Heart Beat

by Pratt, Lulu

  She said it as though it was a request, but she didn’t wait for my response. Instead, she turned on the bench and did just as she had said. Her hands moved up and down the keys, her shoulders moving in a wave that was as rhythmic as the sound from the notes.

  Any apprehension I’d had about coming to her house evaporated. I was certain she was comfortable, in her zone ready to create. I closed my eyes and let the music flow through me until I could see the words clearly.

  I sang as though the words were prisoners, dying for their freedom. Sadie would adjust the melody and switch keys, and I would repeat the lyrics, as we tried for a choreographed dance of words that felt right. Without instruction or a plan, we worked together like we had for years.

  She understood me and created as quickly and organically as I liked to. It had been forever since I felt music come to me so naturally. When I finally opened my eyes, we had created at least five variations of the song as the lyrics came together to form what I thought could be a masterpiece.

  I felt both exhausted and exhilarated, as though I’d expressed something weighing me down. It was freeing to finally have it out, but getting to that point took every ounce of energy I had. Sadie turned from the piano with a smile on her gorgeous face. We sat silently for a few moments.

  “That was cool,” she finally said in a breathy tone.

  “Yeah, Sadie, it was.”

  Chapter 9

  SADIE

  “HE’S YOUR BOSS, Sadie,” I whispered as sternly as I could manage, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I’d excused myself for a moment after our work session, feeling invigorated in a way that felt strangely inappropriate. I’d been hired to work with Wyatt on an album, so by all accounts, nothing we’d done was out of line.

  An impromptu jam session was to be expected, but still I felt… well, wrong, when we finished. The music stopped playing after an hour that felt like a minute, and I felt lost, dizzy by the surge of creativity.

  Wyatt was a machine, stringing together words so effortlessly. Following his direction, I would switch keys, and listen in awe as his voice followed. At times, I was certain he was making lyrics up on the fly, just flowing along to the rhythm.

  Even in band practice, I’d never experienced anything quite like it. To my surprise, I’d worked up a sweat. Feeling a little overwhelmed, I retreated after showing Wyatt to the living room.

  Now, with my heart still pounding, I readied myself to join him. Smoothing my hands over my hair, I tried to tame the flyways while repeating my reminder.

  “He’s your boss.” My warning was slightly more convincing this time. After splashing cool water on my face, I looked less panicked, and prepared myself with three deep breaths.

  Wyatt wasn’t on the sofa where I’d left him. Instead, I found him in the kitchen, reaching for a teapot on the top shelf. Stretched on his toes, his white T-shirt rose, revealing more ink designs tattooed along his waist. My eyes trailed on his skin, wondering how far the design covered his body.

  “Can I get you something?” I asked, purposely startling him and hoping to deter the direction of my thoughts.

  Thankfully, he retrieved the porcelain pot carefully, setting it on the wooden top of the kitchen island. “I didn’t know people still had these. You’re like… vintage,” he smirked.

  “It’s what I can afford. But I’m not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment,” I giggled.

  “A compliment, definitely,” he added quickly.

  “Would you like some tea?” I asked, reaching for some tea bags. I popped three teabags into the pot. The pot was hand painted, with vines and pink roses and a little black cat’s face on the lid, a detail that had drawn me to it at a flea market my first weekend in Nashville. With four matching teacups and saucers, it was quite possibly the cutest thing I’d ever seen.

  Knowing the tea set deserved a better home than the room I planned to rent, I tried to talk myself out of it. Twice, I walked past the seller’s table hoping someone else would purchase the beauty and save me the trouble, but each time it sat there with its cups and saucers, calling to me.

  When my parents decided to purchase a home for me, I tailored my entire kitchen décor around the tea set, though I rarely used it. It was far too pretty, a true piece of art.

  “Sorry, actually, thinking about it, it’s a bit hot for tea. Do you mind if I have some iced tea instead?” Wyatt asked.

