Jane's Harmony (Jane's Melody #2)

by Ryan Winfield

  Caleb pulled his legs up from where he had them stretched out in front of him and stood.

  “That’s better,” the producer said. “Now, do you know what plagiarism is, young man?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  The crowd of contestants was dead silent and the producer stood in front of them, staring at Caleb for what seemed to him like forever. Caleb heard a truck somewhere in the street.

  “Well, kid, aren’t you curious why I asked you if you know what plagiarism is?” he finally asked. “It’s a heavy word.”

  “Of course I’m curious,” Caleb replied. “But you said not to ask any questions, sir.”

  The producer smiled. “So I did. So I did. Well, the reason you’re here is because one of the contestants they originally passed through in Austin decided to get cute and borrow his melody from someone else’s Top Forty song.”

  Then his eyes left Caleb and he scanned the crowd before continuing. “So let that be a lesson to you all. The title of this show is Singer-Songwriter Superstar. We won’t be covering other artists’ hits like all those other shows do, and we sure as shit won’t be stealing from other artists’ work.”

  He paused to look at his assistants, as if to be sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. Then he clapped his hands again.

  “Grab your things, boys and girls, and follow me. I’ll give you the tour of the set that will be your home away from home. For how long, nobody knows.”

  As they fell in with the crowd to follow him into the studio, Panda slid up next to Caleb and said, “I have to use the bathroom, but now I’m afraid to ask.”

  Caleb caught up with one of the assistants and asked for her. Then he pointed Panda to the bathroom and watched as she trotted off toward it with her dress bouncing and her red shoes clicking across the polished concrete floors. He couldn’t decide if she wasn’t yet ready for Hollywood or if Hollywood wasn’t yet ready for her.

  The set and soundstage were similar to the one they had auditioned on in Austin, only much bigger and much more intimidating. There were forty contestants, and they were told that over the next several days they would perform on camera for the five judges. The judges would then select one artist each in turn, much like a lottery, until each judge had eight contestants on their team. Over the following weeks they would compete against their own team, with their judge sending half of them home each week until only one remained. That one would then go on to the live show and compete against the other four for America’s votes and the half-million-dollar recording contract. It all sounded like a scripted long shot to Caleb, and any ideas he had had about this show being different from the others seemed to flee, along with his hope of winning.

  A tattooed youth wearing eyeliner and giant disks in his ears nudged Caleb as they stood receiving yet another set of instructions from yet another production assistant.

  “Hey, guy,” he said. “You seen Jordyn yet?”

  “Who?” Caleb asked.

  “Jordyn. Jordyn-with-a-y.”

  “Your guess is as good as mine, kid,” Caleb said. “There aren’t any of us wearing name tags here that I’ve seen.”

  “I know, man,” the kid said. “I just haven’t seen her yet, so I was asking you.”

  Caleb ignored him, pulling his phone from his pocket and checking it on the sly. Still no reply to his text to Jane.

  “Where you from, guy?”

  “Austin,” Caleb told him, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “Via Seattle.”

  “That’s cool, man. But I can’t believe you don’t know who Jordyn-with-a-y is. She’s only got like four million YouTube hits. I don’t even know why a hit indie chick like her is doing this show anyway. She doesn’t need it, that’s for sure. Not like the rest of us. Of course, she’ll probably win. Isn’t that how it always goes? I wasn’t sure whether to be pissed when I saw her name or excited that I get to meet her. Maybe she’ll dig me, you know. Stranger shit has happened, right?”

  Caleb ignored his rambling until he finally fell quiet.

  A minute later, the kid asked, “What’s your name again? I’m sure I Googled you too. I Googled everyone on the sheet.”

  Caleb left him without an answer and stepped over to stand next to Panda. As he walked away, he heard the kid say, “Nice chatting with you, guy.”

  It was dark by the time the bus brought them to the hotel.

  The show had rented an entire floor. The handlers gave each contestant a welcome packet, then took them up the elevators in groups and showed them to their rooms. Caleb was hardly inside with the door closed when he set down his guitar, tossed his duffel, and flopped down on one of the beds, so exhausted that he didn’t even care that they’d given him a room with two doubles. He was used to hard work, but it had been a long and taxing day. And he had a sinking feeling things would only be getting worse.

  He pulled out his phone, but there was still no response from Jane. He was about to dial her when he remembered her trip to France with her friend Grace. She had shown him a picture of the two of them jumping together on the hotel bed.

  It took him a few minutes, but he found the phone’s camera app. Then he kicked off his boots and jumped up onto the bed and began bouncing on it, trying to catch a shot of himself in the wall mirror. He was bouncing and kicking and making funny faces for the camera when the door opened, and the kid with the eyeliner and tattoos walked in holding a key card. They froze and looked at each other—the kid in the doorway, Caleb on the bed.

  “I know there’s a joke here somewhere,” Caleb said, “but I wouldn’t recommend making it. I’ve had a long day.”

  “I was thinking of that old song about monkeys jumping on a bed,” the kid said, “but I’m not saying it.”

  “You sure you have the right room?”

