Daisies & Devin

by Kelsey Kingsley

  “Does he pay you to be cryptic?” I asked.

  “He said it was a surprise, sir.”

  I nodded. “Well, should I, uh … tip you?”

  He smiled politely. “That won’t be necessary, sir.”

  Christ, I was completely out of my element. “Okay, well, thanks a lot.”

  “Of course, sir. I’ll be picking you up later, to take you and Miss James back home.”

  I smiled politely. “Well, then, we’ll see you later.” And with that, I ended the awkward exchange by opening the door, greeted instantly by the cacophony of car horns and endless chatter. I got out, gently pulling Kylie along with me, and together we looked up at the building.

  “What do you think it is?” she asked, her arms wrapped around one of mine.

  I ran a hand through the hair I should have trimmed, or cut, or shaved the fuck off to look more presentable. More professional in the presence of whoever was behind these mirrored walls.

  I swallowed and shook my head. “I don’t know. His office, maybe?”

  Without anything left to say and desperately in need of some air conditioning, we walked towards doors that appeared seamless against the building. Only two sleek, chrome handles protruded from the reflective glass and we walked in, stepping over pristine white marble and across to a shiny chrome elevator.

  “Dev,” Kylie whispered. There was nobody in the main lobby, but it felt like a sanctuary nonetheless. A library, a church. A place where you wouldn’t want to be caught making a sound.

  “Yeah?” I leaned down to her as we watched the lights above the elevator, seeing it come closer.

  “Look.” She pointed, and I followed her finger to a sign.

  Brewer Records – 4th FLOOR

  Holy fuck.

  He was showing me his recording studio. He was showing me the place where recording artists had laid down some of their greatest hits. He was showing me where the magic happened.

  Holy fucking fuck.

  On shaky legs, I stepped onto the elevator, grateful that I had Kylie there to keep me from squealing like a little girl. To keep me at least somewhat grounded. At least until the elevator doors closed and I found the need to breathe again.

  “Oh, my fucking God,” I uttered, my voice bouncing off the walls of the metal box. My hands were on my thighs as I leaned forward, taking in deep gusts of breath.

  “Devin,” she said, her voice tight with excitement. Her hand on my back. “This feels so real right now. Oh my God.”

  It did. It felt real, while feeling like a dream. The way you feel when reading a good book and you immerse yourself in that world so thoroughly, you forget where the book ends and where your life begins. You are a student at Hogwarts. You are crawling through the wardrobe into Narnia. You are on your way to Mordor. You are traveling down the yellow-bricked road to Oz. And I was on my way to being a rock star.

  Except this wasn’t a book. This wasn’t a movie. Hell, it wasn’t even a cheesy remake on cable television.

  It was my life, and it was very, very real.

  ♪

  I walked onto the floor, like a kid walking through the doors of FAO Schwarz right before Christmas. Greeted immediately by streamlined furniture, a wall of gold-plated records and a shiny counter housing a sleek-haired receptionist, it was everything I had always imagined a top-notch recording studio to be. Modern and cool. Edgy, without trying too hard.

  I felt underdressed and dirty.

  The receptionist looked up from her laptop and asked if we needed help.

  “I’m meeting, u-uh … Richard Brewer here,” I said, my normally confident tone losing its edge somewhere in the middle.

  “Are you Devin?” she asked with a red-lipped smile, and I nodded. “Of course. He stepped out about a half hour ago. He should be back any moment, if you’d like to just take a seat.”

  We sat down and I took a moment to critique myself. The tattered jeans. The sweaty Foo Fighters t-shirt. The scuffed-up boots, dirtying the pristine floor with every step. I pushed a hand through my hair, then scrubbed over my face and Kylie leaned into me, pressing her lips to my ear.

  “Relax,” she whispered, as her hand grabbed mine, pulling it from my face. Our fingers interlocked, and I nodded.

  “Trying, baby.”

  She understood. She knew it was everything I had ever wanted—next to her, of course.

