The Sound of Serendipity

by Cynthia A. Rodriguez

  Back to the low whisper of words and then the music fades.

  I hit the button for my mic.

  “Perfection, Asa.”

  She bows and wipes her tears with a laugh, and I’m so thankful that this session didn’t go up in flames. For our first, it’s been a little awkward. I don’t know why she decided I was the one to produce the majority of this album, and we haven’t spoken about much in general because that’s my way and she seems content. But I am savoring this feeling even as this session comes to a close. I know this isn’t going to be a permanent feeling. I’m relishing in my self-pity, quietly of course, when the studio door opens and Holly pokes his head inside.

  “You have a meeting in ten.”

  “Cancel it,” I say without looking back up. I hadn’t realized our session ran longer than scheduled. I’m being short with Holly. We haven’t spoken since our tiff the night before, and I don’t know what to say to him. I’m sure he’s already past it, but women work a little differently than men do. At least I do.

  “I’ll let Mr. Kingsley know,” he says as Asa heads out of the booth. He closes the door behind him, and she comes to sit beside me in front of the mixer. I look at these buttons and lights, and I feel closer to these things than to the person sitting next to me. This machine is dependable, and if one day it breaks down, it can be replaced. I can rely on it to do its duty and only that. I glance at Asa and I wonder about her story, but I don’t ask.

  “Ballads are always a little harder for me. Definitely more personal. Sorry for lashing out,” she says before she opens her bottled water and drinks.

  “No problem. It came out the way it was meant to.” I give her a quick smile. “Our next session is on Monday.”

  It’s peculiar that this A-list celebrity is seated beside me and I know her music. I love her music. But I’m not thinking of her as a singer—one of my favorites. No. All I can think of is how awkward working on this project is going to be. I need to try harder and maybe I will next time. I envy the producers who fill the air with energy while I fill it with determined silence.

  She grabs her things and says goodbye with a smile, her curly hair bouncing around her shoulders. I play the song back when I know I’m alone but before I have the chance to listen through once, I’m asleep in my chair.

  “Emmy?” A warm hand on my shoulder wakes me and I have to blink a few times before I realize, with embarrassment, where I am.

  “Holy crap,” I mutter and sit up and I hate how dry my mouth feels.

  “You okay?” Holly squats in front of me to look into my eyes.

  “Yeah. Headache.” I swallow. “What time is it?”

  “Five.” He stands and pulls me up with him. “Let’s go home.”

  “Ugh, I have work to do.” I rub my hands over my face. “Email to answer.”

  “Already taken care of.”

  I stop my movements and stare at Hollis. There are many times I forget his business degree or how observant he is. This is not one of those times.

  “No….”

  He smiles.

  “Yeah. I feel like shit about the way I spoke to you. Not about what I said but the way I said it.” He starts turning off all of the equipment. “Now let’s get out of here. Go get your things while I close this place up.”

  I walk out into the hall and head up to my office. I’m so tired that I nearly stumble in my heels.

  “Woah, there,” Maddox says as he rushes up behind me and steadies me by my elbow. I’m so shocked by his presence that I can’t seem to find my footing so I just halt altogether.

  “I’m good,” I tell him. “I’m good.”

  He grabs both of my shoulders and looks me in my eyes. Those eyes that look like creamy hazelnut butter are staring into mine and it’s like he’s hypnotizing me. I feel drowsier.

  “You look exhausted, Em.”

  I shake my head. From Ms. Kingsley to Em and I was lost somewhere in between.

  “Don’t call me Ms. Kingsley anymore,” I say before I shrug his hands off my shoulders and march to my office. I’m too tired to see his reaction to my strange demand. I’m too tired to be embarrassed that I almost fell in front of him or that I fell asleep for nearly an hour in one of the studios. My hours have been extended, and I’m pushing myself harder than I ever have because I know it’s expected of me.

  On cue, my phone rings.

  “Yes?” I answer as I grab my purse from my desk drawer and reach over to turn off my desk lamp.

