My Heart

Prologue Part 2: From Across The Room

San Jose, California
Friday, May 22, 2009
(2:00 am)
********************

My God, this woman is about to turn sixty-one! Why is she still so goddamn adorable?

Lindsey had been watching for the past ten minutes as Stevie laughed quietly to herself over Real Time With Bill Maher and worked her way through the overpriced bag of Cheez-Its from the mini bar. They had been sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the television while little Sulamith, in pink pajamas, lay sound asleep in the middle of the big, fluffy bed, and Lindsey found himself wondering how he had somehow turned off of the freeway of life into Stevie's world - dogs, late-night TV and turning late nights into afternoons.

He was also wondering why he had no desire to get back on the freeway ever again, secretly knowing the answer - because he was home.

"Hey Linds, is there another Coke in there?" Stevie asked suddenly, motioning towards the small refrigerator in the distance.

"I think there's just Sprite and Poland Spring," he said, and he began to look in the refrigerator.

"Oh!" Stevie's sudden and loud response took him by surprise. "Sprite! Yes! Get me one?"

Lindsey took a green soda can from the refrigerator door and handed it to her. She grabbed it greedily and pulled it open. The resounding pop made Sulamith momentarily look up, and then return to her sleeping position.

"I used to drink a shitload of Sprite years ago," she went on, taking a generous sip. "When I lived at Jimmy's I had it brought in by the case." She stopped herself, the sudden memory of living on Sprite in place of food after Robin died entering her mind. She quickly forced the memory out of her mind. Turning to Lindsey, she said, "You know, you aren't being held prisoner, Lindsey. If you want to go to your room and call it a night, it's cool."

"Do you want me to go?" He suddenly felt like a kid being kicked out of a birthday party before the cake.

"I mean...I'm fine to keep hanging out, but I know you don't usually stay up this late...and..." Stevie looked down at her lap and her empty bag of Cheez-Its.

"And what, Stevie?" Lindsey looked closely her, his eyes searching for hers until she had no choice but to look up at him. The cheerful demeanor she'd been showing him all night - on stage, at dinner with Fritz, and on the floor of her room where they'd pigged out and talked about nonsense over HBO - seemed to have vanished, and she looked forlorn.

"Nothing...I..." She trailed off again, and then said, "I imagine your wife would have a few objections to your hanging out till all hours in the hotel room of an ex girlfriend you've made a career writing songs about. Am I wrong?"

"Actually, you are."

Lindsey's words, along with the unexpected vehemence with which they were said, took them both by surprise - Lindsey hadn't intended to say it with such force, and Stevie was taken completely aback by the answer entirely. He was the one to look down then, sheepishly, staring down at the fibers of the beige carpet they were sitting on. Stevie could see the embarrassment on his face as she leaned in and said, very quietly, "Linds?"

"Maybe you're right," Lindsey said then, brushing potato chip crumbs from his hands and rising to his feet. Stevie followed his lead and stood up as well, concerned. He went on, "I should probably get going...it's late, we're probably disturbing the dog..."

"Sulamith is a senior citizen," Stevie reminded him. "She's eleven; she's dead asleep over there." She reached out and brought her hand tentatively to his arm. "What did you mean by that, Linds? What's going on?"