Jerry Lee is playing piano on the session. I chat with Marion, sweet and wonderful as ever, the voice of reason. We listen in. It’s going well until the doorbell rings, and in comes the boy, accompanied by a mature-looking woman with a brown updo.
He hasn’t seen me yet, and I consider slipping out the back. But Marion has already announced that I’m here, and sneaking off would seem petty, too far from my usual self. So I step into the reception area and wave.
He looks embarrassed. He’s with a woman I don’t know.
He introduces her to Marion and me as Marilyn Evans.
Sam comes out to greet him. Jerry Lee and Carl join too, and the boy drops down at the piano. Carl doesn’t seem to mind that he’s taken over. They start to play, Jerry Lee jumping in, and an impromptu jam begins.
I sit on the other side of the glass with Marion, and the new girl. He winks at me, shrugs, glances at her, then back again. I don’t know where to look.
I try to be gracious, not as petty as I feel. I smile at her. She’s probably as confused as I am.
Then Johnny Cash walks in, always fun, always kind. You’d expect him to be brooding, but he’s excellent company. He sits beside me and we listen together. Even if I’m cross with the boy, the music is joyous. Sam starts recording; everyone’s having a ball.
Johnny leans toward me.
“You let him know you were comin’?”
“No,” I say.
He shakes his head. “You oughta have. You know how he is, bad that way.”
“I didn’t even know I was coming. I bumped into Sam earlier.”
He thinks for a bit. “He wouldn’t do nothin’ to hurt you. Not on purpose. I’ve seen you two together since you were kids.”
The boy comes over during a break.
“You alright?”
“Sure am,” I say too quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“She’s just a gal I met out in Vegas,” he murmurs, trying to catch my eye.
“Sure.”
“Real good to see you,” he adds sweetly.
The boy reaches for my hand; I pull away. So he starts a superficial story about his new car, how he can’t wait to take me for a spin.
Johnny asks if I want to go next door for a Coke. The boy watches, annoyed I’m not playing along.
“Don’t let one showgirl from Vegas mess up what y’all got,” Johnny says, fiddling with his glass.
“I don’t think we’re talking about just one showgirl,” I laugh, too lightly.
“Give him some room. This fame stuff, it’ll pass. You shouldn’t walk away on account of it. You’re still gonna need each other, through and after. Trust me.”
“I’m just starting to realise a few things, that’s all.”
“Honey, let him go do his thing without judgment,” he says gently. “He’s the best-lookin’ son of a gun I’ve ever seen. There’ll always be girls. But he’ll come to terms with it, in time.”
“And in the meantime, I’m just supposed to be at his beck and call?”
“’Course not. But ask yourself if that bond you’ve got is worth more than this phase. ’Cause what you two have, that don’t come around often.”
“Yes, sir,” I say moodily.
“Alright then. Pull yourself up by the bootstraps, and let’s head back in.”
“Thanks for the pep talk,” I tell him.
“Anytime,” he says, placing his hand lightly on my shoulder.
“Are we back on?” Sam asks when I step inside.
“Sure.”
“No more drama?”
“There was never any drama,” I reply. I wonder why women are always accused of causing it. I’m allowed to have feelings, and I am hardly ever bewitched by them.
The boy comes over to hug me.
“I can’t make a statement to you right now,” he says quietly. “Wouldn’t be fair to her. She’s my guest.”
“I get it,” I reply flatly.
He walks back into the studio and starts singing You Belong to My Heart, eyes fixed on me across the room. The Vegas girl watches, then glances over.
“We’ve been together so long, do we have to separate this way…” he breaks into another rhythm, trying to make it playful.
But I’ve already stepped outside.
I’m standing on the pavement with Johnny when the boy comes out, full of charm.
“Hey, baby,” he calls.
I look up. Marilyn’s still inside, chatting with Jerry Lee and Carl.
“I’d tell you a story,” he says, reaching for my hand, “but I don’t wanna lie to you.”
I say nothing.
“She’s leavin’ tomorrow. I don’t wanna upset her, so I’ll call on you after she’s gone, alright?”
I mumble something incoherent. I know I have no right to be cross, we’re not exactly a couple anymore. I also have a boyfriend up East.
“I’ve missed you,” he says, eyes locking with mine. “I can’t wait to see you. You understand me?”
Johnny steps in.
“I think she does,” he says, calm but clear. Then to me: “Tell you what, El, I’ll take Miss Birdie out for a bite with me and the boys. We’ll look after her tonight. You just go on home now.”
The boy smiles, grateful. He waves at us.
“Thanks, Johnny. I’ll see you tomorrow, darlin’.”
My World of Interiors 