Hitting the Right Note

by Rhonda Bowen

“Thanks, but I can’t,” JJ said. “I have to get back to my hotel and prepare for the show later. I was just about to call a cab to take me back to the Crowne Plaza.”

  “No need,” Cymmone said, already pulling keys out of her purse. “I’ll give you a ride.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I know. But I want to,” Cymmone said. “I’ll get my car. Meet me out front.”

  Before JJ could protest, Cymmone had disappeared through a side door and out to where JJ guessed her car was parked on the side of the road. JJ walked out to the front of the church, wondering if there was any way out. She hadn’t seen any taxis on her way in, and even if she called one right now, Cymmone would get there before it did. She didn’t really know this woman—well, that wasn’t entirely true. All of North America, and many beyond, knew Cymmone Slater. She was a winner of American Icon, the annual talent show scouting singers from across the USA. She had sung to the world on live television for thirteen weeks, beating out several others for the top spot, which included a recording contract with Dynamite Music Group (DMG) and an opening spot on a DMG major artists’ tour. But the contest had just been the beginning. She had blown up the music scene, recording duets with several major artists, doing commercials for Pepsi and MAC Cosmetics and dating celebrities right, left, and center, from NFL players to actors. And then, just as fast as she had risen to pop culture’s forefront, she had fallen off the radar. Disappeared.

  JJ was still scouring her mind for the last time she had seen anything in the media about Cymmone, when a white Ford Expedition pulled up to the curb. One of the heavily tinted windows rolled down.

  “Come on, let’s go!”

  JJ sighed. The day had been strange enough. Why not?

  “Excuse the toys and snacks,” Cymmone said, tossing a stuffed animal into the back, where JJ caught sight of a car seat. “This is the mommy-mobile.”

  “You have children?” JJ asked, pulling the front passenger door closed behind her and slipping on her seat belt.

  “Three little ones,” Cymmone said, beaming. “Two boys and a darling baby girl.”

  JJ shook her head. “Wow. Is that why you dropped off the music scene?”

  Cymmone sighed and JJ caught the grimace again. “Yes and no.”

  It was obvious to JJ that this wasn’t the easiest or the most pleasant conversation for Cymmone. Maybe she should just leave this alone.

  “So you sing for Deacon Hill?” Cymmone asked.

  Guess Cymmone had decided to leave it alone also.

  JJ settled back for the ride. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s fairly recent though. Before that, I wasn’t much more than your local small-event singer. Girl-with-a-dream kind of thing.”

  “So this is your big break,” Cymmone said.

  JJ looked out the window. “You could say so.”

  Silence hung between them for a spare moment before Cymmone broke it.

  “So I’m just gonna tell you this because I have a feeling I know where you are, and because I know that God didn’t accidentally put you in my mother’s church the one morning I happened to be there too.” Cymmone sighed. “You asked me why I dropped off the music scene. I tell most people it was because of my family, and that’s the truth. But it was mostly because of my husband. I dreamed of being in this business since I was a little girl. I ate, slept, and breathed music growing up. I sung in every choir in church and at school. I started going to auditions when I was eighteen, and I qualified for American Icon when I was twenty-four, the last year I would have been eligible. I knew I could sing. People had been telling me all my life. But I was still shocked when I stood on that stage and America voted me the winner. And then everything got crazy. Things started moving so fast. They moved me out of Atlanta to LA. Set me up with producers, songwriters, managers, vocal coaches, image consultants, the whole celebrity machine. I loved it. It was exactly what I wanted. Until I realized that it was changing me. I was singing songs I didn’t believe in, wearing clothes that a year earlier I wouldn’t be caught dead in, and going places where I would never have gone on my own. And the worst part was, I was totally okay with it because everyone around me was doing it, and because I had no compass to direct me. No one to pull me back to center—to help me check myself.”

  “What about your family?” JJ asked.

