This Love

by Hilaria Alexander

  You won this round, Paris.

  A couple of nights later, with the Eiffel Tower twinkling in the distance from the window of my cheap chain hotel, I wrote a song.

  I had been going around the city aimlessly, and I had been touched and pleasantly surprised by the vitality of the town and the people. Whoever spoke ill of Paris just didn’t understand its beauty. The city was a beautiful mash-up of old and new, history and modernity, a clash of races and cultures. I spent a lot of time watching street artists outside Notre Dame, and painters create murals in Montmartre. After days of dealing with my feelings for Lou, my uncertain future, and absorbing the beautiful mix Paris had to offer, I started thinking about this sound, this beat for a song. I had it all in my head, but I couldn’t even recreate it on my guitar. I took the phone and recorded a voice memo trying to make it sound as close as possible to the one in my head. A little later, the words started popping in my head:

  You and I,

  We’re just storytellers

  Crafting a fairytale

  When it was hard to get by

  We wanted a love

  Good to remember

  Thinking heartbreak

  Was worth a try

  It was worth a try

  I never would have guessed songwriting had the power to make you feel better while still feeling completely miserable.

  I got back to Amsterdam a few days later. I had been texting and calling my lovely adoptive family because I didn’t want them to worry. It was a mistake, apparently.

  When I arrived, there was almost a sort of welcoming committee. I wasn’t really in the state of mind to be around people, but somehow Helga had thrown a little dinner together and a few of my favorite locals were there.

  I was tired and I felt emotionally drained, but now that I was back, it was good to be home and be comforted by the people I loved. Lieke stole most of my attention the entire evening, showing me drawings and pictures of what she’d been doing the last few weeks. Although I couldn’t understand everything she tried telling me, I loved how animated she was while she explained to me everything I had missed.

  I had been worried I would start crying once I’d met Helga’s questioning eyes, but I must have cried all my tears in Paris. When we were finally alone though, she hugged me and cooed in my ear while stroking my hair. I hugged her tighter than I ever had and let her mother me as much as she wanted.

  A few days after I got back, I went to see Ally to catch up with her. With Lieke monopolizing my time, we hardly had any time to talk. We went for a walk, got some ice cream at Ben & Jerry’s, and when we got back to her house, I collapsed on her doorstep as if the energy had been completely sucked out of me. With my elbows resting on my knees, I took my face in my hands, suddenly melancholic. I didn’t have to pretend around her that I felt better than I did. I knew she could handle the truth. I was doing okay, but that didn’t mean I was over him.

  “Scoot over,” Ally nudged me with her foot. She sat down next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “You were right. I know you were trying to do the right thing; you were right trying to stay away from him. But honestly, how could you? You were bound to fail!” she said, sounding like she was trying hard to hold back her laughter.

  “Thanks Ally!” I made a face.

  “No, really! I wasn’t trying to make a joke! No one could have been able to resist that! He was sweet, funny, thoughtful, a fucking god on the guitar! He had the voice of an angel, the best smile, he was good with kids, and on top of everything else he was a looker!”

  Her words weren’t making me feel that much better, but I still chuckled.

  “Look at things this way: you tried your best to resist him, but it wasn’t possible, and if you ask me, it would have been a waste. Instead, you went for it, and you lived it. You had this beautiful, passionate, somewhat tragic love affair. I say it’s better than nothing. It’s a life experience, Ella.”

  “You’re right,” I bumped her shoulder with mine and giving her a small smile. I was sad it was over, but I was glad it happened. Those weeks I had with him were mine, they were my memories. No one could take them away from me.

  The first time I had arrived in Amsterdam, I had wandered for days. This time around, though, I was doing things differently. Yes, my heart was broken, but no time like the present to channel all my feelings, frustrations, anger and whatever other unresolved issues I might have into songwriting. I had loved learning about songwriting through Lou, and I had to admit, after my Parisian exploit of creativity, I felt maybe I wasn’t completely crazy. I really wanted to do this, and I really wanted to go back to school. For the first time ever in my life, I didn’t hear someone else’s music in my head. It wasn’t Bach, Chopin, or Liszt. I was coming up with my own melodies. I did as Lou told me, and if I had an idea for a song, I always wrote it down, no matter where I was.

  This was my blank slate. This was my chance to start over.

  The first time I got to the Netherlands I might have been lost and without a purpose. This time I had a goal, and I felt focused.

  CHAPTER 21

  Lou

  I tried calling her even before I left Italy, but she must have blocked my number. My text messages came back undelivered. I couldn’t blame her. I had been the one stupid enough to tell her it wouldn’t work. I had gotten mad and walked out on her. Looking back, I really didn’t know what I was thinking. It’s not like I ever thought I’d forget her anytime soon. After she left, I debated changing my ticket and going back to Amsterdam. She was traveling by train and if I made up my mind, I could probably beat her there. I had even pictured the whole thing. She’d come in and find me at the bar, the same spot where I usually sat. I was daydreaming like a lovesick teenager. And why did I never tell her I loved her? That was fucking wrong.

