“Who knew…?”
20
“Bar’s filled to the gills. Going to be a lucrative night. Thanks, Aria.”
Aria cocked her blue eye at Harry, the bartender and manager of The Rum River, while lifting a shoulder. “Don’t thank me. You’ve got a lot of amazing artists playing here every night. I’m sure these people are here for them much more than me.”
“Enough with the modesty. We put up the video for ‘Who Knew’ a week ago and it already has half a million views. That’s more than every other performance video on our YouTube page combined. You have a gift, baby.” Harry set her favorite drink, a vodka cranberry, on the bar in front of her. “You should be proud of yourself. Hell, you should be pursuing it seriously. Shop ‘Who Knew’ around to all the big labels and see who bites.”
Aria took a huge swig of her drink and gave the bar a cursory glance. One look at the shoulder-to-shoulder patrons waiting for her to take the stage, she nearly choked on the liquid in her mouth.
“I don’t have it in me,” she said, stirring her drink. “Just knowing that some of these people might be here specifically for me is throwing me into a mini panic attack.”
“You should listen to him….” A new voice came in next to Aria just as Harry moved to the opposite end of the bar to serve another customer.
Aria turned to her right, where the voice had come from, and couldn’t help her immediate smile at the tall, caramel-colored black man next to her. His head was shaved completely bald, but it was balanced out nicely by a perfect goatee around his plush pink lips.
Aria felt her spine straightening and she blushed, looking back down at her drink. “Ah, Harry just loves me, that’s all. He’ll say anything to make me feel good about myself.”
“But I didn’t hear one single lie leave his mouth,” the man said, offering Aria his hand. “I’m Daniel.”
Aria shook his hand.
“I work for Motown Records.”
Aria’s eyes exploded in size.
He smiled in response to the shock on her face. “And, just as our friendly neighborhood bartender has informed you, I’m here for you, Aria, and no one else.”
Aria brought a finger to her chest, pointing to her heart. “For m-me…?”
“You.” He grinned, showing a perfect set of teeth. “I saw the video of you singing ‘Who Knew.’ Did you write it?”
She nodded rapidly. “I did. I’ve never been much of a songwriter. I mean, I’ve been surrounded by them my whole life, so I may have picked up a few tricks here or there, but I’ve never been quite their caliber.”
“I beg to differ. The song is incredible, and it deserves better than a tiny bar in Soho. It deserves to be heard by the world.”
“I like my tiny bar,” Aria mumbled, matching his laugh.
“Don’t get me wrong, I like it too. It never fails to surprise me with undiscovered gems like you.”
When the host took the stage and announced that Aria was up next, followed by loud applause, Daniel pushed her arm gently with the back of his hand.
“I’ll be watching.” He winked and then pushed away from the bar.
Aria watched him go until he’d disappeared into the thick crowd.
Then she finished the rest of her vodka cranberry in two swallows.
--
The alcohol worked wonders. By the time Aria was taking her seat on the stool in the middle of the stage, the eyes on her—eyes that had tripled in number in less than a week—didn’t leave her on the verge of emptying her stomach. She met those eyes head-on, cradling her guitar on her lap. Even as she locked eyes with Daniel, tucked into the far corner of the bar, her fingers didn’t give the nervous tick they used to. Her heartbeat didn’t pick up to levels that threatened to affect her voice negatively. She leaned in to the microphone and managed a genuine smile to the crowd.
“How’s everybody doing tonight?” A loud “whoooo” from the crowd made her giggle. “That’s good. Sounds like everyone’s having a good time. This song has gotten me a lot of attention over the past few days, and it really means a lot, because it’s one very close to my heart. It’s called ‘Who Knew.’”
Scattered cheers came in from the crowd, but most of them remained silent in anticipation.
Aria let her eyes flutter closed as she played the opening note on the guitar and melted into the first verse. The lyrics entered her body, her soul, and took over, just like they had the first moment she’d taken a pen to the paper and written them down. As she made her way into the chorus, she let her eyes open just in time to see many lips from the crowd mouthing her words back to her. They didn’t sing along out loud, however, allowing her voice to take center stage.
