Smoke and Lyrics

by Holly Hall

  “Sal Reyes,” he says needlessly.

  “Lindsey Farrar. Nice to meet you.” I smile, and for the first time in weeks, it’s easy. I like this guy. Not like that, but because he’s so open. He has an honest face and exudes so much sunshine, you know he couldn’t possibly have any dark corners to get lost in. There’s no mystery here.

  “Likewise. You want to grab a coffee first? My treat.”

  Setting my bag in one of the chairs, I fetch my wallet. As of yesterday, I have a salary. My nonexistent savings will soon be replenished if I budget carefully. “Thanks, but don’t worry about it. Be right back.”

  It takes me maybe a full second of standing at the counter to realize I won’t be ordering my usual. Black coffee carries with it memories of tasting it on Jenson’s lips. Sitting on his counter top and trying to finish off my mug while he ran his thumbs up the insides of my thighs. Working across from him at the café—him writing, me editing or sneaking photos of him while he was entangled in his lyrics.

  “I’ll take a latte, please,” I say once I snap out of my haze.

  When I return to the table, Sal’s lazing back in his chair, typing out something on his phone. He finishes and tosses it onto the tabletop when I sit down. “Thanks for meeting with me. With Christmas around the corner, I know life is crazy. And calling you out of the blue like that was a risk, what with the fucked-up world we live in.”

  “I stalked you before I came. I figured if I was being set up or abducted, at least it was by someone with a decent following. Worth a shot.” I shrug. The first sip of my latte makes me wince. It’s sorely lacking the bite I prefer in my beverages.

  Sal chuckles. “Right. Well, in that case, I’m flattered—at least you thought I was worth it. For the record, I’m not an abductor. Not creepy enough for that.” He holds up his hands innocently. “Anyway, I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here.”

  More like wondering what he’s doing here, talking to me, when he could’ve reached out to dozens of other, more experienced photographers. Who knows, maybe he has. Maybe I’m a last resort. “A little. I don’t have much experience.”

  Nodding thoughtfully, he leans forward, planting his elbows on the table. “Experience can only get you so far. You can’t learn the kind of talent I’ve seen in your work. You can take classes to be good, but if you want to be great, you need the instincts, you know? You have to anticipate moments before they happen, just a figment of time when you see something no one else does.” He raps his knuckles on the oaken tabletop. “I see that in your work.”

  His intensity, the glow of passion in his eyes, makes my mouth dry. I take another sip of coffee.

  “Too much?” he asks, just as I open my mouth to respond.

  I shake my head. “No, not at all. I’m just not sure I’ve ever expressed my mission, my goal, so eloquently. I’ve been working toward that for a long time—capturing that moment. It’s why my page is called Smoke and Mirrors. Life is all about illusions, isn’t it? You rarely see beyond the mask people put up. But I’ve found that art is a channel, a conduit for the soul. The best art makes us more aware of all the facets of humanity—honesty, greed, humility, arrogance.” I catch my reflection where I’m staring out the window, rambling. “I can get carried away. When I look back at him, there’s just a hint of a smug smile on his lips. Like I’ve proven him right.

  He shakes his head wryly. “I’m glad to know my instincts were right about you. This job, it’s pretty unique. I mean, it’s been done before, but I think we can put a fresh spin on things. That’s if you choose to accept.”

  “Why don’t you tell me more about what we’d be doing?”

  “Of course. If you know Dare and Fall, you know the reputation that comes with them: party boys with too much fame and money, and not enough sense. Street-racing, womanizing, flashing their new money far more than necessary.”

  I nod along with him. The frontman of D and F, Kingston, has been the face of the gossip articles as of late. His antics make Jenson’s look like child’s play.

  “Their PR team is working on cleansing their image. I’d say purifying but, well, I doubt that’s possible. They’re dropping their album ‘Outlaw Revival’ in January, at the start of their tour. I’ve been hired on to document their travels. More of a life videographer than a tour videographer. The goal is to upload regularly, sometimes instantly, to take their fans on a journey through their evolution, capture everything, create personal connections between them and the viewers. They don’t want to be personified as unattainable popstars—Kingston’s words—but as regular guys.”

