Sound Effects

by L. J. Greene

  It was just then that Kayes’ attention cut over to Greg, who had silently joined our little circle. Kayes gave him a long and pointed look.

  “Did you agree with this decision, Van de Meer?”

  It was the one question no one wanted asked. Though he made no outward move, Jamie seemed to recoil slightly. Greg had not agreed with the decision. In fact, he had vehemently disagreed.

  All eyes in the room went to Greg, who was done up for the show with heavy black liner and a Kinks t-shirt over black jeans and army boots. He took in Kayes’ question with no visible reaction; unlike Jamie, he did have a poker face.

  In the weight of that moment, I might have expected Greg to waver; I couldn’t have blamed him for it. He was still the most unpredictable member of the band for me. And, as it turns out, he was beautifully unpredictable.

  “Of course I did,” he said evenly. “The deal was shitty.”

  It was as if all four members of the band exhaled at once; there seemed to be something glowing around them specifically, if only for that one fleeting moment. A brotherhood. All in, for better or for worse. And any conflict between them was their business, and theirs alone.

  I glanced very quickly at Jamie, whose outward expression was indiscernible, yet his face burned with emotion.

  Kayes uttered a short snide laugh, now focusing again on Jamie.

  “You’re going to regret that. I gave you a chance to be something.”

  “I am something.”

  Kayes smiled a deeply cynical smile. Then he leaned in towards Jamie and pointed at me. “Let’s see how much longer she thinks so.”

  There are moments in your life when you stand outside yourself and think, Wow, I’ll be darned. Look what I just did.

  This was such a moment.

  It started with my watching in horror as Kayes’ hideous comment about me struck a direct hit with Jamie. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes darted to mine with a look that was suddenly so painfully vulnerable that it broke my heart, utterly.

  I don’t think, in my lifetime, I’ve ever been so angry with anyone as I was with Matt Kayes in that exact second–so angry, in fact, that wild thoughts began racing through my brain–disconnected, random thoughts that bore no correlation to what was happening in that room.

  It felt like a fight or flight reaction. For some weird reason, I remembered some self-defense moves I’d been taught years ago. Strike quickly; aim for the throat, balls or shins. Eyeballs if you can.

  No correlation whatsoever to rational thought.

  Fist to the throat; knee to the balls, heel to the shins.

  I was mad as hell at the thought of being used as a weapon against a man I loved dearly.

  So maybe it wasn’t a complete surprise that things got jumbled up in my head. Maybe I can’t be faulted entirely for the fact that in those first crazy seconds, when everything seems to stop and you’re standing outside yourself thinking, So that happened, sometimes things actually do happen.

  I watched disconnectedly as my fist shot out sharply from my body with astounding force. Where it landed in a pillow of softness was as much of a surprise to me as it was to poor Matt Kayes.

  He dropped like a sack of potatoes, howling in pain and clutching his testicles like he was protecting a precious baby chick that he kept hidden in his pants.

  “Whatthefuck! Whatthefuck! Whatthefuck!” he squeaked, rolling around in circles like a pinwheel on the floor. To say it was undignified was an understatement.

  I tore my gaze from this spectacle to find all four members of the band gawking, eyes wide as giant saucers, at the action unfolding before them.

  “Whatthefuck! Whatthefuck! Whatthefuck!”

  “Oh, shit!” Nash gasped, probably with more amusement than was polite, under the circumstances.

  And here’s the thing about men: they are very careful with that particular appendage and they are especially wary of any attempt on it. The four standing males in the room seemed to take a collective step back from Kayes, as if his present condition might somehow be contagious. Killian and Greg checked themselves discreetly, just to verify that their equipment was all accounted for and in good, working condition.

  Satisfied that it was, both of them looked up at me, beaming with enormous boyish grins. It was the first time I’d seen them smile in ages.

