Lowdown and Lush

by Selena Laurence

  “Hey, Cowgirl!” she gushes as she throws her arms around me for a big hug.

  “Hey, Mel,” I say, hugging her back. “Come on in. Are you two staying here too? Mike didn’t tell me what you had planned.”

  “We are, but he and Joss aren’t quite to the point of discussing hotel plans with one another. They managed to have a conversation that went something like this—

  ‘Dude, Jenny’s here and she could use some help with lyrics.’

  ‘Yeah, man? So, like, you think I could work with her some?’

  ‘Sounds good. When can you come?’

  ‘Um, you’d better ask Mel. Here she is.’”

  I start to laugh. “You’re kidding, right? That was the entire conversation?”

  “Oh yeah. Joss couldn’t give the phone to me fast enough.”

  “Oh my goodness. I had no idea. I mean, I knew they’ve had some rough patches, but I thought they could at least manage to talk about work stuff.”

  Mel throws herself down on the armchair in the small sitting room of my suite. “Oh, Jenny. You have a lot to learn about these guys. Starting with the fact that Mike and Joss have a long and not-so-nice history and ending with the fact that, in spite of all that, I know they still love each other. The Lush guys are like brothers, and no matter what things go wrong or whether they ever get back together or not, they’ll always be there for one another—and for music. This was a case of both, so even though Mike and Joss can barely speak to one another, Joss will get on a plane and come out here, and I know Mike would do the same. It’s just the way they are.”

  I hand Mel a bottle of water and sit down across from her. “So you talked to Mike though. I mean, you must have because he said you were going to take some photos of us making the album?”

  “I’d like to if you’re okay with it. If there are any times you want to say, ‘Hey, go away, Mel,’ or things you don’t want me to document, I’m good with that. But I agree with Mike that you’re going to be huge. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me and you and your future fans to see you in the beginning of your career. Years from now, this moment will seem a million miles away, but you’ll always have these pictures to look at and remind you of that brand-new singer just starting out.”

  I play with the label on my bottle of water. It’s hard to imagine the kind of future she’s spinning for me. And I’m smart enough to know that, in a business as difficult and fast changing as music, there are no guarantees. It’s tough to make predictions, and things like digital music, subscription services, and foreign markets can change the game board in a moment. But to have people like Mel and Mike, people who are around the music industry all day every day, tell me that I’m going to make it? Well, it means a whole lot.

  “I’m still not convinced it’s all going to go where Mike says it is,” I tell her. “But no matter what, I’d love to have the photos. Your work is beautiful, and I’m honored you’d think I’m worth your time.”

  She huffs out a laugh. “Jenny. Remember I said the Lush guys are brothers and will always love one another? That extends to the women of Lush too. You’re Mike’s girl. Of course you’re worth my time—as a photographer and a friend.”

  “Oh!” I exclaim, feeling a blush heat my cheeks. “I’m so sorry if you misunderstood. Mike and I aren’t together. We’re just friends. I mean, he’s been great and all, but um, no, I’m not his girl.”

  She gives me a sharp look before she answers. “Just friends?” she asks then laughs. A lot. “Oh, you are sweet. No wonder he’s gone off the deep end for you. Jenny. I don’t care what he’s said or done. Mike Owens is crazy in love with you.”

  I shake my head. “No, he’s not. Really, you don’t seem to understand. He doesn’t… We don’t… We haven’t even… Aahh! I don’t know how to say it without being crude.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll be crude for you. He hasn’t slept with you?”

  I nod, my voice quiet, “Or anything else.”

  Mel gives me a sweet smile. “That’s the reason I know he’s in love with you. You’re the only woman he hasn’t tried to sleep with. Like, in the history of women.”

  I stick my finger in my mouth to make a gagging motion. Mel laughs again.

  “Exactly. He’s been a disgusting pig for years. Now, he’s suddenly spending twenty-four-seven with a gorgeous blonde who plays guitar and sings like an angel and he’s not banging her? Not even trying? That’s love. For sure.”

