by Lori L. Otto
“Your advice isn’t shit, by the way,” he says. “And I appreciate your candor. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. You don’t candy coat anything.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it. Just don’t repeat it.”
“Yeah,” he says. “You gonna eat all that?”
“No.” I move the plate to the center of the table and share the appetizer, checking out the menu for my main course. After deciding on something, I set the menu down and look at Peron. “We need to get you some new condoms.”
By the time I wake up the next morning, we’re already en route to Fargo. Again, I got a much better night’s sleep than I’m used to, and–again–I owe it to Shea. I’d texted her before I fell asleep: the chorus to the first song I had decided I would play for her.
- I’m not even a musician. You say musicians lie.
- So back up; plug your ears to me. I’ll only make you cry.
I’d stared at my phone, hoping and waiting for a response, but I knew she would be sound asleep. Eventually the display of the phone blurred as my tired eyes lost focus, and with my mind still concentrating on her, I fell into a deep sleep.
My phone apparently did, too, until I realize I forgot to plug it in last night.
“Damn it.”
After setting it to charge, I leave my bunk to get the day started, and am surprised to see I’m the last one up.
“You sick?” Tavo asks me.
“Nope.”
“Just avoiding us?” Damon follows up.
“I’ve been asleep.”
“You must be sick,” my best friend says. He’s known me long enough to know that this is not normal behavior for me.
“I feel great. How long have we been driving?”
“Two hours.”
“Fuck, really? So we’ll be there soon?”
“Half hour or so,” Peron says, looking up from a bowl of cereal.
I hurry to get myself ready and pick up my phone just as Ben finds a place to park the bus close to the venue. Normally, we have a night off between shows, but our schedule this week has three in a row since the travel time between cities is so short.
Shea didn’t respond with a text; she left a voicemail. “Will, what are you trying to say to me? I’ve been dissecting your message for an hour, and it sounds as if you’re trying to distance yourself from me already. First, please don’t. Secondly, don’t do that in a text message. I know you respect me more than that.”
“Oh, shit,” I mutter to myself, tapping back to the text message app and re-reading the line I’d sent her.
- I’m not even a musician. You say musicians lie.
- So back up; plug your ears to me. I’ll only make you cry.
Out of context, I can see why she would react the way she did. Fuck, in context, it’s supposed to sound that way. To get the message–which is actually a good one–she has to hear the whole song.
“Damon!” I call out to him.
“Yeah?” He comes over to my bunk.
“You know that song I wrote yesterday?”
“Yeah.”
“Think you could sing it today… for a video call?”
“I don’t have it memorized, but if I can look at your sheet.”
“Sure thing.”
He grins. “You’re gonna lay it out there for her?”
“I have to. I sent her the chorus and now she thinks I’m pushing her away.”
“You don’t have to. You could explain this to her. No one’s forcing you to pour your heart out to her.”
“This song is the least ‘pour-my-heart-out’ one I’ve written… and fine. Yeah. I want to tell her,” I admit to him.
He claps his hands together quickly. “This is so exciting!”
“Wait, what are you doing?” Peron asks.
“I’m gonna play one of my songs for Shea.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?”
“Yeah,” I answer him without giving it any thought. I call to leave her a message, letting her know that I’m up.
“Hello?”
“Hey!” I nod at Damon. “I didn’t expect you to answer. Aren’t you working?”
“I stepped away. I wanted to talk to you.”
“Shea, they were song lyrics…” I try to explain.
“I gathered that. Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No, but you kind of need to hear the whole song.”
She’s silent for about ten seconds. “I’m listening.”
“You have a few minutes?”
“I can take as much time as I need.”
“Okay, hold on.” I thrust the phone into Damon’s hand and walk to the front of the bus to grab my guitar. “Turn on the camera, Damon.”
“On who?”
“Us… just set it on the table.” After he does, I move a chair behind him and smile at my phone. I can see Shea’s face for the first time since I left her crying behind the restaurant. There’s an effervescent feeling in my stomach. “All right, Shea… can you hear me okay?” She nods her head. “Damon, sing clearly.”
“Do I normally not?”
“You do fine. Shea? Listen to the whole song… you have to hear the whole thing. Don’t you dare hang up on me.”
“Okay,” she tells me, turning her head to the side as she laughs, exposing her dimple.
“She’s hot,” Damon turns around to whisper to me.
“I know.”
“That dimple…”
“Shut the fuck up and stop looking at the dimple. It’s mine,” I mumble softly to him just before I start strumming the opening chords. Tavo steps behind me, no doubt to get a glimpse of the woman we’re talking about.
Damon starts singing on queue:
There’s one just like you back in Toledo
Can’t even remember her name
And that girl I saw twice in Miami
Yeah, she made me feel the same
I’m not even a musician. You say musicians lie.
