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Karen hears the guys talking on the porch through her bedroom windows. Eddie and Warren are headed to the movies, to watch Rollerball for the second time. Graham counters that he has other plans. She climbs downstairs and offers to accompany him to the beach. She makes light of her proposal, thanking the heavens that she’s not one to blush easily and that Graham seems more preoccupied with the sandpaper in his hands and his shiny-red surfboard.
*
Karen knows how Graham feels about her. But he hasn’t asked anything from her, or made any move, except beg her to come to Los Angeles and join the band.
She remembers that night in Pittsburgh when she met him, his flopping, curling hair and his sideburns, his crooked teeth as he smiled. He congratulated her on her performance. And, after she dismissed staying on at The Staircase to watch his band, the Dunne brothers’, play live, he threw in the directions to a nearby diner. She hasn’t told him but she compares all burgers with that one from Peppy’s, its meaty, cheesy goodness melting in her mouth. She has never forgotten how he had looked at her with hungry eyes as she walked down the stairs backstage. He has never stopped.
Back in her bedroom, she finds a swimsuit at the bottom of a drawer. It is covered in red flowers, a gift from Camila for her birthday the year before. She hides it under a military jacket, pulls on a pair of shorts and slips on her favorite boots. She has lived for 5 years in California but prides herself on not owning sandals. She grabs her sun glasses and a clean towel and pretends not to notice how badly her hands shake as she braids her hair.
There has been a shimmering in the air between them since the night of the blackout. The night when Daisy agreed to become part of the band. The night when Graham kissed her in the half-light. Karen fears that she has ruined everything by breaking into laughter. Graham must have thought she was making fun of him. How could she had expressed that she was feeling surprise, a new form of high coursing through her veins, one that wasn’t due to music or drugs? How could she had explained her jumbled emotions, this heady concoction of something pure, hopeful and unexpected, of a match being lit? He had immediately stepped away from her, leaving her body hollow. Since that night, his eyes have been guarded, careful, the hunger subdued.
Karen opens the front door and sees a blond woman in a convertible, with Graham at her side in the passenger seat. A gap opens in her heart, as if someone had snatched something she didn’t know was there. But Graham mouths to her “don’t be weird” and so she climbs in the car. Maybe the whole of the Pacific can put out the spark, maybe she can drown whatever she is feeling into its cool, gray waters.
*
On the water, Karen teases Graham about the girlfriend he has left on the shore, about the fact that this kind, smart, beautiful woman is an avowed Barry Manilow fan. He retorts that their differences do not matter that much, as they are spending much of their time purposely not talking, together, in bed. Is this jealousy sneaking into the pit of Karen’s stomach? How come she is able to laugh along, as if she was one of the guys?
She can because here on the water, it’s just them and the ocean, the salty breeze and the slanting, golden sunlight. There are damp curls on Graham’s forehead and a dimple appears on his right cheek. Her hands ache to touch him. He instructs her to wait for the incoming waves and then to stand on the surfboard. She does it, again and again, each time a little better, each time a little longer. For one perfect moment, with Graham watching on, she finds her balance.
As they swim back towards the shore, doubts gnaw at her again. Is it normalcy that Graham has been seeking, when he comes to the beach with his surfboard? Or could this be the place where he has been running away from his own hunger?
*
Karen gets Graham to follow her inside with a stupid excuse. His eyes are the color of the ocean and of the kitchen door. The color emboldens her. She kisses him deeply, pushing him against the fridge. It’s lips and tongue and salty skin.
When she comes back to herself, she steps away from him, ready to apologize, to give him an out. But in the darkened room, she sees that a smile is lighting up his face. She has never seen him smile like that before. He reaches for her and, in one swift move, lifts her up and sets her on the kitchen table, as if she was all the meals he ever needed, from Monday’s breakfast to Sunday’s dinner. He tastes like the sunshine and the sea. She shouldn’t be that woman. But kissing Graham after all these years is easy, natural, effortless. She’s done smothering the flames, now she’s throwing in the accelerant.
