If You Hear Me

by Jenn LeBlanc

  I love it all, just in different ways.

  I finish my taco and walk up the street to the bar. It’s slow, not many customers, but it’s also daylight, midweek, and a bar. It should be easy enough to spin and get a regular gig here though. I’m not exactly doing this for money. If my parents did nothing else for me, when they’d died they’d left me with plenty of money to do whatever I want.

  I walk inside the bar and find the owner, who introduces me to the house DJ. He came to see me spin and give his opinion on whether or not he’ll allow me to play his space. I could have done some recon, listened to him live or found some video of him on YouTube to see what kind of DJ he was, but I really just wanted to come in here cold and show who I am and what I like, and if I’m a good fit spinning how I want? Then it’s so much better. I don’t want this to be work, and if I’m trying to conform to some house style that’s exactly what it would be.

  I pull out my kit and put it on the DJ stand next to the guy running the audio. Once I get set up, I give him a nod and start my tracks, and he gives me control. I spin straight into the audio without a break, give a shout-out to the owner, the house DJ, and the mostly empty bar then I start into my set. I start off easy—after all you don’t play hard to an empty bar; that’s just common sense. It makes you look ridiculous. You need to tease people in the door to start off. I’m mixing up the classic 80s music, slowly bringing in some current top dance mixes, and I see the DJ crack a smile. People stop on the sidewalk outside the patio and look in, and I know I’m on the right track.

  They filter their way through the patio, filling up the seating areas and ordering drinks and appetizers. I push the dance tracks a little harder, and they start filing through the bar and onto the dance floor. I can see the smile on the owner’s face and the DJ grinning behind his hand. I know this gig is mine. I know I’ve already stolen their hearts so I switch up the get down and I spin like I own them.

  Two

  Daniel

  Tris and I follow Xan and James down Santa Monica to Jonny’s. We grab the last table on the patio, and Tris wanders toward the bar to get us some drinks.

  “So…” Xan starts but he’s interrupted by someone asking for a selfie, and of course he obliges, because he’s Xan. I watch his girlfriend, James, as she leans away from the picture. They’ve been together for a few months now and, while I had a hand in bringing them together, I almost helped to fuck everything up too. James is really something special—she’s a photographer almost everyone in our group has worked with, just because she’s so much fun. I dated Xan for a while, and working with James always gave me this feeling that the two of them belonged together. But I’d never acted on it until my friend Belle said something. Seeing them now though, his brown skin and brown hair, her all pale and blond and gorgeous… My favorite thing about her was always how real she was. I think maybe that’s why it felt so right, because the bullshit Xan and I put up with when we dated was crazy. She’s not a spotlight kind of person. She really gives his life the perfect balance—now that’s she’s got the hang of it.

  The excited squeals from fans start off a chain reaction and the club manager comes to the table and grabs us, taking us to some roped-off seating so we won’t be bothered, James laughing as Xan pulls her along behind him.

  “So,” I say.

  “Soooo?” James says as she sits. Xan’s face lights up as he looks over at her. It’s an infectious grin. I love seeing them so happy. She was always one of the happiest people I know, which is why I loved working with her. It was just…it was all work, and it’s great that we’ve got more of a friendship now.

  “How is everything?” I ask, a simple salvo to stop all the shared grinning.

  “Good,” Xan says, then he turns to me, his face serious. “Getting used to the rumors and the craziness.”

  “We learned plenty about playing with the paparazzi when we were together. I imagine you guys are leading a merry goose chase,” I say.

  “A merry goose chase…really?” Xan says as Tris returns with drinks.

  “Next time you take off, maybe give a guy a heads up, fuck,” he says, passing out the drinks he acquired.

  Xan smiles and grabs a bottle. “You betcha.”

  “So about the goose chase…” I say.

  “Whatever. I think they’ll get over us when they see how serious we are. Serious is boring and Geoff got canned, so I think everyone is on notice that we aren’t going to deal with that kind of extreme bullshit again,” Xan says.

