Free More Than Anything by R.E. Blake

life’s passing by while I’m in limbo.”
    “I feel the same way.”
    “Maybe I can get away for a few days once basic tracks are done. I’ll ask.”
    “That would be great. I’ll do the same. I’m sure between the two of us, we can figure it out.”
    The conversation stalls with that vague promise. I want to say so much more than I have. Instead, I go with technology.
    “Buy a phone, Derek.”
    “I’ll get one tomorrow.”
    “And then call me. Or text.” A thought occurs to me. “Or email me. I’ll get a cheap laptop or tablet.”
    “Haven’t they hired you a personal assistant yet?” Derek teases, and I think about Ruby and our shopping outing tomorrow. Maybe it’s best not to share everything. It’s bad enough I’m talking about marble floors and he’s joking about drive-bys.
    “I wanted to say…when I was leaving? In the rain? That was incredible.” My voice sounds tiny to me now.
    “It was. I can’t wait to see you again.”
    “Me too.”
    It’s so different talking to him on the phone. Even though I can imagine his face, his flashing eyes, his smile, he sounds remote and distracted somehow, and I’m not sure how to bridge the gap. It’s frustrating. After a few more minutes of small talk, we disconnect, and instead of the warm glow I was hoping for, I feel kind of empty. And the bathwater’s getting cold.
    I get out of the tub and towel off as it drains, thinking about the call. Maybe I can fly to the East Coast for a few days. Why not? Sebastian will have a better idea about the schedule than I do, but I can’t see my presence being essential for the whole six weeks. Maybe a long weekend.
    Which stops me.
    It doesn’t seem that way to me, but the logical part of my brain’s asking whether I’m rushing things. I mean, yes, it was crazy mad love in the rain, but that was only a few kisses. If Derek flew here tomorrow morning and spent the week, what would happen? Would I do a Melody and get the oil out? Or more likely, would I go back and forth between possibilities and make everyone’s life miserable?
    “No. Not this time,” I say out loud as I eye my tattoo, which stretches from just below my breast, two lines of script I suffered an hour to get, the tattoo artist’s pink latex gloves and thinning black hair as vivid today as when I did the deed.
    I read the words and frown. Nothing to lose, huh? The concept of freedom seems remote all of a sudden, now that I’m answering to a record company, have Sebastian slotting me into his insane schedule, and have the rest of my time spoken for with appearances and events. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Being broke and free is fine, but taking a warm bath and deciding whether to go for a notebook or tablet has its plusses, too.
    Which seems completely materialistic, except that I’ve spent the better part of the last six months sleeping on benches, so it’s not like I’m an unthinking product sponge. Of course, there are going to be trade-offs. I can’t just do whatever I want whenever I want– that’s the price of success.
    I refuse to let my creeping doubt ruin yet another high point in my life, so I finish drying myself, scoop up my phone, and pull on Melody’s sweats and my new shirt. With the baseball cap I look like any skater chick on the street, not some freak accident celeb. I’m happy with the look.
    The phone book tells me there’s an electronics superstore five minutes away. I remember passing it on the drive home. I go downstairs and tell Steve to take the evening off – he’s still waiting out front, and I wonder again about his bathroom options. He seems taken aback that anyone wants to walk in L.A., but pulls away with a shrug and a promise to check in the following morning in case I need to go anywhere.
    I really need to study up and get a driver’s license. It’s not one of the things you think about when you’re homeless, mainly because you don’t have a car, can’t afford gas, and have no address