Broken Melody (Graffiti On Tour Series)

by Jennifer Miller

  “Look, I’m not presuming to know anything about what’s going on with you. I don’t know you. But,” I shrug, “I know from experience that things aren’t always what they seem. And people lie, embellish, and manipulate to get what they want. And some don’t give a shit who they may hurt in the process. If that’s the situation you’re in, then reach out to your friends, find someone to talk to, and deal. Don’t fuck up your life over something that can be dealt with. Nine times out of ten, the person that caused you to feel that way isn’t worth it.” At that Maddox’s jaw tightens so hard he’s going to break a molar. “And if they are, then if they are anybody decent, they wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself anyway. So, to answer your question, there is a time in my life where I was ‘messed up’ and ‘unstable’, so you don’t scare me, Maddox Colt. Not one bit.”

  Maddox relaxes infinitesimally and nods at me. Rocco smiles, Henley laughs a little to himself, “I like her,” he says.

  “Will you marry me?” Nixon says making all of us laugh, even Maddox cracks a smile.

  “I’ll think about it,” I tell him jovially.

  “But seriously, this world of ours, it can get crazy. Can you handle that?” Rocco asks with a look of concern on his face as he studies me intently.

  “Crazy how?”

  “Obsessed fans, crazy paparazzi, every move being judged and watched, long days and nights,” he starts.

  Nixon adds, “Hectic schedules full of appearances and interviews and all the while we’re told where to be, who we’re with, what time to be there, and what we should be doing.”

  “It’s definitely not all fun and games,” Maddox adds.

  “But there are certainly moments of total awesomeness,” Henley says.

  “I’m positive I can handle it,” I look around the table, “and all of you.”

  “We don’t doubt that.” Rocco says with a smile and laugh.

  “Not at all,” Nixon adds. My eyes catch Maddox’s across the table and I don’t think it’s just my imagination when I see a challenge on his face at my words. Especially when Nixon, who’s sitting next to him, obviously kicks him under the table because Maddox looks at him angrily and yelps.

  When we finish up, we all walk out together and I receive my first taste of this new life that I may be a part of. “Maddox! Maddox! Henley! Nixon! Over here! Rocco! Over here!” We are suddenly swarmed by paparazzi. The guys create a circle around me and I instinctively look down and ignore them.

  “Who’s the hottie?” Someone yells. “New girl in your life, Maddox? How long will this one last?” Staff from the restaurant comes outside and threatens to call the police if they don’t back up off of their property. We make sure we are within their property limits while we wait for my car to arrive. Rocco offers to bring me home, but I’ve already got the car coming, so I decline.

  When the car pulls up, all of them hug me goodbye. While we all hug, I can hear the shutters of cameras clicking rapidly. Maddox takes a moment to pull away from me and says near my ear, “Make sure. Because this is just a taste.” Nodding, I turn and get inside the car, thanking Nixon for holding the door open.

  They all stand and wave at me, ignoring the cameras surrounding them as they do so. It was a good dinner, question is, did they think so too? I feel like they like me well enough and want me to join, but who knows? Only time will tell I guess. I just hope I don’t have to wait much longer to find out.

  “I cannot endure another second of this.” I say.

  “I think my ears are bleeding. Are they? Someone look.” Nixon requests, but we all ignore him.

  “Why the hell are we being put through this torture?” I look angrily at Rocco as if it’s his fault.

  “Jace said Rick had a few more leads he wanted to check out and that he wants to be sure before engaging Sailor,” Rocco explains.

  “But Jace told him that we have now agreed to Sailor, right? Yes, he said he told him that already!” Henley says, his aggravation as intense as the rest of ours. We direct our questions to each other because Jace has assumed a position mid-way between us and Rick – kind of like in neutral territory.

  “Yeah,” I agree. “I don’t get this at all.”

  “This feels suspicious to me,” Nixon says.

  “Yeah,” Henley adds. “I get the feeling this has less to do about us and more about the fact that Rick has had a change of heart.”

