by Willa Lively
I don’t bother to respond but instead look at Cole, who usually is great at being a cock-block when it’s girls that are interested. And while I can’t say the same for all instances in the past, tonight I’m totally fine with it.
Cole looks at me and gets the memo. “Unless you’ve got a big ol’ dick hiding under that dress, I’m not interested and my friend here only is into smashing girls’ hearts so I would stay away,” Cole says in a way that is meant to be dismissively, but I can see it makes the brunette girl only eye me more intensely, as if breaking her heart is exactly the quality she’s looking for in a man. Sure, it’s all fun and games until the slumped shoulders and quivering lip of a broken-hearted girl are seared into your brain forever, keeping you up at night so you can’t have at least one good night of sleep to help make the recovery from said girl even the slightest bit easier. Not that I’m referring to any specific case or anything.
The girls linger around for a second too long, but seemingly they tire of looking at my absolutely morose face and decide to move on. Good choice.
“There is another update on Brooke,” Cole continues. “She might be a bit mad at you for what you did to Melody.”
I sigh. I knew I wasn’t off the hook for that.
“I don’t get it,” he continues. “You were happy. Genuinely, happy. Why fuck it up so badly?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say darkly, clenching my jaw.
“Dude, too bad. Life is too short for me to sit around here and let you stew in some bullshit because you’re toxic masculinity doesn’t want to express emotions or admit your lost.”
“I’m not fucking lost, Cole.” I slam my drink on the table harder than I intended. “I don’t want to talk about it because it makes me fucking miserable just thinking about it. Even though it’s all I can think about. I was going to screw up Melody’s life if I stayed in it. She’s better off without me and time will pass and everyone will get that. In the meantime, just fucking leave it alone.”
A long beat of silence passes between us, which is highly unusual for Cole.
“I’m not going to leave it alone.” He finally says. “Fine. Tonight we won’t talk about it anymore, but I will not leave it alone until you see how absolutely fucking stupid you’re being. If your life isn’t compatible with someone who you actually give a shit about for the first time in your life, and who clearly cares about you, then it’s not the relationship that’s the issue. It’s your life. Because a life that isn’t compatible with love is not a life I want for my best friend. You deserve more than that. You’ve got an enormous heart, Luc, and you deserve to use it.”
I don’t like the prickling feeling at my chest and the hot rush to my cheeks.
I don’t like that Cole’s words are striking me so that I feel like keeling over and throwing up.
I don’t like any of it one bit because if he’s right, that means I made the dumbest decision of my life. And the only solution would be something I’m not sure I can survive.
A lone saxophone spreads through the lounge like a warm sip of wine on a cold night. I let the feeling creep through me, until I shut it off, remembering that I’m not the kind of person who relishes these whimsical moments anymore. I have to shut that person off to be the man I need to be.
That’s when it dawns on me. I don’t like the person who is barely surviving right now going by my name. I don’t like this imposter of myself. And if I take control of my own life, it would certainly kill that person I’m pretending to be, the man who I need to run my empire. But it would create an opening for a man I can actually stand being. Except the cost of taking control might be greater than I can afford.
The music creeps into my veins and I let myself sit with it. The cost of not taking control, though, means losing myself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Melody
I finish my third Lana Del Rey song of the night before it’s time for my break. I’m at Bowie’s filling in for a band who cancelled last minute. This is my first gig since I’ve come back from Finland, as I’ve told everyone that I’m using the money from Finland to take some time to write new music. The truth is, there has been just as much wallowing as there has been new music, but at least the two seem to kind of go together nicely.
I walk over to the part of the bar where Ryan is standing behind, bartending for the night. I’ve managed to get away with not telling him what happened with the stranger he saw me leave with the last time I was here, but my insistence for no picklebacks and my song choices are probably a bit revealing. Ryan also was making out with Cole that night and there is a very real possibility they stayed in touch based on the depths their tongues were going.
“Hey, Mel?” Ryan says while sliding me a glass of red wine. “Don’t take this the wrong way but, is there any chance of you playing at least one song that is a little more… happy? I know it’s only a Thursday, but I’m pretty sure I saw at least 2 people leave to call every ex they’ve ever had. Lord knows, I’m about to.”
I give him a small smile.
“Well,” I start. “I’m writing this one song I could try out. Basically, it’s about this girl who I imagine is the reason I, uh, I mean the narrator of the song, was left by her… well, her lover.”
Ryan just looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “It sounds like another incredibly sad song.”
“Oh, sorry, I should have lead with that. It’s not a sad song.”
Ryan’s face scrunches in confusion.
“It’s not, I swear. It’s an angry song.”
Ryan rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Yes, fine. Angry songs for the rest of the night would be a vast improvement if you really can’t manage one happy song.”
“Angry songs it is,” I agree while looking into my wineglass.
