18
I stood in the doorway of one of the most infamous bars in Nashville with the afternoon breeze grazing the back of my neck. A large crowd was gathered inside, so I waited for the song to end before pushing my way through. Rhett Akins was one of my favorite songwriters to this day and I wanted to enjoy each and every lyric. One thing I had always loved about this industry was the way an artist brought a song to life. It was mesmerizing, the feeling that comes over you when a line in a song is so true to reality that it captivates your heart and heals your soul.
It wasn’t until I had elbowed past a couple dozen people that I realized I had heard that voice before. When I finally made it to the front of the stage, I saw that same “just rolled out of bed” black hair, jeans, and baggy t-shirt that had stood in front of me once before. This time, though, he had no drummer, no bass; it was just him up there with a little acoustic to back him up. He looked down for a second and smiled at me, then pulled the guitar strap off of his shoulder and stood for a quick break.
“Celia, hey!” he said, hopping off the stage towards me.
“Hey,” I said.
Maybe it was because the last time I saw him I had been wearing stilettos and was distracted by the desire he brought out in me, but Jesse Rockford was much taller than I remembered him. And maybe it was his voice singing my favorite song that made him much more attractive than I remembered as well, but as he stood there in front of me with that same single dimple on his right cheek, I felt the strength in my knees begin to weaken.
“You sound amazing up there,” I said.
He motioned for us to move towards the bar. My mind was still reeling at the fact that Jesse was the man behind the voice I had heard through the windows of a pizza shop, so much so that I didn’t even hear what he had ordered for us. By the time two bottles were placed in from of us, Jaycie had found her way to me and squeezed onto the stool between us. She wasted no time introducing herself.
“I’m going to assume that you are the man we were in search of?” she asked.
“Well, I guess that depends on why you were looking for me,” Jesse said.
She reached out her hand to him. “Jaycie Wright.”
“Jesse Rockford.”
With her hand still in his she turned her head toward me, her brows lifted. I lowered my head so Jesse wouldn’t see me smirk, then grabbed the drink in front of me for a sip. He ordered one more for Jaycie and took his to go.
“You ladies hanging around for a bit? I’ll be done in about an hour.”
Neither of us had anywhere to be that day so we sat at the bar as Jesse started up again. I couldn’t help but swoon over the way he closed his eyes during his original ballads and hopped up off his stool during the upbeat covers like “Dust on the Bottle” and “Cruise.” I recorded a few minutes of his performance partly so I could go back and reference should Frankie let me do a write-up on him and partly so I could go back and watch it again…and again.
Once the last few chords of “Cruise” faded Jesse thanked the crowd and hung around awhile to immerse in conversation and pose for pictures. Every now and then I would see him look in our direction and I would do what I did best: look right through him as if I didn’t care at all.
“Remember what I said about taking a step back for a while?”
I nodded.
“I changed my mind. You may need to get on that,” she said, pointing at Jesse, “and I mean that figuratively and literally.
I blushed at Jaycie’s insinuation and the thought of how long it had been. The last one was a guy named Graham. It had to be about seven or eight months ago at least. He was now the drummer of a very big-name artist who shall remain nameless. He was irresistibly charming. I felt his eyes on me all evening at an awards show after party, and right when I had slipped my jacket on to call it a night I saw a shadow emerge from behind me. The words “Want to get out of here?” came off his lips and the warmth of his breath on my neck made my heart race. I nodded and before I knew it I was straddling him in the back of a black SUV. I woke up in his hotel room the next morning well before he did and it took me over twenty minutes to find all the pieces of my wardrobe. The walk of shame was no different than how it was when I was in college. My hair was a mess, my dress half-zipped and my heel straps undone as I hailed a cab back to my car.
Little did I know I left so much of an impression on Graham that he ended up calling me at work the week after. That phone call turned into many more and led to a hot and heavy couple of months that ended with a few gallons of chocolate peanut butter ice cream on the couch for an entire weekend, but eventually I got over it. He was dating some Italian model now, and that whole I’ll-never-be-good-enough, daddy-issues complex I always tell my mother I don’t have? Well, on days like today it tended to ring pretty true. In my head, I couldn’t imagine why a guy like Jesse Rockford would ever want a girl like me.
“That is crazy talk, Jaycie,” I finally said.
“It is not. Gosh, Celia, you’re so naive when it comes to this kind of stuff. He wants you and you need him.”
Jesse came over to us again after he was done mingling and thanked us for hanging around. Jaycie offered to buy him a drink and the three of us sat there at the bar for a long while talking. Jaycie was right; I wasn’t sure what I would do without her. I was pretty good at interviewing artists, but for some reason tonight I couldn’t think of a thing to say. She carried most of the conversation and I learned that Jesse had co-written some of my favorite songs.
“You know, Celia over here would love to do an interview with you for our blog. You interested?”
“Sure,” he said.
“Great. Maybe you two can exchange numbers and set something up.”
