“Hi.” Shit, now what? “So…How’s school?”
“It’s good.” She gives me a big smile. Both of the twins are missing the same teeth.
“Yeah? You’re in Second Grade now, right?”
“Yeah. My reading level is Third Grade, though. Oh oh oh! And?! We’re learning how to play a Beethoven song on the violin.”
“No shit?”
She giggles. “Yes shit!”
“That’s really impressive. You got a boyfriend?”
“Yes.” She points her finger into my chest. “You’re my boyfriend.”
“I am? Uh oh. Am I a good boyfriend?”
She twists her lips to the side while considering this. “Hmmm. You’re okay. You’re really cute and I like your hair, but you don’t come over for enough play dates.”
“Well, I’m here now. What should we do?”
“You should sing me a song about me. A pretty one. On your guitar.”
All the girls want songs about them. Might as well see if I’m still capable of writing about anyone other than Kat. “A pretty one, huh?”
“Yes. And then we’ll make a video so I can show my friends and they’ll be really jealous and they’ll just have to deal with it.”
“Well hang on there, missy, I gotta work on the song first before we do a video. Make sure I get it just right.” I get my guitar out of the case and settle back down on the sofa. “Just a short song, okay? Dinner’s almost ready.”
“Oh-kay.” She sits back against the opposite armrest of the sofa, crossing her legs and resting her chin in her hands. Then she slips one hand into a pocket and pulls out a packet of string cheese. Which is fine. My songs are meant to be enjoyed with snacks.
This feels like an F major type of situation. I clear my throat and strum a chord. Here goes nothing.
“It’s always Summer Time
When she’s around
She’ll make you smile
She’ll make you frown
She flips her hair
Like she don’t care
So suh so suh so suh Summer
She’ll brush her teeth
If you can sing
You better dance
While she’s flossing
So suh so suh so suh Summer
She’s sugar and spice
And sometimes she’s nice
And if you don’t like it
You’ll just have to deal with it
Soooo Summer doot doo doot dit
You better believe this girl is the shhhhh--”
“Aaaand it’s time to come help set the table, Summer!”
“No—finish the song!”
I smile at Shane and strum a big finish. “Finished. That’s it. That’s the whole song. You like it?”
“Hmmm. Your voice is good, and the guitar is pretty, but I think the words need to be better.”
Everyone’s a critic.
“I agree. I will definitely work on that.”
“But first, can you help Willa in the kitchen?”
“I can definitely do that.”
“Thanks.” He waits until his daughter is out of the room before saying. “You’re the shit, Uncle Nico.”
“You’re a shit for disappearing as soon as I got here.”
“That song was shit—no wonder you can’t get laid.”
“That’s it—I’m leaving. We’re done talking about this.”
* * *
I don’t leave.
And I can’t stop talking about it.
“This is exactly why I didn’t want you waiting tables in LA when you moved here.” I reach for a platter on a top shelf and hand it to Willa.
“Because of obsessive, horny customers like you?”
“Yeah.”
“Good thing you made me work for Shane instead.”
Despite my current state of self-pity, I still manage a big brother groan.
“Still not funny?”
“Maybe by your tenth anniversary. I don’t know how you could have crushed on Shane for all those years. It’s exhausting.”
“I don’t know either, but it was worth the wait…” She transfers a roast chicken to the platter, along with the vegetables she cooked them with. The only time I’m glad that she studied in France for three years is when she’s cooking for me. “You are seeing other girls, though. Right?”
I give her a look. I guess she isn’t as adept at sensing my sex vibes as Shane is, which is a good thing.
She covers her mouth, eyes wide. “Oh snap!”
“Nobody says ‘oh snap’ anymore. Dork.”
“Um. Excuse me? Who’s the dork who can’t get laid around here? Oh my God—Shane!” she yells out.
“Shane already knows.”
“I can’t believe he didn’t tell me. Does Grammie know?”
“Grammie knows everything—you know what—we’re done talking about this. This isn’t funny.”
“I mean, it is, but how are you even alive? You’re actually waiting? For the waitress. That you aren’t even dating?” She does a little happy dance.
“Her name is Kat.”
“What?!” Shane yells, from the dining room.
“Who’s got two thumbs, no kids and is doing it less than we are? That guy!” she calls out, while pointing to me.
“Yeah, baby, yeah!” Shane’s Austin Powers imitation is still better than mine and it still pisses me off and he knows it.
I can’t believe I was so excited to see these assholes.
“Did she ask you to wait for her?”
“No. Why? Is that something that women do?”
She scoffs. “Not around you, apparently. So, you just don’t want to be with anyone else?”
I shake my head. “It’s been almost a month and a half. I can’t tell if I’m being patient and romantic or if I’m just some lovesick fucktard who can’t take no for an answer.”
“Has she actually said ‘no’ to you?”
“Not in so few words. But she won’t go out with me. She says she’d love to, but she can’t. She hasn’t even given me her number.”
