“Abigail, dear. Lunch is served. Come down, please.”
“Yes, Mother. I’m coming.”
Gotta go, Nick. Thanks for lunch.
Any time. What are you doing this afternoon?
I have a tennis match.
And tonight?
Abby didn’t know how to answer. Did he mean that they were still playing the game or did he really want to know what she was doing? So she just sent the question back.
Tonight?
What are we doing tonight?
We’re going to a Cubs game at Wrigley Field. The Giants are in town.
Cool. See ya then. Bye.
Bye.
Abby turned off the computer. She stood up and stretched. She needed to play tennis to get the kinks out from sitting in one place for so long. She took a deep breath and went downstairs to face her parents.
“Where’s Daddy?” Abby was surprised to find only her mother in the dining room and the table set only for two.
“He’s playing golf with Miles Fenton.”
Abby took her place at the table and waited for the inquisition. She didn’t have to wait long.
“So how is Nick?” asked her mother innocently, delicately cutting a sliver from her quiche.
“He’s fine,” said Abby. He’s more than fine, Mother, he’s wonderful, she thought.
“You were on with him for quite awhile today.”
“I have unlimited time with my server,” responded Abby, ignoring the intent in her mother’s statement.
Sharon came at it from another direction. “You said he stayed in Rose Cottage. Has it changed much over the years?”
“I said he stayed there, Mother, not me.” Abby carefully sidestepped the lie.
“Was he there alone…or with family? I mean, it doesn’t seem like a place a young man would choose…”
Wow! thought Abby. She sure packed a lot of questions into that sentence. She sorted through them, deciding which one to answer. How old is he? Is he single? Is he gay?
“He’s my age,” she said, simply and decided to outwait her mother. She couldn’t, of course, and after a minute or so, added, “He was on vacation. He was starting a new job the next week and wanted to have a break first…get his head together for it.”
“So he was unemployed?”
Abby burst out laughing. Her mother’s eyebrows shot to the ceiling. One did not laugh out loud at the dinner table. Abby tried to get herself under control, but she couldn’t help picturing the five men lined up at the unemployment office trying to find ‘suitable work’. Did selling seventy million records qualify you for any kind of employment in the real world?
“Abigail! Really!” admonished her mother.
“I’m sorry, Mother,” Abby choked out between giggles. “He’s a musician. He’d finished some work in Los Angeles and he’s starting something new in Atlanta.”
Sharon Fremont thought that over for a moment, chewing thoughtfully on her salad. “Atlanta has a very good symphony, from what I hear,” she said finally. “What instrument does he play?”
“Oh, Mother, you are such a snob,” said Abby with a sigh. “He’s not in an orchestra. He plays guitar, but mostly he sings. He’s in a group.”
“He’s in a rock band!?” Sharon was horrified.
“Not a rock band. They’re singers. It’s a vocal group.” Please don’t ask. Please don’t ask.
“Well, fine then, I guess. Hurry along now and finish your lunch or you’ll be late for tennis.”
“Yes, Mother,” said Abby, meekly. Inside, she sagged with relief.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Hey, Abby!
Abby and Nick spent the evening with the Cubs. Abby had the TV on low in her room and she reported every so often on the progress of the game. Sammy Sosa hit a home run in the third. Barry Bonds popped up to left in the fourth. When they weren’t doing that, they chatted lazily about a variety of things. There were long pauses between each response. It was very mellow and there were no shrieks of laughter to startle Abby’s parents. Until she asked about the Pain Song.
Did you play it for the Boys?
No, not yet.
Why not?
It would involve too much explanation. They know where songs come from.
And they would want to know where this one came from?
Yeah.
There was a long pause, while they both played the song over in their head. Yes, it would need explaining.
Did you ever find a title for it?
No, not yet. It’s still just The Pain Song.
How about…Ouch!
LOL!! Good one! Or how about – Jeez! That’s gotta hurt!
Abby spit wine onto her monitor and uttered a shriek that would have sent the dog scurrying for cover, if she’d had a dog.
LMAO!! How about - You left me and took all my vital organs with you!
You’re killing me, here! You’re too good at this. Let me think.
Abby turned back to the game. She watched Kerry Wood strike out Barry Bonds to end the sixth. A ping brought her eyes back to the monitor.
Nope. Can’t think of one. Where is your box in Wrigley Field?
Abby gave him the website and told him where the box was.
If we were there right now, we would be the only two watching the game. My father would be there with some business cronies and they would stand around in the back and talk business and drink scotch.
Do you have any pictures of it?
I have one of Philip from the spring. I haven’t had time to burn it yet. LOL! You can get the idea from it. Hang on a sec.
Nick waited.
And I thought I’d never have use for a scanner. LOL!
In Atlanta, Nick flipped through the channels on the TV while he waited. He was laying on the bed, propped up against the pillows at the headboard. He had his computer open on his lap and his yellow pad on one side of him and the remote control on the other.
Okay, it’s coming but I have to do something. It’s not saving like the pictures from my digital camera. It’s got some weird letters on the end of it.
It’s probably using the scanner program and it’s not a jpg. Try Save As…and see if it gives you a jpg option.
Okay. Thanks. Hang on.
Nick set the computer aside and went to the bathroom. On the way back, he pulled another slice of pizza from the box on the desk. His one nod to staying in shape this weekend was that he forced himself to get off the bed and walk to the pizza. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
Okay, that worked. I’ve emailed it off to you.
I’ll go get it.
NO WAIT!! DON’T OPEN IT!!
Why not?
The file is huge. It’s the size of a freaking bath towel. You’d have to scroll forever just to see his eyeball. Just delete it.
LMAO!! Is that the first time you’ve ever said the word ‘freaking’?
Yes. Maybe. So what? Just goes to show what a bad influence you are on me!
Nick had a retort half-typed about just how bad an influence he could be, given the right circumstances, when he pulled his hands from the keyboard. He quickly erased the message. This is Abby, you twit, he told himself, not some girl you’re trying to talk into bed.
Ha! Ha! he wrote instead.
How do I make the picture smaller?
Nick talked her through her photo editing program and she managed to send him the picture finally.
Seems like a lot of work just so you can ignore the guy in the picture and look at the background! LOL!!
I wouldn’t mind having a look at the guy. I’d like to see what kind of creep would…well, you know.
Elope to Vegas with an ex? Oh, wait a minute, that’s you.
Very funny. Remind me to laugh next week.
There was a pause, while they both wondered if they had allowed their fingers to run away with their brain. And then together…
LOL!
LOL!
After a long pause, Abby asked him what he was doing the next day.
I don’t know. What do you think? Lincoln Park Zoo and some more shopping?
I meant in real life.
There was a very long pause. Over five minutes. Abby wondered if he had somehow signed off and she’d missed it. She was afraid to touch the computer. Finally…
This is better than real life.
Sharon Fremont would not have heard a shriek if she’d been passing by Abby’s door at that moment. She would have heard a soft moan, almost a whimper. And if she had looked in, she would have seen Abby run her hand down the side of her computer, in almost a caress.
