The Story of Lansing Lotte by L.B. Dunbar Page B

mother, though, who turned out to be a liar. I didn’t like to dwell on Vivian DuLac. I was always conflicted when it came to my feelings about her, but I did think of her as I questioned what type of mother Guinevere would have been, and what kind of father I could be one day, as well.
     

As a band we hadn’t discussed our postponed concert. Kaye Sirs took care of things as our manager, and my mind had been such a blur, the last month or more, I didn’t stop to question the process of that postponement. I assumed ticket sales were returned, venues cancelled, and an announcement made. I was beginning to think the world tour needed to be on indefinite hold. I hadn’t felt sorry for the band collectively as an entity, but suddenly I did. I added to my list of curses at Arturo King: the loss of not only his person, his baby, and his troubled girl, but the loss of the band. We didn’t know what to do without him. We functioned in a routine of numbness, wandering in and out of his apartment. Perk had been lost to me lately with his new girl, and Tristan was losing himself in booze and women at a rapidly growing pace. I realized I was barely functioning myself. When Guinevere told me a second time I should go, I decided to leave. I needed something for me. I called Layne.
    Layne answered on the second ring, as if she had been waiting for me. I couldn’t do a date, but I didn’t want to wait to see her. I asked her to meet me for coffee. It was only late morning anyway and I just wanted to share an apology with her.
    “Something happened to Guinie and I needed to be there,” I said, once I sat across from her at the coffee shop between our two apartment buildings. Layne nodded once before looking out the window at the busy street life. I noticed she wore her hair looser, but the front was still pulled back with some elaborate braid. Tons of thick curls swirled around her neck and down her back. I briefly wondered what it would be like to wrap my hands in that hair and place my lips on her china white neck. She wore a red sweater that somehow accentuated her highlights when it should have clashed. Her brown eyes looked troubled when they returned to mine.
    “You always place her first.” She smiled weakly.
    I didn’t know how to respond. I did pick Guinevere all those years ago over Layne, but nothing happened between Guinevere and I after that one moment. Somehow, I think Layne knew that.
    “We never dated.”
    “I know,” she sighed deeply, “but you wanted to. What happened?”
    I couldn’t tell Layne. I wanted to be honest with her, but I couldn’t tell her the truth of what I had learned the following day.
    “It’s a long story,” I said and stalled by sipping my coffee.
    I felt Layne watching me, waiting, but I wasn’t going to answer. She seemed to know that so she asked me something else.
    “Why not me?”
    I blinked. I didn’t know how to respond to that any more than I could plan to respond to the question of what happened.
    “It isn’t you…” I started, but she held up a hand to stop me.
    “Don’t say it…” she laughed softly, bitterly. She seemed to be thinking and I let her have her thoughts as I questioned myself. Why hadn’t I picked Layne? She was pretty, though I don’t recall her being as beautiful before. She was sweet, but I sensed an eagerness in her. She was unknowingly seductive, despite her innocence. Not for the first time, I felt myself slowly react to Layne. I had to admit I enjoyed spending time with her. 
    “Wanna do something today?” she said breaking into my thoughts.
    “Sure,” I blurted. With no concert, no band practice, and no Guinevere, I didn’t have anything else to do.
     
     
    I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was, when Layne had the cab drop us off behind the Lexington Opera House. We were able to enter the backstage doors as someone else was leaving.
    “Did you get a gig here?” I asked. I wasn’t sure that was the right term for singing