Page 45 of In This Together

‘Ouch, fuck!’

She spun quickly from where she had been looking over a picture of Tommy on stage at the Super Bowl two years ago and saw Tommy wafting his burnt hand in the air.

‘You never did cook?’ she said, rushing over to him.

She took hold of his hand and saw a small red mark. ‘That’s fine, you big baby, just run it under cold water for a minute.’

He did as she instructed and Andrea closed the cooker door.

‘No, I ordered in, the best,’ he said. ‘I was just stirring it. I thought you’d want a drink first?’

She found herself laughing, again. ‘Only you could burn yourself on takeout.’

‘It’s not just any takeout. That’s a biryani and a tikka masala from the best Indian restaurant in the city.’ He dried off his wound and handed her a crystal glass of liquor on ice from the marble-top kitchen counter. ‘Macallan single malt,’ he said.

They carried their drinks as Tommy showed her around the impressive penthouse. She noted the super-king-size bed set with satin sheets in the master bedroom. The hot tub in the main bathroom. And the awards for platinum albums, million-copy sales, best rock artist, and best single decorating the ‘office’.

Once the tour was done, Tommy poured them both a second drink and they came to sit on the sofas by the fire. ‘I had this installed today, after your comment,’ Tommy said, pulling his legs up onto the sofa so they were lazily spread in front of him as he reclined against the sofa cushions.

‘You’re lying,’ Andrea said, mirroring his pose after unbuckling and slipping off her heels. Boy, it was nice to take a load off. No work. No randy boss. Great music playing in the background – now Tracy Chapman’s ‘Give Me One Reason’.

Tommy smiled in response. ‘This track always makes me want to pick up the guitar.’

‘It makes me want to go sit in a bar on Beale Street and drink Tennessee bourbon.’

‘You get down there much these days?’

She shook her head. Her mother was buried in Nashville and she had spent her early years there when her mom still performed in the bars on Broadway, before her dad moved them back to his home town in New Jersey and set up Sanfia Records. At Sanfia she had ventured south fairly regularly for concerts, recordings and the CMAs. But in recent years, she’d had no reason to go.

‘And leave the office?’ she said. ‘How could I?’

He fell silent and she wondered if he was also remembering their backstage romp after he played at the Grand Ole Opry for the first time, back when the band’s sound was more country rock than mainstream.

‘So, tell me, Tommy Dawson, rock god, notorious bad boy, are the new lyrics honest? Are you really changing?’

‘Slowly, yes.’

At that moment, four paws came running from the hallway, not breaking stride as they leaped onto Tommy’s sofa and started furiously licking his face. Tommy laughed like a child, making Andrea laugh, too.

‘All right, boy. It’s good to see you too, buddy.’

‘I take it he’s yours?’

Andrea wasn’t up on her dog breeds but she could admit Tommy’s four-legged friend was a good-looking hound. It was dark brown, with a shiny coat and white fur that looked like socks on its feet. It was chiselled and looked well walked, the structure of its face almost good enough forVogue.

Tommy set his drink on the floor and wrestled the mutt, taking hold of it and carrying it over to Andrea. She leaned back as it tried to lick her face. Tommy held the dog’s paw and offered it to Andrea who, after a pause for thought, took hold of it and shook it. ‘Hello, dog.’

‘This is Rocky.’

‘As in Balboa?’

‘As in rock star,’ Tommy said with a cheeky glint in his eye.

Andrea laughed again, something she hadn’t anticipated from their evening based on her recent mood. Tommy set Rocky the rock star down and sent him on a hunt for his food bowl.

‘Where did he appear from?’ Andrea asked, perplexed.

Tommy resumed his position on the sofa – reclined, drink in hand. ‘One of the guys next door will’ve walked him and brought him back.’

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