The Sound of Serendipity

by Cynthia A. Rodriguez

  As the woman approaches and throws herself at him passionately, I also realize that my crush will remain a crush. Maybe that’s why they call them something that means to deform or pulverize because I feel a little crushed by the sight of them together. Thankfully, the cab pulls off. The further we get from him, the better and worse I feel. Out of one woman’s company, into mine, and then another woman’s arms. What a life this man must live.

  The inside of the cab is significantly cooler without him, but his scent lingers.

  I look outside the window and watch the people we pass and those who pass us. All of our stories connect in this small way. I’ve seen them. Sure, they haven’t seen me. But they exist in my world for those few seconds.

  And Maddox will always own the small amount of time we spent together sharing a cab.

  We slow to a stop and Maddox’s payment takes care of my fare, and because I can’t help it, I look up as I get out of the cab. Just like a tourist, eyeing the Kingsley Records Building. My eyes climb the levels to the very top of my father’s dream. I’m still in awe of the way New York City reminds me that I’m alive. I walk into the tall building with its shiny windows and impersonal feel. The receptionist looks up from her computer and smiles.

  “Good morning, Ms. Kingsley.” I unwrap my scarf and nod and offer a small smile in greeting. The elevator bank is straight ahead, and as I head toward it, people greet me by the same title.

  I get into the elevator and press the button for the tenth floor, all while removing my coat. My favorite floor. I’m full of nervous energy as I look down at my feet. My brown boots have nicks on the heel, and I run my hands over my slouchy tee and down my skinny jeans, checking for lint. I’m not dressed for a day at the office, and it makes me feel a little out of my element.

  The elevator dings and I walk out. I’m on the floor where the studios are, and though they’re soundproof, I feel the energy.

  Studio number seven is down the hall and to my right. When I enter, no music is playing. A few people sit on the couch while my dad sits with his back facing the audio mixer.

  Nearly white hair, still thick thanks to my Italian great-grandfather, and a face ready to smile at the drop of a dime; Mr. Kingsley doesn’t look like a billionaire.

  “Oh, Emerson.” My dad stands and places his hand on my shoulder. “Glad you’re here. You’ll want to hear this.”

  The people on the couch stand and shake my hand, and the pop star whom I didn’t see in the corner walks over and gives me a stiff smile. I’m a fan of her music. Asa doesn’t know that I own all of her albums, that I’ve seen her in concert too many times to count, or that I sing her songs in the shower. But I’m not here as a fan.

  “Nice to meet you all,” I say. I’m looking at the setup and getting right to business. My father plays the music back and while I love what I’m hearing, I have a few notes. As the melody fades out, I have to come up with a way to say what I think without insulting the unimpressed artist standing in the corner.

  “So?” My father—the brilliant mastermind behind this multimillion-dollar recording label—is expecting me to be honest with him, and his expectations surpass any need to be polite or politically correct.

  “The hook….”

  I hear a snort behind me and I ignore it. My dad steps aside, and I sit at the audio mixer and fiddle with it a bit. “The problem is the way the music drowns her out. The song needs to be simplified during the hook, and then when the chorus hits, it takes us away.”

  “You’re right.” I don’t realize I said my notes out loud until one of the producers speaks.

  Half an hour later, we’re listening to the final track, and though the artist is still being standoffish, she’s listening intently, her eyes sparkling.

  “How’d you know what it needed?” she asks.

  “I like to listen more than I like to be heard.”

  My father laughs and everyone starts talking. Business goes on as usual, and I’m content to sit here silently as I make sure nothing else on the song needs changing.

  I look over at my father when I’m through and smile at his attire. He doesn’t believe in wearing a suit to work. Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one who wears business-appropriate clothing to the office, unless I have sessions all day. Not that I’m here often enough to complain. I’ve been given an office and an assistant, but I only work a few days a week.

  I’m more producer material than I am executive material, but my dad says he’s grooming me to take his place someday, much to the chagrin of the Ivy Leaguers who prowl the office in the hopes of watching me slip up so they can gossip about my supposed incompetency.

