by C. L. Roman
Bryce smiled, “No problem.”
Bryce leaned down to pick up his guitar case and follow Seth inside. As they approached the elevator, Seth inquired, “So, what floor are you on?”
“Sixth, you?”
Laughing, Seth replied, “Sixth.”
Bryce blurted, “No shit?”
As the two stepped through the open doors of the elevator, Seth replied, “No shit…”
Bryce chuckled, “Sorry about that. Just a pretty big coincidence, don’t you think?”
The elevator doors slid open on the sixth floor, “These days, I don’t really think anything is a coincidence.”
The two men turned to the right and walked down the hall. Seth stopped in front of his door, “Thanks for the hand. You didn’t have to follow me to my door, though.”
Bryce laughed and gestured to the door directly across the hall, “Yeah, I did. That door is mine.”
The two laughed as Seth unlocked his door, “Come in for a beer?”
Bryce replied with a sigh of relief, “That would be really nice, thanks.”
Chapter 2
As Seth unpacked his groceries, he asked, “So, you’re a musician?”
Bryce, propped against the bar in the kitchen, looked at him with surprise, “How’d you know that?”
Seth motioned toward the guitar with a nod of his head, prompting Bryce to laugh, “Oh yeah! I forgot I’m carrying a guitar around. Um, yeah, I am. I play guitar and sing.”
Seth nodded, “That’s cool. You’re in the right city, then.”
“Yeah, that’s what I hear. Me and a million other just like me.”
Done putting away his groceries, Seth moved into the den and held out a beer to Bryce, “Come on in and sit down.”
The men moved to the sofa and an adjacent chair as Seth continued, “I know how you feel right now. I’m a songwriter. I felt like one of a million, too, when I got here.”
Bryce took a long draw of his beer, “Really? How long have you been here?”
Seth recapped the last year-and-a-half of his life, since moving to Nashville. Bryce hung on every word, soaking in the information.
This city and this business is a lot about who you know. Seth learned that the hard way.
Over the next six months, Seth and Bryce became close friends. As the time passed, the two discovered that they had a lot in common. Both grew up in Tennessee, both went to UT a few years apart and both were only children. There were quite a few more commonalities between the two, which only strengthened their bond.
It turned out that Bryce was a damn good musician. Good enough that Seth didn’t think twice about introducing him to some friends and colleagues in the business.
Now, it’s two years later, and Seth is excited to see his friend. Bryce has been on the road with Jolene Carson as the touring guitarist.
Quite a few artists have requested Bryce to either record with them or have him tour with them. The man constantly has work.
Even with that success, Bryce has been antsy, feeling as if something is just missing. Finally listening to the advice of Seth and other colleagues, Bryce will finish up his first solo album in the next couple of weeks.
As Bryce has recorded the album, he has seemed the happiest that Seth has ever seen him. That’s what was missing, his own artistic creativity.
Bryce has written most of the songs in collaboration with Seth. The album will be successful…Bryce is just too damn good.
As Seth enters the Beer Sellar, it takes a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dark bar. He folds his sunglasses and tucks them into the neck of his t-shirt as he looks around, when he hears, “Hey, Butthead!” to his left.
Immediately, he grins and turns to see his friend standing at a booth.
To see Seth and Bryce, you’d never think they would be so close. Bryce is a country music man to the core. His style is cowboy boots, Wranglers, and a cowboy hat that covers his short, dark hair most of the time. His shirt choice changes, but the rest of his attire is pretty much the same all the time.
Bryce is shorter than Seth, about five foot ten and stocky. He isn’t overweight, he’s muscular and compact. One thing is for sure, when you see the man, you know exactly where he’s coming from.
Seth, on the other hand, is six foot three and lanky. His frame is slight, not frail, but thin.
His hair is dark brown with a reddish undertone, loosely wavy making it always look a little bit wild. He is Irish, after all. His skin is pale and his eyes are a slate blue, and much of the time look gray. Really, as much as Bryce looks like the poster boy for a country music musician, Seth looks just as much like the typical alternative rock front man.