  “They didn’t mention anything about us having to double up, but this is the key they gave me and there’s two beds.”

  “Well, it’s a surprise to me too.”

  The kid looked at him standing on the bed and grinned. “You want me to wait in the hall or something until you finish your trampoline?”

  “It’s just a fun photo for my fiancée back home,” Caleb said, holding out the phone. “Would you mind taking it?”

  The kid dropped his suitcase and took the phone, then framed up the shot. Caleb jumped and kicked out his legs.

  “You get it?”

  “Hold on,” the kid said. “Do it again.”

  “Did you get that one?”

  “A little higher. Maybe stick your tongue out again.”

  “Is that one any good?”

  “Just a couple more,” the kid said, suddenly doubling over and breaking into fits of laughter.

  Caleb jumped down from the bed and snatched the phone from his hand. “Give me that, you clown.”

  He sat on the bed and scrolled through the pictures to pick one to send to Jane. As he did, the kid wasted no time, laying out his suitcase and proceeding to meticulously unpack. He hung shirts in the closet and tucked folded pants away in the dresser. He even made several trips to the bathroom to set out his toiletries.

  “Looks like you’re moving in permanently,” Caleb said.

  “Have you seen these other jokers we’re competing against?” the kid asked, stowing his empty suitcase in the closet. “I plan to be here until the grand finale. Shit, I plan to win.”

  “You think you’re that good?” Caleb asked.

  “I think I’m even better.”

  “Well, you think you’re good enough to show me how to send a photo from this thing?”

  Caleb came out from the bathroom after a long hot shower and found both beds turned down with chocolates on the pillows, but the kid was nowhere to be found.

  He checked his phone again, but still no response from Jane. He was worried something was wrong, so he sat down on the bed
in his towel and dialed her. He put the phone to his ear, but nothing happened. Then he looked at the screen again and saw a message box that read: Turn airplane mode off to make calls.

  Then he remembered the man on the airplane meddling with his phone, and he laughed at himself and his technology challenges. When he hit the button to disable airplane mode, the phone searched and found a signal. Almost immediately the messages began to come in—one, two, three of them.

  Hi, baby. I hope your flight went well. I love you.

  Not trying to bother you, babe, just want to make sure you made it.

  You must just be busy. Call me when you can. Love you!

  He dialed her and she picked up on the first ring.

  “Hi, honey. How are you?”

  “Hey, babe. Gosh, it’s good to hear your voice. I had my phone on airplane mode and just now figured it out.”

  “I guessed it was something like that,” she said, laughing. “I was sitting here reading your message that just now came in. Nice bed-bounce shot. Grace would have loved it.”

  “Thanks. My roommate took it.”

  “You have a roommate?”

  “Yeah. Some kid from who-knows-where. But he isn’t here right now.”

  “Is it nice there?”

  “No. It’s terrible. I mean, the hotel’s nice. But the people? The show? I don’t know. How was your day?”

  “It was okay. I went job searching all afternoon. You’d be proud of me. I went into at least a half dozen places and refused to leave until I talked to someone with the power to actually hire. Anyway, I’ll be back at it tomorrow. Hey, have you seen my favorite T-shirt? The pink one I sleep in.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen it.”

  “Where was it?”

  “It’s in my bag.”

  “Oh my God, you brought my shirt along. How cute. Are you planning to sleep with it?”

  “I’m not sure how it got in there, actually. I must have packed it by mistake.”

  “Yeah, right. You have so many size-small pink shirts.”

  There was a pause in the conversation.

  “What are you wearing now?” Caleb finally asked. “Since you don’t have your shirt.”

  “Nothing,” Jane replied. “I was actually just lying here naked and thinking about you.”

  Caleb sighed. “I sure wish I could see that.”

  “But you can see it, baby,” she purred. “Just go to your photo album and click on the folder marked Private.”

  “Okay, hold on, you little temptress, you.”

  Caleb took the phone from his ear, scrolled through to the photos, and opened the album. It was nearly a full minute later before he remembered that she was on the line.

  “Holy shit, babe.”

  “I thought I had lost you. Do you like them?”

  “Like them? I effing love them. But I didn’t even know you had one of those things.”

  “Well, I have a few things stashed around here that you don’t know about. Maybe when you get back, we can play with them together.”

  “You’re a dirty girl and I love it. Although, to tell the truth, the size of that thing makes me feel a little inadequate.”

  “Oh, you’re anything but inadequate, baby. Maybe we could get you to rise to the occasion now, if you know what I mean. Send me a photo to look at while I’m lying here all hot and bothered and naked.”

  “You really want a picture?”

  “Pretty please.”

  The photos of her had already sent most of the blood rushing from Caleb’s head. But then the sound of her pleading voice and the mental image of her stretched out on their bed wearing nothing made him so hard, the towel tented at his waist. He was reaching to unwrap the towel and take a shot when he stopped himself and glanced at the room door.

  Once caught, twice cautious, he thought.

  “Hold on just a second, babe. Don’t move.”

