Our Harmony

by H. L. Logan

  > Kendra: Hi, Melany. No plans.

  > Melany: Then make some with me. How about the King’s Tooth on the Beasley campus? For memories of our school days.

  A reply didn’t come back for a little while.

  > Kendra: Okay. Not the King’s Tooth though? Would prefer not to be on campus.

  Huh. What had happened that’d made this girl dislike Beasley so much? She’d gotten uncomfortable about the topic earlier, too. She’d said that she’d dropped out—maybe the school screwed her over in some way.

  > Melany: Certainly. Let’s meet at the Riverwalk, then. I’ll be done with my work at 4PM. How does 5PM sound?

  > Kendra: Great. Do you mind if I eat first? I’m a little short on cash.

  > Melany: Don’t worry about it. It’s on me.

  > Kendra: That’s really nice of you, but I can’t accept that from someone I don’t know.

  > Melany: We’ll get to know each other over some food. It’s alright, really. Think of it as payment for allowing me to talk to you about your drumming.

  > Kendra: Ok, sure. See you at 5.

  I sat back in my chair, smiling to myself. Yeah, it didn’t matter where this went, or what her orientation was. I just wanted to talk to her again.

  To get some of my productive juices flowing, I went over to my entertainment center where I had all my records, and I pulled out one of my favorite jazz records, All Star Sessions with Jo Jones, Art Blakey, the great Max Clarke, and Wes Landers on the drums. I put the vinyl onto my turntable and soon my loft filled with the warm swell of jazz. I’d always loved all kinds of rock ever since I was a little kid, but Dad introduced me to good jazz.

  Clicking a finger in time, I danced barefoot across the stone floor to the kitchen where I poured myself a glass of Japanese whiskey—Yamazaki, 18 year—and returned to my desk. I took a moment to look out the window at Rosebridge spreading out in the distance, and reminded myself that life was good.

  Only, there was one thing that had been constantly tugging at me the past month, and it was big.

  My goldmines were running dry.

  The three apps I’d made that’d hit it big were each starting to lose their customer base—something not entirely unexpected when you didn’t have complete control of the market—and not one piece of software I’d developed since then had broken four figures. I’d always told myself that having been a top graduate at Beasley’s business school gave me an edge over other developers without any marketing or business experience, but now I couldn’t help but wonder if my lack of official programming training was handicapping me. I just couldn’t figure out what was wrong. By all rights, all of the new software I’d developed should’ve been winners.

  Time was ticking, my income was dropping, and my funds were draining. Instead of trying to develop small mobile apps, I decided to put all my stakes into my current project—a new mobile operating system poised to compete against the big dogs. The leader in the industry, BluTech, had been destabilized with the departure of their CEO, so I saw an opportunity.

  Yeah, it was a huge risk, not to mention an insane job for one person to accomplish, but I figured the only way to succeed and push myself over whatever block I had was to go big. To go for a challenge.

  And fuck, what a challenge this was. Nothing about the software seemed to be going right. I’d completed two builds and scrapped both. They were good pieces of software, but they weren’t new. There was nothing exciting about them, nothing inspired. They might cause a couple ripples in the pond, but ultimately, I knew in my gut that they weren’t what I was looking for. And what was I looking for?

  Greatness. Pure and simple.

  I sat down at my computer and started to work, mulling over the designs I’d made for the operating system and testing code out. The track playing on the record was “New Blues Up and Down,” a frenetic and fast-paced jazz that seemed to perfectly match what was going on in my head at that moment. I zoned out, the music fading away to the background until I wasn’t paying attention to it at all.

  My whiskey sat untouched in its glass. I only realized I’d been working for several hours when the orange glare of the setting sun flashed into my eyes. I looked up, bewildered, and then went to pull the needle off the silent, crackling record. I went back to my desk and stared at the work I’d done.

  “Fuck, this is garbage,” I muttered to myself, scrolling through the code. “What the fuck was I thinking?” Inelegant. Boring. Useless. Unoriginal. This still just seemed like a clone of BluTech’s current phone OS. I groaned and fell into my chair. What the hell was I doing? I looked at my phone. Christ. Five hours of working, and this was what I had to show for it?

  This was how it’d been for a while now, and nothing seemed to be helping. The least I could do was stick to my routine, stick to my guns, and trust that I hadn’t lost whatever talent I once believed I’d had.

  Life is good. Look around.

  I looked. I lived in an awesome penthouse loft downtown. My bank account still had two commas in it. I had everything I could possibly want to buy. So why did I feel so empty? Why did I feel like I had nothing, and that this was all going to come crashing down any second?

  Five hours of working, and no progress made.

  Five hours.

  “Fuck!”

  I shot out of my chair and ran to the bathroom. It was fifteen minutes past five. I gargled some mouthwash before shooting Kendra a text message.

