Lying here in your shade
Cold at night and all-day
Searching for my own light
Looking for my own way
What do I do?
How do I breathe?
When you’re not here, I don’t know me.
Leaving the piano, I grabbed my notebook and wrote the words. Then I took my guitar and played it again. I tweaked the melody some, imagining the bass and drums coming in. He could speed it up or play it slow, making it angry or melancholy.
I couldn’t stop thinking about what Skyler felt when they told him Benny died. Tears fell down my cheeks. When my father told me we’d lost my mother, numbness swallowed me. The feelings eventually came with the songs playing in my mind. Laying in the hospital with only my loss to think about, I went crazy, blaming myself as much as the other driver.
The feelings washed over me again and I couldn’t take it anymore. I reached for my phone and dialed my father in Lake Como. We were nine hours behind Italy and it was two in the morning here, so I knew my father would be awake.
“Elsie? What’s wrong? Isn’t it late there?” Ellis Clarke always made time for his daughters. Amelia and I were his true heart, though we tried not to let it affect Miranda. I think my father regretted his second marriage but was making the best of it.
“Hi, Dad. I was just writing a song, and I started thinking about Mom, and I just to hear your voice.”
“Sweet girl. You’re so much like her. She’d write songs in the middle of the night too, waking me up at the craziest times because she was excited or emotionally strung out.” I could hear traffic in the background; his voice was tinny from the distance of our connection.
A warmth spread through me at his words and I couldn’t help but smile as I closed my clothes and pictured her face. Being like my mother was all I ever wanted, so hearing him say I was indeed like her helped calm me down. She was so amazing; everyone loved my mother. Her fans, the press, and my father all worshiped her. She was pop music’s golden girl for years, collaborating with the biggest names. But more importantly, she was mine, and I was hers.
“Do you think I sound like her?” I always wondered, but I never wanted to ask if I measured up to the great Hannah Clarke.
“Elsie, you don’t measure up to her.”
My heart fell and that half a second it took him to speak again, I almost broke.
“You’re better than her, baby.” His soft voice soothes me like an emotional balm, repairing the cracks from within. It could be nepotism, or he could just be blinded by love. I didn’t care. Sometimes I just needed my daddy to be proud of me.
I swivel in my chair, unable to remain still as I say, “Amelia wants me to perform.”
“I know.” I pictured him nodding and how he’d run a comforting hand over my hair if he were here. “You were born for it, Elsie. Even more than your mother.”
“I’m scared, Daddy.” I felt like a small child, admitting my fears to him. Amelia knew I was scared, but she pushed me anyway.
“Elsie, there will be a day when you’re ready to face the world again. It doesn’t matter when. You’ll feel it; you’ll know it in your heart.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. When you’re ready, nothing will stop you.” I knew he and Amelia were of the same mind. Both were convinced I’d rock the world with my music. Maybe I would. Maybe I’d be so good the scars wouldn’t matter.
“Thanks, Dad,” I smiled, even though he couldn’t see me. “I’m working with Skyler Dalton right now. Can you believe it?”
He laughed. “Amelia told me. Hopefully, you can drag him from whatever hole he’s dug for himself.” He was disappointed with Skyler’s last album, that much was obvious.
“I think he’s in a slump because of Benny.”
“Of course he is! Those two were like peanut butter and jelly. You should have seen them in meetings; they finished each other’s sentences. For a while I thought they were lovers, though don’t you dare tell him I said that!”
“I won’t.” I shook my head at his foolishness.
“Did you show him your cardboard cutout yet?” My face turned bright red.
“Dad! No!”
When I was thirteen, my father caught me kissing the life-size cutout. It was an excellent likeness of him; he was shirtless, wearing leather pants and all his tattoos showing. His hair was long, and he had one of those broody rock star looks.
When my father finally stopped laughing, he asked, “Is he cooperating with you? He’s not known for being easy to work with.”