He prefers jeans and t-shirts, casual sneakers like Vans or Bullboxers and a jacket of some sort. He’s casual to the bone.
Laughing, Seth approaches Bryce, greeting him with a tight bear hug and pat on the back.
As they sit down in the booth, Bryce says, “I ordered you a beer. Hope that’s cool.”
Seth picks up the frosted mug of cold beer and holds it up for a toast, “Hell yeah! Cheers, man!”
The mugs clink and both take a long draw of the cold, amber liquid. Seth sits back and looks across the table at Bryce, “It’s good as hell to see you, man!”
Bryce nods, swallowing another gulp of beer, “You, too, bro. It’s good to be home.”
Seth grins, “Tell me how the tour has been. I heard it was a sell out almost every night.”
Bryce replies, “It was. Crazy big crowds. People love Jolene. She’s a sweetheart and helluva talent, so I totally get it.”
The two discuss Bryce’s experiences on the road and what’s been going on in Nashville, Bryce mentioning the progress on his own album. Seth is excited to find out that he expects to finish up recording while he’s home over the next two weeks. He’s only got a few things left to work on.
Having time to just relax and catch up with a friend has been just what Seth needed today.
Hopefully, the down time will help reset his creativity flow.
Chapter 3
The problem has been that Seth is stuck…really stuck. He has never had a problem writing music before. Typically, it seems to come quite easily to him. Lyrics, melodies, rhythms, tempos…it all just seems to flow.
Right now, he has a four-song contract with a major label to uphold. These songs are supposed to be for an up-and-coming young band that the label is expecting to be their next cash cow.
Young, pretty boys who get the young girls’ panties all wet. They’ve got that bad boy look to them, but Seth is pretty sure that’s a façade.
When he met with them, they were really quite mature and sensible. They spoke intelligently and didn’t seem to have their diva sign flashing…at least, not yet. The jury’s still out on whether or not success will turn them into dicks like the ones Jack is dealing with now.
One thing is for sure…they certainly can’t be hugely successful if they don’t have songs to play. And they can’t play songs unless Seth can write the damn things!
Seth sighs aloud, prompting Bryce to ask, “So, man, tell me what’s up. You’ve been wearing that constipated look on your face since we got here.”
Seth sighs in frustration, completely missing the constipation comment, “I’ve got writer’s block, man. I’ve got to write four songs for this young band, and I can’t write a damn thing!”
Bryce replies, “Man, you’ve got to calm down. You’re never going to write anything being this worked up.”
Seth nods, knowing he’s right, “I just can’t get going this time. I don’t know what it is.”
Bryce signals the waitress, “Well, let’s have another beer, play some more tunes on the jukebox and talk it out.”
Another couple of hours, another few beers, a couple twenties in the jukebox and some food later, Seth feels better about the outlook for his writing.
He figures that heading home, getting a good night’s sleep and starting fresh the next day
is just the ticket.
Seth and Bryce leave the bar at the same time. They stop on the sidewalk outside and chat a few more minutes.
Bryce squeezes Seth’s bicep, “Butthead, get outta your damn head. Don’t psych yourself out. Just relax, believe in yourself and let the music come.”
Seth, with hands stuffed in his jeans pockets, stares at a crack in the sidewalk as he nods.
Bryce punches his arm playfully, “See? That’s what I mean…tell me you’re not worrying about it right now.”
Seth snickers quietly, “I know, I know…”
Bryce squeezes his arm again, “Seriously, man. Let it go and it’ll come.”
Seth looks up at him, “Thanks for the pep talk, man. You’re the best. I really needed this time to hang out with you today.”
Bryce laughs, “Come here, Butthead.”
He pulls Seth in for a bear hug, “Man, you’ve got this…”
The men part as Seth whispers, “Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.”
