She wasn't sure how long the knocking had been going on. A gentle tapping infiltrated her sleep slowly, and she had the sense she had been unconsciously aware of it for a while before she realized what she was hearing.
"Coming," she mumbled, her voice hoarse from crying, and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, rubbing so deeply she saw stars. The knocking stopped in response to her voice and she slowly opened her eyes, adjusting to the sunlight streaming through the cracks in the shutters.
She grabbed the cotton sundress she'd worn the day before and pulled it over her head. It smelled of her perfume and his cologne, and her stomach lurched as she thought of his arm, strong and safe, wrapped around her.
Opening the door a crack, she squinted in the light, trying to make out the figure in front of her.
"Oh - hello."
"Hi." Paul Fishkin's voice was soft and his smile was kind. "I just thought we hadn't seen you today, so maybe I should come to check if you need anything? I tried to call -"
She turned to see the red light flashing on the phone by her bed; obviously it was still set to divert calls.
"Mmm, sorry. Uh, yeah - what time is it?"
"Just after 2pm."
"Oh! Oh, ok."
She made some kind of imitation of movement, turning slightly on the spot as she tried to gather her thoughts.
"You don't have to do anything," he offered, reading her mind. "You can just stay here. I just wanted to make sure you were ok. I...I was looking forward to seeing you."
"You were?"
She'd normally be able to pick up the signals he was giving from a mile away, but she was so wrapped up in the fog of what was happening, or not, with Derek, she couldn't process it.
"Yes," he shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced at his feet. "Derek mentioned you'd brought the new record, I was hoping to take a listen."
"Oh. Sure, yes."
She glanced at the counter and spotted her sunglasses. Cramming them onto her face, she turned back into the room to hunt for her shoes and the rough copy of Rumours Mick had shoved in her hand with strict instructions to generate excitement about it. Finding both, she slipped through the door to where Paul waited, closing it behind her.
As she walked a step ahead of him, he was struck by how unaware she seemed of her own presence. She combed her free hand through her dishevelled hair as she sauntered towards the elevator, the weight of her thoughts showing in her stance. The whole effect of the lack of care made her look like a real rock star. Some dark hardness had settled around her, and he had a terrible feeling this heartache etched across her features was about to become an irrevocable part of her brand.
~
"K, this um...this's Lindsey's...uh, I dunno what to say -" she swayed slightly, even though she was on her knees by the turntable. The people around the room were in various states of consciousness, but those sober enough were paying keen attention, a fact that would have been significant to Stevie had she herself been aware enough that anyone other than Paul, who she had aimed her commentary of the record exclusively at, was present.
"Y'know..." she learnt into him conspiratorially and he smiled. "This mother fucker made me sing the stupidest fucking harmony on this. I hate it."
She gestured dramatically as Go Your Own Way filled the room. Everyone had been drinking steadily all day, and it had reached the time of night when only the coke users were still alert. Despite Stevie's apparent ambivalence about the song, Paul couldn't help but feel it it had the bones of a hit, and, he suspected, as he watched her face contort with anger at the lyrics, she knew it did too.
"Hey, you ok?"
"I never shacked up. He did."
"Oh. Well, it's just a song."
She shook her head and he noticed the tears in her eyes.
"No. He knows what he's doing. You're all the same. Do you have a girlfriend, Paul?"
"I do not."
"If you did, would you cheat on her with me?"
She edged closer to him, in what he supposed was some wasted attempt at flirtation.
"Well I would like to think not."
She pouted slightly at the perceived rejection and glanced at the turntable, her features softening as Go Your Own Way faded out and the clear, smooth chords at the beginning of Songbird rang out.
"My friend Chris."
Paul nodded and she turned to lean against his shoulder, sighing heavily.
"Are you ok?" She didn't respond. "I'm sorry about what happened with Derek. He - he left me a message, asked me to look out for you."
She lifted her head again to look at him.
"He did?"
"Mhm. That's why I stopped by your room. I mean, I probably would have anyway, but -"
"You're a good person, Paul Fishkin."
"Thank you."
"He's not. I'm not."
"Yes you are. You can't help how you feel."
She regarded him thoughtfully, chewing the corner of her lip.
"Maybe...maybe he wanted a good person to look out for me. And to..."
She inched closer to him as he watched her curiously. She closed her eyes and in the moment her felt her lips graze his, she sank dead away into his lap. He laughed gently and adjusted himself to make her more comfortable, brushing her hair back from her face as she song finished and the crackle echoed around the room.
"Goodnight, Stevie."