  Jamie was likewise distracted, if just for now, from the insidious seed that had been planted in his head. He glanced at me as if he was seeing me for the very first time; or maybe like I was a Martian stand-in for the woman he’d been dating for the past couple of months. Having given up every attempt to pinpoint an explanation, he simply shook his head in amusement and put his arm around my shoulder, pulling me in close.

  “Come on, champ. Why don’t we give Kayes some privacy?”

  As the five of us left the dressing room, with Kayes still squeaking in a girlish voice, “It hurts!” the reality of my crime of passion began to sink in.

  “Jamie, he could press charges against me!” I said in horror. “For assault! On his balls!”

  Jamie chuckled deep and easy. “He’s not going to press charges, angel. He’d have to admit to getting dropped by a tiny girl. And believe me, that would be more damaging to his manhood than what you just did.”

  “Besides,” Killian agreed, still giggling. “It would be his word against ours.”

  §

  Unfortunately, the palliative effect of my unintended actions didn’t last long. Something had been broken between the members of the band, and it wouldn’t be so easily fixed.

  In a cruel twist of fate, the show also had its own problems. Cadence took the stage and immediately began having technical issues with the earpieces. These are custom-molded earplugs whose speakers feed a pre-determined mix of sound to the performer by way of a wireless transmitter pack tucked into his waistband. If the mix of sound isn’t right for each member of the band, they can’t hear what their counterparts are playing. They may not even be able to hear themselves. It can totally throw a performer off his game.

  In this particular case, it seemed as though Nash wasn’t getting any drums in his earpiece, so he was beating his kit with a much heavier hand than normal. In turn, the rest of the members were struggling to hear themselves over Nash, and were signaling as best they could to both he and the monitor engineer to make adjustments mid-song.

  Jamie, as the lead singer, had necessary priority in terms of the engineer’s attention, but it seemed as if, even with the corrections they were making, he still couldn’t hear Killian properly. He kept glancing questioningly in Killian’s direction as if trying to sync his own guitar and vocal level with what Killian was playing.

  And Greg was coming totally unglued. In fairness, the bass is the hardest to regulate because the low-end tones don’t translate well to the in-ear monitors, in the first place. He looked the closest of all of them to just throwing his hands up in frustration and walking off the stage.

  But technical issues weren’t the only problem. All four seemed to keep to their own corners of the stage, rarely interacting with the others. Jamie, in particular, was disconnected and distracted from his performance, never quite catching his groove. There was no absolutely chemistry between them–nothing to suggest that the band was anything greater than the sum of its parts.

  And so, it was no surprise that the crowd was flat and uninspired. The audience stood politely and listened to the music, some clapped or bobbed their heads to the beat, but very few were dancing. The entire show lacked the fervor and frenetic energy that I had come to expect from Cadence’s performances. And Jamie couldn’t pull them out of it, no matter what he did. He just didn’t seem to have it in him.

  It absolutely broke my heart.

  The fifty-minute set felt like an eternity, and when it was over, the band left the stage unceremoniously to a light helping of applause and no calls for an encore.

  I was standing just beyond the wings when Jamie walked off, sweaty and spent. The look
on his face was one of utter defeat. He met my gaze for a gut-wrenching moment and then closed his eyes and shook his head softly, holding up one hand as if to say he was beyond talking. He needed space.

  I watched him make his way to where he had stashed a clean shirt and a bottle of water, downing the water in one long swallow. He tossed the bottle in a nearby can, and stood with his hands on his hips in faraway thought. The lines of his shoulders hung low in desolation. Where his natural exuberance might normally have carried him past this, tonight he just didn’t seem to have the strength; his reserves were depleted.

  A part of me ached to offer some consolation, admittedly without a clue of what that might be. But I knew there was nothing to be said, except maybe I’m here for you. And I was, wholeheartedly, but I was not enough.

