AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Quentin stood still as the door snipped closed in front of him, becoming a barrier between him and the girl he’d begun to allow himself to love. He scrambled his fingers through his hair, frustration brimming. Trudging back to his own apartment, his mind began to spin with the first bit of creative juices he’d felt in ages. Deep in his soundproof studio, he cranked up his guitar and blared upon it, feeling the life come back into his fingers. He howled song after song, making up various, already-forgotten lyrics along the way, and feeling his heart drip with the pain of not seeing Charlotte—and the potential of losing her forever.
28
Charlotte wasn’t at work the next day or the next, which was Friday. Marching past several interns at the coffee machine, he heard them whispering, incredulous that Charlotte hadn’t yet made an appearance, despite Pamela “not telling Maggie yet.” He darted around the corner, his ears perking up, listening.
“Do you think she will?” Randy asked in a harsh whisper. “I mean she talks a big game. I could see her holding this over Charlotte’s head for the rest of the internship, rather than giving her name over…”
“No. I think she wants destruction,” another intern said. “She doesn’t know a ton about music, so she’s eternally on the defensive. You know, she thinks she deserves this life that Charlotte already has such a comprehension of. It’s a tragedy she ever got caught up with Quentin.”
“Yeah, but, who could resist him?” Randy whispered. “Charlotte is a little Midwestern girl from Ohio. She didn’t have a chance the minute Quentin laid eyes on her. You remember that day.”
“The tension between them was weird, wasn’t it? Like you could literally slice it with a knife.”
“Do you think the affair started immediately? Seems strange that Charlotte wouldn’t try to avoid it, given that she was so centered on her career.”
“Where is she hiding, anyway? Randy. You should call her. She trusts you.”
“Not anymore. I let Pamela toss her under the bus, and then I stomped on her,” Randy said, his voice demure. “I feel like shit about it.”
“We were all pissed, Randy.”
“But in the long run, what does it matter?” Randy asked as the interns spun back to the intern offices, away from Quentin’s prying ears. “If she’s going to make it, she’s going to make it. Regardless of who she’s sleeping with. Rock and roll isn’t about the fucking rules.”
His last words rang through Quentin’s ears. The rules had always felt far above Quentin’s head, something unseen and not felt. He’d blasted into super stardom, not caring about the rules of love, or the rules of drugs, or the rules of drink. He’d lost so many years of his twenties, giving them away to some sort of “nothingness.” And now, Charlotte was trying to make something of herself, become a prestige music writer. And he’d gotten in her way.
When Quentin arrived at his desk, his heartbeat ramped up, recognizing what he needed to do. Pressing his lips together, he sent Maggie a brief message, telling her he wanted to meet with her outside of the office. He needed to talk.
Maggie messaged back hurriedly, clearly anticipating some sort of business meeting, or perhaps a slightly romantic meeting between two old friends. Maggie’s seduction attempts had been rebuked for years, leaving her bruised and damaged, still working under Quentin’s shadow. Which meant she’d be the first one to bite when she heard the news.
Quentin met Maggie near the elevator just after lunch. Dressed in a dark green coat, with a dramatic length, past her knees, she looked rather sophisticated, unlike the coke-snorting, sex hound she’d been as a twenty-something, sniffing around Orpheus Arise. Had she been an aspiring writer back then, like Charlotte? Quentin didn’t know. Would it matter, anyway? Could she remember those days?
“What’s up?” she asked casually, her eyes bright. “Where do you want to go?”
“Let’s go grab a drink,” Quentin said, his voice gruff. He stabbed the down button and waited, his hands drawn at his waist. “The booze in the office isn’t cutting it for me anymore.”
Maggie tittered nervously, stepping beside him in the elevator and standing several inches too close, her fingers jittering nervously near his. Quentin couldn’t imagine taking her hand. He hoped, abstractly, that someone on the planet would take her hand someday, keep her safe, assure her she was worthwhile. It couldn’t be him.
They sat across from each other at a Greenwich Village bar, the only two people ordering cocktails before three in the afternoon. Maggie stabbed the small straw onto her tongue, sipping too quickly, her eyes bright. “What did you want to talk about? I’ve been editing the first features from Mark and Thomas… Let me tell you, Mark’s sucks, Thomas’ is great. As usual. Maybe we should do something about that.”