  “What good will it do if he’s not willing to act on it?” I ask, the disappointment in my voice leaking through.

  “Well, we’ll just have to make sure he does act on it,” she says with a wink. “Auntie Mel is here. I know how to multitask. We’ll think of something to give him a push. That is if you want him?”

  I look out the window at the cloudy, steaming-hot Dallas sky. “Yes. I definitely want him.”

  She grins, and I can tell she’s enjoying this a great deal. “Then you’ll get him, and I’ll help.” She claps her hands together. “Just wait until Tammy hears about this. She’ll love it.”

  Somehow, the thought of both DiLorenzo sisters scheming on my behalf is scary. What have I started?

  I FIND out the answer to that question the next day when we head to the recording studio Mike’s rented. Mel and Joss went off somewhere first thing in the morning, so they meet us here. Mel walks in with an armload of takeout containers, and Joss is right behind her, an iPad under one arm and her camera equipment dangling off his broad shoulders.

  “Where do you want this stuff, babe?” he asks in that velvet voice of his before he strides into the room and stops a few feet from Mike.

  It’s never hard to understand why the women of the world descended on Lush concerts in screaming hysteria. Joss and Mike standing side by side are like some sort of living, breathing aphrodisiac.

  “Just put the gear in that corner over there and we can set up the food on the table here.” Mel takes the food containers out and spreads everything on the coffee table.

  I hurry over to help her, while Mike and Joss stand in awkward silence watching us, refusing to engage in a conversation.

  “So, Joss, you know who texted me?” Mel says casually as she motions for the guys to come sit down.

  Mike takes one of the armchairs and I take the other, while Mel and Joss sit on the loveseat. Everyone gets slices of the big submarine sandwich, and Mike grabs me a Coke and slides it over.

  “Better not have been that dude who was hitting on you at the furniture store last week,” Joss mumbles around a mouthful of sandwich.

  Mel rolls her eyes. “Nooo. And that guy was old enough to be my grandfather. He was being sweet, not hitting on me.”

  I hear Mike snort, and I shoot him a look that says to zip it. He bats his eyes at me, trying to convey innocence. I don’t think it’s possible for Mike to look innocent no matter what he does.

  “Where do you think the term May-December romance came from?” Joss asks. “Old men love young chicks. He was hitting on you.”

  Mel grits her teeth. “Aaaanyway…”

  “Yes, babe. Who texted you?” Joss is smiling, and I can tell he loves to get her riled.

  “Jimmy DuBois. From Rose City?”

  “JR DuBois? From high school? Why the hell was JR texting you? How’d he even have your number?”

  “Man, I haven’t seen JR since we were about twenty-two,” Mike adds. “At that last concert we did at the old Haufbrau Haus.”

  “He ran into Tammy and Walsh at that new place downtown—Scuttle,” Mel elaborates.

  “Oh yeah,” Joss says. “Walsh said it’s like the hot place to be or something.”

  “Well,” Mel continues, “JR owns it.”

  “No shit?” Mike exclaims. “JR owns some trendy downtown restaurant?”

  “Yes, he does, and he owns others around Portland and Seattle. Tammy said he’s super successful.”

  “Huh.” Mike shrugs. “Good for him. He was always kind of a wheele
r dealer, so maybe it’s not that surprising.”

  “But why was he texting you again?” Joss asks, sounding a little irritated.

  “Because he’s going to be here in Dallas for a few days looking at spots for a new restaurant. Tammy knew we were down here and told him to get ahold of me so we could all go out. I thought it’d be the perfect way to introduce him to Jenny.”

  I feel something inside me plummet like a rock and land square in the middle of my gut. My heart races, and I glance at Mike, who has gone stone-cold still.

  I giggle, a stupid, nervous reaction. “Oh, Mel, you’re sweet, but I’m not really—”

  “It’s fine, Jenny. I know you hate getting set up, but I promise you he’s a total gem. Good-looking, funny, and it appears, loaded to boot. I mean, if you’re into that kind of thing, which, as my sister would say, ‘Who isn’t?’” Mel laughs as she winks at me before shooting Mike an assessing look.