  In the end, it didn’t matter. Greg got there first. And the conversation that followed appeared far too private for me to join. Jamie was turned slightly so that I could see the men in profile, and I watched as Greg said something to him, the effect of which seemed to hit Jamie squarely. Greg looked troubled, too, and shook his head as Jamie fired back a response.

  By the time they were joined by the remaining members of the band, an unsettling feeling was churning in my gut. It was then that I realized what I was witnessing. I froze, refusing to believe in my heart what my eyes already knew to be true.

  Cadence was breaking up.

  Chapter 22

  Mel

  IN MID-NOVEMBER, I RECEIVED word that I passed the California Bar Exam. Both Hope and I did, and we had a cursory drink to celebrate.

  The first phone calls I placed were to my family, as they always were for news, both good and bad. More than anything, though, I wanted to call Jamie.

  But he had disappeared from my life.

  His infrequent phone calls became increasingly so, until they were non-existent. I emailed him a few times–even invited him to a party my firm was planning in honor of those of us who had taken our oaths and were admitted the State Bar–but I never got a single response. On one occasion, I spoke with Killian and learned that Greg had moved in with Nash, and Killian and Jamie were picking up some extra shifts in order to pay the rent until their next move became clear. Jamie never seemed to be home, probably by design.

  As for me, there were plenty of tears shed, damn him, but I was determined not to lose myself in grief. Instead, I focused considerable effort on my work, and continued to invest my energy into a new hobby that I found to be exceptionally and surprisingly cathartic.

  Cooking. Who would have thought?

  I became that person in the office, the one who was always bringing in treats and leftovers and new recipes I was perfecting. ‘Rou’ and ‘deglaze’ became part of my active vocabulary, and I actually subscribed to a couple of cooking magazines–something my former self would have found stressful and disheartening.

  But in the low moments, those tearful ones that I could not fairly blame on an onion, I missed Jamie terribly and wondered how he was.

  In some ways, one could argue, Jamie had left me better than he had found me–more accepting of myself, more sure of what I wanted and needed in a relationship–but he had also left me brokenhearted. And I didn’t know how long it would take for that wound to heal, or if it ever would, completely.

  It was hard to imagine that I’d ever meet another man like him–that I would ever feel for anyone the way I felt for him, the way I felt when I was with him. The thought of future relationships with anyone else seemed utterly colorless by comparison. And I feared that in my practicality, I’d settle for someone who would complement my personality, but not necessarily challenge me. Someone who could give me a nice life, but not a partner with whom I could create an extraordinary one.

  Very good is the enemy of great. Jamie had said that.

  To me, he was great. He was perfect…almost.

  Still, as time went on without a word from him, I couldn’t continue to hold out hope for us. He had developed a pattern in his life of isolation and retreat, and it was not healthy for a relationship, or for the individuals in it. He had a circle of supporters, but he wouldn’t let himself be a part of it. And I hurt for him, but I couldn’t change him.

  I had always expected that the pressure on our relationship would come from the demands of his work–and mine, frankly–and from a constant presence of female fans and the lengthy separations necessitated by touring. I had actively prepared myself for those things, had strategies mapped out in my head. But I hadn’t expected that the biggest challenge would come from within, and I was at a loss how to fight it–how to fight for us. He was either going to be in this relationship with me, or he wasn’t. And for now, he wasn’t.

  He was off fighting his own battles, and I knew there were many. The break-up of the band must have been a devastating blow. And it wasn’t caused by one bad show; it was the culmination of their differences of opinions, hard feelings not communicated, and the aggregate affect that all of that had on their chemistry. They weren’t Cadence without it.

  Maybe it was impossible to know for sure who was right and who was wrong when it came to the contract. Maybe it would have gone as Greg had suggested: the label would offer some guidance that Cadence could live with, and they’d put out a great first album that would give the label a reason to back off.

  But I was a student of the law. And I thought it was much more likely to go as Jamie had predicted. When companies invest in drafting complex agreements, they usually do so with the intent of exercising their full rights. The music industry was no different than any other. After all, Prince didn’t become ‘The Artist Formerly Known as Prince’ for nothing. His dispute with his label led him to change his given name to an unpronounceable symbol.

