Blood And Guitars

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

It’s really not like me to meet women at music lounges. Okay, it’s really not like me to meet women at all unless they’re in the front row at one of my shows. But there was something fascinating about this girl. I couldn’t put my finger on it, exactly. She was beautiful, but it wasn’t just that. I felt drawn to her in a way I couldn’t explain.

It was a warm August night. A breeze off the coast made the temperature next to perfect as Aurora and I walked down the sidewalk, the music from the lounge dying down a little more with every step we took. Aurora’s silky black hair moved in the breeze and I found myself stealing glances at her. There was something exotic about her features. Maybe it was the striking green eyes. They were the color of old fashioned 7-Up bottles. More than once tonight I’d wondered if the color was the result of contacts, but they looked genuine from every angle. Or it might have been her skin. It was olive colored, but appeared creamy and almost translucent under the glow of the moon. Either way, I’d never seen anyone like Aurora in my entire life. Even her walk was mesmerizing. It was like she was almost gliding along the sidewalk in her heels. The closest thing I could compare it to is the way a model floats across a runway, but even that description doesn’t do it justice.

Aurora was mysterious, and that was definitely part of the attraction. (The last girl I’d dated had been the typical superficial Hollywood type.) And the best part? Aurora honestly didn’t seem to have a clue who I was. She apparently wasn’t familiar with the band at all and that was refreshing for a change. It was nice to have a real conversation with a woman who didn’t have ulterior motives involving my fame or my wallet.

“What do you do for a living?” I asked casually, hoping to strike up conversation. Mostly I just wanted to keep her talking, to enjoy the melodic quality in the timbre of her voice.

“I’m an artist.” She looked over at me as we walked.

“Really? What kind of artist?”

“I do oil paintings mostly, but whatever pays the bills.”

“You any good?”

“You could say that.”

“I can see it now,” I stated. “You wearing a little white apron, paint smeared on your cheek, and rocking out to Pink Floyd while you create a masterpiece.” She let out a laugh that can only be described as musical, and my heart did a flip at the sound of it.

“You’ve got me pinned.”

I chuckled and stuffed my hands into my jeans pockets, shuffling my feet as we walked. “You from around here, then?”

Aurora shook her head. “I grew up in Chicago.”

“So the windy city just blew you right on over to the sunburn state?” She smiled at my lame joke. My phone buzzed and I pulled it from my pocket to see that I had a text from my manager, Wes.

Studio 2morrow.

I quickly responded. I’m there.

“Girlfriend wondering where you are?” Aurora asked.

“Not even close.” I laughed. “No girlfriend to wonder.” I shoved my phone back into my pocket. “Just a message that we’ve booked the studio for tomorrow. Looks like I’ll be working.”

“Studio?” She looked up at me. “So, is this garage band makes a demo or something?”

“Or something.”

She gave me an impressed nod and then turned down a walkway. I regretted that she lived so close. I could have kept walking with her all night. She must have noticed that I wasn’t behind her because she turned to look at me.

“Would you like to come in for a while?”

My eyes grew wide as I looked up at her, surprised by the gesture. She wouldn’t have invited me in if she didn’t find me at least somewhat interesting, yet I was pretty certain that if I refused her offer and left now, she wouldn’t waste another second thinking about me. I don’t know why that impressed me. “Sure.”

I followed her to the front door of a modest sized house. It was chocolate brown stucco with black shutters and a glossy black front door. I watched as she pulled out her keys and unlocked the door. I walked inside behind her and glanced around quickly, curious to see what the house would tell me about her. Dark wooden floors ran throughout the spacious living room, where a deep red shag rug was positioned between two black leather sofas. A flat screen TV was mounted on a crimson painted wall above the fireplace. I could see part of the dining room beyond that, and assumed that the kitchen was right around the corner.

“Make yourself at home.” She dropped her keys on the small side table near the door.

“Thanks,” I slid my gig bag off of my back and set it down. I followed her into the living room and was about to sit down on the one of the sofas when a large painting on the opposite wall caught my eye. I walked toward it instead, admiring the simple beauty of the image. The painting was of a park at night. What surprised me the most was how vivid the colors and imagery were, considering that it was night scene. A half moon hung in the upper left corner, its light cascading on the trees and nearby pond below. On the right side about half way down, a lone park bench sat empty, worn from years of use. I didn’t recognize the landscape, but the city in the background could have been Chicago. My gaze automatically fell to the signature at the bottom right corner.

“You painted this?”

“I did.”

“It’s amazing. Is this Chicago?”

She nodded, standing next to me now. “I used to visit this park a lot when I was younger. When my dad bought me my first easel and canvas I hauled them down there and created my first real work of art.”

“And this is it?” I asked.

She laughed softly. “Definitely not. It was horrible. But I like to think I’ve gotten better over the years. I painted this to help me remember all of that.”

“Are your parents still in Chicago?” I asked.

I saw her hesitate briefly before she shook her head. “My parents and younger brother were killed by a drunk driver just after I graduated high school.” My heart sank. She seemed as though she’d surprised herself by divulging this to me. I desperately wished I could take the question back as I gazed into her green eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Her smile was forced. “It was a long time ago.” I nodded, still mentally kicking myself and wondering if that was why she hadn’t been drinking tonight. “What about you? Do your parents live around here?”

“My mom raised me, but she lives in up-state New York now with her second husband. I haven’t seen much of my dad since they divorced when I was three.”

She gave me an understanding nod and met my gaze. “What keeps you here in Florida, your band?”

I shrugged and told her the truth. “You know … the band, the beach, the feeling of being at home.”

“Yeah,” she said half-heartedly. But I saw questions in her eyes that I wasn’t expecting before she turned away. I wondered how long it had been since she’d felt truly at home anywhere.

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