  “What about them?” Cymmone asked dryly, glancing at JJ. “I was on the road all the time. There were times I would be living out of hotels for months, going weeks without even talking to my family. And my spiritual life? Well, that was nonexistent. There’s no time for church when you’re spending ten hours a day rehearsing and the other ten traveling or in meetings. No time for devotions. No time for reflections on who you are becoming.”

  Cymmone let out a deep breath. “And then I met Brady.”

  JJ noticed the smile on her face when she talked about the man JJ suspected was her husband.

  “He got into my life and refused to go,” she continued, the smile still steady on her lips. “He would call me almost every day, even if it was just to say hey; send things that reminded me of home to my various hotels to keep me from getting too homesick. There were times when he would drive for hours, or fly across the country just to spend an hour with me.”

  “After we got married he told me he knew God had made us for each other from the first moment he met me. Can you believe that?”

  “I don’t know,” JJ teased. “Sounds a little creepy to me.”

  Cymmone laughed. “Yeah, I told him that too. But the thing is, he never pushed me. Never forced me to settle down. Never asked me to change my life for him. He was just there, accepting me and all my baggage with his love, and his compassion, and his faith. That man had a faith that never gave up. And he used to pray me out of some situations. I think that was what made me realize what was missing. I was going from day to day, stage to stage, performance to performance, giving my everything every time, but I was empty. And it was only when I saw Brady that I realized what was missing—my connection with my first love, my God.”

  “So is that why you quit?”

  Cymmone rolled her eyes. “I didn’t quit. I just prioritized, which meant scaling back on the music side of things. It’s not that I don’t love singing—I do. But I couldn’t give my everything to my career and give my life to God at the same time. I tried, JJ, I promise you I tried. But this industry . . .” She shook her head. “It’s all or nothing if you want to be at the top. And I could have given my all, but I would have lost myself. Maybe there are people who can do it. Maybe you’re one of those people who can put everything out there, be in the middle of it every day without compromising who you are, without losing that connection. But I couldn’t. And when Brady asked me to marry him, I knew I couldn’t be with him and continue the way things were. Not because he would ask me to change—he never did. But because I couldn’t love him the way he deserved to be loved and continue the way I was going. I wasn’t even loving my family the way I should. I had to make a change.”

  JJ nodded, understanding what Cymmone was saying but not sure that she could make the same decision. After all, she didn’t have a Brady in her life, giving her another option. And even if she did, singing was who she was. She couldn’t give that up for a man. She shouldn’t have to.

  “Do you regret giving up so much?” JJ asked after a long moment. They were back in the center of Philadelphia again. They would be at the hotel soon.

  Cymmone was thoughtful. “I’m not going to lie and say I don’t miss being onstage as much. I do. But I don’t regret my choice. I prayed about it, Brady prayed for me about it, my family prayed for me about it, and when it was time to make that decision, I was sure. And after I decided, I just felt at peace with all of it.” Cymmone bit her lip. “This business is great, JJ. And if you’re singing with Deacon Hill it must mean you have an awesome voice, and if God has allowed you to get to this point it must be for a reason. Just don’t lose yourself.”

  JJ turned tow
ard the window again, wondering how she would even be able to tell.

  “After all, ‘what shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul?’ ”

  The verse from Mark 8:36 weighed heavily on JJ. Was she losing her soul? That sounded so extreme. But she hadn’t changed that much. Had she?

  The SUV stopped and JJ realized they were in front of the hotel. She turned to Cymmone. “Thank you.”

  Before she could open the door, the woman stretched across and pulled her into a loose embrace. JJ couldn’t remember the last time she had been hugged this often in one day.

  “Take care, JJ,” Cymmone said as JJ slipped out of the vehicle. “And call me if you need to talk.”

  JJ took the card the woman pressed into her palm and closed the door of the vehicle. She waved as Cymmone drove away, then turned and headed into the hotel. It was almost one o’clock. In an hour she would have to start getting ready. She wouldn’t mind hearing a familiar voice before then. She pulled out her cell phone and pressed speed dial four as she headed for the stairs. It rang only once.

  “Well, it’s about time you called.”

  JJ smiled. “Hey, Sheree. I missed you too.”