  “A change of heart about Sailor?” I ask in disbelief. “No way. She’s phenomenal.”

  “She is. Which is why I think he’s hoping we can find someone else and he can sign her as a solo act instead,” Henley says.

  “He wouldn’t,” Nixon growls.

  I shrug, “Well he can offer that to her no matter what, that’s his choice. We can’t stop him.” I say angrily.

  “Oh, god. Maybe he already did and she accepted, and that’s why we’re all having to endure this,” Rocco says and I don’t like the way that theory makes me feel. At all. Hard to believe how quickly my feelings have changed, but it’s no use denying them any longer.

  “Well, he’s about to be really disappointed then,” I tell him.

  “Oh, God,” Rocco says in dread.

  “She sounds like a bird caught in a mouse trap or some shit. I can’t stand her god-awful screeching. Awful, honey, just awful,” I state loudly enough for the woman auditioning for our band to hear. Rick frowns at me and I shake my head at him and make a cut it gesture across my neck.

  “Oh god,” Rocco says again.

  “Yeah, I agree,” Henley says loudly and if I wasn’t so shocked, I’d smile, “Next!”

  The girl that was singing stomps out of the room, but I’m too annoyed to give a fuck. Maybe this is serious and Sailor isn’t an option now, I don’t know. But I’m sure as hell not going to make the fact he may have made that decision without us easy on him. Besides, that chick will just chalk it up to us being a bunch of pretentious douche bags. I can live with that.

  We aren’t waiting long before they usher someone else in, “Guys, I’d like you to meet Rebel. We’ve received her demo and think she could be a great fit.”

  “Doubt it,” Nixon says loudly enough for her to hear. “But give it a shot. Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

  Rick looks frustrated, but murmurs a few words to Rebel, which is clearly a fake name – it has to be and I’m not impressed – and she goes to the front of the room and starts singing. There’s no introduction, no niceties, or small talk because we aren’t having it. We are pissed and Rick and Jace know it, in fact, I know Jace agrees with our assessment and communicated that to Rick, but he’s ever the professional, and likely feeling caught between us and Rick. We’ve never questioned his advocacy for us, so we owe him if he thinks we need to endure this. It’s likely a bit more of a tightrope walk than any of us understand – our desires versus respecting Rick’s so we can keep a relationship with this label. Question is - how long are we all required to endure this too?

  “Seriously? You thought her voice would blend well with ours?” Henley directs his question toward Rick and looks pleadingly at Jace, arms crossed and sporting a scowl so fierce a lesser person would piss their pants.

  “Not even close,” Rocco adds. “Unless you think we all sound like squealing pigs.” He turns and directs his next comments to Rebel, “Listen honey, you should be looking for a heavy metal screaming band. Not pop rock.”

  Nixon, Henley and I all look at Rocco like his dick is hanging out of his pants because we can’t believe the insult he just laid down, “Good one,” Henley says with a laugh.

  Rebel stops singing, and looks at Rick, fury on her face. He sighs and shows her out. When he comes back into the room he approaches us, arms crossed. “Alright, what the hell is going on?”

  “We believe Jace already explained our position, but in case you didn’t hear or understand or simply weren’t listening, let me repeat it.” Nixon says in frustration earning a furious look from Rick while Jace shakes his head at us
behind Rick’s back. He’s making a slashing motion across his throat telling us to knock it off and shut the hell up. At least that’s my interpretation. “With all due respect,” Nixon adds and I almost want to laugh.

  Rick turns to Rocco, which really, is quite smart. He usually is the rational one among us, although after that pig comment, I’m still surprised. Rick sighs deeply, “Rocco, you explain.”

  “Sir, we like Sailor. Her voice mixes with ours – we have a great sound. She’s unmatched, and therefore this all feels ridiculous and like a waste of time.”

  “That’s hilarious considering you guys have been fighting this every step of the way,” Rick says. “Why the sudden about face?”