  I knew I was in love with her, I had been for weeks; I should have just told her. At first I didn’t want to scare her or overwhelm her. I thought that, in time, I would find the right moment to say it; but then, all of a sudden, it was too late. As we got closer to the end of our time together, I felt it wasn’t the right thing to do. I thought it may have sounded as if I wanted or expected something from her. I had already asked her to follow me. Telling her I loved her would have been blackmail. I realized going back to Amsterdam wouldn’t have made a difference at this point. It seemed to be too little, too late. And what if she rejected me? That could have been a big whole “grand gesture gone wrong.”

  Plus, she finally seemed to be on the path to something. How was I going to help by showing up on her doorstep? I had already been fucking stupid enough to expect she would leave everything and start following me around. I wanted her to have goals, her own goals, but I also wanted her with me. I knew I was being selfish.

  I was at the Milan airport, sitting in a chair at the gate, waiting to board my flight.

  I realized part of me was ready to go home too. That was until I remembered that “home” was now just an empty house. Ashley had moved her stuff out already while I had been gone. Maybe it was time to start over, in a new place. I needed a new beginning, a blank slate. I’d have to tell Otto, my manager. Better start getting things in motion before I had to get back on the road again.

  Lou: I’m going to have to sell the house.

  I was still on European time, so I didn’t expect him to reply right away.

  Otto: Well, technically, you don’t have to. You ain’t broke. Are you flying back today? Does this mean you got your shit together and recorded some songs?

  Lou: Fine. I want to sell the house. And yes, sir. I did what I had to do. Rest easy, you’re not going to have to find another job.

  Otto: Good to know. You hadn’t been yourself. I’ll be honest, I had started looking for other people to sign.

  Lou: You’re a douchebag, you know that?

  Otto: Yeah, but I’m an honest douchebag, and let’s face it, in this business that’s a fucking rarity. I’m a fucking diamond in the rough. You have no idea h
ow good you have it, Rivers.

  Lou: Oh, fuck off. Listen, I’m about to board sometime soon. So, about the house. Can you take care of it?

  Otto: No worries, I’ll get things in motion. Do you want to go stay somewhere else when you land? I could book you a place.

  That would make me even more depressed.

  Lou: No, I’ll stay there. I would rather stay out of the limelight until I have to do press for this album.

  Otto: Do you want to move your stuff before we list the house?

  Lou: No, I don’t care. List it, the sooner the better.

  Otto: Well, just so you know, pictures might leak online, so I just want you to know that.

  Lou: I don’t fucking care.

  It’s not like I ever felt that was my house. Ashley had done everything around there, made every decision while I was on the road. The only room that ever felt mine was the music room.

  Otto: Fair enough. Are you arriving tonight? Should I send a car?

  Lou: No, I’m staying a couple of days in New York. I’m going to see Boyd.

  Otto: All right. Just let me know when I should expect you and I’ll call for a car.

  Lou: Thanks buddy. Talk to you later.

  I was looking for quiet, and instead I came to one of the noisiest cities on earth. Plus I had decided to spend a few days with one of the loudest people on the planet: my brother. I had to admit though, New York suited Boyd way better than Nashville ever did. His larger than life ego needed more space than Nashville could ever offer.

  “How many times do I have to tell you little bro? Love ’em leave ’em! That’s the only way to do it!” He grabbed two beers out of the fridge, took the cap off and handed one to me.

  “You know I’m not like you, Boyd,” I said, slouching back on his leather couch.

  “And you should be,” he pointed at me with a finger, giving me a menacing look. It had to be one of those he used in the gym to make people work their butt off. I had never been intimidated by my brother, because he was my brother, but if I didn’t know him, I would have been scared of him. Very few people knew that under the big build and big personality, was the heart of a softie. He liked to act like a womanizer these days and always had the “take no shit attitude” with everyone, male or female, but once upon a time, things were different. I couldn’t deny it though; he played the part of the big, heartless bastard well. He looked even bigger from where I was sitting on the couch. He’d always been fit, but I swore he had to have put on twenty more pounds of muscle compared to a few years ago.

  “All I’m saying is, look where being like this has gotten you. You got cheated on, were left broken-hearted, and now you’re divorced! As if that wasn’t enough, it looks like you managed to get yourself tangled up in something else...”

  I gave him a pointed glance.

  “Nah, don’t look at me like that. It ain’t going to work. I recognize the signs. I’m your brother, I’ve seen that look before. Who’s the bitch?”

  “She’s not a bitch,” I answered as anger rose in my voice.

  “Fine, she’s not a bitch. Is it this one?” He pulled out his phone and showed me a picture. Ella and I, walking hand in hand. It looked like it had been taken in Rome.

  “Where did you find that?”

  “Where’d ya think? All the gossip websites had them. And I have a google alert on you. I like to know what the fuck is going on with my brother, especially when he can’t text for shit.”

  “Fuck, Boyd! You look all lumberjack, nature and shit, but you’re just the alpha hipster! Google alert? Really?”