I shouldn’t be pitying myself. It’s ridiculous. The world has actual problems. People are actually suffering, which was made more than apparent today when I met up with Brooke for lunch. She broke the news to me that her father had been rushed to the hospital. I only just met Brooke and don’t know her father, but I could see the pain in her eyes she was trying to hold back from me. In that moment, I realized we were going to be friends for a long time and I would do whatever I could to help her get through this.
Before I had known what she was going through, I had poured my heart out about Lucien like a total asshole. When I say pour my heart out, I mean I curtly explained how he broke things off, because let’s be real, I can only pour my heart out in music and I wasn’t singing in the organic lunch spot she had chosen in the middle of the West Village. And thank goodness I barely went into it, because I would have been a true jerk if we had spent the entire time talking about me, only to have her reveal what’s going on with her father at the end.
She explained to me a little more about Lucien’s father, how domineering he is over him and how she’s always secretly hoped Lucien would learn how to break out from under him. For some reason, she seems to think this has to do with why he ended things, especially given my connection to De la Roche Records. I know it should make me feel better, but somehow it would be easier to swallow if Lucien had broken things off for some beautiful, wealthy girl who is more in his league. It would at least confirm we really aren’t meant for each other.
Instead, it made this nagging feeling in me grow even bigger. It’s an overwhelming emotion that we are destroying something so rare and special. The kind of thing a person can never recover fully from ruining. It would be like finding out an unknown sonata by Mozart was tucked away in a book you had thrown into a fire, forever destroying the chance for anyone to experience the music that was hiding away there.
What the hell is even going on in my head right now? Did I just compare being with Lucien to an undiscovered Mozart sonata? Angry song time, I remind myself. You are angry and it’s time you showed all these people you’re not just sad, but you are sad and angry, damn it. I shoot the rest of my wine down and charge back to the stage.
<
br /> I begin the first notes of the song I wrote. It’s honestly a bizarre song, blaming this mythical person named Angelica who doesn’t exist. But in this song she does, and I get to blame her for being cooler than me, a better singer than me, more loving than me, richer than me. Basically, “Angelica” is everything I’m not. She is who I imagine Lucien is probably curled up with right now after serenading her with some damn sexy French love song.
This vision of Lucien and Angelica makes me even more angry so I channel it into my singing and for the first time tonight, I can sense the energy of the crowd. They actually seem to like this strange little venomous song.
Go be with Angelica
She’s waiting for you with her perfect hair
Under her Chanel she’s completely bare
Angelica knows the value of a dollar
And Angelica doesn’t ask for rent from her father
Go be with Angelica
I am yelling at the crowd, but it is only hyping them up. I really hope there is no one named Angelica here. When I get to the next chorus, a few people sing along with the first “Go be with Angelica”, and when I get to the second, my heart races because even more people are singing along with it. I can’t believe it myself when I actually crack a smile. I’ve had people sing along with me hundreds of times, but never to my own writing. Actually, now that I think about it, I’ve never sung any of my writing to a crowd in my entire life. My life has become one big ‘fuck-it’ recently, and apparently it’s what I needed to finally have the guts to do this. And holy crap, this feels good.
I finish and people in the bar are clapping excitedly for the first time tonight. I look over to Ryan who is nodding his head in approval, as if he suddenly realized I have something in me he never knew about.
I still have about 3 more songs to go to end my set for the night. I debate testing out some of my other songs I’ve been working on, but they’re all sad and I’m not willing to be deflated from this high by the audience disliking them. Instead, I finish up with some Amy Winehouse, Taylor Swift, and Fiona Apple because, well, lady power.
I wrap up at the bar, apologizing to Ryan for being a downer, and rush up to my apartment.
Once I get inside, I immediately set up a bench in front of my instrument wall, along with my recording equipment which has been sorely under-used lately.
It’s finally time to do the thing I was beginning to think I never could. It’s time I add some original music to my YouTube channel. I’ve been so damn afraid of being anything less than a perfect musician that I’ve prevented myself from even trying. But if I don’t put anything imperfect out in the world, then I can never put myself out there. Because I am imperfect. I’m learning, I’m messing things up, and I’m learning all over again. And why should I be scared of that? The far scarier option is never trying at all. I’ll never be an Angelica, but at least I can keep learning how to love being a Melody.
So after one raw, imperfect acoustic version of ‘Angelica’, I press the upload button for the whole internet to hate or love it, it doesn’t really matter.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Lucien
I’ve made a decision that instantly has transformed my world into a completely unfamiliar place. And that’s how I know the decision is the right one.
The crustiest details of Manhattan, like all the garbage stuck in the snow, suddenly look like character to me. The man asking me for cash on the subway is suddenly a confident entrepreneur in my eyes. I am seeing everything through my own, brand new perspective. And since it’s solely mine to experience, I instantly like everything in this world a lot more.