  Michael’s clenching his jaw so hard that I’m afraid he’s going to chip one of his beautiful teeth. His eyes are stony and his face is flushed even under the dark stubble that’s always present.

  “Yeah,” he grits out. “That’s not going to happen.”

  Mel blinks at him, all innocence. “What are you talking about?” she asks.

  I glance at Joss, who seems confused for a brief moment before some sort of understanding lights up his face and he narrows his eyes at Mel.

  “Jenny getting set up with JR DuBois,” Mike dictates. “It’s not happening.”

  “Why?” Mel.

  Mike leans forward and snags a soda off the coffee table, his movements sharp and angry. “Because,” he snarls around the straw, “she’s about to record an album. She doesn’t have time to play around with JR—or any other men. She wants to focus on her music. As she should.”

  “Like you always focused on your music when you were recording or touring?” Mel asks. “I mean, you never had girls over while you were laying down a new album, right? Is that right, Joss? You guys were always in the studio at nine a.m., in bed by ten p.m.—alone. Right?”

  Joss puts his hands up in front of him, palms out. “Honey, you aren’t really going to make me do this, are you?” he asks, a small smile creeping across his face in spite of his best attempts at squelching it.

  I hear a low growl emanate from Mike’s direction.

  “Jenny,” Mel says slowly. “What do you think? Want to meet JR?” She’s throwing me all sorts of crazy eyes, and I know she wants me to say yes to make Mike jealous.

  I glance over at him. He refuses to look at me, and then I see him shrug. That does it. I’m not a game player, but if he’s going to act like there’s nothing between us, then so am I.

  “Actually,” I answer, and out of the corner of my eye I see Mike sit up straighter in his chair, “I’d love to meet JR. I haven’t been on a date in a while. It’d be nice to have someone to hang out with, and if he’s going to be building a restaurant here in town, maybe he’ll be visiting Dallas some this fall. Might work out just right.” I turn to smile at Mike.

  He glares at me, his fingers twitching as he clutches his soda in one hand and his mangled sandwich in the other.

  Mel’s smile is triumphant. “Perfect!” she squeals. “We’ll have so much fun. I’ll see if he’s available tonight.” She turns to Mike. “And you’re welcome to bring along someone if you want too. I mean, I’m sure you have a few of your usuals hanging around, right?”

  Joss falls into a coughing fit and Mike announces that he has “some other shit to do” before he storms out of the studio, leaving Joss and me to work on lyrics for the afternoon.

  JOSS AND I finish up our lunch then clear away all the food. Mel drifts around doing things with cameras and lights. None of them look like any cameras I’ve ever seen.

  “So you want to show me what you’ve got?” Joss asks as he pats the sofa next to him.

  To say I’m a little nervous about this is an understatement. Joss Jamison is one of rock and roll’s best-known songwriters. He’s incredibly talented, and I’m a nothing little country singer who doesn’t have a clue about writing music.

  I’m also feeling guilty about Michael. I know he deserves it, and I also know that I can’t forgo meeting other men if he won’t make a move. But I feel bad when he feels bad, and I’m pretty sure he felt bad when he left here.

  “Um, sure,” I answer Joss. “It’s not much. Just some scribbles.”

  “That’s how all songs start,” he tells me with a smile. He really is a nice guy.

  I grab my guitar and my notebook and sit on the sofa. I put the notebook on the coffee table. “So, you really want to hear what I have?” I ask. Even I can hear the skepticism in my voice.

  “Absolutely. If you think you can be comfortable with that. You know everyone has their own method for writing. I don’t want to mess with your system, but if you’re to a point where you think you could play a few bars, show me some words, I’d love to help.”

  I swallow once and decide it’s time to bite the bullet and do it. If I’m serious about this profession, I’m going to have to do things like this, right? I mean, I have one of the most famous musicians in the world sitting in a recording studio just to listen to my songs. I better produce the goods, right?

