Bright Lights: Book One of the Talia Shaw Series

by Darcy, Christine J

  I put on my plain black bikini, a t-shirt over the top and Birkenstock slides, and ventured out to the nearest pool with the fewest people around it. I dove into to the freezing cold water and shot straight out to find myself a deckchair. No sooner had I closed my eyes but I felt a splash on my arm and someone sit down beside me. I opened them back up and Ted was smiling at me. In only his soaked board shorts, his pale skin seemed to glow in the sun.

  “I’m so glad to see you’re feeling better,” he said, genuinely. I smiled back and closed my eyes, hoping he’d get the hint. “Gorgeous day, innit?”

  I opened them back up.

  “You excited for New Zealand tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Not really.”

  “You've been already?”

  “No.”

  “You can’t tell me you don’t want to go? You’ve seen Lord of the Rings? It looks so beautiful there,” he gushed.

  Of course I have, I thought. “I’m sure it is.”

  Ted lay back a little and closed his eyes. I closed mine, believing that to be the end of the conversation.

  “You had lunch?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s an early lunch, it’s only just 11.”

  I sat up. “I’m actually not feeling well. I might head back to my room. See you round.”

  I ran off before he could respond. I felt a little unkind but not enough to turn back around.

  * * *

  The next day, I figured the spa was a safe enough space but as I was coming out after a massage, I ran straight into him. “What are you doing? Are you not getting off?” he asked.

  “I wasn’t planning on it.”

  “With all the sea sickness, you didn’t think a little time on land might help?”

  I shook my head, my mind blank.

  “Nah, come on. I’ve been told about a bar here in Dunedin that’s supposed to be killer. We’re going.” He grabbed my arm gently and started marching me toward my room.

  “I really am fine. I don’t need--”

  “This is it, right? 119?” We were stopped in front of my door.

  “Yes, but--”

  I couldn’t think of an excuse. I took out my key and opened the door.

  “I’ll wait here.” He pushed me in, gently and pulled the door closed with him on the other side.

  A drink sounded really good but spending time with this happy go lucky Brit did not. He banged on the door. “Do I have to come in there and dress you?”

  God, definitely not, I thought. I dressed quickly. Jeans and a t-shirt and boots. Maybe he would tell me I didn’t look dressy enough and I could say I didn’t have anything else and that would be the end of it. I opened the door and he grabbed my arm and pulled me out. He didn’t even look at what I wore.

  We walked so fast, it was closer to running, towards the exit. His energy was infectious. He reminded me a little of Kelly.

  The second he put a shot in my hand, I started to warm up. We had three shots each and then shared a teapot full of something fruity and disgusting.

  “Where are you from, Teddy?” I asked, my voice distinctly slurred, and the nickname coming out of nowhere. My curiosity was overcoming my intention to dislike him.

  “England, mate!” he shouted.

  “No… where in England?”

  “Sussex. In the south,” he explained.

  “How old are you?” I asked.

  “22.”

  “What?” I said, for a longer amount of time than one needs for the word.

  “What?” he said back, quicker. He was not as drunk as I was.

  “You are so young.”

  “I’m four years older than you!” he defended.

  “I mean for what you do. You’re so successful.”

  “Nah,” he shook his head. “Not yet.”

  I wasn’t sure what that meant but I moved on. “Do you live there? In Suff--”

  “Sussex,” he corrected. “No, I’m based in London and LA. What’s with the twenty questions?”

  “I’m just curious,” I said, and took another gulp of the fruity concoction.

  He took one too and grimaced. “My turn then. What do you like to do, back in Sydney?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I mean, what are you into?” I frowned. “Other than music. Do you like the beach? Or movies? Were you working? What kind of kid were you at school? Were you popular?” he asked.

  “That is so many questions,” I said, my head starting to spin. He laughed a little. “What was the first one?”

  “Do you like the beach?” he asked.

  “Yes. But not the main ones. I don’t like it when it’s busy.”

  “You like movies?” he asked, moving on to the second question.

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “What’s your favourite?”

  “Titanic,” I answered unashamedly.

  “Seriously?” he asked, shaking his head.

  “What’s yours?” I demanded, to make fun of it.

  “It’s still my turn. Were you working in Sydney?”

  “Yes, at a newsagency.”

  “What kind of kid were you at school?”

  “I was shy.”

  “Were you popular?”

  “With the music teachers,” I said, and he laughed.

  “My turn,” I insisted. “Do you have a girlfriend?” He was cute enough for me to be curious.

  He took a breath. “We’re going to need more alcohol.”

  We asked each other questions endlessly until we were too drunk to think of any more or remember our answers. By the end of the night we had befriended the three bartenders and half of the bargoers. We’d played darts and pool and danced and sung loudly and badly along with the 80’s and 90’s classics that played over the speakers. We were hanging all over each other as we stumbled back to the ship. Teddy delivered me to my room and then went to his own.

  I woke up in the morning with a blistering headache. Liking him was going to make it so much harder to hate him.

