Why hello there!
I hope you’ve had a fantastic week! Sorry Fiction Friday is a bit late this week. I didn’t want to overflow your Inbox with two posts in one day…so we’ll just call this one Seduction Saturday.
(If you’re new to The Forbidden Book Club romance story, make sure to start from the beginning with the links below!).
Do you have fun Fourth of July weekend plans? If not, hopefully this next installment of “Book Club” will give you a few minutes of carefree fun!
Have a fabulous weekend and I look forward to writing to you soon,
Greyson
The Forbidden Book Club
Chapter 2, Part IV
…continued…
Charles closed the front door, package tucked under his arm. He set the box down on the kitchen counter, grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge and headed down the hall to the study. A guitar rack sat pushed against a far wall. His hand ran along the neck of each instrument before settling on the oldest and least impressive of the collection. Worn and beaten, it slipped into his hands like a well-used baseball glove. A hole had formed where his palm rested against the wood. The strings he'd re-strung time and time again twisted away from the tuning pegs like flyaway strands of hair. He never bothered to clip off the excess. It added to the organic feel of the guitar. As if a far away forest had sprouted the instrument from the dropped pick of a mythical magician. That or someone cobbled it from a junk heap. Nevertheless, he loved the guitar. No matter how often he'd fiddle and perform with the others in his collection he'd always return to it. Pamela often threatened to throw it away. It was damaged. No good. He had other guitars. Newer guitars. Better guitars. She didn't understand. Despite trying to explain it to her she couldn't comprehend why he kept it. It felt like an old friend in his hands. The way his fingers could glide along the fretboard. The way it sat just right against his leg. All the nicks and cuts and blemishes a different memory. Like initials carved into the trunk of a tree. On other guitars, his fingers felt naked when not touching a familiar cut or sanded grain of the wood. When he held it the guitar became an extension of his body. To her it was junk. To him, it was another limb.
Charles sat back in a leather office chair, almost as worn and beaten as the instrument. He took a sip of beer then set it on the computer desk and leaned over the guitar as if he wanted to whisper it a secret. In many ways he did. The guitar had heard many stories, had listened to many songs, that nobody else would ever hear. Charles had something he wanted to tell his friend. His left hand caressed the neck of the guitar as he positioned his fingers into an A Minor chord. He strummed the cord, listening as sound filled the room. Charles considered, the chord lingering in the air like smoke. He pursed his lips when their pet calico cat, Montgomery, rubbed along his leg, before stretching and taking up residence directly in front of Charles. Montgomery knew almost as many secrets as his guitar, and whenever Charles leaned back and let the vibrations of guitar chord sing out, the cat always materialized. And while he loved the cat, he never cared much for the name. But Pamela had nixed his suggestion of Super Dude.
"What do you think, buddy?" He played the cord again. They both listened. "I'm...I'm not sure if minor is right. How about--" he adjusted his left hand to an A Major. "Guess it would help if I could figure out how I'm feeling, you know?"
The cat's reflective glass eyes watched him. It's tail swishing along the wood floor.
"Maybe that's the entire point. I don't know. Or I do know and I'm terrified to admit it." Charles let out a long, somber minor chord, before switching to a warmer major chord. He played the warm chord again. "Everyday, every moment I'm with you. Every breath, every heartbeat you show me something new."
He listened to it over in his head. He took a pull of beer and scribbled onto a note pad next to him. "The day I saw you I didn't know what to say. I've replayed that moment, that first meeting, every way."
Charles sighed. He didn't hate the lyrics. He didn't love them either. He scribbled some more on his pad.
Can't really write anything about how you feel without knowing how you feel.
"I know, I know." He answered his own thought. He leaned back into the guitar when the phone rang. Looking around to find it he set the guitar down on the beaten chair. Montgomery eyed the guitar, making mental calculations to determine if he could fit inside the hollow instrument. He decided he couldn't and remained seated on the floor, watching Charles.
In the kitchen, Charles had left the phone next to the package on the counter. He answered the phone. "Hey, honey...Yes, yes I got the package...Yes, I was here when they delivered it. Don't worry...Open it? Yeah, just a second." He sandwiched the phone between his cheek and shoulder before grabbing a knife from the knife block. "No, of course. I'm not using one of the good knives," he lied. "Scissors. From the junk drawer...." he cut through the packing tape and opened up the box. Inside, he found books.