  “Are you done fucking around?” he asked all serious. I gave him a nod. “Dude, you know my brand breathes social media. Of course I have a google alert on you. I have to know at all times what’s going on in my circle. I still have one on my future ex-sis-in-law.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “If you were so concerned, you should have texted me. Not that it would have mattered or changed anything. It’s not like I owe an explanation to anybody.”

  “True. I just saw the pictures when you were on your way back. I figured I would hear about it from you.”

  “So they just hit the web?” He nodded. “I wonder why Otto hasn’t said anything about it.” Why was I only now finding out about this? I checked my phone but there was no new text from him. Maybe I shouldn’t be too concerned. It would blow over in a couple of days. I wondered if I should let Ella know, and then I remembered I had no way of reaching her. Maybe I could text or email Ally. Give her a heads up, just in case. I ran a hand through my hair and lay back on the couch. Boyd sat next to me.

  “What has she done to you? You don’t look as messed up as before, but she must have done quite the number on you.”

  She had.

  “Was she really that good?” I gave him an angry look. “Okay, okay,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. I asked him what I knew was going to get him all riled up.

  “Have you ever been in love, Boyd?”

  He looked like he wanted to punch me.

  “Only one time, buddy, you know that. And that was fucking enough. Never again,” he said, grunting.

  “Well then, cut me some slack. I’m beat.” I got up and started walking in the direction of the guest bedroom.

  “Fine, go to sleep. I’ll wake you up later. We’re going out, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  I had the feeling that visiting Boyd was the worst decision I could have made.

  My brother dragged me from place to place for an entire weekend. I had no idea what he put in his morning shake, but it had to be illegal. The man was an unstoppable machine. We went to events, restaurants, bars, you name it. He insisted it was going to be good for my image too, to be seen out and about. With the divorce hearing in a few weeks, my name was bound to come up again on the gossip sites, he said.

  In his opinion, it was better to look like I was having fun and I was over Ashley. He added it might have been good for me if pictures of Ella and I would pop up again.

  I asked Otto if he knew anything about that, but he acted like it was the first time he ever heard of it.

  When I pulled up the gossip page on my laptop, I saw that the pictures that were taken of us were during our weekend in Rome. “Lou Rivers’ Roman Holiday with Mystery Gal” was the headline of the article. The pictures were taken from some distance, but you could see it was us, walking around Trevi Fountain. There were so many people taking photos, it would have been impossible for me to notice anyone snapping shots of us.

  I called Ally to give her a heads up, and asked how Ella was doing.

  “She’s fine, Lou,” she had replied. “I can tell she’s sad, but she’ll be okay. She’s talking about going back to school and researching the different programs, so that’s good.”

  I was happy to hear she was sticking to her plan. I just wished I could talk to her, tell her how much I missed her. The whole time in New York I kept wondering where she lived, what were her favorite places, or if I was unknowingly walking down her block. Boyd tried over and over to get the “Amsterdam haze,” as he called it, out of my eyes. He was convinced any other girl would do, but he was wrong. In just a few days, he had introduced me to more women than I cared to meet. They were always very beautiful and sweet, and some of them even seemed pretty smart. A couple of them were even my fans. Any other time, I wouldn’t have turned them down, but right now I wasn’t looking for a meaningless hookup. All I thought about were Ella’s eyes, and her voice. I missed her body, her skin, her hands, her crazy hair…but it was more than that. I missed the music we made together, the connection we had. I felt I belonged to her. I had lost a friend, a partner, a lover. She was a piece of me. I started feeling restless. I needed to play, I needed to write, but it seemed an unrealistic task since Boyd had made it his mission to spend as much time together as possible. He wanted us to hang out and do all the stuff we hadn’t done in a while. I knew he was trying to get my mind off things, and that was nice of
him, but after less than a week in New York, I was anxious to go back to Tennessee. I was ready to go back to my new songs. My music was my world. It made me who I was, and it reminded me of the beautiful girl that played with me. She was in every note.

  A few days went by and I was finally back in my element—in a recording studio in my hometown. It felt good to be back in Nashville, and it felt good to get positive reactions about the songs I recorded in Italy. Still, I felt like something was missing.

  We were close, so close to being done with this album. The songs I had were great, but something told me I was holding back. I kept thinking there was something else I had to say. Ella was everywhere in these songs, I had written all of them after we started hanging out together, yet there was no song dedicated to her. She deserved a million songs. She deserved an apology, for starters. I had been a complete, total asshole those last few days in Italy. Why did I shut her out? She was right, we could have made it work. I could have been looking forward to the time I could hear her voice again. Instead, I was sitting in this recording studio, unable to focus on anything, unable to stop thinking about her.

  “Lou? Hey buddy, did you hear what I said?” Josh asked.

  “Sorry man, what did you ask me?”

  “What do you think if we add the electric guitar to this one song? You know, to give it a little something extra?”

  “Are you talking about adding it to the whole song?” I asked.

  “No, not necessarily. I was thinking toward the end, after the bridge. You should put more guitar solos in your songs. You ain’t that bad,” he smirked, making a clicking sound with his tongue.