  > Melany: I’m on my way right now. Got caught up in work, so sorry about that. If you’ve already left, I understand.

  A text arrived back nearly immediately.

  > Kendra: No problem.

  I cursed under my breath. Well, so much for making a good impression.

  I grabbed my keys and bounced into the elevator down to the parking garage. I could’ve walked, but I wasn’t going to waste any time.

  Kendra was waiting for me right by the spot where we’d first met. She wore a black leather jacket over an olive, military style button-up, and ripped jean shorts with combat boots. Androgynous and hot as fuck. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and she wore a stoic expression on her face. Kendra had dark brown eyes, and I hadn’t noticed just how deep they were. Not the color, but the feeling in them, like they were focused on some far-off dimension, deep in her thoughts. It was incredibly sexy. Such a musician. She snapped out of her distraction when I walked up, and a faint smile flicked over her lips.

  “Sorry again,” I said. “I got caught up with my work.”

  “No worries,” she said. “Now I won’t feel so bad about you buying dinner.”

  I laughed, and touched my hand to the small of her back to guide her. “Come on, I know an awesome Indian place nearby.” If I wasn’t sure about a girl’s preferences, the guiding touch was one of my first tests to get an idea of whether she was receptive to being with another woman.

  Typically, I could feel the energy change with a straight woman, though sometimes it could be difficult to tell. Usually she’d keep some distance, and sometimes, on rare occasion, she might actually get angry and defensive. It was always good to know those types early, so I wouldn’t waste my time. Girls like that had no value to me, no matter how interesting they might’ve been. If I did detect any discomfort, I wouldn’t move on to my phase two, which was increased physical interaction. A touch on the arm here, a lingering touch on the waist. Nothing that could be mistaken as just friendly. Third phase was deep eye contact, and that usually sealed the deal. Either they were in or out at that point, and I could always tell.

  Normally I didn’t care so much one way or the other if phase one failed. If it turned out the girl was straight, we’d usually have a good time out anyway, and I’d end up with a new friend. Right now, though, I actually felt a little nervous. I anticipated her reaction, silently hoping that she wouldn’t pull away. And she didn’t.

  I snuck a glance at her face to read her expression. She was looking straight ahead, and didn’t seem to even acknowledge t
hat I’d touched her in a sensitive area. Orientation verdict? Still unknown. Too early to tell. She obviously had a lot on her mind, and I was curious to find out what.

  “Have you ever been to Malabar before?” I asked, holding the door open for her.

  “Never,” she said. “It’s a little pricier than what I’d normally eat, which is instant ramen and a boiled egg.” She smiled sheepishly. “How’s your, uh—” She gave a little nod towards my chest.

  “It looks like I have a bowling ball on my chest,” I said, laughing. “It’s all black, now. No, it’s fine, really.”

  “I still feel terrible about that. I mean, what if the stick had hit some kid in the eye? I need to pay more attention to what I’m doing next time.”

  “Drumming on stones and stuff isn’t like drumming on drums, I’d imagine,” I said. We walked up to the host’s stand. “Table for two, please. Outer balcony, if you have room.”

  “Certainly, miss,” the host said. “Please follow me.”

  Malabar’s outer balcony had an incredible view over the water, and the twinkling string lights that crisscrossed all along the patio’s canopy gave it an incredibly romantic feel. It was probably my top spot to woo.

  We sat down, and I ordered us a bottle of wine. Down below us, the lights from the Riverwalk’s restaurants glimmered off the surface of the water. Couples strolled up and down the walk, and the sound of a street violinist drifted from somewhere off in the distance. Kendra looked around, her dark eyes wide.

  “This place is nice,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting to come somewhere so fancy. I thought we were going to go for McDonald’s, or something.”

  I laughed. “Hell, no.”

  She eyed me. “I’m sorry, is this…” She paused when the waiter returned to the table with two glasses and a bottle of Riesling. Kendra smiled politely as the waiter poured a glass, waiting until he’d gone to finish her thought. “Melany, is this a date?”

  “It can be, if you’d like,” I said, picking up my glass. “Cheers?”

  Kendra hesitated and shifted in her seat. I found myself tensing in anticipation for her to up and leave, but she didn’t. “This isn’t a date,” she said, finally. “I’m not looking for anything like that right now.”

  I smiled. “Sure. Cheers to new friends, then?” I was disappointed, but not deterred. She was into women, and single.

  “Cheers. Sorry again about the, uh, chest.”

  After we placed our orders, Kendra asked me what I did for a living.

  “I’m a software developer for phones. I make apps.”

  “Anything I’d know?”

  “Not unless you’re in real estate, are an amateur pilot, or a long-haul truck driver,” I said. “They’re fairly specialized.”

  “So, your office is nearby here?”

  “You could say that. I work from home. I’m self-employed.”