  “Remember when we bought Black & Brewed?” she asked, squeezing my hand between hers.

  I nodded and smiled. “Yeah, I do. You kept imagining every tiny, stupid thing that could have gone wrong. You were driving me out of my mind.”

  “And nothing went wrong,” she reminded me gently, and I squeezed back. “Shit’s happening, babe. Just the way it’s supposed to.”

  The elevator dinged its arrival before I could respond and Richard stepped out, carrying a pizza box. He grinned at us both—warm and friendly—and headed over to the couch as we stood.

  “Devin, Kylie,” he said, shaking my hand and kissing Kylie on the cheek. “I’m so glad you could come today. How was the drive?”

  “It was, uh … It was good,” I replied, wondering what exactly we were doing there.

  Richard glanced around me, smile fading into surprise. “Wait, you didn’t bring your guitar?”

  “W-what? I didn’t know I had to.”

  “Just checking.” He grinned again. “Dev, why do you think I brought you here?”

  “Uh.” I glanced down at Kylie and she shrugged. “To give us a tour?”

  Richard shook his head with a light chuckle. “Come on,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Follow me.”

  We walked down a hallway and eventually stopped at an open doorway. Richard flipped on a switch, and gestured inside. “Pick one.”

  I glanced into the room and saw a mindboggling assortment of instruments. Percussion, string, brass, and wind. Drums, pianos, flutes, and clarinets. They were all beautiful pieces of expert craftsmanship and I appreciated every single one of them.

  But my eyes fixated on the guitars.

  They stood there on matte black stands, gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Wordlessly, I released Kylie’s hand and walked inside, under the spell of rich wood and strings. I touched the neck of the Fender Stratocaster, ran my fingers along the fretboard of an ESP Eclipse and—fuck, those guitars were the things of dreams. I had collected pictures of them the way some boys collect pictures of Playboy models. I fantasized about caressing them, sliding my fingers over their strings of steel and nylon. I could’ve, but I was on a mission, and I kept moving until I reached the Gibson Hummingbird.

  I licked over my bottom lip and knelt in front of that beautiful piece of mahogany and spruce. Examining it. Planning to seduce it in ways I hoped Kylie wouldn’t see. That guitar may not have been the love of my life, but I was going to have the hottest of affairs with it, as I reached my hand out to stroke its sunburst body, rounding to its soft black edges. My fingertips brushed along its accentuated curves, and I curled my hand around the dovetail neck joint, sliding my thumb along its strings. It responded with a shrill little whine that made my groin burn with lust.

  “Beautiful, huh,” Richard said. His voice harbored just the slightest bit of amusement, but not at my expense. He was a music lover—an appreciator—and he appreciated my love for that guitar.

  I nodded slowly, losing myself in the glossy reflection. “Fuck yeah, it is,” my voice rasped, and goddamn, that was no lie. It was the most beautiful acoustic-electric I had ever seen, just as I’d suspected it would be. I wondered if I’d enjoy playing it as much as my own beloved Gibson, bought for me by my grandfather at a pawn shop. I wondered if it would feel as comfortable, as homely, and I wondered enough to gingerly take it from its stand, to grip the neck in my left hand, and rest the body over my thigh.

  Soft footfalls came from behind me as my right-hand fingers gently seduced the strings, filling the space with an impromptu melody that sounded the way sex felt.

&n
bsp; Kylie knelt beside me, putting her hand on my shoulder, and I turned to her. I felt like I was cheating on her, and I blushed.

  “Are you in love?” she asked quietly, a suppressed giggle crinkling the corners of her eyes.

  “Only with you,” I said, lifting one side of my mouth into a lopsided grin. “But, I can’t promise I won’t fuck this guitar.”

  “How does it feel?” Richard asked. I looked over my shoulder to see him leaning against the door, box of pizza still in hand. Probably cold by now, and I felt like an inconsiderate asshole.

  “Amazing.” I said the word, wrapping a gust of heavy breath around it, and he nodded. Satisfied.