  “Hey, Emmy.” My dad’s voice on the other end of the phone sounds as tired as I feel.

  “You okay, dad?”

  I hear his sigh and I’m alert because no matter what, I love him. No matter how much of a brat I’m being or how tired I am, I only have him left and he means the world to me.

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah, everything is fine.” He sighs again. “I’m sorry about lunch. And last night. I let the work get so important. And with Asa coming and demanding to work the rest of her album with you, I feel like you’re going to be around more often. I guess I’m asking you if you’re ready for this.”

  Asking would mean I have an option and I don’t. I need to grow up and stop resenting the path my father’s hard work has given me.

  “I guess I have to be.”

  “You don’t have to be anything, Emmy. Tell me you aren’t ready and it’ll end after Asa’s album. You can go right back to college, get your degree and—”

  “Be like other girls my age?” I finish for him. “I decided to leave school for a reason. It wasn’t where I wanted to be. If you think a diploma makes me better suited, then you’re just like everyone else here who’s waiting for me to lose my spot at the table.”

  “Emerson. You know that’s not true. I didn’t get my degree until after Kingsley Records took off. Screw them and screw the table. I want for you whatever you want for you. So I’m asking you…what do you want?”

  I sit down at my desk in my office in the building that houses the company that will one day be mine. I don’t find any appeal in going back to the sorority scene with the socialites who get drunk off of wine coolers and listen to John Mayer in their boat shoes, and I’m rambling in my head as my father waits on the line.

  I didn’t want it then and I don’t want it now. I left because I didn’t want that life. I didn’t want the fake friends and the old-money opinions. I didn’t want the paper that, after years of struggling over classes and socializing, validated my worth. I want the world to teach me. The only mistake I’d made was in choosing my safe haven. It was always meant to be Kingsley Records, not some boy.

  “I want this. I’m tired, but I’m ready,” I tell him and it’s true. I can’t bring myself to tell him that I don’t want Kingsley. I want the music. But I don’t want Kingsley.

  “Good,” he says, and I know that as long as he sounds as proud of me as he does now, I’ll never tell him because that would mean letting him down.

  Chapter 6

  It’s the last studio session with Asa. This song is upbeat, which is bound to keep me feeling more alive. I’m in a great mood. October flew right by and we are well into November. I’m wearing a pink cashmere sweater. I have my star studs in. This session is going to be great. This album is going to be career-changing for the both of us.

  But I think something isn’t right in Asa’s world because the further we get into this song, the more she hesitates and misses her cues or flubs the lyrics.

  After the fifth mistake, I cut the music and walk into the booth. I need to get on her level to see what’s going on.

  “All right. Talk to me. What’s going on?” I don’t crowd her space. I lean against the door and cross my arms. Not too tight so she doesn’t get the wrong impression. This is her song, and I’m just here to make sure it gets done right. I’m willing to talk, to get her going in order to reach her truth.

  She drops her headset on her set of lyrics and runs her hands through her curly hair. I’ve never seen her the wa
y I am seeing her now—face free of makeup, hair a mess, and her eyes a little tired.

  “This is the last song. Once this is done, nothing is stopping my album from hitting shelves. This album is different, Emerson.”

  Asa has been safe all of her career. Successfully safe. But this album has been what she’s been working toward her entire career. The safe records she put out previously helped to build the platform on which she is releasing this one.

  “Your first single is already topping charts,” I remind her. She’s running her hands through her curls again, and I’m worrying that she’ll be bald by the time we’re through. “Asa. This song is supposed to be uplifting. About falling in love with yourself. You know what I want. I want to be there, but you have to take me there. Worry about the song. Let’s tackle that first. After we can go through the album again if you’d like.”

  “You’d do that?” she asks me, her eyes wide and shiny.

  I’m not going to tell her that it’d likely mean pushing back the release, which will mean bad news for the both of us. We’re already behind schedule since she decided to work with me alone, but I’ve been working with Asa for a few weeks now and I like her. She was tough at first but as a fan of her talent and an overall fan of music, I’d work triple time to make sure we put out the best product we can. More than that, I respect her. She works hard and she talks about her fans on a personal level. I admire that.

