Dissonance

by Michele Shriver

  When he finally had the nerve to glance up, he noticed Kenzie was smiling. “Well?”

  “Turn me upside down? Seriously?”

  It took Chase a second to realize what she meant. Upside down. They’d both written a lyric about being turned upside down. Coincidence? Or fate? Not that he actually believed in fate or anything. “Yeah. Weird, huh?”

  “Maybe,” Kenzie said. “Or maybe it was meant to be. We were meant to write this song together.”

  Great. There she went with the whole fate thing. “You really believe that?”

  “I don’t know.” Kenzie shrugged, and Chase wondered if he’d made her self-conscious. “I just know this project came along at exactly the right time for me, and I don’t think it’s entirely coincidental that we both used the phrase turned upside down,” she said. “Maybe it’s not fate or destiny or whatever, but it at least means we’re clicking. We’re on the same page.”

  “Yeah, I think so, too,” Chase acknowledged. And hopefully that would bode well for the rest of the song. “And maybe that should be our title.”

  “Upside Down?”

  “Sure. Or maybe Turned Upside Down.” Chase thought for a minute. “No, I think I like your suggestion,” he said. “And we’ll tie the two opening verses together in a chorus. You open with yours, then I sing mine, then we’ll come together with a chorus. Something like ‘Upside down, you’ve turned me upside down, and now nothing is the same. Not sure where to go or what to do, no, I’m all upside down over you.’”

  His mind was racing now, and it felt a little like when he wrote songs with Jordy. Well, except Kenzie was a lot better looking. And where did that thought come from?

  “Whoa, slow down,” Kenzie said. “It’s hard to write that fast.”

  “You were writing that down?” Sure enough, she was.

  “Yeah, you wanted me to, didn’t you? I mean, it’s great.”

  “You think so?”

  Kenzie laughed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think you suffer from the same self-doubt complex that I do. Yes, Chase, I think it’s great.”

  Chase nodded, relieved. “Okay. I’m glad you like it. I’m honestly not sure where it came from. I was just kinda thinking out loud,” he said. “And I think all artists, whatever their work, suffer from occasional self-doubt.”

  “Probably,” Kenzie agreed. “This could be good, though, really good.” She stood up.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Upstairs,” she said. “Let’s grab the ukelele and try to set this baby to music.”

  Chase grinned. “Now you’re talking, darlin.’”

  “Careful. You sound very Southern when you call me that,” Kenzie teased.

  “Do I? Maybe being in Tennessee is rubbing off on me.” Chase followed her up to the loft, where she handed him the ukelele. She sang the first line of the song, and he strummed a few chords.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “Not bad, but not perfect. Maybe an ‘e’ note at the end, instead?” She took the instrument from him and tried it, then looked at him. “Well?”

  Chase nodded. “That’s better. The ‘g’ was a little too upbeat for the lyric.”

  “Agreed.”

  They worked together for the next two hours, first working out the basic chord progression, then writing two more verses. It was past noon when they finally stopped, but they had a song. “Wow,” Chase said. “I think we did it.”

  Kenzie smiled. “We sure did. And it didn’t even take us a week.”

  “It also didn’t waste nearly as much paper as I did last night to get six measly lines.”

  “Hey, I only wrote four. But those ten combined lines fit, and they led us to this.” She waved the notebook in the air. “We have a song, Chase. Okay, it needs a little fine-tuning, but it’s a song.”

  “Yeah, and a pretty darn good one.” She looked adorable, and completely kissable, parading around the room waving their accomplishment in the area. Since kissing her was out of the question, Chase changed the subject. “Are you hungry? I’m starving.”

  “I’m always hungry,” Kenzie said.

  “Want to go to lunch?”

  “Sure,” she said. “Just let me jump in the shower first.”

  So much for a safe change of subject, Chase thought. Now he’d probably be picturing her in the shower.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Kenzie took Chase to Puckett’s for lunch. He said he wanted to try a Nashville favorite, but something different than the hot chicken. It offered a lot more variety, which was probably a good thing for a Nashville newbie, and it was one of her favorites.