I shot her a look. My eyes dug deep into her. I didn’t break a smile. I knew what she was doing. She may have had a plan, all right, but not for an interview. Tonight Jaycie was not a columnist extraordinaire, but a wannabe matchmaker who knew damn well she was stepping on my toes with a pair of seriously stealth high heels. At that moment I wanted so badly to be angry, but it was no use; that smile Jesse wore as he typed my number into his phone made it impossible. He said he would text me soon to set something up.
“Yeah, sure, no hurry,” I said.
We hugged outside of the bar and when he could no longer see us Jaycie pinched me. I returned the gesture with a slight slap on the arm. That was the perfect sentiment of our friendship. We both knew exactly what we were saying to each other without needing to say a word.
19
After that run-in with Jesse, I was more confused than ever. Before watching him up on that stage all I could think about was Logan, but now it was different. Now all I could see in my mind was Jesse’s smile. The way his eyes closed on the high notes and how his hands glided along the strings of his guitar. Every now and then these thoughts would be interrupted with my lips upon Logan’s and I would remember how incredibly screwed-up I was.
It was a gorgeous Monday in Nashville and instead of cooping myself up in the office, I decided to type away at a corner table outside of Soulful Grinds. In the middle of recapping Kat’s party, I looked down to find a text from Logan.
What ya writing about?
I looked around the patio, but didn’t see him anywhere. I leaned around the corner to peer through the windows, but didn’t find him inside either. Then I heard a whistle coming from behind me. As I turned, I found him waving from my front porch.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, crossing the street to meet him.
“I came to say goodbye. Gotta hit the road again.”
“Already?” I felt a twinge in my heart when I asked. I sunk onto the porch swing, filling the open space next to him. Not that I wasn’t aware it would be coming soon. A musician’s life was the road. Clearly I was used to the coming and going and the being gone more than not, but this was the first time that it really hit me who Logan had become.
“I’ll be back soon. Next week for a bit
longer this time.”
He reached his hand out for me to hold it and pulled me in for a hug. I closed my eyes while my head lay on his shoulder. I thought about that kiss. I thought about this goodbye and I thought about tomorrow when he would no longer be around to hold me. I thought about every tomorrow after that and that this is how it would be should I let anything happen between us. I thought about Jesse and how he too hoped to one day stand in Logan’s shoes. I didn’t know if it scared me more to think I would fall for someone that one day might never come back or that I could potentially feel the same kind of pain my mother had.
I sometimes think that she still waits for him. That she still wants him to walk through her door and say he’s back and that he’ll never leave. As far as I know, she never dated after he left. Men had asked her out, plenty of them. We’d be in the grocery store and they’d strike up a conversation with her. I even heard her politely decline a few invitations from my teachers. I don’t think it will ever be too late for her, that she still holds out hope that one day he’ll see what he left for never replaced what he gave up.
“Hey, you okay?”
Logan’s voice pulled me from my deep thoughts. Whatever he had been saying, it had missed me entirely.
“Yes, I’m fine. I was just thinking.”
“About?”
I didn’t know where to start, so I didn’t answer. I just stood up from the swing and walked over the railing. Logan followed, placing his hand softly at my waist as I looked up into those soulful brown eyes.
“Talk to me, please,” he said. “Is it about the other night?”
“Logan?” I asked, diverting his question. “How come you never called?”
“Called when?”
“After you left. You threw everything at me all at once and then you walked away and you were gone. Like it was so easy to let go.”
“Celia…” he started, then paused to sigh, putting his hands to his head and stepping backwards, avoiding my eyes. “That was the hardest thing I ever had to do, believe me. When I walked down those stairs that night, I knew if I looked back I wouldn’t go. When I told you I wanted to be with you, I meant it. Somewhere between the little girl in pigtails and the woman who stood in front of me that night…something changed. I saw you as more than my friend. You were the reason I woke up in the morning. The person my world revolved around. You were it for me, but I saw it so clearly when those tears fell from your eyes. You were so lost and broken. I think deep down inside I knew you had to figure things out on your own. That there was so much for you to fix and I couldn’t do it for you.” He still couldn’t look at me. His eyes were fixed on the horizon in front of him. “Hurting you was the last thing I ever wanted to do. Please don’t be angry at me.”
I stared at the same horizon. Afraid that if I looked in his direction I wouldn’t be able to say the words. “I’m not angry. I just realized the other night, when Rick was talking about the Black Horizons, that I have no idea where my father is. It’s been so long, I can’t imagine he would know what I even looked like. If I passed him in the street tomorrow I guarantee you he wouldn’t even know I was his daughter. And if it wasn’t for Behind the Strings practically twisting my arm to go to your concert, you would have no idea where I was, too. Even though I’ve spent the last two years walking the same the streets as you, we would be strangers.”
“But we’re not,” he said, placing his hand under my chin and turning me towards him. “I guess I always thought that if I heard your voice or saw your face, that I would let all of this go and come back to Hamden, or worse, that you would come to me out of guilt, and I couldn’t do that to either of us. By shutting you out I thought I was doing us both a favor, but I guess I realize now, I did exactly what your father did. I left you. I hurt you.”
“No, Logan. You will never be like him, and I know that. You are kind and thoughtful. You were there for me in every moment that he wasn’t and no matter what, I want you to know that I will be forever grateful to you for that. It would probably take me a million lifetimes to repay you for what you were to me back to then.”