  “Only if you agree to finish this song. I know how important this is for you. It’s just as important for me,” I tell her with a grin. I give her a long look before leaving the booth and almost bump into Maddox. His hands reach out, and I have the instinct to run away from those long fingers before they grasp my arms. I hate that he tries to steady me when, in actuality, he’s doing the exact opposite. I don’t want him to touch me because I don’t want to turn into a puddle when Asa needs me. My heart beats fast and I have to remind myself that I’m working. Usually when I’m in work mode, nothing can take me from it. But a second in Maddox’s presence changes everything.

  “Emerson,” he says. “Mind if I sit in with you ladies?” At least he’s not calling me Ms. Kingsley, I think to myself. He’s already walking toward the second chair at the mixer, and I admire the way he’s so at ease. He’s older; the lines in his face prove it in a devastatingly handsome way. But somehow, even looking at the back of him, I can tell. As if he’s lived ages in his body and is so at home, wearing his skin and even his clothes in a way that I envy.

  I wonder how much he’s heard, but I tell him he can stay and the music starts. From the corner of my eye, I see his head bob to the rhythm and I take it as a good sign. She’s hitting this song out of the park and Maddox’s energy is contagious. I want to get up and dance, and I know it affects Asa because she’s giving it all she’s got. When the song ends, Maddox has his hands on my shoulders and he squeezes them. And just like that, I’m a puddle. I’m all liquid and his to run his fingers through.

  It’s been weeks since he’s touched me. Since I stumbled in the hallway and he caught me. Though I’ve been good about not obsessing over him, I can’t help the way my cheeks burn when he’s around.

  I wonder how the women before me could stand the shock of body-to-body impact. I think back on the woman with dirty blonde hair he saw as summer turned to fall. Her hand was always on his arm, always reaching for some connection. How was she able to remain upright? My mind wanders as he removes those strong hands from my shoulders.

  “You’re damn good,” he says, and then he leaves.

  I don’t know what to make of him.

  All I know is that I want him to touch me again. In more friendly ways, sure. But also in personal ways, the kind of touching that you think back on and your breath hitches. The kind of touching that I imagine makes me blush long after he’s gone.

  It feels like ages since I last sat on my bench and listened to the stories around me. Between Asa’s album and video shoots as well as taking on more responsibilities overall, I’ve had my plate full. The more I take on, the better my dad can breathe. He isn’t getting any younger and these past few weeks are proof of that. He’s around less and less, and I’m staying at the office later and later.

  I bring my hot chocolate to my lips as I search for a story. There’s a couple walking up and I call it: He’s going to propose. The dead leaves crunch under their feet as they stray from the pathway. But they’re close enough for me to see everything. She loves him and even though she’s miserably cold, she’s willing to stand out here simply because he asked her to. They walk a little, and then I see him reach for something in his pocket. His phone? He takes a call. The woman beside him starts to rub her hands together, and it’s a few more minutes until he’s done. Will he propose? He certainly has the look. A little green around the gills, a little excited…eyes full of blatant adoration.

  “I feel like I’ve imagined you here before,” I hear someone say, and I break my gaze from the woman who waits. Though she’s the one on the verge of a monumental moment, I feel like maybe the fact that Maddox is standing just to the side of me might mean something, too.

  “Maddox.” I sip my hot chocolate as my eyes look over him. No leather jacket, he opted for a wool coat instead. The cap on his head is tipped back so it barely covers his pink ears. Eyes as brown as my beverage are crinkled with humor.

  “I swear I wasn’t following you.”

  I shrug because I know he didn’t. This place is ours, even if I’m the only one to know it.

  “It’s like déjà vu. Or you belong here or something.” He exhales and looks up at the darkening sky. I watch his breath disappear and finally notice he’s alone. I’m surprised but I still don’t speak. Will he tell me how often he comes here? Or what he does? Is that how this conversation will go?

