the scent of heat → r . taylor ( COMPLETED )

twenty four

1984

Adeline was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a glass of wine in her hand. Dinner was sitting on the table, slowly growing colder as she waited. For the fourth time that week, Roger was late coming home from the studio. He was nearing the end of his second album, Strange Frontier, and the pressure was on. While she was growing used to spending most dinners alone, she was beginning to get annoyed. He was going back on promises, ignored her calls, and didn't listen to her when she wanted to talk about her day at work. He no longer extended the same courtesy to her that she did for him, and it was wearing thin. With a huff, she poured the rest of her wine down the drain and washed the glass, turning it over to dry before heading up to their bedroom. Her stomach growled, but she didn't care; she was too upset to eat. Instead, she got out of her clothes, leaving her in her underwear, and got into bed, turning on her lamp and grabbing her book from her nightstand. As she started to read, she could hear the door open and shut downstairs, but she didn't move.

"Addy, love bug, I'm home!" Roger called. When he got no answer, he peered into the kitchen, his shoulder slumping a bit as a sigh escaped him. Dinner was on the table, untouched and most likely cold by now. And what made it worse was that it was his favorite, something that took Adeline close to two hours to prepare. Chewing on his bottom lip, he began to climb the stairs, but then doubled back and went into the kitchen. Without a word, he cleaned up what would have been a delicious meal, wrapping items up and placing them in the fridge, tucking empty plates and his empty wine glass into the cupboards they belonged in, and washing out a few bowls he knew she used to make dinner. When all the dishes were dried and put away, he made his way back to the stairs, taking a deep breath before traipsing up to his bedroom. He stopped just outside of the door and gently rapped his knuckles against the wooden frame. He sighed again and opened the door, poking his head into the room with what he hoped was a winning smile.

"Hey, Addy," he said softly, fully entering the room. With his foot, he shut the door behind him, but as he went to take a step further, his wife's icy glare made him flinch.

"You're late. Again," she said, snapping her book shut and setting it on his side of the bed, right where his bac would go.

"I know. And I'm sorry," he said, loosening the collar of his shirt. When she rolled her eyes, he felt small, keeping his eyes locked on the floor.

"You could have at least called me, Roger. A little courtesy goes a long way," she said, folding her arms over her chest.

"I wanted to, I did. But I couldn't get away long enough," he said, pulling off his top.

"Are you not even going to look at me when you're talking to me? I'd like to think I deserve that much." Adeline pulled the covers back and stood, walking over to her husband.

"I just want to get changed, Addy," he said, glancing down at her.

"And I want to talk about this, because I'm tired of taking a back seat to your career!"

Roger paused in the middle of pulling his trousers down his legs. Once he kicked them off, he turned around to look down at her, his jaw tensed ever so slightly.

"Excuse me? Where's this coming from?" he asked, and she scoffed.

"Really? You did not just ask me that. Where is this coming from? Oh, I don't know, maybe it's the fact that I've been dining alone more often than not recently. Or maybe it's because you don't listen to me anymore. Or," she let out an exaggerated gasp, "it's because all you ever do anymore is fucking complain!"

"Oh, I'm so sorry for doing my job, Adeline! I don't like leaving you by yourself, but some nights, I have to! That's the music business. You got along just fine when we toured, and that was months at a time! And suddenly, you can't cope with that?"