Page 69 of Caught in a Storm
She scoffs, because scoffing is easier than allowing herself, if even for just a dumb, fleeting moment, to wonder if he’s right.
“A guitar solo here would be nice,” Billy says. “Some haunting, drawn-out thing before the chorus. You know, played by someone who’s better at it than me. Rock-and-roll bass underneath. Like a G note. Second verse’ll get a little faster, a slow build.” Billy nods to Margot. “Here, go, let ’er rip. Sing it.”
He waits for her to sing, but she doesn’t, and she won’t.
“I can’t hear you,” he whispers. “You’re gonna have to be louder.”
“Stop it.”
“Why?”
She takes his right hand, silencing the Fender. “Billy, we had, what, thirty-five songs on three albums? Twenty of those songs were really good. Ten were great. Nikki wrote all of those but one. And you and I both know ‘Power Pink’ wouldn’t have been great if she hadn’t sung it. Without her, it doesn’t work. I’m nobody.”
He sets his guitar down. “Nikki wasn’t at the Horse You Came In On, was she?” he asks. “And yeah, it wasn’t Madison Square Garden. But it was a room full of people who had an unforgettable night. That wasn’t because of anyone else. It was because of you.”
It’s more complicated than that, but, technically, he’s right.
Billy touches her notebook, traces his finger across her words. “These are good songs. That’s all you need. Music isn’t about big, glitzy album releases anymore, Margot. You could record these right now on Caleb’s computer if you wanted to.”
“But then what?” she asks.
“You release them,” he says. “Right? That’s how it works.”
“After the band broke up, every time I left the house—every time I looked at a magazine cover or turned on the radio—I was told and I was shown how much better Nikki is than me. Hotter. More talented. More bankable. More fuckable. If I put out some lo-fi vanity record by myself, it’s gonna be that all over again. Probably worse. I need you to understand that.”
“No,” he says. “You’re better than her.”
“Billy, shut up.”
“No, I won’t. You are. There, I said it. You’re a better musician than Nikki Kixx. I don’t care what she looks like.”
Outside, a car pulls into the driveway. Its headlights paint a grid of shadows on the walls as they blast through the blinds.
“It’s sweet that you think that,” she tells him. “But you’re an idiot.”
“This is the one thing I’m not an idiot about, Margot. Can’t you trust me on that?”
She touches the top of his head, runs her fingers through his hair, lingering at the thinning parts that he’s sensitive about. “Robyn still has feelings for you, by the way. If you can’t see that, then you really are an idiot.”
“What?” says Billy.
“You were each other’s first loves, right?” she says.
“Yeah, but—”
“First loves brand you, Billy. They burn themselves on you forever.” She’s thinking of Lawson, of course, because not a day has gone by since their divorce in which she hasn’t, at least for a moment.
There’s a knock, then Robyn is calling them from behind the door. “Billy?” she says. “Margot? Um, you guys? I think you need to come out here.”
Chapter 40
He could easily think some generic thing, like Holy shit, I can’t believe this is happening. Billy doesn’t think that, though, because he can believe it. He’s been waiting for it, actually. Well, maybe not this specifically: Lawson Daniels sitting at Robyn’s kitchen table wearing an incredibly cool leather jacket. But he’s been waiting for something like this to happen. Something that would shake Margot out of whatever this is and make her realize that it’s time to go, that she’s better than all this. Better than him.
Because, up until now, this has all been just too good, hasn’t it? Too easy?
He’s standing next to Margot, but they’re not touching. He imagines putting his arm around her and announcing that he’s her manfriend and that he’s seen the pink loofah she uses in the shower. Robyn, Aaron, and Caleb are seated across from Lawson, and they’re all staring at the actor. The only person in the room who looks as if this is all perfectly normal is Lawson.
“I signed that little bloke’s Wall of Fame,” he says. “He was quite happy about it. Signed right next to you, Mar. Your signature’s still a mess. Like it was scribbled by a toddler. But it was fun to see us there, side by side.”