  “I’m glad. Hold onto it and follow me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Kylie

  When I was twenty-two, I found my dad’s stash of drugs. I stole them. I took them back to my dorm room, thinking I was saving him, and my dad responded by buying enough cocaine to overdose and die.

  It was that heartbreak, the pain of being robbed of my savings and my father, that made me believe my dreams had crawled into a hole, never to resurface again. That there was no way in hell I could ever recover from that loss.

  But then, Devin stepped in and did what he could to keep my dream alive, while setting his own aside. All he wanted in return was the promise that I would never give up on being the funky-haired barista with a love of music, books, art, and coffee. I promised, while mourning the loss of his own dreams. I had him play every week. I gave him his cut of the profits. I did what I could to keep those dreams alive, to keep him from forgetting about his passion while he built houses and laid brick.

  Now, sitting in the booth, sandwiched between a sound tech named Jerry and Richard, I looked at Devin through the glass. I watched him fit the headphones over his ears and watched him tune the guitar to his liking. He sat on a stool that who-knows-who had sat on before him, and I wondered if that had crossed his mind as he hooked his dirty boots on the middle rung: Who sat here before me? He caught my gaze and I grinned at him. He made a face of nerves coalescing with excitement, and my heart chanted his name.

  I thought about the domino effects in life. The things that happen on our journey to the places we need to go. How our lives would be different, had those things not occurred. Some good. Some bad. Some so fucking tragic, I could hardly stand thinking there could be a reason, other than living under a cruel God in a cruel world. But yet, there I was, thinking about my dad and his death. The money—my money—he used to buy his drugs. The money Devin gave up to help me. How my mom had found herself in the arms of Richard. How that man was now making my man’s dreams come true.

  If my dad’s sickness hadn’t killed him, would any of this be happening at all?

  I wanted to think, yes. Because had my dad not been addicted to drugs, I never would’ve lost the money to achieve my dreams. I could have focused on saving more money, maybe even gotten help from my parents. Devin could’ve used his own funds to rent out a recording studio, instead of helping me to get the place up and going. He could have recorded his own demo.

  But he never would’ve written this song.

  His fingers plucked at the strings and I watched him enter his own little world, as I had witnessed so many times before. I traveled there with him, as his eyes closed and his brows lifted. He took me back to that day, as he sang into the mic hanging in front of him.

  Do you believe in Heaven, she asked?

  Well, do you believe in me?

  Because Heaven is where you are,

  And that’s where I’d like to be.

  Next to you, among the flowers,

  Under the sun and sky.

  Where only these things mattered,

  Where nothing real can die.

  And in that field, I suddenly knew,

  As the sun lit up that sea of blue,

  That only one would feel so right.

  My friend, my soul, my love, my light.

  Daisies, and daisies,

  And always you.

  Where do you want to go from here?

  Because I’ll lead the way.

  I’ll hold your hand, I’ll be your light,

  I’ll make a place for us to stay.

  I’ll protect you from the cruelest world,

  From life and all its pain.

  I’ll fill the room with flowers,

  And I’ll never love again.

  And in that field, I suddenly knew,

  As the sun lit up that sea of blue,

  That only one would feel so right.

  My friend, my soul, my love, my light.

  Daisies, and daisies,

  And always you.

  I’ll put all this behind us,

  Wrap it in a grave.

  I’ll let this summer end,

  I’ll visit when I’m brave.

  Daisies, and daisies,

  Daisies, and daisies,

  And only you.

  His hand covered his eyes, resting his elbow against the strange guitar that must’ve felt tantalizingly wrong in his hands, and I watched one tear emerge and fall against the black wood. He exhaled, wiped his eyes hastily and dropped the hand back down.

  “Devin, you good, man?” Jerry asked through a microphone.

