Page 58 of My UnTrue Love
Clementine didn’t seem soothed by that offer. “It would be best if I dealt with Johnny. He’s acting very odd.” She pondered things for a beat. “Do you think he might have made a deal at a crossroads, to trade his old self for better music? Like in the folk song, where the coyote bargains away his True Love?”
“If he did, he got screwed over. Johnny still ain’t that talented.”
The mention of that damn song got Bill brooding even deeper, though. It reminded him of his pa and he didn’t muchlike thinking about old Hop. That son of a bitch had done his best to ruin Bill’s whole life.
If his father had been a worthwhile man, Bill’s mother wouldn’t have left him for greener pastures. Hopalong Kassidy had been solely fixated on his singing career. No time to be a husband or father, except when he wanted to alleviate his professional frustrations with his fists.
If Hop had been able to hold a real job and pay some child support, maybe Bill’s ma wouldn’t have remarried. Sal had been a spunky girl, but she hadn’t found much in the way of career opportunities. Her curly eyes and laughing hair had been striking enough to catch the eye of a wealthy man, however. Cordwood Sven had been a lumberjack, who’d made a nice living chopping down trees in Camelot. As the forests grew smaller and the money grew scarcer, Sven grew meaner.
If Cordwood Sven hadn’t spent all his time between his naps and drinking hating his stepson, maybe Bill’s mom never would have kicked Bill out when he was fifteen years old. For the good of the family, she said. But Sal had left Cordwood Sven pretty soon afterwards, onto richer men who enjoyed her exotic beauty. Last Bill heard, she’d married some fool who rustled little doggies for a living. Bill doubted that black-market dog herding was a growth industry, so she’d certainly drifted to the next loser by now.
If Bill hadn’t had been kicked out when he was fifteen, his life sure would’ve been easier. No doubt about that. He wouldn’t have had to shift into his coyote-form for the first time on his own, feeling scared and vulnerable in a way he never,everwanted to again. Maybe he coulda finished school. Not spent so many years scraping by with whatever manual labor he couldfind. Come to Clem with less baggage and more money. Been a worthy partner for her.
One little change was all it woulda took.
Hop Kassidy, Bill’s deadbeat daddy, had fucked up everything. Nobody had seen that son of a bitch in decades and good riddance to him.
“Well, whatever’s going on inside Johnny’s head, he can’t take it out on you.” Clementine declared, oblivious to Bill’s dark memories. “I’m going to have to be more assertive with him, which is hard for me. I’ve been making excuses for him for far too long and that’s a difficult habit to break. But he is not the same Johnny he used to be, and I don’t want you hurt.”
She had no idea what Bill was really capable of. He hoped she never found out. He liked being a sensitive artist in her eyes. It made him feel clean.
Clem seemed uncharacteristically serious. “You should think about what I said, before you decide on working with me any deeper. I don’t want you to one day regret it, because you can’t leave our partnership without giving up my magic.”
“Oh, I’m not troubled about that.”
“No?But…”
“I am never leaving our partnership.” He assured her, before she could continue her protest. “Notever, Clem. Share whatever you want to share with me. And you can take whatever you want from me in return.” He shrugged. “Not sure what that would be exactly, but you might as well have it. We’re in this together. Clementine and Bill, for all of ever-after.”
She stared at him.
He stared back.
She chewed her lower lip, asking if he was sure.
He shrugged, because he was utterly, totally, violently sure.
She slowly smiled.
His yearning for her solidified into something bordering on obsession. She was bright and joyful and innocent. It was wrong to steal her. He didn’t care.
“I think you should be my muse.” He heard himself say.
Clem’s smile grew wider. “Okay. If you’re sure that you’re sure.”
Satisfaction rushed through him. It felt like he’d found another way to claim her. “Oh, I’mpositivethat I’m sure.” A new worry occurred to him. “Will you be able to read my mind, if you’re helping to inspire me?”
“Of course not. Imagine it like a door between us. If you don’t open it, nothing gets through. Ideally, though, the door is open enough that ideas and emotions pass back and forth. It produces beautiful art.” She paused. “Supposedly, if an artist and a muse are perfectly matched, there’s no door at all.”
“Did you have that kind of bond with Johnny?”
“Oh no! I’ve never heard of it happening toanyone. It’s just… the ideal. The muse and the artist as one flowing unit. Whatever work they produce would be epic.”
Bill relaxed some, relieved that she wasn’t “perfectly matched” with Johnny.
Clem frowned. “I know it wasn’t a crossroads deal that changed Johnny. That’s a silly excuse, I thought up. One day,our collaboration just stopped working.” She sighed. “The door between us was closed and he didn’t even notice.”
But shecoulddevelop a strong bond, if she helped someone else.