  That’s why I don’t show my face around here too much. Or maybe it’s because I don’t want to have to tell my father that I want to be around the music more than I want to be around the responsibilities. I’d rather surround myself with the sound of lyrics and melodies than the sound of paper shuffling and phones ringing. But I’ve already run from something once before. I ran away from my college degree, and I ran from a future I might’ve had. I’m done running.

  As of late, I’m finding myself in the office more and more; running meetings and taking calls that should go to him but I don’t say a word because this comes with having a mogul as a father.

  Not too long after, everyone is gone and I am alone in the company of Dustin Kingsley. A man many people wish to have an audience with. A man who started this business in his basement with my mother’s waitressing checks and her full support. I sat on his lap as a child and he taught me about his work, so I understand why he is so adored in the music business.

  I grab my purse and pull out the blueberry muffin.

  “Bet you haven’t had breakfast,” I say as I hand it to him.

  He takes it and leans against the mixer.

  “Fair bet. I’d be willing to bet you picked this up on your way to watch the world pass you by.”

  Despite my inner annoyance at his need to pick up on everything, I laugh.

  “Your ears, they’re so good in this business. But sometimes you have to be the one that people stop and wonder about, you know?” He bites into the muffin, and I wonder what it would feel like to have someone think of me the way I think of Maddox. Or, thought, rather. Think, thought. Same thing. I’m still infatuated with the idea of him. Remembering his comment earlier, I nibble on my thumb before asking what’s on my mind.

  “Hey, dad. You know anyone named Maddox?”

  He keeps chewing and crosses his ankles, his colorful socks peeking from between the bottom of his chinos and the tops of what look like bowling shoes.

  “Might ring a bell. Not too sure. Why? He an artist?”

  “Could be.”

  He tosses the rest of the muffin into the trash and pulls me into a hug.

  “You know I trust your judgment. If he’s any good, send him my way.” He leans back and pats my cheek. “I’ll take care of him.”

  I smile.

  “It’s not like that.”

  He walks us to the door, his arm around my shoulder.

  “Offer stands indefinitely, Emmy. You’ll be running the show here soon enough.”

  Chapter 2

  Iunlock my apartment door and push it open, chuckling at the sounds of Gwen Stefani playing and the shower running.

  I spent several more hours at the office with my dad before telling him I had to take the rest of the day to decompress. Mr. Kingsley doesn’t take days off, but I like to think he understands when his only child needs one.

  The shower shuts off, and I hang my coat and scarf up. I place my purse on the kitchen island as the bathroom door opens and steam billows out. Amidst the mist, a mostly naked man stands, singing along to Ms. Stefani before turning the music off.

  “Wasn’t expecting you for a few more hours,” he says when he notices me in the kitchen.

  “Any plans today?”

  “I was thinking about catching a movie at Ziegfeld. Starts in twenty. Wanna come with?
”

  “Just us?” I don’t dislike Hollis’ friends, but I don’t like them either.

  “Yes, ma’am. I hate that it’s being turned into a ballroom soon,” he says as he heads toward his room. I grab the remote and turn on the television in the corner of the room while I wait for him to get ready.

  He’s your typical red-blooded American man, wanting a huge flat screen in the apartment. But instead of purchasing it so he can play video games or watch sports, he uses it to cater to his Netflix and Hulu binging. I notice the empty cereal bowl on the coffee table, and I know he’s just ended a binge session.

  I flip through the channels and stop when I see a familiar face. On MTV, the woman I worked with this morning is being interviewed. Asa’s talking excitedly about her upcoming album, and I can’t help but feel pride as I place the dirty cereal bowl in the sink and start washing it.

  “Is it as good as she’s making it sound?” Hollis asks, buttoning up his flannel. He combs his fingers through his short, wet hair. I’m annoyed with myself for even letting him know I’d been called in to help with her song.

  “Not talking about it,” I answer as I dry the dish and place it in the cupboard.

  “Did you freak out when you met her?”