Books, that's it!?
"Were you only expecting books?...No, no, I'm sure they are important. Important paperbacks...I'm not taking a tone..."
This is going to be a long conversation.
He went back to the study to grab his beer.
****
Erika sat on her living room sofa, the television on but muted. Unpacked boxes surrounded her. She felt a bit claustrophobic with the brown towers reaching for the ceiling, but her mind was elsewhere. She was on the phone with Nicole, a good friend from back home. The speakerphone feature activated, she lazily held the phone under her chin with one hand, a glass of wine held in the other.
"Well it sounds like she's still a real piece of work," Nicole said through the speaker. "Guess some things haven't changed since college."
"Yeah, I mean she's never around. And yet still whips at him from who knows where."
"Heck of a reach. Sucks for him."
"Yeah." Erika sighed, letting her response linger.
"Uh-oh."
"What?"
"Erika, don't tell me."
"Tell you what?"
"Come on, girl. How long have we known each other?"
Erika considered. "Since the first grade."
"Since the first grade. You don't think I can tell by your voice?"
"What?"
"You like him."
Erika let out a small laugh, yet more from frustration than the situation being humorous. "It is a bit of a conundrum."
"Well, get out of it."
"What do you mean?"
"You've gotta stop hanging out with him."
"But I don't want to."
"Erika. He's married. That's it. That's the end of it. Nothing else you can say changes that."
"I know. But I mean I really do enjoy spending time with him. We just seem to connect on a different level. On every level."
"It could be a million levels. But it doesn't matter. You just got there. Cut it off and go meet other people."
"Maybe I could, you know..." Erika hoped her friend would fill in the gap. She didn’t.
"...I know… what?"
"Break it up?"
"God, Erika. Listen to yourself. Sure. Other people could. But you couldn't."
"Why?"
"Because that's not who you are. Unless Savannah has changed you that much already, that's the exact opposite of what the girl I've known my entire life would do."
"I know. You're right." Erika closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. She knew Nicole was right. She could never do what she really wanted to do. And at the same time she knew in her heart of hearts that, even after only knowing Charles for a small amount of time, she was better for him than Pamela. Pamela was the misshaped, incorrect puzzle piece forced into place. Erika was the perfect fit.
"You're going to keep seeing him, aren't you," Nicole said, more statement than question. She already knew what her friend would say in return.
Erika's eyes remained closed. She rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "Yes."
"Well, then, I'm not really sure what else I can say or what other advice I can give other than it's a bad idea. At least one person's getting hurt in the end and, chances are, it'll be you."
"And I'm sure you'll be there to remind me you told me so."
"Hey, what are best friends for?"
****
Charles hung up the phone. That call did not go as he would have liked, and yet it went exactly as he assumed it would. He didn't think he had been unreasonable. He wanted to know why Pamela forced him to drop everything, just to be home for a few books that nobody would steal, and even if they did could be replaced without a problem. It was as if she needed ways to control him from thousands of miles away. Like forcing him back home was more about a power play than the books at all. There were times where Charles wasn't sure if the feelings he had for Erika were simply misplaced. That they were for Pamela, but because she wasn't around they just kind of seeped out and attached to Erika. And yet it was conversations like the one he just had that made him question everything. Maybe the warmth that grew inside of his chest when with Erika really was for her. That it wasn't simply from a lack of attention, but that she connected with him mentally in a way Pamela never could. After all, he regularly performed in bars and in tourist hot spots where he came in contact with any number of attractive women, but no amount of plunging necklines or exposed legs made him think twice. Boobs and butts are a dime a dozen, he'd tell himself. But a mental connection. A true emotional mental connection, that's few and far between.
He collapsed back into the office chair. His mind tapped of resources it took to write. Not only had Pamela robbed him of his mood but she had robbed him of his creativity. He stared off into nothing before Montgomery jumped onto his lap.
"At least you're always here...Super Dude." He caught himself looking over his shoulder as if speaking the name would lead to disciplinary measures. "Confusion. Frustration and confusion." He scratched behind Montgomery's ears, the cat bowing its head, taking it all in. "You ever confused? Guess when life revolves around sleeping or waking me up to feed you there's not much to be confused over."
Charles looked to the side table. To his notepad and scribbled notes he'd probably cross away later in the night. Next to it, the novel they picked out for book club. Eternal Darkness. He picked it up and flipped to the first page.
…to be continued…