  And suddenly she didn’t feel as homesick anymore.

  Chapter 21

  JJ ended up at the Mann Center an hour earlier than call time. Most of the setup from the night before was still out and in place, and so there was little reason for the crew to come in early. Going directly to the dressing rooms, she dropped off her bags and headed back out with her guitar. She hadn’t stepped far out the door when the sound of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata caught her ear. As she followed the music down the hallway, the chords became more defined and the melody clearer.

  His back was to her, and she stepped quietly into the room, careful not to disturb him as he played. She also knew that piece on piano—a result of her early teenage years spent in weekly piano classes—but she couldn’t have played it as smoothly as Deacon. As he gracefully played through the complicated composition, JJ watched in awe. His form was precise, his fingers confident in their accuracy, his body leaning into the music with every run and transition. When he struck the final note at the sonata’s strong and vibrant end, JJ’s hands came together in spontaneous applause.

  “I had no idea you could play like that,” JJ said from the doorway.

  Deacon turned halfway around on the piano stool, an embarrassed smile on his face. “I had no idea I had an audience.”

  “You’re classically trained?” JJ asked.

  He nodded. “Been playing piano since I was eight. I think my mom always knew I would be a musician; she just thought it would be in the classical, not R & B genre.”

  “They’re both art,” JJ said.

  “Not the way she tells it,” Deacon said with a grin. He nodded to the seats nearby. “Come sit. Tell me about your musical background. I’m guessing you spent a few years on a piano stool as well.”

  “Oh yes,” JJ said, accepting his invitation and pulling herself up on a high stool with a low back. “Started when I was ten. Two hours every week with Mrs. Elliot. They were the best and worst days of my life.”

  Deacon laughed. “Does no one have purely positive piano-teacher stories?”

  “I’ve yet to hear one,” JJ said, pulling her guitar into her lap. “Mrs. Elliot did her best, and I did learn, but I think my true love has always been guitar. My dad taught me to play when I was thirteen. After that, you couldn’t get the thing out of my hands.”

  “Alright, let me see what you got,” Deacon said, getting up.

  “Noooo,” JJ said, holding out a hand to stop him. “I would never pollute your ears with my piano playing. It’s pedestrian at best and rusty today because I haven’t touched a piano in months.”

  “It can’t be that bad,” Deacon said, tilting his head to the side.

  JJ pursed her lips. “Trust me, it is.”

  “So how can I be assured of this classical background of which you speak?” he asked, his brow crinkling in mock suspicion.

  JJ laughed. “Guess you’ll just have to take it on faith.”

  Deacon shook his head. “I can’t believe I never knew this about you before. Do you write a lot of your own stuff?”

  JJ idly plucked a melody on the guitar. “I used to, but not as much now. There isn’t much time when you’re on tour with a major pop star.”

  He smiled. “True. But don’t get too caught up in all this,” he said, waving a hand around. “At the end of the day, it’s really about the music. That’s what got us all here in the first place, right?”

  “Right,” JJ said. “It’s easy to forget though.”

  “True,” Deacon said, turning back to the piano. “So let’s try harder not to. Follow me.”

  He started playing again, slowly at first and then more confidently. JJ smiled when she realized what he was playing. “His Eye Is on the Sparrow.” A song her mother used to sing in church a lot when JJ was younger. Did Deacon have church roots to add to his classical background?

  Instead of asking questions, JJ did what the man said and began to accompany him on the guitar. When he got to the second verse, he let JJ take the lead and switched to the accompaniment. He smoothly transitioned into another gospel song JJ knew, and she couldn’t help but sing softly along as she played. Deacon’s voice joined with hers, and soon they were singing in two-part harmony. It had been a while since she had played and sung like this. The last time she could remember had been with her brother, Dean, a couple weeks before she left for the tour. She had found him messing around on the piano in their mother’s basement. She didn’t know how it had started, but it had ended with them playing and singing together, everything from Mahalia Jackson to Stevie Wonder. It was one of the most genuine moments she had had with her brother since he had returned from the hospital after the car accident. It almost made her cry to think about it.