  Composing himself, Dev nodded and cleared his throat before saying. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  Richard leaned forward against the soundboard and grinned. He wasn’t my mother’s wonderful and warm boyfriend in that moment, staring through the glass at my world, sitting in that room lined with soundproofing. He was a wolf, hungry and feasting his eyes on his next meal. I didn’t know what to make of it, but I wasn’t sure I liked it.

  “Devin,” he said into the mic. “Devin, Devin, Devin.”

  “Uh, yep, that’s still my name,” Dev quipped.

  “We are going to make you a star, you know that, right? Sheeran better watch out, because Devin O’Leary is on his way.”

  “You know, Rich, I really don’t have any beef with Ed, so …”

  “Then, you’ll tour with him.”

  Devin blinked his response before saying, “Get the fuck out of here,” in a strangled voice.

  Richard beckoned with his hand for Devin to come out of the recording booth, and he followed like an obedient dog. Richard was suddenly nothing more than a suit, standing and salivating over my boyfriend and his gift. His hands reached forward, sinking his claws into the shoulders I clung to at night.

  “Do you know how talented you are?” he asked sincerely.

  Devin shrugged. “Uh, well, it would be pretty conceited of me to say I’m a fucking genius, so …”

  “Well, I’m telling you right now, you are,” Richard confirmed. “A fucking genius, I mean.”

  Dev didn’t even hide his eye roll, and I stifled my laugh. “Let’s not go crazy here, Rich.”

  “You are so brilliantly talented, and in a few months, the entire world is going to know it. I’m going to make sure of that,” Richard said with a steady nod. “How many songs do you have written?”

  Blinking and clutching the guitar like a security blanket, Devin shrugged and shook his head. “Uh … I don’t know? A few dozen?”

  “All original?”

  “Uh, well, if I had written them, I would hope so. But I did sell a couple to Beyoncé, though.”

  Jerry whipped his head to look up at him while Richard’s jaw dropped. “You’re fucking kidding,” he said.

  “Jesus Christ, of course I’m kidding,” Devin said, shaking his head incredulously, looking down at me. “Why does nobody understand sarcasm?”

  “I don’t know, babe,” I said, feeling suddenly small and very out of place.

  ♪

  The track had been recorded and for the first time in his life, Devin was made to listen to himself, professionally immortalized on tape. He sat next to me, his hands gripping around mine with nervous anticipation, and when the notes of the Hummingbird floated through the surrounding speakers, his eyes poo
led with tears. He stared blankly ahead at all of those sliders and switches and let his mouth fall open.

  “Holy shit,” he muttered breathlessly, listening to himself sing his song about the day my father was lowered into the ground. The day he silently vowed to protect me, to make sure everything was okay, for as long as he lived.

  “This is only the first take, Dev,” Richard reminded him, talking over the song and Devin held up his hand, silencing him.

  “KJ,” he said, turning to face me and gripping my hands. “Kylie.”

  “Yeah?” I turned away from the blinking multi-colored lights to look into his deep, fathomless eyes.

  “I sound … really fucking good,” he said, his voice choked in his throat, not caring about arrogance. “I didn’t know I sounded that good.”

  “I told you,” I said, laughing gently.

  Richard stepped forward, invading our space as he crouched down between us. “Okay, Devin, so here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to get you in here next week and record an EP. It’ll probably take a little less than a week, give or take, so you might want to consider staying in the city during that time. You could even stay at my place, if you wanted. We’ll start getting that circulated on the radio, and in the meantime, we’ll find you a few band members. Then, I’m thinking a tour of small venues around the country. What do you think?”

  “I think—”

  “Isn’t that a lot of work in a short period of time?” I asked, cutting Devin off. My palms were clammy between Devin’s.

  Richard nodded understandingly. “A lot of the work is on me and the studio though. Devin just has to write his songs and play them. That’s it.”

  “But …” I swallowed, unsure of why I was protesting against any of this. Wasn’t this what I wanted for him?

  I glanced over at Devin through the corner of my eye and saw his brows had lowered, staring at me with a blend of annoyance and disbelief. I couldn’t even blame him.