  I flip open the notebook and strum the guitar a couple of times. “Okay,” I tell him. “All of these songs are about home—leaving home, finding your home. I mean, you’ve been to my hometown. I’ve never lived anywhere but there. I’ve never traveled except to a few church camps and conferences with my family. This summer with Tammy and Walsh and Michael was the most adventurous thing I’ve ever done.”

  Joss nods at me, encouraging.

  “So, um, I had all these feelings swirling around. Ideas about home, what home means, what makes you feel at home. Does that sound dumb?”

  He puts a hand on my knee for a brief moment. “Not at all. That’s all songwriting is—taking those things you’re thinking and feeling, then putting them into music. Home is as good a thing to write songs about as anything. What matters most is that it matters to you. That’s what makes great songs.”

  “Okay. So, um, I guess I’ll play you one…”

  “I’m ready.” He grins. He can tell how nervous I am, but it’s hard to be when he’s teasing me.

  I strum a few chords to get my head organized. Then I start.

  “They say home is where the heart is, but I don’t know mine.

  They say you can never come home again, but I always have just fine.

  They call it home sweet home, but you’re not sweet at all.

  They tell me to come home each time that I call.

  But the only home I know, it doesn’t feel the same,

  And the only time I’m home is when you call my name.”

  The last note fades away and I rush in to fill the silence. “It’s really rough. I mean, I need a chorus and another verse, and we could try it in another key if you think that would be—”

  “It’s great,” Joss interrupts. “I’m being honest, Jenny. It’s a fucking great song.” He clears his throat. “Uh, excuse the language.”

  I laugh. “You know, I am a preacher’s daughter, but I just spent all summer with Michael. There’s not much you could say I haven’t heard a few dozen times a day for the last two months.”

  He laughs too. “But,” he continues, “you have all the instincts you need, Jenny. You’re going to be a great songwriter, and this album is going to be huge.”

  I shake my head, not believing that this is really happening. And it’s all because Michael wandered into The Bronco one night and took a shine to me. I owe him everything, yet I’m going to go out tonight and rub another man in his face.

  After I shake off the guilt, Joss and I spend the next three hours filling in gaps in the songs I have, and brainstorming a couple of new pieces. He teaches me tricks for how to structure choruses so they’re “catchy” and gets me thinking about imagery and how to use it be
st in lyrics. By the time Mel’s phone starts pinging and we realize it’s time to wrap it up, we have two complete songs and I’m feeling more blessed than I have in a long time.

  As Mel ends her call, I realize she’s been in the room with us the entire time and I never even noticed her.

  “How did you do that?” I ask, astounded.

  “Do what?” she asks back.

  “You were in here with us all afternoon and I never noticed you. Were you taking pictures that whole time?”

  Joss chuckles. “It’s her special talent,” he says. “I’ll never understand how someone as noticeable as Mel can fade into the woodwork so completely, but it’s how she gets the genuine images she does. You just forget she’s there, and next thing you know, she’s taken a few dozen really candid pics of you.”

  Mel smiles as she reaches up and pats his cheek. “Luckily, you saw me. That’s all the notice I need. But, yes, it comes in handy when I’m working. It’s a skill like any other, and if you’re doing your job right, then you won’t be noticed.”

  “Very impressive,” I grin.

  “Now.” She shifts topics abruptly. “That was JR and he wants us to meet him at this club downtown at nine. So we’d better go back to the hotel, eat something, and get ready.”

  “I’m not so sure this is a good idea, Mel…” I shoot a look at Joss.

  He shakes his head. “Nuh, uh,” he says. “I’m staying out of it. Although I have to say, considering all the crap Mike pulled when I was dating Mel, I have very little sympathy for him. Also, if he feels as strongly about you as he seems to and he won’t get off his ass and do something about it, he deserves what he gets.”

  I sigh. Poor Michael. No one’s in his corner. And I’m about to become the pawn in their campaign to bring him to heel. I know he’s been a jerk. I know he almost ruined Mel and Joss—and Tammy and Walsh too—but it all ended up fine. Well, almost fine. I guess the band is still broken up, so there is that.