  Something swells in my chest—a rolling sense of pride that turns into an ache. Jenson was a regular guy. He wore fame like a bad suit, but he didn’t have to pretend. Maybe, more than anything, that’s what I loved about him. His humility. “Have you met with them? Do you think you can achieve that?” I ask, instantly skeptical. I’m no stranger to the egos and superiority complexes of musicians, even in my lowly status.

  Sal nods, his lips tight. “I have. Whether we’ll succeed isn’t guaranteed, but this could be the project of my career and I’m not going to let it pass without giving it the ol’ college try. I accepted knowing it would be a lot to handle, and then the idea came along to add someone else into the mix. It wouldn’t hurt to have another pair of eyes, a fresh perspective, and I don’t mind dividing the work. I’m not so cocky as to think I can capture both videos and stills and put all my focus into both.” He leans back again, pointing at me with a pinky. “And, I think you might be good for the band.”

  I scratch at the wood grain of the table, my face growing hot under his scrutiny. Good for the band? Good enough to photograph an international tour and have these guys’ reputations in the palm of my hand? “You mentioned a fresh perspective. Is it because I’m a female that you came to me? That maybe if a woman is involved in the project, it will help shine a more positive light on the band?”

  Sal rubs his face with his knuckles. “Remember what I said about instincts? It has everything to do with those and nothing to do with your gender.”

  What was anxiety is evolving quickly into anticipation, prickling down my spine. It’s almost too good to be true that this opportunity is falling into my lap, and with that anticipation comes doubt. A fear that this will be pulled out from beneath my feet and send me tumbling. “And you think I’m going to be good enough?”

  “Yes.” His answer is crisp, no-nonsense, confident. I wish I was that self-assured.

  “Okay.” I sigh, finally allowing myself to believe. My feigned confidence brought me to Nashville, but my fear will keep me here forever. I’ve got to loosen the reins on what little control I have, or else what is it all for? Why would I have let Jenson down and, in turn, allow my heart to break? “When do we start?”

  Chapter 25

  Lindsey

  There’s a lot to be done when you decide to dismantle your present life to go traveling internationally with a band. There’s the matter of putting in notice at my job at the café, retracting my very new acceptance of the position at the paper, notifying my bank and cellphone-service provider, and breaking the news to my roommates—all five of them—that their rent is about to get more expensive.

  I’m not much more than acquaintances with Sebastian, Will, and Yan, but it will hurt more when it comes to Isaac and Anika. I can’t escape the feeling that I’m falling short in all my relationships lately. With my parents, with Jenson, and now with my roommates.

  I arrive home and am pleased to see Will and Sebastian parked on the couch, battling it out in some futuristic alien game, and Isaac banging around in the kitchen. The kid uses almost every utensil we own to make a package of Ramen—I guess that’s the future chef in him.

  “Anika home?” I ask as I pass through the kitchen.

  “No. Work.”

  Well, there goes my plan to break the news to all of them at once. I’m not sure when we’ll all be in the apartment at the same time again. �
��We need to have a roommate meeting.”

  “For the last time, I didn’t use your loofah, Phillip did. But it was on accident.”

  I catch myself on the door frame, slowing my momentum on the way out. “What?”

  He waves me off, avoiding eye contact. “Oh, nothing. Forget I said anything. Also, you might want to throw it away.”

  “Who the hell is Phillip?”

  “My boyfriend.”

  Now I’m really thrown off. Isaac spends a lot of time talking, but not once has he mentioned a boyfriend. “You have a boyfriend?”

  “I have for the past few months, yes. I’m meeting his parents over Christmas.” He bends over the stove, giving the sautéed onions his close attention.

  “What. . . Where have I been? When were you planning on telling me this?”

  “Girl, where haven’t you been? And you didn’t ask, so it never came up.” He shrugs. “Just because I’m super nosy about your business doesn’t mean I go blabbing about mine.”