The men each head in an opposite direction toward their respective cars.
Seth strides along staring at the sidewalk, still allowing Bryce’s words to bounce around his mind. On autopilot, Seth is oblivious to the beauty of the crisp November evening. The sounds of people out on the town and music exiting the many establishments fills the night air as Seth walks.
But he doesn’t hear any of it. He’s, as Bryce so eloquently put it, is in his own damn head.
Approaching the parked car, he fishes the keys out of his pocket, promptly dropping them on the sidewalk.
“Dammit!” he grumbles as he bends to pick them up.
Suddenly, he hears a high-pitched scream that seems filled with terror. He jumps back to his feet as his heart threatens to burst from his chest to look for the source of the scream.
A skinny teenage boy, dressed mostly in black, rushes toward him with an object tucked under his arm like a football. A young woman is in the distance yelling for him to stop.
As the boy approaches him, Seth holds his arms out at his sides to block him and braces himself for the inevitable collision.
In two more strides, the teenager is on him. At the last moment, he tries to swerve to avoid Seth’s tackle, but he isn’t going to allow that to happen.
Seth wraps his arms around him and holds him tightly. As the boy thrashes in his arms, Seth spits between gritted teeth, “Calm down, man! You aren’t stealing from that lady.”
The kid is strong, fighting wildly, until he manages to wriggle out of Seth’s grip. Dropping the black satchel purse on the sidewalk with a thud, he escapes quickly down the street.
Bending slowly to pick up the purse, a pair of ladies’ suede brown boots enters Seth’s view. As he returns to his standing position, his eyes land on a young woman.
Even though he is only able to see her face in the shadowed light of the street lamp, he gasps just the same.
She’s incredibly beautiful, which completely throws him off his game. He can tell she has dark hair and fair skin, but any other details are unrecognizable.
With a sweet southern drawl, she exclaims, “Oh my gosh! I can’t believe you got my purse back. Thanks so much!”
Seth blushes, feeling the heat filling his cheeks. He manages, “Oh, it’s no problem, ma’am.”
She giggles, “Ma’am? Do I look that old?”
Seth stammers, “Uh, no. I didn’t mean…”
She touches his shoulder softly, “I’m just kiddin’ with you.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, Seth manages to pull himself together, “Are you all right? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
She shakes her head, wafting a sweet smell of honeysuckle toward his face. He smiles as the sweet fragrance meets his nose.
She replies, “No, he just grabbed it off my shoulder and took off,” then quietly adds, “It sure scared me, though.”
Seth asks with concern, “You sure you’re okay?”
She nods again, “Yeah, I’m fine.”
She looks around for a moment, “I guess I should call the police?”
Seth replies, “Yes, probably.”
“But, I got my purse back, thanks to you. What can they really do?” she muses.
Seth shrugs as he watches her face, trying to take in any more details that may be available in this lighting.
After a thoughtful moment of silence, she says, “I’ll call them from the car. I really need to get going.”
Seth’s heart drops just a little in disappointment. He hands the purse to her and reaches for his wallet, “Well, if they need me for anything, here’s my card.”
She smiles, what he’s sure is a perfectly brilliant smile, as she says, “Thank you. I’ll remember that.”
Seth nods as she grasps his hand and shakes it, “Thank you again for your help. You really saved me tonight.”
Seth revels in the softness of her hand, focusing on the feeling for only a moment until she says, “I’m really late, I’ve got to get going.”
Seth releases her hand, “Sure. Take care.”
As she turns and rushes back down the sidewalk, she yells over her shoulder, “You, too! Thanks again!”
And just like that, she’s gone.
Frustrated and disappointed, the unsettling melee going on in Seth’s gut doesn’t allow him to just get in his car and drive home.
Instead, he turns and walks down the dimly lit street, hands stuffed in his pockets. As he strides in long steps, his mind churns as he sorts through all that has happened today.
Completely lost in thought, Seth just walks, going nowhere in particular. After a while, he stops and looks around to get his bearings.