  “That would probably be better,” I agreed. On my way to the refrigerator, I grabbed two glasses from the cabinet. “I hope you like your tea sweet.”

  “I’m a Southern boy, it’s the only way,” Wyatt smiled, extended his hand to accept the glass. Our fingers touched accidentally, and the rush I’d felt after our jam session resurfaced.

  I sipped the tea, grateful for the cool liquid. My body temperature seemed to rise whenever I was near Wyatt, while he appeared cool and unbothered.

  “There’s a story behind this house,” Wyatt said, more as an announcement than a question. “I want to hear about it.”

  “What do you mean?” I played coy.

  “You’re what? Twenty? Twenty-one? And you have an actual home. Everyone I know your age either has two roommates, hides in their parents’ basement or lives an hour from downtown.”

  “I’m twenty-two.”

  “I stand corrected.” He chuckled, holding his hands up defenselessly. “So, the house?” he asked, reaching for his glass before heading towards the living room.

  Without thinking, I followed him. Even in my own home, he had me on edge, like I was still auditioning. Wyatt paused, looking at the colorful picture frames. One was my mother and father with me at my high school graduation. In another, I stood on stage, my eyes closed as my hands gripped tightly around a microphone. The last was a picture of Gayle and me after one of our best shows in Green Hill.

  It was rare that we traveled as a band, so when we did, I felt like I’d really made it. Touring was a dream, even if it was just one show an hour from home. Wyatt turned to face me, his eyebrows raising as though I’d forgotten something.

  “Oh, the house,” I remembered, pushing my unruly hair behind my ear. “My parents bought it when I moved to Nashville. They didn’t want me sharing a house with roommates, and I couldn’t find a way to explain that I wanted to struggle.”

  “You want to struggle?” He frowned, joining me on the sofa.

  “You know,” I waved my hand nervously. “The struggling artist dues. I want to pay them and live in the rundown apartment, eat ramen noodles, steal packets of sauce from the fast food joints, the whole struggling artist thing.”

  Wyatt smiled, and without a word I knew he understood exactly what I meant. Every dedicated musician I talked to had the same desire and eagerness to start their rags-to-riches story. We all wanted to start from the bottom and work our way up.

  “Your parents want to put you on the fast track to success, huh?” he asked, looking over his glass as he sipped his tea.

  “Not at all,” I laughed softly, thinking of my parents. “My parents think of this all as a phase. They want me to go to college, get a six-figure salary, marry a doctor or a lawyer, get a mortgage, have some kids. You know, the whole thing.”

  “They’d love Billie then,” he huffed. “My sister is obsessed with her boyfriend – he’s a lawyer. She has everything going for her professionally, but she’d rather throw it all away for some depressing suburban existence.”

  “Maybe she’s in love,” I reasoned. Though Billie wasn’t the nicest the first time I met her, I didn’t want to say anything that would make Wyatt think I didn’t like his sister. Deep down, I wanted Billie to like me. Though her music wasn’t my favorite, she was beyond cool. Her style was chic with little effort and a nice balance of sex appeal.

  “Even if she is,” Wyatt started, “I don’t understand why you can’t be in love and committed to your career. Brad certainly hasn’t put his career on hold. My sister chases after him like some helpless woman in need of
saving, when in reality she’s the star. He should be chasing her.”

  I was a bit taken aback by his openness, and from the look of relief and shock on his face, I felt he hadn’t planned to be so vulnerable. After only a short conversation, I felt closer to him.

  A silence fell over us that was anything but awkward. Wyatt searched my eyes, and I wanted to look away. I needed to if I had any chance of keeping things between us professional. I tried to turn, reminding myself that he was my boss, but our eyes remained locked as time slowed.

  A short breath escaped me, and Wyatt swallowed slowly. I feel sure he wanted to kiss me; I only hoped he couldn’t tell how badly I wanted him to. Before either of us were forced to make a decision, his phone rang loudly, jolting me out of my haze.

