Make Me Bad(Private Lessons)

THREE

Blake

The F*ck...



“Where the hell is Kenny?” I mutter, tossing my phone down on the table.

“Is something wrong, sugar?” Savannah asks, pressing her glossy pink lips together.

“I just can’t get a hold of Kenny. I’ve been trying to reach him since yesterday.”

“Why are you calling him?” Savannah asks, her voice dripping with distaste. She holds up her manicured red nails to her face and inspects them.

“Because I need to ask him about a gig next week.”

“What I mean is shouldn’t you have other people making your calls for you?”

I roll my eyes, Savannah just doesn’t get it sometimes.

“I’m not some huge star, Savannah. I can make my own calls.”

“Well you should be a big star,” she says pointedly. “And you certainly shouldn’t be calling Kenny Lawson yourself to get information on your gigs.”

I run a hand through my hair and get up from the kitchen table. I sit down on the couch and flip the TV on.

“You’re going to watch TV in the middle of the day? It’s Saturday, let’s go out and do something.” Savannah crosses the room, sashaying her hips in her tiny white shorts. “I don’t want to sit in,” she pouts, settling herself in my lap.

“You only want to do something because Abby cancelled on you. You had been planning on spending the whole day shopping.” I point out.

And I had been planning on vegging out in front of the TV and watching some baseball. But that was out of the question when Savannah was home.

“Well, now I want to spend time with my fiancé,” she purrs, looking up at me through those long eye lashes, grinding against me and making sure I have a full view of her ample cleavage.


I groan, settling back on the couch. Savannah slips her hand between my legs and grasps me in her hand.

“Let me make you feel good, sugar,” she says, quickening her movements. It’s like Savannah knows when I start to get annoyed with her and she quickly distracts me with sex.

I’m a guy and that's the funny thing about blow jobs, they work every time. I forget all about Kenny and my music and allow Savannah to take my mind elsewhere.

A few hours later, I’m dressed again and back on the phone, this time with one of my band mates, Ryan.

“Hey, do you know where Kenny is? I’ve been trying to reach him since yesterday.”

“Yeah, I think he said something about going to Bristol.”

I nearly drop the phone.

“Bristol?” I repeat, not sure if I heard correctly.

“Yeah, I thought that was what he said. He was going to Bristol for a long weekend to sort some things out.”

I sink down in a chair and hope that Savannah doesn’t walk in the room. There is only one reason that Kenny Lawson would go to Bristol.

“Did he say anything else?” I demand.

“No, man, why? What’s the big deal?”

“No big deal,” I say quickly, “He’s just usually good with returning phone calls.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m sure he’ll call you back soon. I’m hoping he gets us on the road for a tour.”

“Yeah, I know, me too.”

I hang up with Ryan and I can’t help but think about Paige.

Paige, my high school girlfriend, who fled Nashville and never returned. I didn’t understand it at the time, and I called Paige over and over again at her momma’s house and sent her dozens of emails.

Then the details began coming out. Two men were charged with rape, and Kenny Lawson began drinking even more crazily. The trial crept up and I didn’t even know Paige had been in town until it was over.

Local girl raped by two of her father’s friends. Read the headlines of the local papers.

I had never spoken to Paige again, but I had pieced enough details together. It still made me sick when I thought about what Paige must have gone through.

I know that Kenny has no relationship with her now but his house is like a shrine to Paige, filled with pictures of her from when she was a baby until she was fifteen. It's a little creepy, as if Paige had died and stopped aging at fifteen.

That’s how I remember Paige – even at fifteen she was sexy as hell. Long and leggy, running around that last summer in her red bikini, her blonde hair wild and tousled, her tits getting bigger by the day...

“Blake?” Savannah pulls me from my thoughts. “I was just talking to my parents and they want to know if we’re set on the country club? Should I tell them to book it for the reception?”

I blink at her, momentarily confused.

“Umm, hello? Our wedding,” she says, unable to hide her annoyance.

“Right, the country club. Sure, I mean, if that’s what you want.” I sometimes forget that we are planning a wedding.

“Of course that’s what I want. It’s nearly impossible to book a reception there and everyone is going to be so jealous.”

Right, everyone will be jealous. Exactly what I care about. If I had it my way, Savannah and I would get married right in our back yard and have a big cook out with burgers and some ice cold beers.

I almost laugh out loud when I think about what Savannah would do if I suggested such a plan. She'd throw something for sure. Savannah was a thrower when she got angry. Multiple vases and plates have fallen casualty to some of our arguments.

“You do remember that we are having dinner with my parents at the club tonight. Right?”

Shit.

“Right. Yeah. Of course I did.”

Lie.

Savannah puts her hands on her hips and stares at me. Clearly, she doesn’t believe me.

“Well, whatever. We need to leave here in an hour.” She flounces off towards the bedroom and starts the hour-long process of beautification. I’m not really sure why it takes so long; Savannah is a gorgeous woman, but she somehow needs an hour or more to get ready to go out.

Every time.