“Yeah, it’s working out. I think he’s at the end of his rope, ready to do what he’s told. We’ve found a wonderful voice for him and I’m writing songs. I wrote a song about Benny.”
“I see. That’s why you’re sad.”
“Yeah.” I blew out, emptying my lungs. “Dad, I don’t want you worrying about this album. I’m on top of it. Please don’t freak out Amelia anymore.”
“I have faith in you, lil’ bit. But I have every intention of riding Amelia’s ass. How else am I supposed to have fun? I’m stuck in Italy with Miranda, for crying out loud. If I have to go shopping one more time, I’m going to call a divorce lawyer.”
“So much for quality time?”
“Elsie, when I married her ten years ago, I didn’t realize…”
“I know. She’s not exactly America’s Sweetheart, is she?”
He choked out a laugh. “You could say that twice.”
He’d married Miranda after dating her for a year. She was beautiful and sweet to him in the beginning, spending time with us as a family. It wasn’t until after the wedding that she suggested only my father and Amelia should be seen in public. She’d bring home pamphlets for plastic surgeons, telling us she was trying to ‘help.’
Dad was disappointed, but he was also lonely and Miranda was a go-to social girl, wanting to be seen at every event. It took him away from his misery and out in the world. In the whole situation, I’m sincerely grateful for that.
“Don’t worry about me, El. Worry about you. Worry about that album! And remember, no matter what, you’re my superstar. Get me?”
“I got ya, old man. Now go buy me a snow globe!”
New Music
Skyler
When I rolled out of bed the next morning, I was fully dressed. Damn, I stank. I’d been up late talking and playing music with Elsie.
That woman was so interesting. She knew MD’s entire catalog of music better than I did. It was awesome laying back in the moonlight, strumming the guitar to songs I’d been playing for years, making them a whole new experience with her.
She was amazing.
I felt different after spending so much time with her, playing music and talking. Like I’d taken a shower and felt fresh. I’ve never felt this kind of connection before. It was the type of connection where honesty was easy. I’d had that with Benny, but never with a woman. Except maybe my mother to an extent.
When I met Benny in college, I was so serious and ready to take on the world. He really balanced me out with his laissez faire attitude toward life. It was refreshing being around him. He was so comfortable with who he was; it made being myself so easy.
A knot formed in my stomach. I should’ve seen what was happening with him. The first few years of MD, we partied it up, vowing to experience everything at least once. We joked it was our obligation as artists to explore everything the world offered.
But for Benny, it didn’t stop after one time. Secretly he’d gone to rehab twice to kick the habit, but heroin was a greedy mistress and Benny couldn’t escape from her clutches. When Camille called me the day they found him, I’d never felt so empty in my life. My mother passed and then Benny. They were the holders of my honest truths and now they’re gone.
Then comes along a twenty-four-year-old musical genius, melting me with her eyes full of joy when she sings.
Grabbing some fresh clothes, I stumbled to the bathroom and splashed water
on my face. I brushed my teeth and ran my fingers through my long hair. It needed a cut. I wondered if Elsie was feeling as rough as I was. Probably not. She’s so much younger than me. I didn’t need alcohol or drugs anymore to feel like garbage after a late night. Oh, the joys of getting old.
Walking down the hall, I pounded on each of the guys’ doors. “Studio in an hour. Bring your game faces, fuckers!”
They damn well better not be dicks today. Rush’s behavior was so embarrassing last night. I get that the world isn’t fair, especially for people not classically beautiful, but to throw it in her face like that was totally uncalled for. Unprofessional asshats.
When I walked into the kitchen at the main house, Elsie was puttering around.
“Hey there, pretty lady, what’s cookin’?” She looked so adorable in her yoga pants and the giant UCLA sweatshirt hanging off her shoulders. Her dark hair was mussed into a mom-bun on her head and she wasn’t wearing her mask, which thrilled me. Just the idea of her hiding anything from me was upsetting. No one should have to do that.