  “They have new people to chase anyway. Sadly,” James says. Xan turns to her, and the look they share is reminiscent of something I’ve been thinking a lot about lately. I miss sharing looks like those with someone—and not Xan. Camellia. I miss Camellia looking at me like I hung the moon and the stars. I try to shake it off.

  “Yeah.” I turn to Tris. “Hey, what’s with the crowd?”

  “Bartender said there’s a new DJ spinning,” he says. “Just an audition, but my guess is they’re gonna get it.”

  “New, huh? What’s his name?” I ask.

  “No idea.”

  “That new?” I ask, and he nods with a crooked grin.

  “If you don’t slow down soon you’ll run out of new,” Xan says.

  “Nah,” Tris says. “WeHo has enough of a revolving door that I’m good for awhile.”

  “Yeah. I guess,” I say, but I’m completely distracted by the music. It’s the sort of spinning that isn’t free.

  “I’ll do some recon. If I learn his name I’ll let you know,” he says with a wink and wanders off.

  “Oh, yeah, thanks,” I say. “So…hey, you two.”

  “Yes?” Xan says.

  “You look good together.”

  James smiles and leans toward Xan as he wraps his arm around her. It’s bordering on cutesy, but I can deal with cutesy for now. I remember when Xan and I were cute for show. Not that we weren’t in an actual relationship but we also knew we both eventually wanted something different. What we had was temporary but fun. A lot of fun.

  “So tell me about this symphony you’re up for,” he says.

  “Up for?”

  “Whatever it is. Trying out for, auditioning for? Is that better?”

  I laugh. “Sure. Sure. It’s the Artists Under Thirty, International. My audition is next week.”

  “Are you playing Disney?”

  “Nope…” I shake my head. “I’m not. I’m playing a modified Grieg.”

  “Modified?”

  “Yeah, I want to show what I can do with the given music. I want to play the traditional solo and bring in some of the other orchestral parts so it—” I’m suddenly completely distracted by the music again, and Xan hits my shoulder. “Yeah, sorry bro, it’s just…” I look over to the DJ booth but I can’t see anything from this angle because it’s around the corner from us. “Sorry.” This music though. There’s something so familiar it’s like…Camellia. She couldn’t be here. In this bar. I’m imagining things.

  “Hello? Daniel?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Anyway,” I say, trying to shake off the sound.

  “So,” Xan says, but he’s looking at me sideways because I’m so distracted. “The girl. Tristan said you sent the committee after her.”

  “Camellia…” I listen to the music again, and pieces start to shift in my head. “Yeah I did, because if she’s done any kind of composing in the past ten years, if she’s even the slightest bit as talented as she was when I knew her, she deserves this opportunity.”

  “And?”

  “And?” I say but I’m getting annoyed because…I just can’t place this music and I’m trying to concentrate but Xan keeps demanding my attention.

  “And what about you? And you and her, and you hopefully getting with her?”

  “What about it?” I snap, and Xan hits my shoulder. I meet his gaze. “It wasn’t completely selfless if that’s what you’re asking, but I’m sure that’s obvious at this point.”

  “What the fu
ck has got you right now?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t. I’m sorry I’m just… The DJ is really good, yeah?”

  “Yeah she is. Beautiful too,” James says as she stands up from the table so she can see her. “Fucking gorgeous. Damn, if I wasn’t—”

  “Hey!” Xan cuts in. He tugs her fingers, and she sits down and leans into his shoulder again.

  “I’m kidding,” she says.

  “I know,” he replies, but that’s where my cutesy tolerance ends.

  “So why are we here, exactly?” I ask, attempting to get back on track.

  “To catch up, I haven’t seen much of you and Tris—”

  “Ah yeah, Tristan. Tristan needs to keep his mouth shut.”

  “Why, because he cares?” Xan asks.