As she moved into the second verse, she was no longer in a bar, no longer stewing under hundreds of unfamiliar eyes, no longer being observed by one of the biggest labels in the country. No, she was lost in the lyrics, the music, the guitar coming alive under her fingers, and she was home.
It wasn’t until she was on her way into the chorus for the second time that she realized a voice had joined her. Her eyes flew back open, expecting to see a male patron of the bar singing along a little too loudly, but then realized the voice was too poignant to be coming from the crowd. Too sharp. Too clear.
Then, the first scream came from the crowd. It wasn’t the kind of scream she’d earned, however; it was a scream of both shock and exuberance. Another cry joined in, a cry of familiarity. Soon, the entire bar exploded. Drink-bearing hands flew up in the air, and every eye in the audience seemed to be bugging out of the patron’s heads. Fingers pointed to the stage, behind her.
Knowing the explosion had nothing to do with her, Aria snapped her head to the back of the stage where the roaring crowd pointed, and she stopped playing. Stopped singing. Stopped breathing.
But Yoshi carried on, his eyes locked to hers from the rear of the stage as he purred her lyrics into the microphone in his hand. He made his way towards her slowly, with his hand over his heart. If he was aware of the crowd that was losing their minds over his unexpected appearance, he didn’t show it; he couldn’t tear his eyes from her.
Aria didn’t even realize the guitar had slipped out of her hand until it went clattering to the floor.
Yoshi watched it fall, but he didn’t stop singing.
And when Aria felt bile rising to her throat, she leapt out of her seat and raced down into the crowd.
That time, Yoshi did stop singing, just long enough to shout her name into the microphone.
But Aria didn’t stop. Pushing through the thick crowd of confused faces and harsh objections to her interruption, she wasn’t able to see straight again until she’d bounded out the door of the bar and stepped into the cool night air.
Then she was running as fast as she could, clearing blocks and turning corners with the speed of an Olympic sprinter. She was sure her legs had cleared at least half the island of Manhattan until she felt a pair of hands taking her from behind. When she pivoted on her heels and met eyes with Yoshi, and saw the sign of the sushi restaurant she loved glowing behind him, she realized she’d only made it a few blocks.
“I can’t have shit, can I?” She pulled her arms out of his hold. “I can’t have shit, Yoshi. You got what you wanted, didn’t you? You’re an international superstar. A sensation! Why aren’t you happy yet? Why aren’t you satisfied yet? How dare you show up here like this? Without a word? Without so much as a phone call? How dare you accost me onstage like that after all this time? Do you have some kind of sixth fucking sense? Like you could smell that I was finally getting over you, and you decided to come throw a wrench in all of it?”
Yoshi’s wide hazel eyes followed her as she paced back and forth, his eyebrows pulling. “Oh…” He licked his teeth. “That’s gold coming from you, Aria. That’s gold. You ignore my texts, my phone calls, and all my letters, and then you write that—” he pointed in the direction of the bar “—that fucking song? Like I’ve been the bad guy all this time? Like y
ou’re the one who got deserted? Like I’m in the wrong?”
Aria stopped pacing and met his eyes, frowning deeply. Her chest heaved. “What?” she spat.
Yoshi pounded his fisted hand against his heart. “I just cancelled the last leg of my tour, took a financial hit that is going to set me back months, just to fly out here because you had to write that fucking song!” When she didn’t answer, his voice rose. “And you have the balls to stand there and berate me? Blame me?”
Neither of them was aware of the passersby on the sidewalk slowing to a stop to see what all the fuss was about. Thankfully, none of them seemed to recognize Yoshi right away—probably because his previously blond tips had been died back to black—so the onlookers eventually left the scene. Just another couple arguing on a New York City sidewalk. Aria knew it was only a matter of time before someone did recognize him, and that they would soon be making a spectacle of themselves. But she couldn’t control herself.