I wander through the house, aimlessly picking up as I go about. Growing up in a wealthy family, Savannah was always used to someone else cleaning up after her, a habit that she still hasn’t managed to completely overcome. I pick up stray magazines, a few bottles of nail polish, three cups, two plates, and those little foam things girls stick between their toes when they paint their nails.

I put the plates in the dishwasher and walk the rest of the crap back to our bedroom. I met Savannah just after I had bought this house, roughly three years ago. She came waltzing into my life, swaying her hips, her lips slick with gloss, tits pushed up, eye lashes batting...She looked like hell on heels.

I was smitten.

I proposed six months ago, and that’s when Savannah moved in. Subtly, Savannah began adding her own touches to my bachelor pad.

Suddenly I had things called throw pillows that were leopard print of all things. There were pink curtains in my living room, a high heeled patterned shower curtain in my bathroom, and my bedspread was varying shades of purple.

The most alarming change was my bed, which had once housed two normal pillows. Now, I couldn’t lay down on the bed without moving six or seven pillows out of the way, all of which are strange, uncomfortable shapes with countless ruffles. What's worse is that I'm not even allowed to actually use them as pillows.

I take a quick shower and dress in a button down shirt and blazer; the country club has a dress code. I flip on the TV and wait for Savannah. She finally emerges from the room, dressed in a strapless purple dress and her signature high heels.

“Do you like my hair?” she demands.

I bite my lip before responding, because I’m not sure what’s different. It’s still the same honey brown with thick blonde streaks throughout it. It may be brushed slightly more than normal?

“Oh yeah, it looks nice.”

“You don’t even notice,” she sulks, crossing her arms.

I get up off the couch, turn off the TV and walk over to my wife-to-be.

“Baby, you always look good.” I assure her, giving her a quick peck on the lips.

Savannah pushes me away abruptly. "Hey you're going to mess up my lipstick!" She scolds.

"Jesus babe, sorry! Let's just get in the car and go then?"

Savannah doesn’t respond, she turns toward the door and we walk out to the driveway in silence, I open the passenger door for her and she slides into the car. She gives me an icy stare and turns her attention to her god damn iPhone.

I sigh as I jump in the driver's side and start the car. We make the twenty-minute drive to the country club, in complete silence, and I reluctantly hand my car over to the valet. I don’t know why, but something about valet bugs me. It’s so pretentious. I can park my own car and walk 50 feet, damn it.

We walk into the club, and Savannah takes my arm, plastering a big smile on her face. I guess her iciness has melted away.

“Momma! Daddy!” she cries, hugging her parents who are already seated at their usual table that overlooks the golf course.

“Savvy, sweetheart,” her mother Scarlet Devlin coos, hugging her tightly. “You look ravishing as always.”

“Aww, thank you Mother.”

“And I just love what you’ve done to your hair sweetie.”

“Thank you, Mother,” she says, giving me a pointed look.

I shrug. What can I say?

Her father, Jeffrey, reaches out to shake my hand. “Good to see you again, son.”

“You too, sir.”

I don’t know why but I always feel like I have to be formal with Savannah’s family. Even though Savannah was born and raised in Nashville, our paths never crossed until a few years ago. While I went to the local public schools and then skipped college to focus on my music, Savannah attended the local all-girl preparatory schools, studying useless shit like Latin and history of British literature.

Savannah's family came from old money. She was used to having everything and getting whatever she wanted. She was the only child and that was the way she liked it; she got all of her parents’ attention.

“So, Mother,” Savannah begins dramatically, sipping her sparkling water, “Blake and I have decided on the country club for the reception!”

Scarlet smiles like the Cheshire cat. “Of course you did,” she purrs, “Were you honestly ever considering any place else?”

“I know, I know. There was never really a choice to begin with,” Savannah agrees.

I’m tempted to chime in that yes we did have a choice, but I know that wouldn’t go over well with the Devlins.

Savannah and her momma launch into a conversation about colors, flowers and bridesmaid dresses and I find myself zoning out. Jeffrey makes some small talk, asking about my music and plans for the band’s tour.

I know the Devlin’s don’t think I’m good enough for their daughter, but they’ve always been good at letting Savannah have what she wants – me. Of course, I know that Jeffrey fully expects me to give up my "pipe dream" of having a music career and come work for him someday at his investment firm.

Fat chance.

I’m really hoping that the tour Kenny has promised pans out. It would be a twenty-city tour, mid-size, and I know he is looking for someone to open for us. This tour could either make us or break us. Our band is just on the verge of making it big, but we need more publicity. And since Savannah and I are planning a wedding in seven months, I need this tour to come through now.


“Right, sugar?” Savannah asks.

I blink at her.

“You think that a band is so much better than a DJ.” She tells me.

Another long pause as I try to recall any part of her conversation.

“For the wedding,” she says darkly, busting me for not listening.

“Definitely." I affirm. "DJs are no good, we need a band.”

“See?” Savannah says happily, turning to her father, “We’ll just have to book a band. Blake knows these things,” she points out.

Mercifully, our food comes, entrees that are always too small and leave me craving a Big Mac afterwards. We busy ourselves with eating, and the conversation turns back towards my music again.