  * * *

  I dragged myself from bed, sculled a glass of water, and wandered down to the dining room. I slinked along the buffet line filling my plate. The smell strangely made my mouth water even while nausea was rising up. I took a seat in the emptiest section of the room and although at 11am, it was fairly quiet, the few remaining passengers having quiet conversations seemed painfully loud.

  Teddy entered the room and threw me a wave. I waved back, unenthusiastically. He filled his own plate quickly and took the seat beside me.

  “How you doing?”

  “Not great,” I admitted.

  “Hungover, huh?”

  I held my head and nodded.

  “A little music can cure you of that. Why don’t we try writing today?” He dug into his bacon and eggs.

  “I don’t think so. My head--”

  “It’ll be better by the afternoon. We’ll get you some aspirin maybe a little hair of the dog.”

  “Maybe another day?” I offered.

  Teddy’s expression had morphed into something more discerning. I prepared myself to make up an excuse but he shook his head.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?” I prompted.

  “You don’t want to write with me? They forced me on you?” he asked. He seemed to guess he was right. “They told me you wanted to write with me. But, I’m not going to be forced on you.”

  He looked embarrassed and I felt guilty. It certainly wasn’t his fault. “I don’t want to be making an album at all,” I answered honestly.

  “Oh,” he said and looked thoughtful. “Because of your bandmates?”

  I nodded.

  “I can understand that. I wanted to tell you how sorry I was to hear about it. It’s a horrific thing that happened.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You didn’t want to go on without them?”

  “It didn’t – it doesn’t feel right.”

/>   “I’m sure it doesn’t. But, don’t you think your friends would have wanted-”

  I stopped him. “I’ve had this same conversation with my friend, Saffy. I’m sure they would’ve wanted me to do it. But it doesn’t feel right. And, even if I wanted to do it on my own – write an album – I wouldn’t want to do it now. The accident wasn’t that long ago. Why do you think we’re on a fucking boat?”

  He took a breath. “I understand.”

  “No, I don’t think you do,” I said. I wanted to stand up and leave but my own yelling was ringing in my head. I took a gulp of my water.

  “I’m sorry. It’s hard to know what to say.” Teddy’s sincerity made it impossible to be mad at him or to keep him at a distance. I was in no position to be turning away friends. My body made the decision for me when I started to cry in front of him. He shifted his chair and came close to me, wrapping an arm around me. I let my head fall against his chest. His hand came up to stroke my hair.

  “You shouldn’t have to do this. I’m sorry that they’re making you.”

  “Thanks,” I said, my voice muffled by his hoodie.

  I pulled away and brushed off the baby hairs stuck to my face.

  “I’m sorry,” I said automatically. Apologising for crying was a bad habit that I had trouble shaking.

  “Can I try to say something again?”

  “Sure.”

  “You should use this – what you’re going through – and write,” he started. “Not for the label. Fuck them. Do it for you.”

  His gaze was heavy. I shook my head. “I haven’t written anything in so long.”

  “Didn’t you write the Betty Cooper’s songs?”

  “I wrote the music. Ashley and Kelly wrote the lyrics.”

  “Have you ever written lyrics before?”

  “A long time ago. And, they were awful.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” he smiled, warmly. “When was the last time you played?”

  “Guitar?” He nodded. “Months ago.”

  “You feel like picking it back up? Just play a little?”

  I took a breath. Picking up a guitar isn’t committing to anything. It might’ve been illusory, but I thought my calluses were starting to soften and I wanted to play.

  “Okay,” I agreed. Teddy smiled brightly.

  He pointed to the untouched piece of watermelon on my plate. “Can I have that?”

  I looked over at the buffet still piled high with all kinds of things, including watermelon. I shrugged and he took it.

  I brought my guitar to Teddy’s room which was the mirror image of mine. There were a couple of mint coloured lounges facing each other and we took one each. Teddy’s guitar was already out. Mine hadn’t been out for months. I opened it up and looked at it. It didn’t look any different. I played a chord. It needed a little tuning. I worked to tune it as Teddy began playing. I could tell immediately, it was the Laurie Siler song.

  “What are you playing?” I wanted to know the name.

  “It’s something I wrote a year or so ago. ‘Wheelhouse’.”

  “You wrote that?”

  “Yeah,” he said, surprised at my interest. “With Laurie Siler.”

  I bit my lip.

  “What?” he asked with a roll of the eyes. “You like him, huh?”

  “He’s okay,” I lied. “That’s a great song.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Will you teach it to me?”

  “Sure,” he shrugged. “If you teach me one of yours?”

  “Fine,” I relented.

  He taught me the chorus lead and I picked it up easily. I remembered a few of the lyrics and they came out, unconsciously. Teddy didn’t say anything and I wasn’t noticing myself until a knock came on the door. I looked up and Teddy had his phone pointed at me, recording.

  “Turn down service.”

  He looked at the door and called out, “No, thank you.”

  I heard the trolley outside the door shuffle away. I looked back at Teddy with a scowl.

  “I’m going to need you to delete that.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “You already are,” I sneered.

  “Why weren’t you a singer for the Betty Coopers?”