  I don’t think he meant for the words to sting, but they do. How inattentive have I been? I consider Isaac to be a good friend—one of my best friends here, really, not that I have many options. But it occurs to me that I’ve never stopped moving long enough to express interest in his life. I just dismissed him as nosy and borrowed his car when I needed it.

  Really, I’m just an asshole.

  “Wow. I’m sorry I never asked.”

  He switches off the burner and turns to me. “It doesn’t bother me. I talk enough for the both of us, and it wasn’t like I was going to put my happy relationship up on a billboard. I know how you are.”

  I furrow my brows, reentering the kitchen. “How am I?”

  “You don’t let anyone get too close. You’re this untouchable ice queen, without really being an ice queen. I envy you sometimes, but I also feel bad for you.”

  I scowl. It’s hard not to be offended after a statement like that. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Forget I said anything. It’s fine.”

  “No, please, don’t clam up on me now.”

  He removes the pan from the burner, switching it off and taking his time meeting my eyes. When he does, his are pitying. “Life is meant for living, Linds. Don’t forget to try it every once in a while.”

  I open my mouth and shut it. I want to argue with him, but I don’t have to do much soul-searching to know he’s right, especially when the feeling of déjà vu is so strong it’s dizzying. It wasn’t long ago that I had a similar conversation with Sebastian. And when I try to remember the last time I had a fun night out, I have to think back months. It was probably the night Jenson found me at Crazy Town.

  Jenson. . . He was an anomaly. Unexpected and sudden, in both his arrival and departure. It was purposeful that I never let myself rely on other people for happiness, but I can’t remember the last time I smiled as much as I did with him. The last time I felt so unburdened.

  “Geez, it wasn’t meant to be personal, Linds. Cheer up, sweet cheeks. You’re pretty and young. There’s plenty of time for you to learn that you can’t run on passion alone. You’ve got to invest a little heart, too.” He approaches me, and I’m stiff in his arms when he draws me into his side and kisses me on top of the head. Then I sag against him. In relief, sadness, regret. . .

  It makes me teary-eyed—the adjustments I’m about to make, the relationships I formed and hardly realized, the fact that somewhere in the madness of the past six months, Isaac became something more than a friend. Like a brother, only one who has the innate ability to recall random information from the past five years of Vogue issues.

  “I’m sorry.” I press the heels of my palms over my eyes to physically block the rising tears. “Everyone’s spitting their wisdom at me, and I’m beginning to think you all know more about me than I do.”

  “No, doll. All we can do is judge whatever you’re going through objectively. Only you can decide what’s right for you. Now, what’s this meeting about?”

  He says it so casually, like he hasn’t just shaken me right to my foundation. Life is moving on as usual, and meanwhile, I’m facing an impending identity crisis. I feel that I’m losing my grasp on who I am, who I thought I was. Maybe in the process of convincing myself what was right, what I needed, I never really got to know myself at all. But I force down my panic for the sake of handling the situation at hand.

  I step away from him and brace myself to let him down. “I’m going abroad to travel with a band of hooligans and I can’t be your roommate anymore. I’m hoping nobody will hate me for jacking up their rent.”

  Isaac blinks at me, frowning. “So you joined the circus and decided not to tell me.”

  “Close, but no. I’m going to Europe with a band to assist their tour videographer. Maybe more than just Europe, I don’t know yet. It depends on the kind of reaction we get from the footage. Anyway, I leave in a month.” Saying it out loud makes me realize how outlandish it sounds. Not everybody would uproot their life at a moment’s notice in favor of a transient one abroad with four unpredictable band members, but not everyone is me. I’m going to see places I’ve only dreamed of, lose myself in foreign cultures that haven’t yet been completely diluted by modern society, and hopefully put my name on the map and ensure my job security for the remainder of my career.

  Isaac claps his hands together in my face, absolving me from my thoughts. “Then what are you worried about? Damn. I’d burn this place to the ground to do something like that. The rest of them won’t care at all. Come on, let’s tell them together.” He wipes his hands on a dishrag and herds me into the living room.

