“Well, I’m no fairy tale expert but it sounds like you’re unhappy with the current living situation and are taking it out on me in your book. Am I the beast in this scenario? Are you planning to kill me in your pages?”
He looks upset.
Shit.
I guess I’ve been mildly inspired by the house, but not from anything bad. I’m just tired of writing sappy love stories. It was so much easier when I was living in one.
Was I? Living in one? Sometimes I wonder if it was all in my head.
“I swear it’s not about you. I think I just got the idea when Jayce told me I couldn’t go in the basement because it was haunted. Really, it’s all fiction. Nothing to do with you or HAAAM. You’ve all been so great to me. I would never—”
He beams. He was screwing with me? For a second I thought this was going to be a very uncomfortable evening.
“You will let me know how the story progresses, right? If the villain turns out to be an incredibly talented musician, you’re going to have some serious explaining to do.”
After a few laughs I feel the conversation lull. Of course Henry looks perfectly content, but it’s just not in my nature to allow for silence.
“So the guys all told me how you collected them. You’re like some musical hero, huh?”
“Hero? Why on earth would you think that?”
“Well, Jayce told me how you helped him from getting suspended, and Preston said he may never have graduated if you didn’t encourage him to switch majors. You’re like the Santa Claus of Juilliard.”
Henry clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable, though I don’t know why. I’ve only been complimenting him, right?
“Lucy, they may have exaggerated. I just needed help and they happened to be the people who joined my team. Really, I’m no hero.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be so modest! They worship you for everything you’ve done for them. You shouldn’t downplay it like that, you’re amaz—”
“Lucy, I’m not some savior. I didn’t ‘collect them’ to help anyone but myself, okay? Jayce was clearly flunking out, but he had heaps of talent, so I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Preston and Craig were never going to play professionally. I gave them jobs because I knew they’d have to say yes. They all may enjoy their work and the house I bought for us, but it doesn't mean I didn’t use them, that I’m not still using them every day to get what I want. Please don’t think I’m any better than I am. They owe me nothing.”
He looks down, his face twisted in shame.
I shouldn’t have brought this up; I had no idea it would upset him.
But I also don’t fully believe him.
“What about Graham? He wasn’t even in school. You really don’t think you helped him?”
He starts to laugh, but it’s joyless, self-deprecating.
“What do you know about Graham?” His tone is laced with something bitter. He’s not asking out of curiosity. He thinks I’m clueless.
“I know you got him out of a bad situation. I know he’s grateful.”
“A bad situation? Graham was my dealer, Lucy. He got me weed and Xanax when my prescriptions ran out, and anything else he could find to help with my anxiety. I needed it to go to class, to get through school.” He huffs out a long breath. “I could tell his life was not on a good path and, well, I knew he had a sharp tongue so when I got my first meeting with a film producer I asked for his help. I offered Graham my couch in exchange for him pretending to be my business partner. It was all a fucking lie because I couldn’t meet with anyone on my own. But then the partnership just sort of, became real.”
I guess Graham never told me all the details. This is more than unexpected. Henry’s face is turned down and he’s rubbing the heel of his hand between his eyes. Maybe he doesn’t see it the same way HAAAM does, but he did help them. It was just more of a symbiotic relationship than they made it out to be.
“Graham loves you, and he loves the life he hasbecauseof you. He said you’re like a brother to him. Does it really matter if it went both ways? Just because you got something out of it doesn’t take away the good you did. Maybe you just haven’t let yourself realize how much you helped him.”
Henry blinks a few times but his expression only softens a little.
“That’s . . . nice to hear, really. I guess things worked out well for both of us. I could tell he was in a bad place when we met. Honestly, I had no idea he could even play an instrument until I caught him practicing with one of my violins. We got lucky, both of us.”
His eyes are swimming with memories, good or bad I can’t tell.
Why do I always have to say everything I’m thinking? Maybe I can turn this around, lighten things up a bit. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re a musical genius. You’re really carrying the team, aren’t you?” I offer the widest smile I can, hoping to bust him out of this mood, but nothing changes.