  “Sorry, gotta get this.” He answered, standing from the sofa. “Hello?”

  The spell was broken, and I felt grateful. Being alone with him at times felt suffocating. Like the walls were closing in on me, yet I didn’t want any space. I enjoyed the tension.

  “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll be there,” Wyatt said into the phone. I stood, taking both of our glasses into the kitchen as he ended the call.

  “Hey, that was Mitchell. I have to meet with the label first thing Monday. Let’s pick this up another day,” he said, rounding the kitchen island so we were facing each other.

  “Okay,” I nodded, unsure how to properly say goodbye.

  Wyatt took a step forward, then paused and again moved forward, wrapping his arms around me. It was an awkward yet endearing hug. His scent was alluring, patchouli and sandalwood mixed with the faint tang of sweat.

  “I’ll see you soon,” he said, rushing out of the room. He left, taking the air with him. I listened for the front door to close before releasing the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  Chapter 10

  WYATT

  “IT’S JUST, I thought we were getting along better than this,” Mitchell whispered.

  For one of the largest record companies in Tennessee, the waiting room was less than impressive. With only four plush seats and a small desk for the receptionist, it was wise for Mitchell to keep his voice down. From the way the young woman behind the desk kept looking up at me, I was certain she could hear everything we said.

  “When you want something, you don’t have to go through the label, you can talk directly to me. You know I always represent your interests,” Mitchell continued.

  “Let’s just discuss it in the meeting,” I responded without looking towards him. I’d tried my best to work directly with the producer, but he was intent on making things difficult.

  When I scheduled the meeting with the execs, I hadn’t expected they would invite Mitchell, but to tell the truth I didn’t care. He needed to learn that he wasn’t the boss of my project and I wasn’t going to be micromanaged by anyone.

  Before Mitchell could respond, a man appeared in the doorway, dressed in a gray suit. “Mr. Hart, Mr. Young, they’ll see you now.”

  We followed him down the narrow hallways as he made small talk with Mitchell about a new act the label was working to break in the Southern regions. From their conversation, I picked up the girl was from the west coast, but had been trending well online in Southern regions. They wanted to set up a tour, possibly as an opener for a larger act.

  “Well, here you are,” the young man announced as we arrived at the office of Jared Frott, the man responsible for overseeing my upcoming album with my sister.

  “Wyatt! Good to see you!” Jared stood from behind his desk. We shook hands before he greeted Mitchell. I’d always liked his office, which was much bigger than necessary. Two large leather chairs sat across from his mahogany desk. Jared settled into his chair, which sat slightly taller than ours, a detail I appreciated. Behind us were two couches, a bar, and a large TV.

  “Can I offer you two a drink?” he asked, motioning towards the bar.

  I never saw myself as a suit and tie type of man. I hated the idea of spending my days in meetings. But if I had to, I think Jared’s office would be ideal. He had it set up to feel less stuffy and formal than other exec offices I’d been in.

  “I’m good,” I declined the drink, lounging in the chair.

  “So, what’s going on?” he asked, holding his hands up. “I was expecting you and your sister.”

  “Billie is meeting with a candle company,” I explained. “I wanted to talk about the upcoming album.”

  “Of course!” He nodded excitedly. “I’ve been looking forward to hearing some new music from you two.”

  “It’s kind of difficult to record when I’m not approved for studio time,” I said, biting back as much of my frustration as possible.

  Jared looked to Mitchell, who moved nervously in his seat. “Well, you see, Billie isn’t available,” Mitchell mumbled.

  It was the reason Mitchell had refused to book any more studio time, claiming it was pointless unless both me and Billie were present. I’d tried reasoning with him before setting up the meeting, but that wasn’t my job. I was an artist, and recording was all I cared about. I couldn’t understand why that was so difficult for everyone to understand.

