It took a while for Sassy to memorize the placement of the frets and to harden the new callouses on her fingertips, but over time, the guitar replaced the piano. She returned to the eighty-eight keys and polished the mahogany whenever she felt the urge, but those six strings, strung across the sensuous maple shape of her guitar, had won her over. The instrument was freeing, compared to the anchor of the piano. She played for girlfriends on the school’s football field, and they all sang along as the breeze lifted their hair. When the women in protests called for liberation, she smiled, because she had already found her own version.
But it had been two years since Sassy graduated from high school, and her friends had moved on. A pregnant Nicky had gotten married after graduation to some boy Sassy had never met, and a couple of others had left for college. There was nowhere for Sassy to play guitar anymore, except by herself, and she craved an audience. If only her father understood. She needed to express herself, and for that she needed freedom from his demands.
Then again, there was rent to pay.
She had a couple of choices about what to do next, she figured. Or maybe three. Try and find a new job, somehow make it big with her voice, or crawl back to her father and beg for forgiveness. She liked the middle option best, and she truly wanted to believe it was possible, but while Sassy might be a dreamer, she was also a realist. She knew the truth.
There was a knock on the door. She swallowed a lump of apprehension as she turned the knob, though she doubted it was her father.
“Davey,” she sighed, letting him in. He curled a warm arm around her waist and drew her in for a kiss that temporarily took away her anxiety.
“Got you something.” He handed her a bunch of red tulips, which she was pretty sure had been growing in front of the building.
“Thanks. Where you been?”
“Work. You know.”
“Did they move you up from dishwashing yet?” she teased.
He’d started working in the kitchen at Chez Monique, one of the coffeehouses in Yorkville, and though he’d had to start at the bottom, he claimed that it was only the first step to his career as a chef. Sometimes he brought her leftovers, which she appreciated.
“Yeah! I chop onions now. Are my eyes red?” He put his face right in hers to make her laugh.
“I can smell them on you.”
“And I’ve been hanging on Baldwin Street, too. There’s a hip new pad there with plenty of cats like me. You know. Resisters.”
His fingers snugged around the curve of her body, sending a thrill through her. She wasn’t deluded that the closeness she shared with Davey was love, but for now, all she wanted was comfort. With her eyes on his, she skimmed her tongue over her upper lip.
Evidently, Davey wanted something else. “Sassy, I got a problem.” He took a step back and turned his jeans’ pockets inside out. “I’m broke.”
“That’s why you’re here? You came to sponge off me? What would make you think that was a good idea?”
He held out his hands, indicating the apartment. “You gotta have greento live in this choice pad, baby. Everyone else I know is living on top of each other in rooming houses.” His sensual smile curled beneath impossibly golden eyes. “But no, that’s not the only reason I’m here.”
“You can crash here, Davey, but I have no money.” She held the words in as long as she could, then she blurted, “I lost my job.”
His lips made an O shape. “Bummer. Sorry, man. What happened?”
Her gut rolled, and she turned away. “My scuzzy, chrome-dome boss got all handsy. I nearly puked on his fancy carpet.”
“Oh man. That’s heavy. Then he fired you?”
She was a little put off by his response. Maybe he was smoking too much weed and his perception was off. “No, Davey. That’s when Iquit. I wasn’t gonna hang around there another second.”
“That’s tough.”
“Yeah, well.” She sat then picked up her guitar and strummed a chord, picked out the first few notes of “Turn! Turn! Turn!” “It is what it is.”
“Don’t sweat it. You’re talented. You’ll get a job.” He followed her to the couch. “I don’t know about me, though. I’m kind of lazy. I’m really good at lying down. Wanna see?”
He was so cute, reclining on her couch and looking at her like a puppy. She’d thought about him a lot over the past few days. She’d missed him and the ease she felt when she was with him. Giving into temptation, she put down her guitar and lowered herself into the welcoming basket of his arms with a deep sigh, she laid her head on his chest.
“I gotta get a job.”
“Bummer,” he repeated gently, his voice vibrating under her cheek. His fingertips skimmed up and down her back. “Do you want to go look for one right now, or maybe you and I could chill first?”
She let herself relax, if only for a little while. “Let’s chill. We can find a job later.”