And sure, that means I am like a naïve little baby pacing around in an expensive suit. Sure, that means I am going to learn things the hard way, like narrowly avoiding a broken bottle hidden in the snow. But it is all mine to learn. I will no longer live my life under the obsessive gaze of my father, and that means the world around me is mine for the very first time.
Feeling bolstered in my determination, I’ve found my way to my father’s apartment already, not wanting to waste another second. Even this penthouse looks different to me. The cold, smooth interior filled with marble and chrome used to give me anxiety. It was a testament to the fact that I would never be as big as him because I could never afford an apartment like this. Sure, I can afford some of the finest apartments in the world, but it didn’t matter because it would still always be a step below him and purchased with money that he was the seed for. Now, as I barge through his hall, I can feel nothing but gratitude. Because if I ever do have as much money as him, it will never be spent on an empty shell of an existence like this one. In fact, I pity him. There’s not one thing of sentimental value displayed in this entire apartment, and that is really sad. But it will never be my future. I’m making sure of that.
I finally get to the kitchen where he and his latest blonde arm candy are sitting at a glass table, surrounded by windows showing the skyline. A chef is preparing their meal at the large onyx kitchen island.
“Lucien, now is not really a good time,” he says with a wink and a lascivious smile that I’ve seen way too many times. I feel an ache of pain for the woman he’s with, knowing how little he respects her just by the simple expression on his face. He’s wordlessly bragging to his son that he’s too busy hooking in a woman for the night who he’ll never call again. Why would he think that’s something I’m impressed and not nauseated by? I realize it doesn’t actually matter to him, he doesn’t care what I think.
“Well, it’s the only time for me, so that’s too bad for you,” I walk over to the woman and extend my hand. She’s about my age, which means about 30 years younger than my father. I feel her gaze burn into me, sizing me up. “Luc,” I offer.
“Erica,” she says with a smile.
“Erica, let me just save you some time. This man only has the capability to see you as a commodity. He’ll invest in you early on, get what he wants, and then discard you. You’re better off spending your time anywhere but here tonight, I can assure you.”
“Oh,” she says looking at my father who’s greedy smile is now wiped from his face. He’s not necessarily angry, more bored and slightly confused. Probably because I haven’t rebelled in a long time. I quickly learned not to when I was younger, because his disinterested reaction only ended up hurting me more than anything he could have said back to me.
But this isn’t just a rebellion, this is a goodbye.
When my father doesn’t provide a rebuttal to my accusation, the woman stands. “I think I’ll be going then,” and glides off in her towering heels.
“What’s this really about, Lucien?” He takes a sip of his wine.
“I’m stepping down as CEO and selling my shares in De la Roche Records to start my own media company,” I say without hesitating. I have no desire to hide my intentions.
“Hah!” He laughs a cynical and cutting laugh. “That’s cute. Really. Little man thinks he can drive the car just because his father bought him a toy Maserati.”
“I’m not asking for your opinion, I’m only telling you so you have the option to buy my shares from me before I offer them to the board and then to the public. It seems like the right thing to do since you gave them to me.”
“The right thing to do is to fulfill your obligation to our legacy,” he stands now. I can see anger pulsing in the vein on his temple. I think this is the most emotion he’s ever shown toward me.
“That’s all I’ve ever been to you,” I take a step closer. “Marie was always jealous of me because I got more of your attention, but really you were just investing in me so I could fulfill this duty. You never saw me as anything more than a tool for you to use.” I take a deep breath. “And I see the misfortune in my shares of the company possibly going to strangers, I really do. But do you know what’s even more misfortunate? My entire life, my entire personhood, and my entire soul being forfeited like a pawn because I never had the guts to get off your chessboard. I’m my own
man and I will make my own legacy. I’ve never felt better about any decision before in my life.”
I watch his eyes crest into a sickening smile. “Then I will enjoy watching you fail.”
“By stepping out from under you, I’ve already won,” I say and turn my back to him, walking out.
When I finally get down the elevator and outside, I take a deep breath to steady myself, but instead begin laughing. I laugh so hard I can barely breathe. I laugh like a man who has been given his life back. I laugh because it was always this easy, and I never saw it. I laugh and laugh until finally I collect myself, and begin to walk the 40 blocks downtown to my apartment. The cold is already stinging my face and my dress shoes aren’t cut out for this kind of trek, but none of that matters because the peace that washes over me is potent enough to get me through any challenge coming my way.
This is only the beginning of a long road. I still have shares to sell, a company to create, and a girl to win back. Yet, for the first time in my life, I’m finally on the right road and I will put every single part of me into making the journey.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Melody
I’m woken up from a very comforting dream about Danny DeVito by my phone vibrating on the floor next to my bed. Panic grips my throat when I immediately realize it must be very early in the morning as the sun isn’t even up. No one who knows me would call me this early unless it is an emergency.
I snatch my phone and sigh in relief. Correction- no one would call this early unless it was an emergency or they are in a ridiculously distant time zone. A picture of Lumi’s face lights up my phone.
