The Complete Groupie Trilogy (19 page)

I nodded. “From very early on, actually. Truth is I don’t remember my parents at all.”

He rose up on one elbow and waited. I pulled a photo album from my night stand and handed it to him. Even after all this time I couldn’t say the words outright, even though by now the memories seemed like they belonged to another person entirely.

He opened the album and read through the clippings yellowing against the sticky pages. All I saw was the black and white photo of the burned out house, a visual that had been tattooed on my brain for a lifetime.

“Where were you when this happened?” he asked.

“I had a most fortuitous case of pneumonia. I must have been three or four, I guess. Anyway, Grandma took me in and raised me.”

He took my hand in his. “Then I have a lot to thank her for,” he said, then pulled me into his arms and held me close the rest of the night.

The next morning I served him breakfast in bed with a candle stuck in his stack of chocolate chip pancakes. He blew out the candle but protested he already got his wish. We fed each other, which turned out to be quite messy with the syrup. Vanni insisted we not use napkins to clean up the drippings, but rather our own mouths. This became so erotic it actually led into the first birthday celebration of
the day.

I pulled the other gift out from under my bed. I had purchased and wrapped it at least a week before he arrived. I was surprised Simon had not discovered it and mangled it to pieces, which definitely would have put a damper on the moment. Vanni grinned like a little kid as he ripped through the paper and opened the flat package.

It was a leather-bound journal engraved with his name on the cover. “
From Thoughts to Music
,” I had included in the inscription. He pulled me close for a long hug. He was overcome when he thanked me.

“The first one’s for you,” he promised.

He insisted we go to the store to purchase flowers for my grandmother, and then at his insistence we stopped by my parents’ gravesite to leave pretty, fresh flowers over the frostbitten graves. I didn’t make it a point to come here, much like my grandmother did, and I had never brought anyone here – not even Iris. But Vanni insisted. He said that paying his respects to his beloved great aunt on a regular basis reminded him of the good times, so she never seemed far away. And this particular Christmas he wanted us to connect the past to the present.

It made the occasion all the more monumental, and I was overcome with emotion. I dropped my head into my hands and sobbed quietly, and Vanni took me into his arms and rocked me quietly as he held me close. There were tears in his own eyes as he re
sted his forehead against mine.

We were two orphans who had somehow found each other, who understood our secret pain on a level that so many others di
d not.

Neither of us spoke about it on the ride out to my Grandmother’s, who live
d on the opposite edge of town.

Lydia Foster may have only been 4’10 (she claimed she was shrinking in her old age, but she had always been a pixie) but her wiry frame and agile mind would convince anyone that the old adage is true: dynamite comes in small packages. She weighed probably 90 pounds but her spine was ramrod straight, and her eyes were still the clearest blue.

Even at 67 she actively participated in her community, especially church. She gardened and then sold her own vegetables as a means to supplement her income. They had finally forced her to retire from her career driving the school bus for the rural areas around Nashville after she failed her last eye exam. As a result she traded her car in for a good pair of walking shoes and kept herself active by walking anywhere she needed to go.

The minute we walked in the door and I smelled the glorious aroma coming from her kitchen I knew that she had cooked enough to feed an army. She had it all: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, okra, biscuits and her special recipe red velvet cake to celebrate his birthday.

Even though he towered over her she reached up and gave him a monstrous bear hug and welcomed her into her home like she would have welcomed anyone. Lydia knew no strangers. She oohed and awed over the beautiful flowers he brought, and sent me a wink that if I didn’t snatch him up she sure would.

He laughed and followed her into her comfortable and tidy, though small, living room.

If I learned how to live on meager practical means it was through Grandma. She taught me the value of saving my money, getting the most out of what you buy and paying for value. That was why I could own three pairs of really nice pants, rather than an entire closet full of discount clothes.

She perched on the edge of her Queen Anne chair and proceeded to drill Vanni about everything short of his social security number and shoe size. After his old school Catholic great aunt, my little southern Baptist grandmother probably didn’t intimidate him much. He answered each question with the same confidence and poise he demonstrated in front of a microphone.

“And what are your thoughts on family?” she asked as she peered over her glasses at him.

“I think that you should put family first. There should be no other priorities. That’s why I don’t plan to really settle down until I can give a wife and kids the attention they deserve. Right now my life is too busy and chaotic to even think about serious relationships.”

She leaned back. It wasn’t necessarily the answer she wanted but she couldn’t fault it either. “And what does that mean for my granddaughter?”

He glanced at me and took my hand in his. “Your granddaughter brings something to my life I need. I hope I can do that for her too in some way, even if it’s not traditional.”

This was not news to me, of course. It reinforced the original ground rules when I got into this relationship. All I could do was enjoy it for the moment and let the future take care of itself, but I wasn’t sure my grandmother would see things the same way.

“I still don’t understand why you can’t date in public. I’d really like both of you to come to church on Christmas Eve.”

“That’s for her benefit, Lydia,” he said, using the name she had insisted he use. “Andy is the only real thing in my life; I don’t want to see it get that complicated for her just because I decided to get into show business. My life is crazy. As my girlfriend she’d never have her own private life again. There would be no going to church with you or anyone without being tailed by the paparazzi. She wouldn’t even be able to go to the grocery store without some gossip columnist trying to figure out what she was doing and how our relationship was going. It’s not fair, but that’s just the way it is. Relationships are hard enough without adding all that to it.”

She nodded as she thoughtfully ingested what he said. “I can’t say I understand it,” she said, “but I guess if that’s good enough for Andy, it’s going to have to be good enough for me. Now let’s go eat.”