When they hear Caroline’s car honking, Graham rushes outside, leaving Karen breathless. He returns after mere instants and rekindles their kisses. When they break apart, panting, she whispers in a voice so hoarse she doesn’t recognize it, “What did you tell her?” He chuckles and says, “That I wouldn’t date a Barry Manilow fan.”
*
The next day, Karen wakes up with a start. Outside, the day is overcast. The alarm clock on her bedside table reads 2.30 pm. The house is quiet, as if it was early morning and not the middle of the day. The night before, the band has recorded a demo of “Let me down easy”, the first song co-written by Daisy and Billy. At dawn, a taxi had taken the four of them back to their house, Eddie and Warren talking excitedly about the session, Graham mute by her side, a smirk on his features. When they were about to leave, Teddy had shouted “no recording session tomorrow, the studio is booked by an actor who thinks he can become a rock star.”
Karen closes her eyes. Yesterday she kissed Graham in the kitchen, and she kissed him in the small TV room by the kitchen, and she kissed him on the couch. And yet they were both fully dressed when Eddie and Warren came back from the movies and when Teddy summoned them to the studio, as if they weren’t ready for the feast yet, as if an appetizer could fill them up.
Karen takes a quick shower and dresses up in jeans and a t-shirt. She pulls out all the spare change she can find, then she rummages through her drawers and bedside table searching for pills, mushrooms and even LSD.
She brings her bounty downstairs, glad to find Warren and Eddie in the kitchen, huddled around steaming mugs of coffee, smoking cheap cigarettes. Their eyes are bleary but they are talking animatedly about the new album, the freedom that Daisy’s arrival has brought. She drops her offerings on the table. “How about you go watch that movie of yours again with this?” she asks in a clipped voice. All these years living with them has taught her this: these two guys love a challenge.
Eddie snickers, “it might be another experience” and Warren barks his coyote laughter in agreement.
When Karen hears Eddie’s car pulling away, she climbs the stairs back up and knocks on Graham’s bedroom door. He opens it after a few seconds, a guitar in his hand, shirtless. She gulps. She has seen him bare-chested thousands of times before but today her fingers tingle at the sight.
“Hi,” Graham greets her. His eyes are guarded, once again, the craving dimmed. It might be the lack of sleep. It might be something else. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice gruff. “Did I hear Eddie’s car?” His gaze meets hers, expectant.
The time has come to stand on the surfboard. The time has come to find a new kind of equilibrium. “I came to finish what we started yesterday,” Karen replies, grabbing his hand and leading him towards her bedroom under the eaves.
*
“I don’t do cuddles,” Karen states afterwards. “Nor any display of affection.” Her bones have vanished, weightless.
“Except this,” Graham chuckles. They are lying side by side in her bed. The clouds have not lifted, the world has become a cocoon. Except on stage, she hasn’t never felt this happy, this warm. The spark from their first kiss has become a bonfire.
“Only this,” she says, trailing a finger down his chest.
“Can I at least hold your hand?” Graham says after a while.
“Yes,” Karen agrees. The tips of his fingertips, hardened by years of playing the guitar, brush her skin. Then he takes her hand in his. A perfect fit.
“I could get use to this,” she concedes.
“You could?” She can hear the hope laced through his tone, this tender twin of his ‘it’s never going to happen for us, is it?’
“Yes. But… I don’t want to be known as the girlfriend of...” she stammers.
“What do you mean?” Graham turns to face her and, for a fraction of a second, the miracle of seeing him here next to her, his head propped on a pillow, his blue eyes watchful and earnest, threatens to make her laugh with delight.
“Just as you hate being known only as Billy’s brother…” she starts. “Let’s keep this for ourselves for now, okay?”
His fingers squeeze hers and he nods in agreement.
*
Later that evening, Karen finds Eddie and Warren passed out on the couch by the kitchen. Both men will always claim that Rollerball on mushrooms was their best movie experience.