She turned to me and smiled, her eyes traveling up and down my body. The way she looked at me immediately heated me up, forcing me to hide my bulge behind the breakfast bar.
One look and she did that to me.
“Toast and jam, kind sir!” She laughed, lowering in a sarcastic curtsy.
“Yum! So what’s the plan for the day?”
The toaster popped, and Elsie brought everything over to stand in front of me. She laid out all her plans for the day while she spread raspberry jam on her toast.
“The YouTube video is going up this morning. We’ll see by tonight what kind of response we get. Until then, we’ll show it to the guys to give them a feel for your new sound.”
“I can dig that.”
“You’re happy with how the video turned out? The change in your style?” Elsie asked, worry in her voice.
“Most definitely.” When I listened to the playbacks yesterday, I really identified with the changes in my style. It wasn’t hard alternative rock anymore; it was more blues and rock with a sprinkling of soul.
As much as I hated to admit it, I sounded a lot like my father. Justin Rose was a country music singer who never made much of himself. But he made an impression on me as a child. The man was an absentee father, never sticking around, traveling across the country from show to show. If he’d been making a lot of money to support my mother, it would’ve been worth it, but he never made it to the big leagues. He never sent money home and insisted on managing himself. Like they say in court when a defendant represents himself, a man who manages himself has a fool for a client. We stopped hearing from him when I was seventeen.
“I’ve written two songs for you. The lyrics and the basic melody—the structure—are there so you and your Three Stooges can make it your own.”
I laughed. Three Stooges, indeed. “Two songs? Where did you find the time to do that?”
“I have my ways.” Elsie winked at me.
“I bet you do.” I grinned, enjoying her sensuality. She was so damn sexy without trying. Shit. I coughed and tried to shake my attention away from her small but firm breasts.
“I hope you like them.”
“Two? I’m impressed. We keep going at this pace and we’ll be done by next week.” The thought of getting the work done so quickly and leaving Elsie to go back to LA didn’t sit well with me. I’d have to think about that later. Maybe come up with a way to slow things down so I could explore these feelings.
“My job is simple. It’s you taking ownership of the songs that’s a challenge. So it’s all up to you how fast this goes.”
Was she having the same thoughts as I was? Maybe she didn’t want to race to the finish line, either.
“Think we’re up for the job?”
“We’ll see,” she winked again. “Just remember—if you don’t connect with the song, tell me. Nothing’s worse than going out there with something half-felt. As you’ve recently discovered with your last album.”
“I promised I’d always be honest with you. I plan on keeping that promise.”
The sound of the door opening in the other room startled Elsie; she reached for her mask and attached it before the rest of the band petered into the hallway. My heart broke a little watching her cover her face. It pissed me off that she felt the need to hide who she was around people, but I was glad she could let herself go around me. I wanted her truths.
“Time to put up or shut up, boys,” Elsie said, game face on.
“Hey, I ain’t no boy,” Rush said, crossing his arms. I shook my head; guess my hope that Rush would grovel and apologize for last night was out the window. Asshat probably didn’t even remember what he said.
“Really? Don’t act like one then.” Elsie’s lips tugged up in a false smile. Atta girl!
We filled the rest of our day with work. The guys listened to my rendition of Hallelujah. Rhys and West were on board with the changes; Rush just shrugged his shoulders apathetically. There was going to be a problem with him eventually. I’d have to get a jump start on that and call Camille before it blew up in my face. I couldn’t be left high and dry when this kid hit bottom.
The songs Elsie wrote for us were spectacular. The lyrics waxed poetic on the sensation of performing to the crowd. She captured the feelings I experienced when belting out a tune into the microphone, hearing the crowd scream my name, and singing along to the lyrics. There was no better high in my mind. On stage, I felt like the king of the world.