  Then he got up, hurried to the room door, and latched the privacy lock. When he picked up the phone again and dropped the towel, the only thing bigger than his hard-on was his smile.

  Caleb woke to pounding on the door.

  Sitting up in his bed, he tried to remember where he was and why. It all came flooding back when he heard the voice calling through the door that was now open a crack, held back by the privacy latch.

  “Come on, guy. Let me in.”

  He rose and went to the door to release the privacy latch he had forgotten to undo before going to sleep. The kid was leaning against the door and the latch wouldn’t budge.

  “You’ve got to let me close it,” Caleb said.

  “No, man,” the kid cried. “Open it and let me in.”

  “It won’t unlatch unless you get off the door.”

  “I’m not sleeping on no floor, guy.”

  Caleb shook his head and leaned all his weight against the door and forced it closed. Then he flipped the privacy latch free and quickly stepped back. The kid burst into the room.

  “Shit, man. What’s up? I thought I was gonna have to kick that thing off its hinges.”

  Caleb glanced out into the bright and empty hall before shutting the door and returning to his bed. He noticed the time.

  “It’s four in the morning, kid.”

  “I know it,” he said, flopping onto his bed with his clothes on. “And you should see the creatures that come out in this city after about two. I feel like I survived the apocalypse.”

  “What did you get into?”

  “I went all over Hollywood. I had to go see Canter’s.”

  “See what?”

  “Canter’s Deli, dude. The Kibitz Room? Don’t you know anything? Guns N’ Roses. The Wallflowers. They all got their start there, man. It’s legendary.”

  “What do you know about Guns N’ Roses?”

  “I know they got their start at Canter’s, which seems to be more than you know. And quit calling me kid. I’m twenty-one. And I’d bet you’re not much older.”

  Caleb could just make out the kid’s silhouette in the light cast by the alarm clock. He was lying on top of his covers with his hands clasped behind his head, staring up at the dark ceiling like someone very satisfied with himself.

  “What should I call you then?” Caleb asked.

  “My name’s Sean,” he replied. “Sean Tess. You’re Caleb Cummings, right?”

  “How’d you know my name?”

  “I looked you up on the sheet and Googled you again in the hotel business center, dude.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  “No. Nobody’s heard of you.”

  Caleb laughed. “Is that good or bad?”

  “Bad,” he said. “Or maybe good. I don’t know. Maybe it means you can make yourself into whoever you want for the show, you know. Like reinvent yourself.”

  “Maybe so,” Caleb said, thinking about this. A minute later, he asked, “Where are you from, Sean?”

  “I’m from Waterloo.”

  “Where?”

  “Iowa.”

  “Shit. You don’t look like you’re from Iowa.”

  “Good,” he said. “I’ve worked hard not to.”

  Caleb smiled at him, even though he couldn’t see him. Then he said good night and rolled over to go to sleep. Five minutes later, the kid asked a question and he rolled back over.

  “What’s that?”

  “Jordyn. Did she show up?”

  “What are you asking me for? I’ve been in here sleeping. You’re the one running around all over Hollywood. Now, we’ve got to be up in a few hours, so go to sleep.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Sorry.”

  There was silence in the room, but Caleb was somehow sure it was too good to be true. And he was right.

  “Hey, did your lady like the photo you sent?”


  He knew Sean meant the bed-jumping photo he had taken, of course, and not the ones he’d sent later, but that didn’t stop Caleb from grinning like a Cheshire cat in the dark.

  “Yeah,” he said, “she liked it.”

  “Wake up, Sean. We’re gonna be late.”

  Sean rolled over and looked up at Caleb. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair was plastered to one side of his head.

  “Come on, guy,” he said. “Let me sleep.”

  “That’s how I felt last night. Get up. The bus is coming.”

  “Just a few more minutes.”

  “I thought you told me you were in it to win it.”

  “I am, man. But I need a full eight hours to perform.”

  “Well, that’s too bad, then,” Caleb said. “Because if you’re late they’ll probably send you home, and I heard in the hall that Jordyn’s here.”

  “Jordyn-with-a-y?”

  “I didn’t ask them how she spelled it, but I’m guessing so.”

  There was an explosion of bedding as the kid leaped up and bolted for the bathroom, calling back over his shoulder and asking, “How much time do I have?”

  “Maybe ten minutes.”

  “Shit. It takes me that long just to put my eyeliner on.”

  Caleb shook his head and laughed. He wasn’t quite sure what he had gotten himself into, or even where it would lead, but he was committed to making the most of it while it lasted.

  Chapter 7

  Jane had gotten to know the streets of downtown Austin better than she had ever wanted to. And when she ran out of places to hand out résumés, she turned instead to scouring the jobs section of the daily classifieds. There wasn’t much there either, but at least she could kill a couple of hours at the coffee shop, poring over the listings with her highlighter. And she was doing just this when her phone rang.

  “Hello, Jane McKinney speaking.”

  A robotic voice replied, “You have been selected . . .”

  Jane assumed it was another annoying political survey or an automated telemarketer pitch, and she pulled the phone away from her ear and was about to end the call when she heard the words city of Austin.