  “Wow,” she said. “That must be nice.”

  “Hey, you are too,” I replied. “You’re a musician.”

  She smiled and scratched the back of her head, looking shy. It was pretty damn adorable.

  “Today was my first day doing the whole street drumming thing. I work at a restaurant as my day job. If you could even call it that.”

  “Shitty pay?” I asked.

  “Shitty hours. I just got my shifts cut down yesterday, which is why I decided to try the street drumming. It sucks.” She gulped the rest of her wine down in one go, and looked at the empty glass with some embarrassment.

  “Don’t worry, we have a whole bottle,” I said, pouring another glass. “I’m sure you can pull in some good money with the drumming. You’re really good.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Earlier you said that you haven’t drummed in a while. Why is that? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  She fidgeted and sipped on the wine. “It’s a long story,” she said. Code for “I don’t want to talk about it,” which of course only made me more curious.

  “We have a whole meal and a bottle of wine,” I said. “Bring on the long stories. It doesn't have to be that one.” I took a long sip from my glass. “I’ve seen a lot of drummers here on the Riverwalk, but you’re definitely the best. I’m shocked that was your first time. It can’t be easy to get that kind of variety and precision from makeshift instruments.”

  “I don’t know about precision,” she said. “But when you’ve played for long enough, you know the kind of sound you want. I just picked the right objects for the job.”

  “Right,” I said, nodding. “Makes sense.”

  By the time our food had come, we’d polished off our glasses again. I refilled them, and then ordered a second bottle.

  “Shit, you don’t have to,” she said.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said.

  “It’s expensive. I wouldn’t feel right. We don’t even know each other.”

  “Hey, don’t worry about it,” I repeated. “Money isn’t a problem. We’re getting to know each other right now. Seriously, Kendra.”

  She seemed to relax. “Okay,” she said, smiling. “Thanks, Melany.”

  We dug into our food, and I told Kendra about my interest in rock and roll drumming as a kid, and about my favorite musicians. The wine flowed. Kendra loosened up more, and so did I. She was definitely more than a pretty face and a talented set of hands. The girl was soft-spoken and a little shy, but when we started delving into the topic of music, her passion really emerged. It was surprising at first, seeing the way she talked about it. It was like she turned into a completely different person. She became animated and excited, her expression glowing with energy and electricity. I kept my mouth closed, just enjoying watching her speak. I loved good music, but Kendra was on a completely different level. It was obvious that she lived it. It made me wonder…

  What was it like to feel that passionate about something?

  The conversation continued to favorite albums we owned, and Kendra told me that she’d left most of her records at home.

  “Good chance my dad got rid of them,” she said. “So now, most of my music is on my laptop.”

  “Why would she do that?” I asked.

  “Because he’s an asshole,” she said plainly.

  “I see. That’s really too bad. I’d destroy anyone who fucked with my records,” I said.

  “Do you have a lot?”

  “A good amount,” I admitted. We finished the second bottle of wine, and I felt pleasantly buzzed. “Hey, why don’t we go for a walk down there?” I nodded out towards the Riverwalk. “Walk off this buzz a bit before heading home.”

  “Did you drive here?” Kendra asked.

  “Would’ve walked, but you know. Lost track of time. How about you?”

  “I took the bus, but I can walk back if need be. I’m having a good time, surprisingly.”

  “Surprisingly?”

  Kendra nodded. From her cheek’s pinkish glow, I could tell that she was buzzing too. “Yeah. Let’s go down to the Riverwalk, and I’ll tell you more.”

  I didn’t need to think about it. “Check please,” I called.

  3

  Kendra

  We walked side by side along the Riverwalk, and my body thrummed from the wine. It felt great to be talking to someone new, and Melany was really charming and easy for me to get along with. And hot. Definitely hot.

  This isn’t a date, I reminded myself. You said it yourself.

  I hadn’t given any thought to dating or romance or even sex since the incident with Max, and I had actually actively avoided situations that might put me into any contact with another potential relationship. I just couldn’t deal with it, and I definitely didn’t want to fall in love again. So why had I agreed to meet with Melany, a random stranger from the street? Sure, I found her attractive, but the real reason was simply because I’d felt good about myself for the first time in ages.

  Talking to her over dinner about music felt fantastic, and it also helped that she wasn’t a musician her
self. She knew her stuff, and seemed to have impeccable taste, but she didn't have the ego that so many musicians I knew had. I was sure I had a pretty big one of my own back then, before it’d gotten completely destroyed and trampled into the dirt.

  In the three years that I’d lived in Rosebridge, I’d actually never come to the Riverwalk in the evening. I’d never had a reason to do it. If Max had come to visit me, I probably would’ve taken him there to go on a date, but he’d never bothered making a trip out here. I realized, bitterly, that he’d probably been too busy fucking around.