I wished Elsie could feel the same way. Her mother took her on tour as a kid and sometimes brought her out to duet with her, but from what I could tell, she’d never felt the intense connection with the crowd. How could she? She was just a kid. Would she ever be willing to step out and allow herself to be vulnerable on stage? Would she let herself be seen both physically and emotionally through song? I wanted to give that to her. If she’d let me.
We toyed around with one song I especially connected with. It was about Benny, or rather the experience of loss. I had to school my emotions as we worked through it, getting the bass, guitar, and drums in sync. Rhys was in top form. Rush and West were struggling because of their hangovers. This was going to take a while.
After we convinced her we’d learned the lyrics and basic melody, Elsie slipped away to let us work. Now it was up to me to whack these boys into submission and get the song ready to record.
It’s whip crackin’ time!
YouTube
Elsie
Leaving the band to tinker, I retreated to my bedroom. I needed a nap after spending most of the night writing. Normally, I tried to respond to my body, but sometimes the muse wouldn’t let up and I had to get the music down. It was just how my brain worked.
Turning on the hot water to my shower, I shucked off my clothes and took a long look at my body in the full-length mirror. People on the outside only saw the scars on my face. Rarely did I allow people to see how they traveled down my body. My entire left side was mottled from the burn and subsequent skin grafting.
I hated mirrors. The only ones I allowed in my house were in the bathrooms. And that was because I didn’t want to seem weird to my guests. I refused to have one in my bedroom. Looking at my scars was unpleasant not just because they were ugly, but they also reminded me of how my mother died.
A year after the accident, I underwent several surgeries to rebuild my ear. It looked as close to normal as it could, and it still worked. Other surgeries were available for my face, but after the pain of the accident, recovery, and ear surgery, I just wanted to feel normal again. Two years of excruciating pain was enough.
Stepping under the water, I felt the heat slide down my skin like wet hands. I wondered what it would be like to have Skyler touch me. The idea made my stomach churn with excitement and my clit swell. My cheeks flushed and my mouth watered.
Oh yeah, I liked that.
Reaching down, I touched myself with my left hand, leaving my right to toy with m
y nipples. My mind filled with Skyler’s face and images I’d seen in the tabloids of his body, covered in tattoos and strong, defined muscles. I imagined him towering over me, his lips caressing my forehead as he spoke to me, urging me toward my orgasm.
When it finally came, I gripped the side of the shower and cried out his name, a rush of adrenaline surging through my body. My muscles sighed with relief and happiness. If he were here, would he kiss me gently in the afterglow?
I didn’t know what to expect from a man physically. My only standard of reference were the crazy stories Amelia told me and the romance novels I read late at night. If I believed Amelia, sex in the restroom of a bar would be the height of romance. According to the romance novels I liked to read, sex with vampires was preferable to werewolves. I kept that in mind when the moon was full.
Finishing my ablutions, I left the shower and dressed in a pair of lounge pants and a tank top. Just as I pulled back my duvet cover, I heard the doorbell. Who the hell would that be?
Without thinking, I went downstairs in my pajamas, sans bra, and jerked the door open. I was such a grouchy bear when tired.
“Casual Friday came early, I see.” Amelia smiled and grabbed me in a big hug. “Hi, sister of mine.”
“Amelia! What are you doing here? It’s a two-and-a-half-hour drive.”
“And that’s without traffic!” She grinned, nudging her way through the door. She wasn’t wearing her usual business attire of shirt and blazer. Instead, she had on a comfortable blue jersey dress, perfect for the perpetually warm weather in Twentynine Palms.
“Is everything okay?”
“Everything is hunky-dory. In fact, it’s better. The YouTube video has over a million views and the day isn’t over. Fans are in love with the new sound and hearing their favorite leading man sing a classic. I came to celebrate. And…I brought wine!” Amelia dramatically pulled a bottle of chardonnay from her hobo bag.
“Wow. I didn’t realize it’d make such a splash.”
Scarred Melody: A Rockstar Romance: Bold Melodies Book One Page 8