  “Do you have a recommendation?” he asked. “And preferably one that won’t make me breathe fire?”

  She stifled a chuckle. Maybe hot chicken had been a little too hot for his first Nashville meal, but at the time he’d seemed kind of brash and cocky, and had also been subtly putting down Kenzie’s preferred music genre. Torturing him, at least a tiny bit, had been fun. Since then, though, Chase had proven himself to be a gentleman as well as a serious musician who seemed to be gaining a respect for country music. Or at lest Kenzie’s music. She was inclined to go a little easier on him now.

  “The Tennessee Philly, with brisket, is always a winner,” Kenzie said. “Or the fried catfish is another good choice.”

  “Which are you having?”

  “Hmm.” Kenzie studied the menu. “Neither.” On the occasions she’d come here with Jesse, she’d always ordered only a simple house salad without meat. The last thing she wanted was to endure more snarky comments about her weight and her appearance. In the first couple months after her treatment, she still gravitated toward the “rabbit” food and low calorie options, which her therapist said was natural. Over time, though, as her confidence and her strength returned, so did her appetite. It was a tremendous relief to not have to feel guilty about her dinner choices or fear the consequences. “I’m having the redneck burrito.” It was a burrito with smoked pulled pork, baked beans, barbecue sauce and slaw. “It’s always been my favorite.”

  Their server came, and she placed the order with confidence, no longer hearing the echoes of Jesse’s voice telling her, “It’s disgusting. You’re disgusting. You better have the salad.” It was nice to be free.

  Chase took her recommendation for the Tennessee Philly, then asked, “Do you come here a lot?”

  “Not in quite a while, actually, but it’s a good place, and not far from where I live,” she said. “How do you like Nashville so far?”

  “I like it a lot,” Chase said. “Not that I’ve seen much, but it’s very vibrant, alive. There’s always something going on. And you’re right in the thick of it, here.”

  Kenzie nodded. “Yeah, that’s why live where I do. I like being right in the thick of it, as you put it.” She took a drink of water. “After lunch, there’s some place I want to take you, if you don’t have other plans.”

  “Nope, nothing else to do,” Chase said. “It’ll be good to see some of the city. I figured on being holed up all day working on the song.”

  “Yeah, you and me both, especially the way I fought the words last night. I can’t believe we got it done so fast.” And better yet, she liked it. A lot. Hopefully Keith would, too.

  “I know,” Chase said. “We just seemed to find the zone, for lack of a better term. The only person I’ve worked so well with in writing a song is my band mate, Jordy. But we’ve been buds since high school, and been writing songs almost as long. To find a songwriting chemistry like that with someone I only met a few days ago is pretty incredible.” His voice and his face grew more animated as he talked. One thing was for sure. Chase loved music.

  “Do you you collaborate on songs with a lot of other people?” Kenzie asked.

  “No, not really,” he said. “Jordy and I write almost everything for A New Horizon. Sometimes Garrett, that’s our drummer, will write some with us, but it’s mainly Jordy and me.”

  “Like Lenn
on and McCartney?” Kenzie said, teasing a little.

  Chase let out a raucous laugh. “Yeah, right. We may have one platinum album, but we’ll need a lot more to even come within spitting distance of legends like that. It’s nice to dream, though.”

  “That it is.” Kenzie had plenty of dreams herself. At the top of the list was recording her first post-Jesse hit. Maybe Upside Down, by Radcliffe and Bolton, would be the one. Their names sounded good together, at least.

  “What about you? Do you have any great song writing partners?”

  “Nope. I mainly write on my own,” Kenzie said. “In fact, this is my first collaboration.”

  “Is that right?” Chase smiled that sexy smile of his. “In that case, darlin,’ I’m truly honored to be your first.”

  ***

  All through lunch—which was delicious. They definitely knew how to eat in Nashville—Chase wondered where it was that Kenzie wanted to take him. Once they got there, the answer was obvious, and he wondered why he hadn’t figured it out sooner.