  Will and Sebastian don’t bat an eye when we approach the couch, and I clear my throat a couple times before Isaac stands between them and the TV and claps again. He’s big on making an entrance. “Guys! Lindsey has something important to tell us.”

  Will leans around Isaac’s body and mashes the buttons on his controller, chewing his lower lip in concentration. “What up?”

  “Uh, did you hear what I said? It’s important.” Marching over to the game console, Isaac pretends he’s going to switch it off, causing Will and Sebastian to jump to attention, finally.

  “Damn, hold up. We’ll pause it,” Sebastian says, clicking something. The apartment goes abnormally silent in the absence of all the gunfire and explosions.

  “Okay, what’s the emergency?” Will asks.

  “Are you pregnant or something?” chimes in Sebastian.

  “Jesus, no, I’m just not going to be your roommate anymore,” I blurt, before realizing my entire plan to be tactful about the news has gone to shit. “I mean, I was offered a job overseas, and it won’t make sense to keep paying my portion of the rent when I’m not going to be here for the next four months, at least. Once I start getting paid, I can maybe send you guys another month or two’s rent to get you by until you find someone else. I mean, I’ll have to find a place to store my stuff, but—”

  Sebastian holds his hand up, effectively silencing my nonsensical chatter, before focusing his gaze on me. Well, trying to. His eyes are narrowed to slits, and I’m pretty sure he’s stoned out of his mind. “Hold up. Ho, ho, hold up just a minute. You’re leaving the United States? Like forever?”

  “Four months, remember? I just said that.”

  “That’s awesome,” he says, flopping back on the cushions. I take the fact that his face is now crumpled in a sleepy smile as a good thing.

  “Thank you,” I say with a mixture of relief and surprise.

  “And don’t worry about the roommate thing. This place is dirt cheap as it is, and I doubt we’d find someone else desperate enough to live with us,” Will, the voice of reason—and sobriety—says.

  “Wow, thanks.” Sarcasm promptly replaces relief. “I just thought I’d put you guys in a bind, the money situation and all. . .”

  “I actually choose to live here,” Sebastian interjects, holding up a finger. “Not because it’s cheap, but because it’s fun as hell. My m
om left us when I was a kid, so it’s nice to have some females around. You know—yelling at us, telling us not to use your girly-ass soap.”

  Temporarily ignoring the sanitary state of the couch, I sink down beside Will. “Wow, I’m sorry. I’m glad we could, uh, yell at you.” I don’t know what else to say to that. This conversation is headed in every direction I never expected.

  “I don’t mind it because I’m never around. You know, with my hours and all,” Will continues reasonably.

  I nod in understanding. “Right. The strip club.”

  Will quirks an eyebrow. “What?”

  I glance at Isaac for confirmation. “You work at a strip club, right? You have crazy hours, you’re never here at night. I thought you were maybe a bouncer or something.”

  Sebastian covers his smile while Will responds. “I work at a distribution center.”

  “Oh. . .” I glance back at Isaac, who’s shaking with laughter. “I feel like I don’t know any of you. Like where the hell is Yan, what does he do?”

  “Yan is a bartender. At a strip club.” Sebastian’s answer is punctuated by giggles.

  I shake my head, but I can’t help the chuckle that rises out of me. What is this life, and how did I end up in the middle of it? “Wow. I feel like this is too little too late, but I’m sorry I didn’t get to know you guys. Now I feel like I’m missing out.”

  Will pats my knee. “It’s fine. And I wouldn’t worry about storing your stuff—those places can be super unreliable, especially when you’re as cheap as you and only drop, like, twenty bucks a month on them. You can leave your shit here. No promises we won’t use your razors if you leave them, though.”

  “Yeah, they make your skin smooth as fuck,” Sebastian supplies.

  I press my lips together, fighting emotions. I knew saying good bye to Anika and Isaac would be tough, but I didn’t prepare for the wave of sadness and regret that hits me when I realize I didn’t bother getting to know my other roommates. Our chaotic living situation provided a lively backdrop to the monotony of my days.