So back up; plug your ears to me. I’ll only make you cry.
You’re not special to me, Minneapolis,
Stared into eyes like yours before
My heart loses its rhythm all the time
Don’t think you’ve made me feel more
What’s great about this–and I hadn’t even thought of it–is that I can watch her and see every reaction as we serenade her. So far, she looks steeled, and she’s clearly listening to the words. They do sound hurtful at this point. She’s not looking into the camera, though, or even at the display on her phone. I wish she were. I’m trying to give her a look of reassurance, because it looks like she could use one.
I’m not even a musician. You say musicians lie.
So back up; shut your eyes to me. I’ll only make you cry.
I don’t think I could ever love you
I’ve seen prettier girls around
Known smarter women; more compassionate ones
In many other towns
I’m not even a musician. You say musicians lie.
So back up; close your heart to me. I’ll only make you cry.
She appears impatient when she finally glances up and looks at her phone. I smile at her, happy that she’s chosen this moment to reengage.
I don’t get nervous when you’re around. My palms don’t even sweat.
I don’t get jealous when you talk about all the other guys you’ve met.
Minneapolis, I’m not falling in love with you. If I can’t have you, I won’t die.
Fuck, the only truth I’ll admit to you is this whole song is a lie.
I mouth the last line with Damon, just to make sure she understands. A beautiful blush spreads across her face as the corners of her lips turn up.
I’m not even a musician. You say musicians lie.
So come, open your heart to me. I’ll never make you cry.
I’m not a musician.
I’m not a musician.
This whole song is a lie.
I�
�m not a musician.
Tavo and Ben applaud Damon and me when we’re finished. Damon hands me the phone before addressing the rest of the guys. “Get the hell off the bus. Will needs a few minutes.” Peron’s staring at me funny as he trails the rest of them, shutting the door behind him.
“Did that make it better?” I ask, keeping the video call active.
“Of course it did.” I swallow hard, still a little nervous. “I make you feel more?”
“You do. Feel more. Want more. Need more.”
“I loved the song. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Next time, I swear I won’t pick a cryptic line to send you. What I’m trying to say will be straightforward and obvious. I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. And Will?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not falling for you, either.”
My pulse races. A part of me was hoping she wouldn’t bring that up, but I nod my head, loving the playful way in which she did. I might as well own up to what I wrote and what I feel. “But… I never accused restaurant owners of lying, though.”
I can hear her swallow through the phone. “I just lied to you.”
I sigh, taking in what she’s just admitted. “Good.”
Chapter 13
Another smaller snowstorm has us staying an extra day in Jackson, Wyoming. The precipitation stopped an hour ago, and I’m dying to get away from the hotel and see what’s around me. Outside of the Antler Inn are other quaint, rustic buildings and a small mountain–or maybe it’s just a hill, I don’t know. Whatever it is, I feel like we’ve been implanted in an old western set or something. With the fresh snowfall, it’s picturesque. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.
I take an insane amount of pictures as I tour the town, going into stores every few minutes to warm up because it’s still fucking freezing outside. After spying a familiar painting in one particular shop, I go inside and call my sister-in-law.
“Hey, Will!”
“Hi, Liv. How’re things?”
“Pretty good… I’m just feeding Edie. Jon says you guys got snowed in somewhere again.”
“Jackson, Wyoming.”
“Will you have to cancel shows?”
“No, that was our last one before our LA break. We’ll just be a day late there to the meeting with Damon’s label. It’s fine. They understand.”
“Good. So what are you up to?”
“Actually, I am standing in an art gallery in front of an original Olivia Choisie painting.”
“What?”
“Yeah.”
“One of mine? For sale?” she asks curiously.
“Yeah. I can’t afford it.” The seventy-five-hundred-dollar tag is way out of my price range.
“Send me a picture!” I take a few steps back to get the whole canvas in the frame and send it to her. “Oh, wow! That’s an old one! From high school. We sold that one at my first show. And that’s one hell of a markup!”
“Well, with where it is in this shop, I think it’s their prized possession.”
“Right…”
“I’m not kidding. It’s on a wall by itself.”
“That’s cool. Make sure you tell the owners who you are.”
“Like they’ll give a shit.”
“You can give them some history on the painting. That was inspired by the first time Jon and I made out. At your apartment, by the way. It was the first night I met you! Isn’t that sweet?”
“We are–yet again–encroaching on that ‘too much information’ territory, Liv. Why does it always get sexual every time we talk?” I tease her.
“Ask your brother,” she says plainly, but then starts laughing. “You’re just jealous anyway.”
“Hey, how’d those baby food recipes turn out?”