  “We have, yes. But we know this is going to happen. A woman is going to join us. But you told us we would get to choose,” Rocco says politely, yet sternly, “And we’ve done so. And we want the best. And we think we’ve chosen that as well.”

  He throws his arms up in the air, “Fine. I’ll offer it to Sailor. I’ll go and give her a call to come in as soon as she can. I want your practice schedule for studio time on my desk ASAP.”

  “We can do that,” Henley says.

  “But, I’m telling you right now, if for some reason singing with you is not the decision she makes, we will be right back here picking someone else. And I expect your full cooperation. Got it?”

  “Yes,” Nixon says.

  “Why wouldn’t she decide to sing with us?” I ask suspiciously wondering if he had hoped we would miss that comment.

  “Well…because…” He throws up his hands. “I’m going to hopefully make her another offer she can’t refuse.”

  “I knew it,” I growl angrily.

  “I would be stupid not to. I am after all running a business here, and that’s just good business. So prepare yourself. Got it?” With that he stalks out of the room and we all look at each other in irritation. I’ve got a feeling of doom in my belly, and I hope it’s unfounded.

  Jace interrupts my thoughts, “What the hell has gotten into you guys? You can’t speak to him like that for fuck’s sake. Me? Yes, you can speak to me like that, but I can and will if needed speak to him like that myself. Trust me, you do not want to piss him off at this point. He’s your only lifeline right now and could pull your contract out from under you any time claiming breach of your terms. Don’t you get that?”

  “Sorry, Jace, we get it. But come on, we had to fight for Sailor. We like her. We want her. It’s insulting that he even thinks these people could hold a candle to her. Frankly, we didn’t hear you speaking up for our position.” Rocco says.

  “You ‘like her’ and ‘want her’? Since when?” he asks with irritation. We all just stare at him not willing to tell him about our dinner with her, but he knows us well. “Yeah, fine. Whatever. Keep your secret. I just hope that it all works out. Now get the hell out of here. I’ll contact you once I know something.”

  He doesn’t have to ask us twice. We’re all up and out of our chairs in seconds. “Later,” I call to the guys as I head to my car and they all call out their goodbye’s too knowing we will see each other at practice soon enough.

  I head home, eager to spend as much time there as I can. The next couple months are going to fly by and before long, we’ll be on tour. A three-month tour isn’t bad, but it’s still time away from your own place, your own bed. Living in a bus with three other guys is not my idea of a good time. They’re annoying, loud, and let’s not forget smelly as hell. This time, there will also be a female in the mix - that will change things even more.

  Stepping into my house, I sigh in relief. It’s a quiet day, the housekeepers were here yesterday and no one is here but me. My mind instantly returns to dinner last night with Sailor. My fascination with her keeps growing and I’m not sure how I feel about it. I haven’t learned much about her yet, but the little I do know, I like. She’s happy, fun, engaging, determined, and she doesn’t take my shit. I have a feeling practicing and touring with her is going to be an experience unlike any other. I’m both looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time.

  In my bedroom, my guitar beckons to me from the corner of the room. Writing songs hasn’t been easy for me lately. Truth be told, I’ve had block from hell. Every time I pick it up and try to come up with something new, the urge inside me is buried. I can’t dig it out no matter how hard I try. It’s almost like it shriveled up and disappeared altogether.

  When I’ve tried to push past it, flashes of my past rise up out of nowhere. It’s like those feelings are buried in my heart and soul and until I deal with them, each time I dig deep, those are going to be the ones that are revealed first. It’s a conundrum. Because those thoughts, my failure, her tragedy…it all makes me freeze, unable to think clearly, let alone write. Isn’t that my luck? I know that sometimes crises and similar situations cause people to pour their heart and soul into their work. I’ve heard of songwriters becoming elated when bad shit happens to them because it gives them a renewed focus and they pour all of their pain into their lyrics and music. But that’s not how it is with me. I can’t do that. These thoughts, my feelings…they imprison me; and I can’t find the key to unlock the cell.

