“They’re yoga pants,” Ivy corrected. “And I didn’t ask for your fashion critique, Joan Rivers. Shouldn’t you be off filming some action flick?”
“I’m not on the call sheet today.” He eyed her sloppy ensemble, shook his head, and flopped down on the opposite end of the couch. He didn’t say anything for a few minutes and Ivy could just tell it was killing him.
“Well, I’ll start with congratulations,” he said at last.
Ivy frowned. She couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. “Dare I ask what for?”
“For hitting number one on iTunes with your new single. Your live concert video already has over twenty million views on YouTube. Not bad for three days.”
Oh. That. Yeah, apparently this was her fastest-climbing single ever. She should be excited. Thrilled. And yet, she couldn’t work up the enthusiasm for it. That song was tainted. She would perform it when she had to, but that didn’t mean she would enjoy it. The song would haunt her, just like those images of Lydia half-naked.
“I find it kinda funny,” she said, “that I’ve made a career on songs about bad relationships and never had any trouble separating the song and the work from the dating drama. When I finally write a positive song about love and then break up, I’m overwhelmed with the emotions. I can’t even stand to hear it, much less sing it. And guess what? It may be my biggest hit ever!”
“Yes, and that’s why you’ve got to snap out of this funk, pronto. Your career is taking off in a whole new direction and you need to make the most of it. You’re not going to be able to float a career with your old, bitter songs anymore.”
Considering his words for a moment before speaking, he furrowed his brow. “You want to know why everything is different now?”
She shrugged.
“It’s because you didn’t care about any of those other guys. They were just tools you used to get in touch with your feelings for Blake again. The angst those guys caused was secondary. You needed it to help you relive the pain of betrayal and loss so you could write. None of those songs were really about John or Carey or Sterling. The lyrics might have sounded like they were, but the emotions behind every song were one hundred percent Blake.”
She eyeballed Malcolm, not quite sure how to respond to that. By his theory, she’d done nothing but moon over Blake for the past six years. She wasn’t saying it wasn’t true, but her life seemed so much more pathetic when he put it that way. “How much do you charge by the hour, Dr. Holt?”
“Only now,” he continued, ignoring her, “you can’t write those angry songs about him. You love him too much.”
“And I didn’t love him before? The first time?”
“Of course you did, but you were stunned by your first real heartbreak and you lost touch with everything but the pain. Now, your love is too recent and real, but so is your disappointment with how it ended. So of course you’ll be conflicted about that song. But you should embrace it. It’s a beautiful song.”
Ivy leaned back into the couch, tempted to reach for the remote to start her show again. This conversation wasn’t helping. Of course that song was painful. Conflicted didn’t quite touch it. “I just need some time. Eventually, I’ll get over him and the song won’t have such sharp edges anymore. I’ll date someone new. I’ll come up with some new songs.”
“Another pointless relationship that doesn’t get anywhere? How long are you going to keep dating men you’ll never commit to? It’s not fair to them. When are you going to admit to yourself that it never works out because you’re still in love with another man? I mean, you said it yourself—you’ve never stopped loving him.”
It was just like Malcolm to throw her own lyrics in her face. But he was wrong. She could get back on the metaphorical horse and things would be fine. With a new song, she’d be a hot commodity to be seen with. Finding a new guy wouldn’t be a problem. Looking at him and not seeing Blake . . . that was another matter.
Ivy got up from the couch and padded barefoot into the kitchen to get something to drink. A whole carton of Ben & Jerry’s would be better, but if she did that in front of Malcolm, he’d have her checked into a rest facility for emotional distress. “Do you want a bottle of water or something?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks.”
Ivy reached into the refrigerator and pulled out one of her carbonated waters with citrus. “I just need to date you for a few months while I lick my wounds. That would keep the pressure off to start a real relationship. I can see you through your movie premiere. By the time all that is done, I’ll be fine.”
“You don’t need to waste time dating a gay man.”
Ivy slammed the door of the refrigerator and turned to him in irritation. “Last week you suggested we date!”
“Last week you hadn’t admitted to yourself that you were in love with Blake. You’re not going to use me to hide behind, sorry. You need to talk to him.”
“No way!” she shouted as she walked back into the living room. “You’re out of your damn mind!”
“No, I’m right and you know it. Despite everything, you still love him. There’s a part deep inside you that knows he was telling the truth about what happened with Lydia. It wasn’t what you thought it was.”
Ivy’s jaw tightened in irritation. “I could see her ass cheeks, Malcolm. That’s pretty hard to misinterpret.”
“Yes, but was he touching her?”
“Yes!” she said. They’d been over this once before.
“Where?”