  “No, because if I needed to do this with you I would just call you. I’m not that closed off. Tristan thinks that since we have to pull details out of him, the rest of us are the same. You know damn well that’s not true though.”

  “I guess,” Xan says with a nod. “When will you see her?”

  “Fuck if I know. Next week sometime, during the tryouts.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Pull her into the closest room and kiss her until I’m so full of her flavor I can’t taste myself anymore?”

  “Well, I guess…that’s an option.”

  “You asked.”

  “I did. Sounds like you’ve considered this.”

  “I’ve considered nothing but this for years.”

  “That’s basically what you did when we were in Paris. How did that work out for you?”

  “Not very well.”

  “Don’t you think you guys have some things to discuss?”

  “Sure, doesn’t mean I can’t taste her first, does it?”

  “It does if she isn’t amenable,” James cuts in with a sassy look.

  Whether or not she’s amenable hasn’t ever been a question in my head. She’s always reacted to me the same way I do her. There’s just something more between us that there isn’t really a word for. At least…the last time I saw her that’s how it was, but if it has changed… What if she has moved on? It’s the first time I’ve even considered this and I rub my hands together because they’re suddenly cold.

  “If she remembers what happened between us in the same way I do, there won’t be any hesitation,” I say but even I hear the doubt in my voice. The uncertainty. I can’t meet James’s gaze, but I smile like I’m just fine. At least I think I do.

  “No hesitation, huh? Zero to sixty in three point two seconds? That sounds about like your speed,” he says with a smile, and I’m thankful.

  “Fuck off,” I say. “Why the fuck did you ever doubt that I had a plan, or the veracity of said plan?”

  “Tristan said—”

  “Tristan is a mess and you know it. He’s throwing attention on everyone but himself to keep us from nagging him about fucking his way through WeHo instead of trying to find someone again.”

  “Yeah,” Xan says then looks away. “I don’t even know how to help him.”

  “You want to help him? Stop falling for his bullshit. I bet you went to see him and you asked him one thing about life and love and he turned the tables and threw me at you like a sacrificial lamb, yeah?” James laughs, and I know I’m spot on. “Yeah, I thought so. You fell for it. Can’t blame you though, considering,” I say with a wink at James. “I’d be distracted too.”

  Tris comes back and sits next to me. “See Meli Play,” he says to me, and I freeze with my drink halfway to my mouth.

  “What?”

  “See Meli play,” he repeats. “The new DJ. Well, I assume she’ll be the new DJ, considering she filled this place up on an audition.”

  I stand up, and Xan grabs my arm. “What the fuck, bro?”

  “It’s her.” I shove his hand away and lean around the corner slowly so I can see the stand. There she is. Her hair is natural and wild, partially curled and partially spiked, twisted away from her face as she spins. The look of concentration makes her glow, but what really gets me is the pride and the sheer joy as her eyes float around the bar, people raising glasses to her as she winks back at them. I feel all my friends shadowing me, and I wave them off.

  I take a few steps until I get to the stairs and go down to the dance floor. I start to walk forward, slowly coming into her periphery. She is so goddamned gorgeous I can’t believe it. I remember every single inch of this girl— I shake my head. This isn’t a girl, this is a woman, and it hits me just how much we’ve both grown up. We were kids the first time…just kids. And I haven’t seen her in years but even in my dreams she’s nowhere as beautiful as she is right now, standing in that box with the lights bleeding around her. Her shoulders are pitched and bouncing to the beat she’s slinging, and goosebumps rise all along my arms, traveling up my shoulders to my neck as I realize what she used to pull the songs together. It’s a piece she made a long time ago, a blend of two old-school favorites, George Clinton and Billy Squire. But there’s something floating just above that, a thread of a piece she wrote for me.

  I suddenly feel like a million lost children looking for their pied piper. And I’ll follow. Anywhere. Oh God, I hope she feels the same. It’s James’s fault for making me consider that maybe she did move on. Maybe she hasn’t responded to me because she’s no longer interested in me. I seem to have lost all of my confidence in the last five minutes.