Grandma kept Vanni in stitches, and vice versa, throughout dinner where she stuffed him so full he could barely shovel down a forkful or two of his cake. “It’s delicious,” he told her graciously. “But what I really appreciate is your taking the time to do this for me. I haven’t had a meal prepared for my birthday in years. I had forgotten how much I missed it.”

She was warmed by his praise, as evidenced by the slight flush on her cheeks. My Vanni coul
d charm anyone, young or old.

She spent the remainder of the evening showing him photo albums. There must be fine print somewhere that parents and grandparents get to drag out these embarrassing volumes whenever it would most humiliate the child in questi
on.

But he seemed to enjoy every minute of our time at Grandma’s right up to where she began hiding her yawns behind the back of her hand somewhere around 9:15 p.m.

He gave her a big hug that lifted her off the ground before he left and she made sure she had his address so she could send him special treats to “fatten him up” by the next time she saw him. He kissed her cheek like they were family, and my Grandma winked her approval my direction.

He was quiet and thoughtful on the way back to my house. I wanted to ask what he was thinking but he looked so serene I didn’t want
to disturb his thoughts at all.

Instead I drove us straight home, where we shrugged out of our c
oats to start work on our tree.

I had a small fireplace that he lit for us, and I played a radio station featuring Christmas carols. We sang as we strung the lights and then traded places hanging the ornaments. When it was done he dimmed my overhead lights and plugged in the tree, which twinkled with tiny white lights in the corner of my living room.

He took my hand in his and pulled me close so we could dance together to the music. He stroked my back with his fingers, and had the other arm around my waist. He glanced down at me for a moment and then bent for a tentative, slow, open-mouthed kiss.

I melted against him and wound my arms around his neck to press even closer. We swayed back and forth as we kissed tenderly, lovingly. Then, with his arm around my waist, he gradually pulled us both to the floor. I had a blanket folded on a chair by the tree, which he grabbed and laid under us.

He leaned me back against the blanket, his hands in my hair, his whispers dancing on my skin. Every time he called my name my flesh quivered as if it knew to whom it belonged.

With each kiss, each caress, another article of clothing was carefully discarded. Once we were both n
aked he poised himself over me.

“Let me go grab a condom,” I whispered as I tried to scoot away but his weight pinned me down.

“Not tonight,” he replied as he pressed up against me, his flesh strong and demanding. “Let me feel all of you,” he said softly. “No more barriers.”

“But…” I started but he silenced me with a kiss, or two… or three… while he stimulated me with his body.

“You’re on the pill, right?” he persisted as he stroked against me, driving me wild.

“Yes,” I answered in a gasp.

“Then let me feel you,” he said again, with movements to match the rhythm of his words. “Wet… warm… tight… mine…”

Suddenly I was climaxing and all I could do was cry out for him as he entered me bare for the first time. He rode each wave with gasps and cries all his own. His movements grew more urgent, and he kept whispering against my mouth words like, “I need you,” and “I want you.”

It was what he said when he finally came inside me that stopped my heart. I was barely able to whisper back, “I love you too.”

We woke up the next morning entangled on the floor. Memories of the night before washed over me in a warm flood of emotion as I watched him dream peacefully.

I was overcome by the love I felt for him. It felt like it filled my heart and overflowed into my soul. How had this happened? I wondered happily as I softly stroked my hand through his hair. A year ago almost to the day I was licking my wounds from what I thought had been his deceit. And now here he was, sprawled on my floor, wrapped in my arms, my body wearing the evidence of the love he had finally declared, though I’d never asked him to.

My fingers trailed possessively over his body, and even in his sleep his flesh responded to me. I kissed his chest, which tasted salty against my tongue. I explored his body slowly and liberally, until I wanted him so badly I ached.

I straddled his hips and rubbed against him with a gentle rocking motion, and then gently slipped him inside.

He awoke to our lovemaking, which was all it took for him to grab my hips and urge me on for long, leisurely strokes that relished a slow building pas
sion we took our time to sate.

When it was over and I collapsed next to him in his arms, he kissed me and told me that I was his new favorite alarm clock. I giggled as I snuggled into the crook of his arm. We had nowhere to go, nowhere to be, nothing to do but just be together and love each other.

Like he said, all barriers were gone.

That afternoon he told me he wanted to go buy my grandmother a Christmas gift, to thank her for her kind generosity and accepting him into their family no questions asked. “I want to go to church with you tomorrow night,” he said, and the earnest expression on his face just made me love him more.

He selected a scarf and a hat for her to wear while she ran her errands on foot. I completed the ensemble with a locket which held a picture of my parents inside.

We wrapped our gifts together, and then spent the night at home watching TV, cuddling with the cat and kissing in front of the fire.

The next night we went to church and surprised Grandma, his idea, and he even offered to sing for the congregation, which meant he wasn’t there incognito. He stood at the altar with his hair tied back, an ivory turtleneck sweater (another gift from me) with a scarf casually slung around his shoulder. He was the most handsome man I had ever seen, and my heart filled to bursting with the love I felt inside. When he sang “O Holy Night” a cappella by candlelight, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house – including my grandmother.

The next morning I woke up to find the bed empty. I slipped out from under the covers. There on the foot of the bed was a beautiful blue satin robe. With a smile I put it on and padded softly into the living room.

There were boxes of gifts underneath the tree, and a breakfast set up on the coffee table in front. The best gift was Vanni, in his pajama bottoms, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his hair spilling all over his shoulders, as he cuddled Simon in his lap.