“Of course I wrote the song, Yoshi. I’ve written a lot of songs. It’s how I cope with the fucked-up way I’ve been treated. It’s what I’ve been feeling, what’s been killing me, what’s been eating me alive from the moment you abandoned me.”
“I abandoned you?” he roared, stepping closer to her, his eyes going manic. “What the fuck are you talking about, Aria? I’ve been fighting for you. I’ve been making myself sick for you.”
Tears filled Aria’s eyes as she searched his. “Is this the person you’ve become? Not just a puppet to the industry, to Simon Brady, but a liar too?” When he could only sputter as a response, her voice rose. “I called you when I left Los Angeles. I called a million times. I texted a million times. For an entire month, I called. I wanted to work it out. I tried.”
“You think I didn’t have my phone glued to my side every second of every day? You think I haven’t stared at my phone obsessively since the night I came home to that empty house in LA? I almost lost my chance at the Super Bowl so I could run home and finish duking it out with you, but you’d already packed all your shit and left without another word. I called you every day, every minute, every second, for months. Months! And you never picked up. I left you voice mails crying—hysterically crying, Aria—when I found out my father didn’t want to see me. I needed you so badly that I wept for you. Begged for you. The torture of being stuck on a tour I couldn’t afford to buy my way out of nearly killed me… and you have the audacity to stand here and call me a puppet? Call me a liar?” His eyes gleamed with his emotion, matching the moisture building in her own.
Aria held her hands out. They shook. “Yoshi?” She tried to lower her voice. “I did not get a single voice mail, I did not get a single phone call, I did not get one single letter. From the moment I landed in New York, I have not heard a single word from you. Not one.”
“I wrote you a letter every day.”
“And, somehow, I didn’t get a single one of these phantom letters—”
“Aria. I sent the letters. I had Carmen…” The moment the name left Yoshi’s mouth, he tripped over his words. He straightened, his eyes dancing back and forth. And then he jammed them shut.
The tears in Aria’s face dried. Her eyes followed him as he began to pace, mumbling to himself, his fingers stuck in his hair. Then he suddenly stopped pacing, looking at the sky, and cursed at the top of his lungs.
Passersby on the sidewalk crossed the street to avoid him.
Yoshi moved back to Aria, reaching for her.
She stepped away, cringing.
“Aria. I think Carmen…” He stared off into space, cringing, as if he could hardly conceptualize the thoughts in his head. “I think Carmen did something to stop you and me from getting to each other.”
Aria crossed her arms over her chest. “Is that the story you’re going with now? Gotta tell you, it needs work.”
Yoshi’s eyes moved like a scanner, thinking. “It was Carmen,” he finally said, a realization washing over him that made every muscle in his body relax. Then, he laughed.
Aria watched his face light up, hating the way it warmed her soul in an instant.
That time, when Yoshi took her arms, she didn’t pull back.
“Aria, I love you. Please sit down with me somewhere so we can talk about this. Please hear me out.”
Aria cut her eyes at him. “I’ll never give you another chance to hurt me, Yosh.”
“I’m just asking for a drink. One drink.” He shook her, his eyes filled with a hope that hadn’t been there before, not even when he’d joined her onstage. “Please.”
--
After finding a quiet booth in the back of a cigar lounge across the street, Yoshi found himself leaning across the small wood table, silently asking for Aria’s lowered eyes. Outside the private lounge, paparazzi had spotted him and were snapping pictures through the glass outside.
Yoshi didn’t even notice them, too busy memorizing every dip and curve of her face. It had been so long since he’d looked at her; he felt like he could drink her in forever. He played with the lime-green band hanging from his necklace under quaking fingers.
“She must’ve found some way to filter out your number while I was sleeping, so I didn’t get any of your texts or calls the next day. Once I fixed everything with Dexter Hawthorne, and the Super Bowl was made official, things on tour got really hectic. I didn’t have time to mail off the letters myself, so I gave them to Carmen to take to the post office. I trusted her. Fuck, I’m such an idiot.” He hid his head in his hands.