  I scoffed, “Because I can’t sing. I was just playing around.” I put down my guitar.

  “Don’t. Honestly. You can’t deny it. You have a great voice,” he insisted. “Not that your friends didn’t. They both had very cool rock voices. Yours is a little more pop. But, it’s good. It’s really good. I understand why they weren’t giving up this album now.”

  “A good voice will only get you so far,” I reminded him.

  “Ah, so you admit you have a good voice?”

  I rolled my eyes. He laughed.

  “My turn. Teach me one of your songs.”

  I considered which one and, wanting to have some fun, I thought of the most complicated chord progression I’d ever written. He picked it up, easy as pie. I was almost offended. But he played it better than I ever had and it made me proud.

  “What are the words?” he asked after he’d mastered it.

  “No… they’re terrible.”

  “I’m pretty sure I have them in an email somewhere,” he threatened, reaching for his phone.

  “No, you won’t.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because this isn’t a Betty Coopers song.”

  “It’s your own?” I nodded. “Well, I gotta hear the lyrics now. I swear I won’t judge you.”

  “No way. They’re from years ago. They’re all angsty and childish.”

  “So is half the music out there. People like angst,” he insisted. I was shaking my head adamantly. “Please,” he begged.

  “Okay…” He sat up, excited. “God, I’ve got to remember it.” I knew the words. My mouth was becoming dry. Teddy looked at me, encouragingly. “I swear I can write much better than this. It was years ago.”

  “Sometimes we write our best stuff as kids,” he said. And, it was what I needed to hear.

  I started singing. A song about boys and girls. More specifically, the boy who had hurt my friend, Saffy.

  You left her quicker than your feet could do.

  I will never love a boy like you.

  A boy like you

  I stopped. Teddy started clapping. “Talia!” he rebuked me. “That was so good.”

  “Shut up,” I cautioned.

  “You shut up,” he shook his head, bemused. “Why haven’t you been writing?”

  “You really like it?” I asked.

  “Hell yes. Play me the rest.”

  So I did. He shook his head when I was done. I waited for his assessment.

  “This is a hit song,” he said, assuredly.

  “What?”

  “A hit. I’ll bet on it. They have to have this song on the album.”

  “But it’s pop,” I said.

  “So?”

  “So the Betty Coopers were rock. My contract says rock album.” I wasn’t certain of that but it seemed likely.

  “If we show up in LA with half a pop album written then I doubt we’ll get any argument. But… if you want to write rock-”

  “No,” I cut him off. “I like pop.”

  “I figured. And, you do it well.” I smiled. “I have a few ideas,” he said, tentatively.

  “For this song?” I asked.

  “If you’re open to it.” I understood why he was tentative. But I definitely didn’t feel precious over the song.

  “Please,” I gestured for him to go ahead. He started playing my song with a few changes here and there. He changed a few of the lyrics. Then the ending was almost unrecognisable. And, a million times better.

  As he finished up he said, “Or something like that.”

  I dropped my guitar, jumped over the coffee table separating us and hugged him. “You’re amazing.” He laughed. “Seriously.”

  “You like it?” he asked as I pulled away.

>   I nodded. “Wow. Teach me.”

  He taught me the changes and then convinced me that he needed to record it, so we remembered.

  We tweaked a few more things and then we were finished. We had the first song.

  “A boy like you,” I said.

  “Boy like you,” Teddy suggested. “It’s cleaner.”

  * * *

  That night we went to the cinema on the boat. We ate buttery popcorn and drank slushies and laughed our asses off while watching Some Like it Hot.

  The next day we arrived in Akaroa, toward the top of the South Island in New Zealand. As a reward for the very little work it took to finish the first song on the album, we took ourselves for a swim with dolphins. The water was like ice, but the dolphins were so beautiful.

  At midday, I thought we were heading back to the boat but Teddy had organised for a car to drive us to the middle of the island, where Lord of the Rings had shot scenes. The driver took us around the beautiful and familiar snow-capped mountains. We drove up the hill that was Edoras, the city of Rohan. The Lord of the Rings nerd inside me was ecstatic. Teddy was just the same, gripping my hand in excitement.

  We were there in time to watch the sunset. “This is incredible,” I said, awestruck. Teddy nodded. I looked between the orange glow of the sky and his hair and laughed.

  “What?” he asked, his British accent dropping the t.

  I grabbed a tuft of his hair, “you match the sunset.”

  He swatted my hand away. “Ha. Ha.”

  “Thank you for this,” I said, taking a serious note. “Have I apologised yet for being such a bitch to you when we met?”

  “I can’t remember,” he shrugged. “Feel free to do it again.”

  “I am really sorry,” I said, genuinely.

  He nodded, “it’s okay. We’re all good.”

  I smiled at him and rested my head against his shoulder.

  * * *

  My room was on the way to his, so he walked me to my door.

  “This was an amazing day,” I said, unable to stop myself from hugging him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said with his trademark grin. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I took myself inside and had a shower, washing off the salt from our swim. I washed my arms, noticing that the scars from the cuts and scratches of the accident were starting to fade to white.