“Ohhh, Nico.” She sounds genuinely sympathetic now. “This isn’t like you.”
“Ya think?”
“I think it’s wonderful—not even in a funny way—that you’re so hung up on her. But it sounds like she’s giving you mixed messages.”
“I wouldn’t say that. She doesn’t flirt with me the way most girls do. We just have chemistry.”
“Are you sure there isn’t another guy?”
“Not according to her.”
“Girl?”
“Nope. I asked.”
“Maybe she’s still getting over someone.”
“Maybe, but she said she’s never been married.”
“She must have some rule about not dating musicians.”
“That’s not a thing,” I say dismissively. “She says she doesn’t date customers.”
“Well, then you need to stop being a customer.”
“Yeah. Except, I always want to see her. And I don’t want anyone else getting their grubby hands on her.”
“Nico. I’m not going to lie to you—part of me loves seeing you like this, but I also think you need to back off. Just don’t go in for like a week. Get some perspective. Let her miss you. See if you meet anyone else.”
“The thing is, I’ll be going on tour in June.”
“Oh yeah.”
“I’ve got a shit ton of shit coming up.”
“Awww. You want to see her while you can.”
“Yeah.”
“Nico.” She pats my hand. “I hate to say it, but this could just be a matter of you wanting what you can’t have.”
“Yeah, but I can have her. I just don’t have her yet.”
“Well. She has your number. She just might call.”
I drop my forehead to the counter and let out the loudest, most pathetic sigh I could make while still considering myself a man. “You’re right. I know. You’re right.”
>
“Do you even know her last name?”
My silence tells her everything she needs to know.
“Let me guess—you don’t want to ask her or anyone else what her last name is, because you’re afraid you’ll seem like a stalker?”
“I don’t want to ask because I’m too cool to ask. At least, I used to be.”
She slides over beside me and wraps her arms around my chest, resting her chin on my slouched shoulder. “What does she smell like?”
“Coffee and vanilla and nighttime and longing and bacon. People order a lot of bacon late at night there.”
“Aww, buddy. You got it bad. I love it!”
“Shut up.”
“I hate to say it, but—”
“Do not say I’m getting a taste of my own medicine.”
“You’re finally getting a taste of your own medicine. I mean, just think about all the girls who’ve had crushes on you over the years. There must have been…ten of them.” She can’t even say that with a straight face.
“Try tens of thousands.”
“Well now you’re just being modest.”
“I know. Feels almost as unfamiliar as having a crush on someone who won’t go out with me.”
“Oh my God! This reminds me of that episode of That’s So Wizard when those two pretty girls started going to your school and you and Greyson worked on spells to make them like you but yours got reversed so it made you completely obsessed with the one that Greyson wanted to date. And the only word you could write was the girl’s name, over and over!”
That’s exactly what this feels like, actually.
“‘Spellbound,’” Shane says, from somewhere behind me. “Ironically, he got more fan mail and fan tail for that episode than any other.”
“‘Spellbound!’ Let’s watch it tonight!” She dances around again, clapping her hands like a pixie. A smug married asshole pixie who has the kind of life that I can almost see myself having, all of a sudden. Almost.
I finally lift my head up to look at Shane. “Please kill me.”
Lucky walks in and informs us that if dinner isn’t served in one minute, Summer is going to set the table on fire. Willa gets moving, carrying the entrees to the dining room, because that is not an empty threat. I go to pick up the remaining dish, but Shane slaps me on the back.
“You want to know what I think?”
“As long as it doesn’t involve any references to Wizard episodes. But then we’re really done talking about this.”
He nods and grabs a couple of beers from the fridge. “I think things are changing for you on some level, but you’re not totally ready for it yet. And that’s why you’re stuck on someone who isn’t ready for you yet either.” He screws off the caps of both bottles. “And I think it’s a good thing. So don’t sweat it. I think whatever it’s going to be, between you and this woman, it’s going to be worth the wait.”
And that is why Shane Miller is my best friend.
That is also why he’s a better actor than I ever could have been—he can get inside other people’s heads faster than it takes me to get my own head out of my ass.
“Yeah. I think so too. Thanks, man.”
“Welcome. We don’t have to talk about it anymore. But we will never stop talking about the fact that I’m getting laid more than you are now.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts. I won’t.”
NICO TODD SONGWRITING JOURNAL – May
“Almost”
Somewhere between downtown and Beachwood Canyon
I’m finding my way to you
Hit a lot of green lights on the way there
Always focused on the view
Out the window, up and down Sunset
Always looking for something new
Never finding anything different
From Silverlake to Malibu
I’m almost there now, are you ready?
Because I’m almost ready for you
One right turn and I’m there for you, baby
There’s just one thing left to do
I’ve been everywhere without you
There’s nowhere else to go
Except that place that you’ve been hiding
Off the menu, off the map, off-road
On to the only thing that matters
The last stop on my tour
I’ve got some pretty high expectations
From my friends who’ve been there before
I’m almost there now, are you ready?