  “Of course I didn’t. I’m a professional, Holly.”

  “Bet you were freaking on the inside. You’re not as emotionless as you seem.” He pinches my cheek and then touches my earlobe. “What do the flower earrings mean again?”

  “They mean we’re going to miss the movie if you don’t hurry,” I tell him. I move to grab my coat, and he shoves his wallet and keys into his corduroy pants.

  “You aren’t the boss in this apartment, Ms. Kingsley.” He reaches past me for his coat, and it’s my turn to pinch his cheek.

  “I hate when people call me that.”

  “I know,” he whispers before kissing my forehead.

  I sigh and lock the door behind us. When we get in the elevator, I hold his hand and lean my head on the side of his arm. I’m too short to reach his shoulder, even in the four-inch heel boots I’m wearing.

  “I wish you were straight,” I say, so low that if we weren’t standing as close as we were, he wouldn’t have heard it. He chuckles.

  “So do my parents. They’re holding out hope that one day I’ll call and tell them I’m not into dick anymore and you and I are getting married.”

  I double over in laughter. When I’ve caught my breath, I clutch his hand tighter.

  “Tell them it’s against company policy to sleep with your boss.”

  He kisses my hand.

  “I’d quit for you, Emmy.”

  We maneuver through the apartment building’s lobby, and I nod at the security guard sitting at the desk. I brace myself for the autumn briskness as we push through the doors and start walking. The theater isn’t a far walk from our place. The streets are full of people with somewhere to go. Sometimes New York is more alive than I could ever be.

  “I went to the park today,” I say, ready to tell Holly what happened. Or what didn’t happen.

  “I figured.” He looks at me. “How was he today? The guy you stalk.”

  “I don’t stalk him!” My face feels hot as I start to walk faster to keep up with his stride. “I don’t.”

  “Fine, fine,” he tells me as he slows down. “Go on.”

  “Well…his name is Maddox.”

  “So you overheard someone saying his name. Maddox? Good name.”

  The obvious conclusion that I’d overheard someone saying his name makes my eyes squint in annoyance.

  “Actually, we shared a cab.”

  “And you’re still alive?” He barks out a laugh, and I can feel the heat bloom further on my face.

  “I almost didn’t make it,” I confess.

  “Poor thing. So what did you talk about?”

  “We didn’t talk much. I think he’s a singer.” I frown, and he shoots me a puzzled look.

  “What’s wrong with singers?”

  “Well, he knows I work at the record company now and…I’m trying to avoid being used at all costs.” The moment I say it, I realize how ridiculous I’m being.

  “No offense, Em, but I doubt you guys will ever speak again. He represents the cake in that café we like. Yeah, you know which one I’m talking about. The one on 60th. We look at those and we want them. But they’re not exactly good for us, so I eat a slice and you have a carrot.”

  I move away from him with a look of disbelief. While I have a little more discipline than Holly does, it was still shit to hear about all the dessert I missed out on. I make a mental note to enjoy more sweets and to go a little harder during my yoga sessions, not that I’ve managed to keep up with yoga the way I should.

  We walk into the theater, and I’m reminded of how much I love this place. I make it a point to come here a few times a month. Most days it only shows one movie—the same movie for weeks at a time. But nothing beats the old glamour feel of it and the fact that it’s so close to our place. It’s such a shame that it’s closing down for good.

  We pay for our tickets, and I ask Hollis to get me a Coke before heading into the theater alone. It’s empty but I’m not surprised because most people try to see movies at the fancier theaters. The ones that show the latest movies and have tons of them showing at once.

  As I’m heading down toward the front seats, I hear the door open.

  “It’s empty, as usual,” I announce, sure that the person walking in is Hollis.

  I look back and my words falter.

  It’s Maddox and he’s not alone. There’s a willowy blonde beside him, nudging him toward the back seats. He gives me the same squinty look he gave me in the cab only this time when he smiles afterward, it feels more genuine.

  “Hey…you.” He’s still being pushed away but lifts his hand in greeting.