  “I get the feeling that my presence bothers you. You don’t speak to me. Things are awkward between the two of us. I just…want us to be okay.” He raises his glove-covered hands. “Professionally okay.”

  I look past Maddox at the couple I’d been watching before. The man is on one knee, and I smile and look down. Called it. When I look back up, Maddox is looking at them too.

  “Congratulations,” he yells, his hands cupped around his mouth in a makeshift loudspeaker.

  I cover my face as the couple kisses and I laugh at Maddox. He takes it as an invitation to sit beside me but I still keep my face forward, even as my smile remains. She’s gotten her moment and I have nothing. When my smile fades, the wind picks up a bit, attempting to take my loose strands of hair with it.

  “It should start snowing any minute now,” he announces and leans back on the bench. I want to scoff and tell him that it won’t snow in November in New York but I don’t. I glance at him and notice his arm stretched out behind me.

  I know that if I sit back, his hand will brush the ends of my hair and the idea of it is enough to keep me upright. Maddox, my dream, feels so warm and solid and real beside me.

  “Your brain must get so tired,” he whispers near my ear and I jerk back.

  “Why?”

  “I bet you’ve built entire civilizations in there. And guessing by the way you refuse to speak unless absolutely necessary, I’d be willing to bet that every thought beats at your brain. I can see possibilities in your eyes. They live behind the bars you set them up in, and they’re begging me to convince you to let them free.”

  How does he notice these things about me? The underlying meaning behind what he’s saying is making me feel unsteady. Maddox has been paying attention to me whether I know it or not. So I ask the next natural question.

  “How would you know? You don’t even know me.”

  He shrugs.

  “I don’t. But I know what I see.”

  Ding ding ding.

  I smile and finally turn toward him. His laugh lines are prominent, and I want to know about each laugh. The joy he’s experienced so far has marked his face and though some may find fault in wrinkles and lines, I on
ly admire them. I don’t want to wonder about him anymore, I want to know it all.

  “I’m…sorry I walked out on you at lunch that day. It was rude of me.”

  “It was,” he says as he smiles and nods in agreement. “But I get the impression that being rude isn’t something you’re known for, so I’m willing to let it slide.”

  I’ve run out of hot chocolate and reasons why I shouldn’t talk to him, so I decide to do just that. To finally have a conversation when….

  “Maddox?”

  The woman I face is a blonde goddess. She’s wearing a confused smile and while I’m sure she’s a very nice lady, I can’t help but feel a little disappointed by our disturbance. I don’t know that I’m necessarily surprised by her interruption, though. While we are constantly thrust in each other’s lives, it’s hardly in the romantic capacity. Maybe the universe doesn’t have that in store for us.

  “Hi…” she starts.

  “Gwen?” Maddox asks, and I hate that he remembers her name and that he’s welcoming her presence in our place. She looks at me and I feel silly, so I offer my hand. There’s nothing that is ours. Everything is just…me.

  “Emerson,” I say in introduction.

  She shakes it, her smile still confused like she can’t understand why I’m here or like I’m the one bombarding their peaceful almost-conversation.

  “Nice to meet you. Are you…?” She flicks her wrist toward us.

  Maddox shakes his head while I say, “No. I—we work together.” There’s nothing that is ours.

  She runs her hand over her braid, her smile relaxed and aimed completely at Maddox. I wonder if he’s ever held her hand.

  “Do you mind…could we maybe talk?” She looks at him like she wants to do more than talk, and I wonder if Maddox’s penis ever gets tired. I almost feel bad for him. He’s glancing back and forth between us as if he doesn’t know how to handle the situation, so I take the lead and stand.

  I mumble some sort of goodbye. Maddox looks at me like he wants to say something just as the first flakes of snow fall. They’re tiny—microscopic, really—but they dust over him and between us and maybe they land on me too, but all I can see is Maddox. He’s all I can focus on.