Aria, arms crossed from the other side of the booth, stared down at their drinks, her vodka cranberry and his beer.
Yoshi lifted his head from his hands and reached across the table, holding his palms up. “Baby, I never stopped loving you. I never stopped, I swear to God. If Carmen hadn’t put herself in the middle of our fucking business, we’d still be together right now.”
Aria thought on that. “Would we?”
Yoshi’s face fell, unsure of how to respond.
“Do you still have your old phone?” she asked. “The one Carmen supposedly tampered with?”
“I got rid of it after six months of no response from you. Wiped my contacts clean. It was the only way I knew how to free myself. The only way to stop myself from contacting you and being shredded when I got no response. Then Gus found your address, and the madness started all over again. I couldn’t stop myself from writing you a letter every day. Just hoping that one time, just one time… you’d respond.”
“Those songs you wrote. Those songs on the second album….”
“I thought you’d abandoned me,” he breathed, knowing where she was going. “That, on top of my father abandoning me? Yes, the songs… The songs were about you. I was in pain. I was angry. Something had to give. I had to get it out of me.”
Aria’s eyes fell as the arms crossed over her chest tightened.
“Aria, when Gus found my father, and he didn’t want to see me, I finally understood why I wanted the fame so bad, why I hurt Adam, hurt you, hurt all the people who gave a damn. It was because I was praying, deep down, that my father would regret letting me go. I prayed that he’d see my star on the rise and realize I was worth finding. Worth loving. Worth keeping. It didn’t occur to me until he spit on my shoes all over again that he didn’t matter, at all. He never did. I couldn’t see how important it was in this industry—in this life—to hold on to the people who’d loved me from day one. How unimportant it was to embrace the people who didn’t. I let my insecurities affect our relationship. I put my career before our relationship, because I wasn’t happy with where I was. I wasn’t where I thought I wanted to be. It wasn’t until you were gone, when I looked out into those sold-out crowds every night, with people screaming my name and telling me how much they loved me… It wasn’t until then that I realized I didn’t feel it. I didn’t feel the peace I’d always thought I’d feel. It was like the shackle around my neck had latched on ten times tighter. With someone twisting the key more every day. It didn’t matter
that the world loved me. It didn’t matter if I won every award, hit number one on every chart, got invited to every Super Bowl for the next decade. It felt hollow, because I knew no one in my life would ever love me with the same sincerity that you did. That Adam did. And you know what? I’ll never love anyone again the way I love you either.”
Aria swept away a tear that fell from her eye, sniffling.
Yoshi sighed. “Because somewhere, in the back of my mind, I’d always wonder if they’d have loved Yoshi the orphan. Yoshi the drummer. Yoshi the nobody.”
“You were never a nobody,” she whispered. “And I always told you to stop caring about that awful man and what he thought of you.”
“You told me, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t know how to stop caring when I was convinced that money and fame would win him back. Convinced it would make him see me. Love me. I was blinded by it. But it was losing you, waking up without you, singing without you, breathing without you that really killed me. It killed me that I never got a chance to, at the very least, say good-bye. I wanted you. I chased you. Even when I believed you hated me…” Yoshi let his head fall when Aria finally uncrossed her arms and laid her hands in his, letting him grip them.
His intense eyes searched hers over the table, squeezing.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry about your father.”
That was all Yoshi needed, and emotions he’d been fighting to keep at bay came pouring out. “I’m sorry I left you that night in LA. I’m so sorry. I should’ve never left you. Standing naked at the pool—not just physically naked, but emotionally—you were just completely bare before me, and I walked away. I’d give anything to go back and fix it. I can’t. But I can fix the now. I’ll drop the Super Bowl. I’ll never record another album. I only have one album left in my contract and I’ll make it a greatest hits. I won’t sign a new deal. I’ve been seeing a sponsor, and haven’t touched a single drug in months. Not even pills.” He yanked her hands, pulling her across the tiny table until their foreheads met. “I just want you, Bo. God, I need you. I’ll do anything to get you back.”
Encore (Stereo Hearts Book 2) Page 27
