing. Or this might all come to an abrupt halt right now, the spell broken, the magic gone.

  She felt him closer now, his breath near her ear. “You're the most sexy journalist I've ever had the pleasure to invite into my home,” he whispered.

  How is this still real? She felt herself laughing and blushing at the same time. He was close to her now. She wished...she wished he would lean in and –

  If he kissed me right now, if I felt a kiss underneath my ear, there is no way I'd be able to write about our interview. No one would believe a word I'd written because they'd catch on to the infatuation of the starry-eyed girl who'd written the article after the very first paragraph. How am I going to get out of this one? Am I going to have to choose, between him or my reputation as a writer?

  His lips met her neck, leaving a gentle kiss underneath her right ear. She closed her eyes and exhaled, and she felt as though her life had suddenly come into focus. She could let herself have this. She'd caught a glimpse of her own mortality during her terrifying airplane ride, and she knew that she'd never regret taking another chance.

  She felt her nipples strain against her shirt. And then he pulled her close against him, his hard-on pressing through his jeans and against the exquisite curve of her ass. The ache in her clit pulsed, craving touch. His touch. Her imagination started to race ahead in anticipation.

  Will I feel his fingers, those same fingers that delight millions when he plays a guitar, dancing on my pussy, just for me? Will I feel him slide a finger, maybe two, against my wet slit? Maybe inside me?

  She let out a quiet moan.

  He planted another delicate kiss on her neck, this one just a bit lower than the last one. She reflexively leaned her head toward his lips. They tickled her neck, shot jolts of electric current through her nervous system that made her draw in a breath. His hands were pulling her in toward him by her hips. She looked down and could see the muscles and veins in his forearms, defined and solid. That was what you got when you'd spent 20 years making the world rock from a stage with a guitar and a tall Marshall stack.

  Where do things go from here? If this were one of his songs, we'd be at the opening riff. And if I listen, I can feel the pulse of his song. It's in the pounding of my heart. The rhythmic flow of blood through my body. The throbbing of his cock, straining against clothing, pushing against my skirt, pushing against my ass.

  “Is this something you want Melissa? It might be hard to do an interview after this,” he said softly. He kissed her neck ag
ain, and she could smell him. A clean smell mixed with the salt of the sea.

  “I don't really know what I want,” she said. “Except that I don't want to miss anything. Not anymore.” She felt as though this was where she was supposed to be. Her back seemed to fit so neatly against his torso, as though, if you froze them both into marble statues at that very moment, you'd remark that they were familiar lovers.

  I'm supposed to be going along with this. I know I am. And my career at the magazine, well –

  She felt herself turning. He led her in a lazy pirouette, until they were face to face. She studied him in one of those long, time suspended moments that only lovers and people facing death seem to find. Kind eyes looked back at her. Into her. How was it that you could meet someone, a stranger, and connect as though all of your pieces had been made to fit together?

  I want him. I want him so.