  At the end of the second song, Deacon transitioned again into something else. When JJ realized what it was, she stopped playing.

  “What’s wrong, Miss Isaacs?” Deacon asked with a smile as he continued playing. “Don’t recognize your own song?”

  She did recognize it. It was her song from the audition. The song that had convinced Deacon to have her in his band. He was playing it. Perfectly.

  He stopped when he realized she hadn’t joined him.

  “You’re playing ‘I’m Yours,’ ” JJ said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re playing my song.”

  He nodded. “It’s a great song.”

  “But . . .” She shook her head, confused. “How?”

  He looked away. “I couldn’t get that song out of my head. I listened to the tape from that audition over and over until I knew it so well I could play it myself.”

  He turned back toward JJ. “Will you play it with me?”

  Deacon Hill was asking her if he could play her song. The song she and her brother had written in their mother’s basement years ago. The song that she had written to keep her strong after her father died. He wanted to play that song with her. What could she say?

  Nothing.

  She just nodded and repositioned her guitar.

  He let her take the lead this time, and accompanied her on the piano instead. Then he began to sing. He sang JJ’s song. Every word from memory, like he had written it himself. JJ could barely breathe, barely continue playing. Tears filled her eyes, ran down her cheeks, and dripped onto the smooth, glossy wood of her guitar. She had never experienced this feeling before—this validation of who she was. She spent her days practicing other people’s music, singing other people’s lyrics. But no one else had ever sung one of her songs. She had never heard her music through someone else’s experience. But today, she did. It was overwhelming.

  When they came to the end, she couldn’t even look at Deacon. Her face was wet, and the sleeves of her shirt did nothing to help.

  Deacon didn’t say anything, just allowed her to
collect herself. Then when she did, he shattered her again.

  “I want to do your song. Tonight. At the show.”

  JJ couldn’t speak. She searched his face to see if he was joking. But he was not.

  “If it’s okay with you, that is,” Deacon said tentatively. “And if you think I have it down. I want to sing it. And I want you to play it. We’ll bring out the piano. I’ll play the accompaniment and sing. But it will just be you and me. No band, no backing track, no synthesizer.”

  “But . . . but there’s no time. We didn’t rehearse. What will the others think?”

  “We’ll run through at sound check,” Deacon said simply. “And the others will think what I tell them to think. This is my show and I’ll do what I want. The only person who has a say right now is you. If you say no, then . . .”

  “Yes,” JJ said, nodding, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. “Yes. You can sing my song. I’ll play. I’ll do it.”

  JJ couldn’t believe this was happening. And she probably wouldn’t believe it was happening until they played it that evening onstage in front of thousands. That is, if she could play it. She was so nervous now, her hands shook so much that she didn’t think she would be able to play the chords.

  “Easy,” Deacon said with a chuckle. He must have seen her hands shaking because he got up, walked over, and gently held her hands over the guitar. “You’ll be fine, JJ. This is your debut. It’s natural to feel nervous. But you’ll be fine. I promise.”

  JJ closed her eyes and began praying silently for serenity. When she realized what she was doing, she stopped and her eyes snapped open. She hadn’t done that in a long time. Though there was no evidence Deacon was a practicing Christian, he made the group prayer a part of their pre-show huddle every night. JJ went through her routine prayers and awkward conversations with her estranged Savior during her spare moments in her room, but it had been a while since she had prayed like this. Reflectively. Submissively. Coming to God like it was the only thing she could do, like he was the only thing she needed, like she wanted to be lost in him. And she did. In a way she hadn’t wanted to be in a long time. Maybe it was the song. Maybe it was the memories of the service that morning. Maybe it was her utter confusion about her present. Whatever it was, it had caused her to surrender to him. Maybe not forever, but for the rest of this moment. And before she could talk herself out of it again, she closed her eyes and finished her petition. She had wandered far away from the home of his arms, but if he would take her back there now, even for a moment, she would go willingly.