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"I'm sorry. I thought we were going to have a serious talk about the impossible task you've set for me." She crossed her arms and gave him a look.
"We can talk while I eat," he said, smacking his lips and opening his eyes. A squinty, emerald stare was aimed at her before he forked another piece off the tart. Either he was oblivious to her annoyance or didn't care. She went for the latter. He gave her a chiding look when she remained by the doorway and said, "Minx, I've been eating non-dairy, organic and vegan shit for a year. How I survived can be told another time but I really am starving."
He reached for the carton of milk, about to glug it down. Carmen hissed and quickly dived for a glass. She set it next to him, eyes narrowed, then sat down heavily. He smiled and poured milk into the glass.
"Don't be an animal. And quit calling me Minx," she said, dropping heavily on the chair next to him.
"Why? It suits you." He winked at her and sipped the milk.
She noticed for the first time that his wrists were bonier than lean, firm muscle. When she first saw him watching her orgasm as he leaned against the tree, she had to look at his eyes to recognize him. The long hair made his face look narrow, his cheekbones sharp thrusts under the skin, and his beard, trimmed neatly, almost made him look . . . well, delicate. Ramiro had always been slim but muscular. Now he was wiry. He looked to have lost around twenty pounds.
Seeing her eyes on his thin wrist, he shrugged. "A year without anything processed - basically not eating anything really good, that's all. And hard labor."
"I hardly call cleaning kitchens labor."
"Oh, no. I was in charge of the stables. Taking care of the horses, feeding them, cleaning the stalls, the like. It's a heavy workload and I'm usually too tired to eat."
"But you were at the retreat to take good care of yourself. You were there to get better, you said."
"I did. I am. But who knows how I am in the real world," he finished the first piece of the tart and helped himself to another. "That's why I had the cab bring me here. I figured you won't have anything to tempt me. However," and this time, his eyes fell on her tits. To her eternal mortification, her nipples tightened painfully and seemed to point toward him. He grinned at her irritation and laughed when she jerked her arms around herself. "I think you just proved me wrong. Nipple piercings and no underwear. You're straight out of my teenage wet dreams, Minx."
"Ramiro, I swear if you don't start getting serious - "she began to snap, her ears burning. Straight out of his wet dreams, indeed! She thought that was one of the many things the retreat failed to fix. Ramiro was more mocking.
He sighed loudly and dug into the tart. "I am serious. I really want to sing again." He said, putting a hand on her wrist to stop her from moving away. His green eyes bored deep into hers, his gaze clear.
Ramiro is singing again. She would die first before admitting she missed hearing him on the radio, that she missed hearing anything new from him even more.
Ramiro was one of the best rock singers and a total performer. He knew how to work for the crowd and would sometimes throw himself into ensuring Seismic performances were talked about for days, even years. Carmen remembered one show where Ramiro, to the shock of the crowd and everyone else in the band, Ramiro strapped on what looked to be a special suit, pressed some controls, and rose from the stage. He sang three songs, circling the crowd from the air. Only Carmen knew about it and thought it was fantastic. The band members didn't think so due to the risk Ramiro took, but he brushed them aside. You had to be reckless to pull off the things he did onstage and off it.
"Singing is my reason for everything, Carmen. It's how I found my voice. My self." Ramiro drained the milk from his glass and refilled it. "I haven't done it for over a year. That's the longest I've been without singing and music. You have no idea how painful it was to give it up to get better."
"You didn't have to." Carmen told him. "Nobody told you to quit."
"It seemed the right thing to do at a time." Ramiro said quietly. As she shook her head, he nodded. "Yes, it was, Carmen. I was only singing because I had to. I forgot that I'm good at it because I loved it. I forgot all about that. Didn't think it was worthwhile after . . . "
Carmen thought he paused to eat again. Instead, he stared off into space. She realized that his hand still rested on her, elegant and graceful with long, slim fingers on her freckly, pale skin. Carefully moving her hand from under it, he suddenly pressed firmly.
"You never asked what started it all."
Carmen stared helplessly as his fingers slid between the tiny arcs of her own. His palm was rough and calloused, but his hand was still beautiful, much more attractive than hers with their short stubby nails. She knew what he was talking about: Temperance.
"Ramiro, I never asked because I don't like to pry."
He loved his sister. It was probably the kind of love she shouldn't think about, but he was destroyed by her death. She didn't just have a front seat during that time. She was right there, devastated and helpless, as Temperence's death slowly chipped away the life from Ramiro Brandt's eyes.
"You know, you're probably the only manager who believes in the proper distance and all that shit," Ramiro dropped her hand, and she put it on her lap. "Your mouth should be washed with soap, and as of tonight, I won't be too far off in saying that you must be a wildcat in bed. But you're. . . exceedingly, annoyingly polite."
She started to flare up when he brought up her apparent sexual behavior, but it was his rough tone at her politeness that got to her. He said it as if disgusted.
Ramiro's eyes were calm. "You have no compunction telling record execs to fuck themselves raw; you relish killing them during contract negotiations. Doubtless, there's hardly a thing you wouldn't do for Seismic. Oh, I know. You refuse to have any relationship past the professional with us. We're not friends."
"I don't know what you're talking about. Are you done?" Without waiting for his answer, she took his used plate, fork, and glass and brought them to the sink.
"We've known each other for almost fifteen years, minx." Ramiro continued speaking from behind her as she started washing. "You know I'm allergic to strawberries, that Euan sometimes sleepwalks, Lennon is not on good terms with his family. You know that Lucas can't be given painkillers because he got addicted to them before. But we - I - know nothing about you except that you would probably kill for us, won't you?"
"Don't flatter yourself. I'm just a dedicated employee."
"You started out like that but you have to believe me when I say I think of you as a friend. Outside of the band, you're the only other real friend I have." Ramiro's laugh was bitter. "The only one I have left, come to think of it."