  The Country Music Hall of Fame.

  “Promise me no snide comments?” Kenzie asked as they went inside.

  “I promise. I want to see this,” Chase said, and he meant it. Heck, maybe he’d even learn something. He reached for Kenzie’s hand, which she accepted without hesitation. “Lead the way.”

  “We’ll see it all,” she said. “But I think I know what you’ll like first.”

  It turned out to be an exhibit featuring Gretsch guitars from 1930 to the 1980s, seventy-five guitars in total. “Wow,” Chase said. “Pretty incredible. How’d you know I want to see this?”

  Kenzie shrugged. “I don’t know, lucky guess. I mean, you’re a rocker, so you must love your guitars, right? Even if your true passion is to play the ukelele, which tells me maybe you’re country at heart.”

  “Ha ha, funny,” Chase said. “I never said the uke was my passion, just that I wanted to try a song with it.” It remained to be seen whether Keith would be as excited. “I’m still a guitar player at heart, though. I use a Gibson right now. Les Paul Studio.”

  “In that case, you’ll have to check out the Gibson factory at the Opry Mills,” Kenzie said. “You can even watch them make the guitars.”

  “Wow,” Chase said, impressed. “That sounds cool.”

  “I bet you can’t do that in New Hampshire,” Kenzie said with a grin.

  “No.” Chase shook his head. “That you can’t.” It was a different world here, for sure, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be based in a city that was so connected to the music industry, as opposed to one that was completely disconnected from it. He had friends in the business that repeatedly warned him that he’d soon outgrow his quaint New Hampshire town and have to move somewhere closer to the pulse, but Chase never wanted to believe it. Still, it was impossible to deny that Nashville was so much more alive. And being with Kenzie certainly made him feel alive.

  Christ, where did that come from? Chase tried to push the thought to the back of his mind. “Where to next?” he asked.

  Kenzie showed him around the rest of the museum and exhibit hall, tracing the history of country music. He saw Carl Perkins’ blue suede shoes and Elvis Presley’s gold piano, and probably a bit too much memorabilia from Hee Haw. He did get a kick out of Burt Reynolds’ Pontiac Trans-Am from Smokey and the Bandit II. “Sweet,” Chase said, admiring it.

  “Boys and their toys.” Kenzie rolled her eyes. “Come on, I want you to see the wall of records.”

  Chase wasn’t sure what she meant, but it turned out to be a very impressive two-story wall of gold and platinum albums, from floor to ceiling. Many of the songs he recognized, and others he’d never heard of. Kenzie seemed particularly drawn to the display, tracing her finger along some of the cases, until she came to one, where she froze.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “No,” Kenzie said, but her tone was flat, and her eyes took on a distant expression. It was like she was there with him, but not really. Her mind was somewhere else.

  “Could’ve fooled me,” Chase said. He leaned forward and read the name on the record. The one that stopped Kenzie in her tracks and seemed to change her whole demeanor in a matter of seconds.

  Roxy Marshall.

  It meant absolutely nothing to him.

  “Who’s Roxy Marshall?” he wanted to know. “I mean, excuse my ignorance, but I doubt she’s up there with Trisha Yearwood.” Ms. Yearwood, after all, had a whole glass case to herself. Roxy, on the other hand, had merely an album on the wall.

  “No, of course not,” Kenzie said. “She was Jesse’s first wife, though. The one he got on this wall.”

  Now Chase was starting to understand, at least a little. “You want a record on this wall.”

  “Well, yeah. Who wouldn’t?”

  Chase had never thought of it before, but now had to admit it would be pretty cool. It wasn’t the be all and end all, though. He could think of plenty of things he wanted more. “Let me guess, Jesse promised you a spot on the wall.”

  Silence followed, and Kenzie continued staring at Roxy’s record, before finally nodding. “Yes. It’s not the only promise he made to me that he broke.”

  “At least you recognize that.” Chase tugged gently at her hand. “Come on, darlin’, we’re getting out of here.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know, but out of here,” he said. “Some place we can talk. I want you to tell me what really happened with that jerk you were married to, and this time don’t hold anything back.”