“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I don’t plan on going anywhere. Well, figuratively speaking, anyway, since I do actually have to go.”
The smile on his face wanted me to believe everything he was saying. And I did. I never wanted to lose him again. I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed him tightly against me. We didn’t say anything for the rest of the time we sat there, but we didn’t really need to. I think we both only wanted to know that everything was okay between the two of us and somehow the silence confirmed that.
20
A couple days after Logan had left I received a text from Jesse. We set up a time for an interview, and I admit, the workday seemed to have been dragging out more than usual the day of. The anticipation of seeing him again built up with each hour that passed. Jaycie was convinced there was more to this meeting than business and secretly I hoped she was right. If anything I hoped I could at least unscramble the uncertainty about these thoughts of mine that surrounded him. I thought he was handsome, but did I like him? His smile was captivating, but could he make me laugh? Was this just a crush that would blow over once we really got to know each other? Those were all questions I needed answers to and I nearly jumped out of my chair when it was time to go home and get ready.
It was well past sunset by the time I slowly pranced up the stairs in my coral heels to meet Jesse in the open foyer. I rarely came to this part of town, but had always heard good things about this rooftop lounge, so when Jesse said his friend would be playing, it sounded like the perfect spot to meet.
His tanned skin blended nicely under a white polo, and the sapphire in his eyes was much more vibrant as the hair that normally swept in front of them was gelled back.
“Shall we?” he asked once I had gotten closer.
He wrapped his fingers through mine and all I could do was smile and let him lead the way.
The lights were dim and the music played softly through the speakers as we entered the lounge. Most people were settled on the leather couches scattered throughout, with fancy colored martinis in their hands. It was a far cry from the sea of cutoff shorts and cowboys boots Jesse had spent the afternoon playing in front of.
“My friend Grant plays here every week. Amazing songwriter,” Jesse said.
We had sunk into a pair of ottomans on the opposite side of the bar. Jesse slid his close enough to me so that every time he turned his knee would graze mine. I pulled out a tiny notebook from my purse to make sure I captured any important details for my interview, but I had a hard time concentrating on the questions I had prepared. I had no idea what cologne he was wearing, but he smelled just as amazing as he did the first night we met. I’d grasp a scent each time he’d swing himself back to face me and I would get thrown completely off-thought.
“Why here?” I asked. “Doesn’t really feel like the normal scene.”
“Grant’s not much for the spotlight,” he said, “he just likes to be able to play out loud the songs he writes. Doesn’t need any standing ovations. You’ll never find any media here, so most low-key writers love it.”
“And what about you?”
“What about me?” he repeated.
He slid a little closer to me with that statement, ordered two of the daily specials from the waitress who finally arrived and went into detail about his love for songwriting.
“Songwriting for me has been about healing the soul, has been for as long as I can remember. My dad was a huge Johnny Cash fan. It’s all that ever played in my house in the early years. He lived and breathed every song he ever wrote. Cash’s music was so…raw. Every word he sang, I swear, it’s tattooed on my soul. His songs were the first I ever played when I started learning guitar. I’d sit in my room for hours and play them over and over again.”
“Johnny Cash,” I said. “You’re dad’s got amazing taste.”
“The best,” he said.
A somber look appeared in Jesse’s eyes. Almost as if there was something hidden in between the lines of his story I couldn’t see. The look on my face must’ve changed to a sympathetic one because the next time Jesse looked up at me, he cut that topic of conversation short.
“Anyway,” he said, “that was where my love for music began. Right out of high school I packed up whatever could fit in the back seat of my coupe and hit the road for Nashville. I spent a lot of time writing on my own and I’d perform wherever I could. I used to be one of those guys on the street with a guitar case full of change. I lived in a one-bedroom apartment with four other guys my first year here because it’s the only way I could afford a roof over my head, but as long as I could sing, I didn’t care. When I wasn’t singing I was introducing myself to people, and one day I happened to shake hands with someone who changed my life. I got a publishing deal and I’ve been lucky enough to had been involved in some writes that have produced some pretty successful songs.”
I loved the passion and drive that encompassed Jesse’s life. I could tell by the way his face lit up as he relived it how humble and grateful he was for what he had been given. He had formed Jackson’s Soul with a few other songwriters and when he wasn’t out playing with them, he’d be out playing by himself. The stage was truly a place that made him happy.
“That’s why I love coming here. We get the chance to tell the stories behind the lyrics and really connect with the audience from up there,” he said, raising his glass to me. “Cheers.”
“To what?” I asked.
“To being here.”
I smiled, lifted my glass to his and took a quick sip. I was really enjoying myself with Jesse. He made me feel comfortable. He was very laid back and he had this allure about him that put me at ease. It was brining something up inside of me I’m not sure I’d ever really felt before. I was just about to take another sip when I felt the vibration of my phone at my feet. Jesse leaned away from me as I reached down into my purse. Logan’s name covered the screen and I wasn’t sure what the right thing to do was. Answering it seemed rude, but ignoring it didn’t feel right either.
Behind the Strings Page 7