Because I’m almost ready for you
One right turn and I’m there for you, baby
There’s only one thing left to do
You’re never ready when you think you are
At least that’s what I’ve heard
So maybe it’s a good thing
I’m not so self-assured
I never felt lost exactly
Traveled a long way on my own
Never felt at home though either
But you’re right in my comfort zone
I’m almost there now, so get ready
Get ready for me too
Because I’m almost ready for you baby
Yeah I’m gonna be there for you
5
Nico
Three days.
That’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen Kat.
I’ve been busy with meetings and shooting a music video for the single that just released, but I’ve also been trying to take my sister’s advice and not be a customer at The 101.
It sucks.
Yesterday, I walked by a Pilates studio when a class was getting out, and—nothing. Nothing stirred in my pants while those trim glowing bodies glided by me. Okay, that’s not entirely true. But nothing stirred in any other part of me, and those are the parts that matter right now.
So here I am at Erewhon, in between meetings, because I need a bunch of overpriced organic groceries, but I also need to shop amongst yoga bunnies to see if I really am broken.
So far, I’ve got a cart full of superfoods and an empty, aching heart.
That is not a future song lyric.
Well, maybe if I work on it.
“Hey.” I hear a little voice from about four feet away, from a human who’s about two feet shorter than the strangers I usually pay attention to.
He has longish wavy brown hair and bright blue eyes, and he appears to have said ‘hey’ to me. I say “hey” back and return to perusing the gluten-free cookies. Because maybe this thing I’ve been dealing with is just a wheat allergy.
“Wanna watch me make this coin disappear?”
This kid’s wearing a child size Bon Jovi shirt that says You give love a bad name. I’m used to talking to grown women who wear child-size shirts, so this is a whole new experience for me. Maybe I am growing. “You know what? I do want to see you make that coin disappear. Go for it.” I turn my body toward him, give him my full attention.
“Okay, cool!” He holds a quarter up. “See this coin? It’s a real quarter—touch it.”
I reach out to pinch it. It does in fact feel like a real quarter. “Yup. That’s a real quarter.”
“Okay, so watch this!” I watch him deftly transfer the quarter to the palm of his other hand as he pushes the sleeves up both of his arms, in a classic misdirection move. When he ostensibly transfers the coin back to the original hand, he holds his closed hand up, squeezes it, then spreads his fingers, one at a time. “Boom! It’s gone!”
“Boom. There it went.” If I were a dick, I’d hold my hand up to make him high-five me with the hand that’s hiding the coin, but his dexterity is pretty impressive. He did just as well as my grandpa used to at Thanksgiving when I was a kid. Minus the farts. “That was awesome.”
He shoves one hand in his pocket and scratches his head. “Enh. I’m still working on it. But thanks.”
“I dig your Bon Jovi shirt. You like that band?”
“Kind of. My grandma gave it to me. It’s her favorite band.”
“Yeah?
That’s cool. My grandma’s favorite band is The Beatles. You know them?”
“I think so. Are they the ones crossing the street? Four of them?”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s the cover of their Abbey Road album.”
“My mom used to sing the song about the sun to me. When I was littler.”
“‘Here Comes the Sun.’ That’s a great song. One of the best songs George Harrison ever wrote”
“Yeah. She cried when she sang it, though.”
“Oh. Well, my grandma cries when she listens to The Beatles sometimes too. That’s just something women need to do sometimes and listening to music or watching chick movies gives them a reason to do it, so you gotta let them have their space.”
“Yeah. I do. I don’t like it when she cries, though.”
“I know, well—tell you what. If she’s listening to Abbey Road, you can put on track five. It’s called ‘Octopus’s Garden.’ Kind of a shitty song, but it’s happy and a little bit country and it doesn’t mean anything, so she’ll probably stop crying.”
“Okay. Is that the one with the bubble sounds?”
“Yeah, there’s some bubble popping sounds on there. To give it an underwater effect.”
“She always skips over that song.”
“I’ll bet.”
This is, by far, the most interesting conversation I’ve had with someone who’s into close-up magic. And also the most interesting conversation I’ve had with someone who was born in the last decade—although admitting that just makes me feel guilty. I should order the twins something online when I get home.
“So…who are you here with? Should we find them?”
He wipes his nose with the back of his arm. “My mom and grandma. They’re here somewhere.”
“They’re probably wondering where you are though.”
“I guess.”
I walk around to the other side of my shopping cart, and when I look up, a dark-haired woman runs past the end of the aisle and then backtracks, pausing when she sees the kid. “Tate! Oh my God.” She turns to call out to someone else, “He’s here! Found him.” She approaches and bends down so she’s face-to-face with the little boy. “Tate. What’d I tell you about walking off like that? You have to tell me or Lou if you want to go somewhere and you aren’t ever supposed to walk off by yourself. Ever. Got it?”
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