  “I’ve already told you what happened with Jesse,” Kenzie tried to insist.

  “I don’t think so. You told me a little, sure, but can you really stand there with a straight face and tell me you told me everything?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Of course she hadn’t told Chase everything about the nightmare. She hadn’t told anyone everything. Not her counselors or her peers in her treatment group, and not even Aunt Audrey, who was the only real family Kenzie had. No, she’d told them enough to get through it. As for Chase, he was right. She’d told him only a little. Kenzie had hoped it would be enough to appease him and make him stop asking questions. Now she wondered if she’d only incited more questions.

  Maybe it was a mistake to take him to the Country Music Hall of Fame. She’d wanted him to see the guitars and learn some of the rich history of the genre of music that she loved so much. And Chase seemed to enjoy it, so that part was nice. But staring at the wall of gold records, and particularly one record on display there, always got to Kenzie. In spite of the progress she’d made, not all of the ghosts from her past life were vanquished. And seeing Roxy Marshall’s name on display brought them back.

  They walked briskly, and in silence, the short distance back to Kenzie’s loft, and this time, when they were inside and she went to get a drink from the refrigerator, she made it a beer, not sweet tea. She handed Chase one, too, and he nodded his thanks before using his shirt to twist the cap off.

  “Do you want to tell me what went on back there?” he asked, after taking a drink. “Because everything was going well, until you saw that Roxy chick’s record, and then you got weird.”

  “I got ‘weird?’” Kenzie repeated. “Gee, thanks a lot. Do you say that to women a lot? Because it might explain why you’ve never been in love.”

  “Funny,” Chase said. “But not really. Believe me, I’m plenty good at sweet talking a woman, when I want to, and I’d be more than happy to show off some of my skills on you, when you’re feeling better. Right now, I want to know what’s upsetting you. That’s all I meant by weird. I could tell something was bothering you.”

  Kenzie almost got stuck on his skills, and how much she wanted him to show them off, but she knew he wasn’t letting this drop so easily. “You’re perceptive,” she said, before taking a swallow of beer. “Sorry for getting weird on you. The feelings come back at odd times.”

  Chase nodded.
“That Roxy woman, Jesse’s first wife. I take it you don’t like her much?”

  “Actually, I’ve never met her.” She had friends who tried to tell her she should seek Roxy out. Maybe they’d find common ground. Maybe she’d learn that she wasn’t the first woman Jesse Cole almost killed. Kenzie wasn’t interested, though. She doubted she’d have anything in common with Roxy. After all, Roxy was perfect, or so Jesse seemed to think. “But I got compared to her practically every day of my life while I was married to Jesse.”

  “He drew comparisons between you and his first wife? Gosh, what a prince of a guy.” Chase’s tone was thick with sarcasm.

  “Yeah, and I always came up short.” Kenzie walked over to the living room window and looked out at the street below. Even in mid-afternoon on a weekday, Nashville’s SoBro district bustled with activity. “Roxy was a better singer. She had a better vocal range, a more pleasant voice, stronger stage presence,” Kenzie said. “And she was prettier than me, smarter than me, thinner than me. That was the one I heard the most, that she was thinner than me. Jesse picked on me all the time about my weight and appearance.

  “First, it was subtle digs. He’d caution me about eating dessert because I had a video shoot coming up, and the camera adds ten pounds. Before long, it wasn’t just limited to dessert. He’d urge me to skip breakfast, because it looked like I was putting on weight. Pretty soon, everything became a criticism. It got to the point that I didn’t want to eat anything in front of him because I didn’t want to listen to his comments anymore.”

  “So you stopped eating?” Chase asked.

  “Oh, no, I still ate. I just did it in secret.” Kenzie set her drink down on the windowsill and turned around to face him. “You’ve heard of bulimia, right?”

  “Of course. I come from a family of doctors, remember?” Chase said, then fell silent as recognition dawned on his face.