  These contracts weren’t small gambles–they had the power to make or break an artist, even for someone of the magnitude of Prince. And in the end, for Cadence, the gamble wound up in a loss.

  It was a loss for me, too.

  Chapter 23

  Voicemail from Danny

  “HEY. I’VE BEEN TRYING TO reach you. Cara told me what happened with the band. Listen, man… This isn’t the end of the road. I know it feels like that right now, but you’re just at the starting gate. And you’re going to be just fine; I know it. Jamie, I’ve always known it. Anyway…I love you, my brother. I think you know that. Wish I were there… Okay…well… call your sister back. And don’t fuck things up with Mel.”

  Chapter 24

  Mel

  “PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE BRINGING these to the party.”

  My boss, Adam Silverman, took another enthusiastic bite of my third attempt at lemon pepper chicken wings as we stood together in the firm’s small kitchen, napkins at the ready, trying earnestly to keep from smudging our work clothes as we tested my latest recipe.

  “I am. Stanley tried the last ones I brought in and kind of insisted,” I cringed. “I think I’m the only one bringing food, though. Is that weird? The party is being catered.”

  “Stanley’s wife is vegan.”

  “Ah.” Leftovers.

  After a few more silent bites, Adam glanced up at me pleasantly.

  “So, I’m looking forward to meeting Jamie on Saturday.”

  “Oh…uh…”

  I swallowed and set down the bone in my hand. I just wasn’t prepared for any talk of Jamie at work.

  And Adam had absolutely no idea of the emotional landmine he had just triggered. How could he have known? It was just a casual conversation among coworkers, spoken innocently over a batch of lukewarm chicken wings. Decent wings, by the way.

  But with one simple, harmless statement, my face fell and my heart with it. I stopped talking; I think I stopped breathing, and I think I may have accidentally looked like I was going to cry.

  I only know this because his eyes went wide, and he immediately developed an expression of fuuuuuuuuck….Whatdidido?! Whatdidido?! He started jerking his head around in little panicked movements as if seeking help of
any kind, human or otherwise. He sort of looked like a chicken, actually, in a very expensive suit.

  Then, coming to grips with the fact that he was, indeed, alone in a confined space with an emotional woman, and no help was coming, he seemed to settle to his task, handing me a paper napkin and patting me awkwardly on the shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally said in a touching and genuine way. “I didn’t realize. That was the wrong thing to say, I’m guessing.”

  “No,” I said, dabbing my eyes and laughing a little at the cartoonish nature of the situation. “It’s fine, really.” I waved off his sympathy and he seemed greatly relieved for it. “You know how it goes.”

  Adam nodded without comment. He was a great boss, after all–very supportive of me and encouraging in my work. And we were friendly, for sure, but I would not say we were friends. Not like cry-on-your-shoulder friends. At all. I was mortified by the idea of crying in front of him, and he seemed equally mortified that he’d somehow been responsible for it.

  “Well, the wings are outstanding,” he proclaimed with a smile. “They’ll be the best things at that party, as far as I’m concerned. Everything else will be catered and fancy.” He made a goofy, scary face.

  I laughed. “I’m glad you think so. I’m good at doubling and tripling recipes; less good at halving them.”

  Chapter 25

  Mel

  TURNS OUT, I WAS RIGHT. I was literally the only person attending the party at the stately Pacific Heights home of Stanley and Irene Baker who was bringing food. And if it weren’t for the fact that I had come in a red dress, I could easily have been mistaken for one of the caterers as I walked in. What worried me most was whether Irene Baker had even been told that one of her husband’s guests was bringing what amounted to a carnivore’s extravaganza. Stanley, a founding partner of my firm, Baker Harris, LLP, had assured me heartily that she would be thrilled.