  When the images come to me, they’re horrible and vivid. Despite the fact that I wasn’t even there – and have no truth, no certainty in what actually occurred – my mind conjures up the worst images imaginable. I cling to them and sometimes expand them - and view them as though they’re factual. I see her pain, I hear her screams and pleas for me to help her - I see her horror. I can taste it on my tongue, hear it in my ears, it’s as if an oily film coats my skin and I can’t continue. Either I put the guitar down and grab the closest available alcohol to wash away the pictures, thoughts, pain and inevitably my feelings. Or I dash to the nearest bathroom to hurl the contents of my stomach.

  Many times I held my phone in my hand, punched in her number, let it ring, and listened to her voicemail. I did it obsessively until her phone service was shut off. Then, and now, I’ve thought about what I would say to her a million times. Played it out in my mind over and over again. The worst part is that since I can’t hear her voicemail anymore, I’ve forgotten the sound of her voice.

  Staring now at my guitar, I wonder if I want to even try. Do I really want to put myself through the pain once more? I want to push through, I do, but it’s so impossibly difficult. Part of me wants to forget it and grab some whiskey instead and drown myself in sorrow and memories. I almost walk away. I almost head to the kitchen. But something stops me. Suddenly, I see her. Sailor. And in this moment, I allow my feelings to surface, gurgling for life, and invoke honesty that I’ve submerged since I first heard her sing. Her laugh, her voice, and her obvious love for music. I see the way her body moves when she sings and how her face lights up with joy from doing so. And for the first time in a long time, through her, through the magic of having had the chance to watch her sing, I find inspiration.

  Slowly, as if moving too fast would make it fade away, I take my guitar from its stand, and sit down, cradling it in my lap. I run my fingers down the strings of her neck, stroking her like a lover. With my right hand, I strum a couple random chords. Closing my eyes, I play a song, an easy one, one that’s as familiar to me as my own face. When the thoughts I want to avoid enter my mind, my fingers clench momentarily making me skip a couple notes, but I do my best, try hard, to push them away. Sweat beads on my forehead and my upper lip, nausea hiding just beyond reach. I push past the agony, fight my way through the tunnel of despair that has me in its grip, and somehow at the end, I see a smile. I hear a laugh. And finally, I hear a beautiful voice that washes away the pain.

  A new sound starts to come from the instrument I love. I play it over and over again; find the melody, memorize it. It’s Sailor’s song. I didn’t mean to have one, it doesn’t even make sense, but how and where an artist finds inspiration doesn’t always have to. Its been so long since I’ve felt like this, that I hold onto it, I revel in it, I l
augh out loud, unwilling to stop and let this feeling go. God, I’ve missed it so much. I let myself become the music; we are one.

  As I continue to play, a few words hit me here and there but nothing concrete. I write down what I have, not wanting to forget them, but I don’t worry. I know the rest will come in time.

  What has to be hours later, I finally put the guitar down, a little hesitant to do so. Standing, I head into the shower and quickly wash up and then eat something before I go to bed. For the first time in a long time, I fall asleep with a smile on my lips instead of alcohol. And that night, my nightmares stay away.

  My attorney and I, a client of Britt’s that agreed to help me out, are sitting in a large conference room waiting for my meeting with Rick to start. The phone call that felt like I waited a lifetime to receive finally came yesterday morning. Rick said he had an offer and asked if we could meet as soon as possible, and I agreed to meet with him the next day. After the shock wore off, I realized I had no idea what to expect when it comes to signing this contract, or looking out for myself. I said as much to Britt, and with a gleam in her eyes, she made a phone call. I swear she knows someone that can help with any damn thing. What a network! Need your car looked at? She knows a guy. Looking for a great dentist? She’s got one for you. How about a great handyman recommendation? Ask Britt. She’ll call someone for you. I told her she should start charging for the information. It can come in handy, that’s for sure.