Surprised, Seth realizes that he’s standing in front of Nashville Rox Music Store. You know, the one with that vintage Gibson acoustic guitar that he’s had his eye on for a while.
He turns to look into the storefront. Yep, there she is, sitting proudly in the window.
As Seth stares longingly at the guitar, he could swear that he feels a buzz coursing through his body. It’s stupid, but that guitar seems to beckon to him.
If not, how the hell did he end up standing in front of it at 10 p.m. at night, for shit’s sake? Even so, the thing is way too expensive, so he just needs to let it go.
Yep, he’ll just let it go. With one last glance at the guitar, Seth turns and walks toward his car at a quick pace. He grumbles at himself during the six-blocks walk to his car. He sure didn’t realize he’d walked that far.
Finally at his car, Seth climbs into the driver’s seat of his dark blue Range Rover and lays his head back against the head rest. Suddenly very weary, he cranks the car and heads home. As he drives, his mind swirls back through the events of tonight. The time with Bryce was awesome, as always. He’s a great friend. But the woman…the woman has dominated his thoughts. She really blew him away.
That fact is obvious, since he didn’t even get her name or number. Hell, he barely even said anything at all. Seth bellows, “Shit!” into the empty car.
At least he had the presence of mind to give her his card…even though he’s absolutely positive she won’t ever use it.
Sighing loudly, he turns up the volume of the Queen CD as he drives through the dark night back to his home.
Chapter 4
Well, so much for that breaking the writer’s block and getting going the next day bullshit!
As Seth paces in his home studio, he nervously taps a pencil against his thigh. This is getting ridiculous.
Frustrated and irritated with himself, he throws the pencil angrily against the wall, shattering it, and leaving a nice little lead mark in the wall. He stomps into the kitchen, grumbling to himself. He angrily grabs a beer from the fridge, rips off the cap and guzzles half of it, seemingly in one gulp.
Staring out the window over the kitchen sink into the perfect Nashville afternoon, he considers his situation. What is it going to take to get his ass in gear and get the music flowing? He’s a songwriter for fuck’s
sake. This is what he does.
A thought pops into Seth’s head. Maybe he’s sucked all the magic out of his trusty ol’ Les Paul guitar, at least for now. Songwriters are superstitious, at least Seth is, and when something dries up, it’s time to start down another path.
Maybe what he needs is as simple as a new instrument…a new tool. The antique Gibson acoustic jumps vividly into his mind. He thinks back on his visits to the store on numerous occasions, including last night. That damn guitar feels amazing, almost effortless to play. But the price is so steep.
In all those visits and the time playing her, and all the time weighing the pros and cons of buying her, he hasn’t been able to pull the trigger. He just hasn’t been able to justify the hefty price, but by damn, he can now! He’s got to write songs and they’ve got to be amazing.
Resolute on his plan, he guzzles the rest of his beer and sets the empty bottle on the counter. He snatches his keys from the hook by the back door, shuts the door with a slam and heads to his car, whistling.
Seth lives just outside the city. He got tired of throwing money away renting an apartment downtown. His career has taken off over the last five years and he’s now become one of the premiere songwriters in Nashville, even having a handful of Grammy and Country Music Award nominations under his belt. That first win has eluded him, though.
About two years ago, he began looking for a house or condo to invest in. He’d lucked up on his older two-bedroom ranch home. There are neighbors around, but the homes are not right on top of each other, giving him the privacy he wanted. That was definitely a selling point for Seth.
The location is close enough to the city, but quiet enough that his creativity can be inspired by the beautiful countryside. Well, until now, that is.
The second bedroom in his home serves as a studio so he can work from home most of the time. Seth had the wall between the den and bedroom taken down so the two rooms have become one large room.
He likes it this way. He’s a pacer, so the extended room gives him a longer pace-path and the feeling of a larger room opens his creative brain just a little bit more.