  She holds the headphones against one ear as she plays with her electronic turntables, her smile so bright. Then her head turns just enough to bring me front and center in her gaze, and she stops. It’s almost indiscernible, but I see the flinch when she catches my gaze and hear the jump that goes with it. She gets right back on the beat though, and nobody seems the wiser.

  She spins her hand to wrap up her set, and the house music guy walks up to the DJ booth and sets up to take over. She releases her music to the get down and lets him take it away then hops down from the booth and walks over to DJ Lowblow. They shake hands, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile at someone like that, especially not someone who just spun his house down.

  He pulls her in and they tap shoulders, then he looks to the owner and smiles with a nod and walks out of the bar. I’m guessing she just landed a job. She talks to the owner for a bit, then before I can get to her, she jumps back up to the DJ booth and starts packing up her stuff. I make my way through the growing crowd to the booth, then stand to the side and look up at her, unsure what to say because it’s been so long.

  “Did you know?” I ask.

  “Did I know…did I know what?” she says, and I realize how much her voice has filled out along with the rest of her. The girlish tones are all but gone and her heavy southern French accent has smoothed out with practice, but it’s still discernible, still orgasm-inducing. I wonder if she still cusses in French when she comes. She stops and looks at me, and I’m so lost by the sound of her voice over the beat, the shape of her mouth, her beautiful eyes, big and wide, holding my gaze. Her head tilts only slightly, and her eyebrows hike up the smallest fraction as she waits for me to answer.

  “Did you know I’d be here?” I ask finally.

  “Is there a sign somewhere that tells you who’s in a bar? Maybe you thought I had some sort of magic GPS that would let me know exactly when to arrange for this audition so you would see me? Is your penis sending out a tracking ping that bounces off vaginas it’s previously infiltrated like a divining rod?”

  “No, I just meant…how the fuck are you here?”

  “An invitation and a plane ride. Did you have anything to do with either of those?”

  I shake my head slowly, and her gaze narrows on me as she flings her bag to her shoulder. She says goodbye to the guy at the board and jumps down from the booth, walking out of the club without pause. I follow. Because there is no other option but to do just that. I’ve been looking for this woman for ten fucking years. I don’t want to let her out of my sight again.r />
  “So you’re here to audition?” I ask as I follow her down the street.

  “Yes. Aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I’ll be auditioning.”

  “Are you using any of my music?”

  “I—I’m playing the modified Grieg, but I’ve been working on it for years…I’m not sure how much of you is left in it,” I say and that’s such a bald-faced lie that she stops and looks at me. It takes everything in me to not fall to my knees and beg her to take me back.

  “Uh-huh,” she says, and I want to take it back because it doesn’t matter if I changed every note she’d added to the composition, it was hers from first to last. The notes lived in her; she breathed life into them. It is 100% her heart and soul, and she knows it. She turns and walks away again.

  “Where are you headed?” I ask, trailing behind her.

  “Away from you. Do you live around here?”

  “Not too far.”

  “Go there then.”

  “Come with me,” I say.

  “No thank you.”

  “Let’s… Can we get a coffee? Dinner? Catch up a little bit?”

  “No. I’m not interested,” she says then turns and walks away.

  Meli

  I want to keep going. I’m almost free; I know he won’t keep chasing me. But something stops me, and I turn back to him and my mouth drops open the slightest bit because I just can’t seem to get enough air. The way he’s looking at me is so intense, like he wants to haul me away and keep me. Like he’d chase me down if it came to it. Like he’s restraining every bit of himself because he doesn’t want me to run scared again. Our gazes lock and before I even know what he’s doing, his hands are smoothing up my arms. His thumbs swirl around my elbows then pull and I’m falling toward him, then he’s got me shoved up against the window of the bank on the corner, and all I can taste is his life.