“Oh! I forgot to tell you! They’re amazing… all of them. So far, we haven’t found a food that she doesn’t like. She’s eating carrots and peas right now… organic veggies, and I made the food myself, thanks to her. I should have told you before you left Minneapolis so you could tell her I’m grateful for her help.”
“I’ll thank her,” I mention casually. “We still talk.”
“Oh!” she says. “Oh… what?” I’ve caught her off-guard.
“Yeah.”
“Like… you have her number?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you smiling?”
I laugh into the phone and walk out of the gallery. “A little. Yeah.”
She gasps slowly. “I mean… should I make a big deal out of this or not?”
“Let’s not,” I tell her. “Play it cool.”
“Okay. What was her name?”
“Shea. Shea Livingston.”
“Shea. But it might be a good idea to remember her name?”
“Probably so.” She squeals through the phone. “That is so not playing it cool, Liv.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know. No big deal.” She clears her throat. “How old is she?”
“My age. Twenty-four.”
“Would I like her?”
“You’d love her. She loves you already.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. But don’t get an ego about it. I told her you’re totally different from your public persona…”
“Will!”
“I gotta run, Liv.”
“Why would you tell her that?”
“Bye, Livvy! Give Edie a big kiss from her uncle. Tell Jon I said hey. I’ll call him from LA.”
“I hate you!”
“You love me. Take care.”
She’s still yelling at me when I hang up. On my way back to the hotel, I see Damon eating alone in a burger joint. “Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all. If you haven’t eaten, you should get the Baby Bella. Oh, my God.”
“That’s what you’re eating?” He nods. A waitress arrives within seconds, and I point to his burger to show her it’s what I want. “And a Coke, please.” I catch myself watching her as she walks away. I can’t deny that she’s attractive. In hopes of getting my mind off her, I glance around at the other patrons. “Is it me, or does this place make you want to grow a full beard and become a mountain man?”
“Definitely.”
“These river trips and shit? We need to come back and do that sometime.”
“When the beards come in,” he says with a mouthful of food.
“Of course.”
“Where’s everyone else?”
“I’m sure Ben’s gettin’ some action from his girl online…”
“That was a given, man.”
“Tavo’s playing pool at this cowboy bar. It has saddles for barstools. I’m not shittin’ you.”
“Pool, huh? Could I make some money?”
“You gonna go hustle? Some scrawny city boy in that place? Mountain men, Will. We just talked about that.”
“They don’t scare me. And whatever, I’m not scrawny.” I puff out my chest just to make my point… but I’m not.
“Compared to Wooly Mammoth over there, and his sidekick, Big Bad John?” He nods to two guys in plaid flannel shirts walking down the street as if they’ve just dismounted a couple of bulls. “Pretty sure they had an axe to grind with you before you even walked in just because of your damned Yankees cap.”
“Fuck you and fuck your Mets.” He laughs at me as the waitress sets down a soda for me.
“You’re not scrawny,” she says softly to me, poking her head in between us.
“See? Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She flutters her lashes at me, smiling.
Damon’s staring at me when my eyes meet his. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Why were you looking at her like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you wanted to mount her and grind your axe into her…”
“Oh, shut the fuck up. I was not.” He raises his brows. “Jesus Christ, I’m not sure if
you’re aware of this, but the hormones don’t just stop flowing when you meet a woman you like.”
“A hundred bucks says she gives you her number… and you’ve got your own room here for one more night. This has ethical dilemma written all over it.”
“It does not! And I’m not taking that bet. I’m saving my money.”
He chuckles. “You know she’s giving you her digits.”
“Probably…” I can’t help it if I know the signs. “I’m not gonna keep them… or call her. Why don’t you ask her out?”
“Not my type. She has no meat on her bones whatsoever. I have to have something to hold on to.”
“You’re saying if she came on to you, you’d turn her down?” I ask him point blank.
He thinks for just a split second. “No.”
“Dipshit. Hey, you didn’t mention Peron… what’s he up to?”
“He was in the fitness center.”
“No, I said Peron.” He nods. “Peron’s working out?”
“Treadmill.”
“I might have a running buddy?” I ask, overly-dramatic.
“You might…”
“Here’s your burger.” Our waitress takes a seat on the empty stool next to Damon. “You’re Damon Littlefield, aren’t you?”
I grin as I bite into my food, now wishing I’d taken the bet. It would have been a quicker and easier way to make money than a round of pool. Nah, I like a little bit of a challenge.
“I hear you like to have a little fun,” she flirts.
“Yeah,” he admits to her.
“Into three-ways?”
He clears his throat before answering. “My favorite of all the ways.”
“So stupid,” I whisper under my breath, earning an elbow in my side.
“What about him?” she asks, nodding at me. I shake my head politely.
“Not Will’s favorite thing…”
“But… would he?”