  I turn and sit on the nearest seat.

  “Who’s that?” I hear his companion whisper as the theater door opens again and Hollis makes his way toward me.

  “Nobody,” Maddox replies and I shrink in my seat.

  Sure, I was nobody and he didn’t even know my name, but it still hurts to hear. My reckless heart is making this out to be more than it actually is.

  “Why are we sitting here?” Hollis asks.

  “I’ll tell you later.” He sits beside me, and I hope that I don’t have to explain and that, when we walk out of here, I won’t have to be faced with Maddox up close again. I sip my soda, and as the trailers play, I ignore the butterflies in my belly. They’re not the pleasant kind. No, they’re from my inability to stop thinking about the fact that Maddox is here, and at some point, I’ll likely have to face him again. It’s so much worse that he isn’t alone. That he’s here with a woman stings, and the sting of it annoys me because I don’t make any sense.

  A few more people fill the theater and the movie starts. I can hear the pair in the back during the movie’s quieter moments. Some giggles, a few groans. I’m mortified, sitting here listening to this man that I’ve been foolishly infatuated with for months. Then again, it wasn’t like I hadn’t seen this behavior from him in the past. But in those instances, I was at least able to walk away.

  “Going to the restroom,” I whisper and get up before Hollis can respond. The movie is just about wrapping up and I don’t want to face Maddox and his female friend afterwards.

  I keep my head ducked as I walk past them. A few more giggles and I’m ready to run out of there. I reach the bathroom just as I regain the firm grip I once had on my sanity. I can pretend all I want that this doesn’t affect me, but it does. For some reason, Maddox manages to sneak in and make me crazy, even though he doesn’t know me and even though he isn’t trying.

  I wash my hands and dry them before pacing the restroom and taking deep breaths.

  I know Maddox is out of my league. He’s always been an unattainable fantasy for me. It’s been fun watching him. I knew…I knew nothing would ever happen between us. I’m
this weird little person who loves to imagine loving him from behind a worn paperback, where I’m safe. Where my heart is safe and where I can imagine he is a broken playboy who’d take one look at me and know why it never worked out with any other woman.

  He’s gotten a look at me all right, and he’s unimpressed. I need to get over it.

  I take another deep breath and pull the door open.

  “Thank God. I was about to go in there and get you,” Holly says, lowering the arm that was about to open the door. “You feeling okay?” I walk out and take my coat from him. I can’t say much as we head toward the front door, my eyes peeled for the man I want to avoid.

  “We need to ta—” I notice the couple as we walk toward the exit and Maddox immediately turns to me.

  “Hi! I’m Maddox,” he says and offers me his hand. Holly makes a noise beside me, and I try to ignore him. “Maddox Bailey. I didn’t get your name.”

  Because I’m nobody. I want to reach up and slap myself. He’s the nobody in this picture. I don’t even know him. But as I look up at his face and then down at the outstretched hand, I’m trying so hard to calm my heart down. My pulse is jack hammering, and I hope no one can hear it.

  Da-dum, da-dum, touch him, touch him.

  I’m still staring when Holly nudges me, his smile easy. Everything about this situation is easy from the outside, but on the inside I’m rattled and I don’t know what to do. I take Maddox’s hand and give it a few shakes. It’s warm and nearly covers all of my fingers and my palm. I pull away because if I continue to hold on, I’ll have no way to wipe away my drool. He’s as beautiful as he was earlier. I’ve forgotten he wanted to know my name until Hollis saves me.

  “Her name is Emerson. I’m Hollis.”

  His date speaks up, her eyes on Maddox who hadn’t introduced her.

  “Ginger. Pleasure.”

  Are you kidding me? I remain silent. Though this woman’s name is unfortunate, Maddox has poor manners. Almost as poor as mine.

  He shoots me a strange look. “I’ve heard that name somewhere.”

  It isn’t that common a name, but I’m sure he’s going through his mental black book; a Rolodex of sexual conquests and women who’ve had more of him than I could ever hope to have.