“Blake is supposed to get a tour this summer,” Savannah says proudly. Savannah has always been proud of my music, and I still remember what she was like in our early days of dating, the way she came out to every gig and danced like crazy in the front row, making eye contact with me to make sure I knew she was dancing for me and nobody else.

She was a sucker for a country boy singing.

“I hope that won’t interfere with the wedding,” Scarlet can’t help saying, picking at her greens salad.

Scarlet is every bit Savannah’s momma, just an older, tighter-skinned, slightly more demure version. Scarlet has the same lovely heart-shaped face with matching big brown eyes. Her hair is much more frosted than Savannah’s, and her skin is pulled tightly around her eyes and cheeks; though she swears she’s never had any work done.

She’s toned and thin for being a woman in her late fifties, though she doesn’t dress quite as provocatively as Savannah. To be completely honest, if I weren't engaged to her daughter and she was just a stranger I met at a bar, I'd probably give it to her.

Dinner comes to an end and I shake Jeffrey’s hand, kiss Scarlet on the cheek and wrap my arm around Savannah’s waist as we leave.

“Thanks for coming,” she says.

“I guess you’re no longer mad that I didn’t notice your hair?”

“Oh no, I’m still pissed. I just didn’t feel like being angry anymore.”

“Alright, good to know.”

The valet brings our car around and I drive us back home. I make a mental note to try Kenny again in the morning.



~~~



“Hey Blake.”

I'm glad to finally hear Kenny Lawson’s voice over the phone the following morning. Kenny’s voice is rich and rugged with weariness about it; the voice of a man who has seen a whole lot of shit in life, but still manages to convey confidence.

“Kenny! Damn! I’ve been trying to reach you all weekend.” I say excitedly.

“I see that now. Sorry," he sounds sincere, "I had some personal matters I had to take care of this weekend.”

Personal matters. I can’t help thinking about Paige.

“Okay, well, I hope everything is alright.” I don’t want to come out and ask directly, but I’m curious.

There’s a long pause and I hear Kenny clear his throat.

“Everything’s fine,” he says gruffly, “what can I help you with?”

The subject change doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Well, I needed to ask you about the gig we have Tuesday night. You originally told us that we needed a four-song set list, but I talked to the owner of the club and he told me he wants seven. I know that changes our pay.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Kenny says sounding unusually distracted. “Hang on.”

I hear some shuffling and then a door close.

“Alright, I’m in my home office, but I’m not sure if I have those papers here. I can get Becky to call the club later when I get a chance and sort it out.”

Becky is Kenny’s assistant, and a damn hard worker.

“Alright." I say. "We just have to know how much to prepare.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll handle it later.”

There’s some more shuffling on the other end.

“Look, Blake, I’ve kinda got my hands full here right now. Can I get in touch with you later? I know we need to talk about the tour, too.”

“Yeah, Kenny, that’s fine. I’ll be around later man.”

“Great. I think the tour is a definite go, and I’m making some headway on finding you an opening act, too.”

“Sweet!”

I hear a door open and close on the other end and there’s more shuffling. Then, clear as day I hear a female voice call out “Dad.”

My heart stops.

The voice is older, silkier, but I swear it’s the same voice.

Kenny quickly talks over the sound, raising his voice more than necessary.

“Alright, it was great talking to you! I’ll be in touch.”

The line goes dead.

Someone called Kenny dad.

Kenny only has one child, one daughter.

I sink down on the couch, burying my head in my hands. It’s almost too much for me to take in. Is it possible that Paige is back in Nashville? How could that even happen? After Paige moved back to Bristol, I tried so many times to contact her, tried so hard to get answers.

She had only responded to me once, just before we both graduated from high school. I’ll never forget the email:

I’m sorry Blake. Everything hurts too much. I can’t ever come back to Nashville. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

-Paige



Sorry, sorry, sorry.

She was sorry.

She had gone through horrors I couldn’t even imagine, and there she was, apologizing to me.

I need to get a f*cking grip. It was thirteen years ago. We were both adults now, and here I am about to get married. For all I know, Paige was married. Maybe she even had kids.

And before I can even push the thought away, I feel the pain cut through me like a knife.

I need to get over these crazy thoughts. Whether or not Paige was back, shouldn’t concern me. We were nothing but high school sweethearts. Barely even, she left before junior year.

I have Savannah now and that's all that matters. And even if Paige is in Nashville, I can’t imagine she'll be staying here long. Maybe she and Kenny have finally reconciled and she was just down for a short visit.

I force myself up from the couch and busy myself with trying to fix one of our kitchen cabinets. I’m can't stop thinking of Paige, so I curse out loud and head back to my studio to work on some music.

I sing a song that I wrote about Savannah, strumming at my guitar as the lyrics roll off my tongue from memory. I sing about her long legs and rich brown hair and the way she makes me feel in the hot summer.

But it’s Paige’s legs, and her blonde hair that I’m picturing, and the way I felt when I was fifteen, crazy in love. The way I felt in the hot summer when Paige and I were just kids.