The Bad Boy Wants Me(28)

‘What did you think it was going to be?’

‘I thought it would be more satisfying.’

I nibble at my bottom lip. ‘How can it not be satisfying? You are leading the life that most men would kill for.’

For a moment he is silent as he flicks ash from the end of his cigarette and takes another lungful of warm smoke. ‘I’m not making the kind of music I want to make.’

I stare at him and he stares back. ‘Tell me truthfully do you like my music, Tori?’

I shrug. ‘I guess nobody can have everything.’

His face shutters. ‘I guess not.’

I hold my hand out, my fingers pinched, and he slips his cigarette between my fingers. I take a drag. Wow! It’s been a long time since I smoked this stuff. He’s right. It’s good. I exhale and close my eyes.

‘What kind of music do you want to make?’ I say, and inhale again. Already I feel less uptight. More relaxed. I think I really like this guy.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and scrolling through it finds the music he wants me to listen to.

‘Lie back and close your eyes.’ I return the joint to him and lie back. He puts his phone close to my ear.

‘Who is this?’ I ask.

‘Disturbed singing The Sound of Silence.’

‘OK,’ I say. I close my eyes and this deep, deep, hauntingly beautiful voice pours like oil from a jar into my ear. Smooth. Smooth. It is so poignant I feel tears start to gather at the backs of my eyes. In my mind Cash is singing it. As the song progresses, the man’s voice becomes richer and richer and the words resonate and ring in my ear. Under that patch of Cash’s night sky, I became witness to someone else’s darkness. Finally, the man’s voice becomes rousing and powerful, a screaming crescendo like the kind of thing you would hear at a heavy metal concert.

When it is over I turn my head and look at Cash with new eyes. I thought I’d see the real him and he would not live up to my fantasy, but he is even greater than what I believed him to be.

‘Why don’t you make music like this then?’ I ask softly.

‘My record company doesn’t want it.’

‘Why?’

‘The fans don’t want it,’ he says with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

‘How do you know your fans don’t want it?’

He sighs. ‘Your fans never want something different from you. They just want more and more of the same. Every artist in the current climate, no matter how successful, has found that out. When they produce the kind of music that they think is special, their critics are quick to accuse them of indulging themselves and their fans simply don’t buy their records.’

‘But if you don’t love what you are doing …’

He flicks away the cigarette butt and laughs, a short bitter laugh. ‘Well, Wildcat, we all have to do things we don’t want to. I’m sure all those people working in chicken processing factories or collecting the refuse or finding things to recycle from rubbish dumps would rather they weren’t doing those jobs, so I can’t complain too much about singing teeny-bopper stuff.’

‘They don’t have a choice. They’d probably go hungry, or be homeless if they don’t. You have enough money behind you to be brave.’

He stands up and looks down at me, an odd expression on his face. ‘Brave? You want to see bravery?’

I feel fear clutch at my stomach. He has just smoked a joint. We’re a crazy distance from the ground. He’s going to do something stupid. We’re both going to die. ‘Don’t be an idiot,’ I say sternly.

Fixing his eyes on me, he lifts his hands out to shoulder level on either side of him and he starts walking backwards on the narrow ridge with a kind of elegant dance move.

‘Stop it. This is stupid,’ I shout, my voice full of panic.

‘Why? You wanted me to be brave and this is what bravery means when you go against billion-dollar record companies,’ he says as he carries on walking backwards.

‘OK, I got it. OK. I got it. Now stop. Please. You’re scaring me.’

‘Look, handstand,’ he says, and suddenly he is on the palms of his hands.

With my heart in my mouth I stand shakily. ‘I’m going back in, you stupid freak. Go ahead and break your neck. As if I give a shit,’ I cry, my voice trembling with emotion.

He rights himself and stares at me. For a few moments we are both standing on the roof staring at each other. Then he hunkers down on his haunches.

‘Don’t give me them eyes, baby.’

‘Yeah, well,’ I breathe, embarrassed by my own outburst. ‘Can we just go back into the house now?’

‘I’m sorry I scared you,’ he says softly.