  Rather than arguing with Mitchell, I went around and over him. Spending the day with Sadie was the most productive thing I had done in months, despite the fact that I didn’t record a word. There was a chemistry between us that made creating come naturally.

  Sadie was the most talented pianist I’d ever worked with. Where I used to have to give direction, she adjusted with ease. It was like she could read my mind, leading me through obstacles to match the words with the melody.

  My body was still reacting to the intensity of being around her, something I knew was wrong. She was an employee, and I had to keep things professional. In a way, it was alluring that she was off limits. I wondered if it made her even more attractive.

  She was the type of woman who had no idea how gorgeous she was. It was evident by the way she behaved, timid and doubtful. Yet, she changed whenever we were performing, shedding her shell to reveal a more confident version of herself.

  I liked to think this side of her was reserved for me, a product of our secret connection. I couldn’t for one second believe that she didn’t also feel the tension between us. It was palpable, like electricity in the air. I only hoped it didn’t make her uncomfortable. From the way she looked at me, I felt that our attraction was mutual. And because she had yet to act on it, I knew we were in agreement that it would be inappropriate.

  But a man could think, and fantasize, and that was exactly what I had been doing since I left her place. Against my will, she’d dominated my thoughts. I wasn’t the type to desire a woman. There were too many draped over me at all times, ready and willing to do what I wanted whenever I wanted. With Sadie, things were different. She intrigued me beyond the physical. I liked being around her, and most importantly, she inspired me creatively.

  I never wanted a situation like my sister’s, where the person I was dating interfered with my work. For me, work was first. There was no way I could even entertain someone who didn’t understand that. Sadie was as committed to the artistry as me. Things with her would be different.

  Realizing I was considering what it would be like to date the pianist hired to work on my album stopped my thoughts in their tracks. What was I thinking? I couldn’t be in a relationship. Not with Sadie, or anyone else.

  “What do you think of that?” Jared turned to me.

  I hadn’t paid any attention to the conversation he and Mitchell were having, lost to my own confusing thoughts. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

  “Look, we only have room in the release schedule for this album in the third quarter, and if it’s not going out then, it will sit on the shelf until second quarter next year. Can you work on the album without your sister being present, and just add her later?” Jared asked.

  “Yeah, that’s how we usually do it,” I said.

  “Then it’s settled.” Jared stood, announc
ing the meeting was over whether we wanted it to be or not.

  Mitchell and I both followed suit, shaking Jared’s hand before dismissing ourselves. On the way out, Mitchell apologized. I’d already suggested the resolution to record without Billie and later add her vocals. We’d lost a morning and had an unnecessary meeting all because he’d refused to do things my way.

  I assured him everything was fine. I wasn’t upset about missing a day in the studio. Not when I had been so productive at Sadie’s. Now, I’d be ready with at least two songs thanks to our creative session at her place.

  What bothered me most was my inability to focus in the meeting. It was unlike me to be deterred, especially when it came to my career. Billie was the one who would take calls and texts during meetings, but not me. I liked to know everything that was going on.

  Today, I’d completely dropped the ball, daydreaming about Sadie like a teenager while Mitchell and Jared were discussing particulars about the album. On my way through the parking lot, I tried to make sense of it all.

  I couldn’t have Sadie. She was off limits. So why did I keep thinking about her? Imagining my body pressed against hers? She’d given me a look at her place, one I was very familiar with. It was a green light only eyes could give. I knew she wanted me, but I had to be the one to stop it.

  She was too talented to lose, and I didn’t want to complicate our working relationship by stepping out of bounds. Women had a way of taking things too seriously, thinking there was more to a situation than there was. I couldn’t risk that with Sadie, and so that meant I needed to bury the craving I felt for her.

  “I reserved a studio session for Thursday, okay?” Mitchell called from behind me.

  “Yeah, sure thing,” I yelled back before climbing into my car. I only hoped I’d be able to behave myself better the next time I was with Sadie.