My bleeding heart is calling your name
Take my hand you devil in disguise
Save my soul from this burning shame
A shimmering vision tears through the night
Her voice in the snow on my door is knocking
Facing the wind like a star so bright
Her singing heart, my world is rocking
The lights go down as you’re breathing fire
Your fading song running through my veins
A magic touch and I feel your desire
Shadows of the past my eternal chains
The vision is gone, my darkness returns
Princess of the rain in a loving dream
Holding the sun, my ice she burns
Olivia: the name in my twilight scream
A single tear rolled down James’ cheek, as he read what he had just finished writing. Olivia’s presence the night before had sent shockwaves through his heart and mind, making him question his decision to reject her advances. Her voice, her fingers on the piano keys, and the warm glances that she cast him were haunting his mind.
“Maybe she was a dream.” He thought to himself; “A mirage of some sort.”
James was going over the lyrics, when a big, somewhat thick hand came into view, gently pulling the piece of paper out of his grasp. It belonged to Rick Briar, the closest thing he had to a friend.
“I’ll be damned.” Rick said in his croaky voice. “There’s a name in this one. Who is she?”
“How long have you been standing there?” James grumbled.
“I knocked, James.” Rick stated, tossing the paper down on the table. “I knocked four times. It’s not my fault if you didn’t listen. Who is she?”
“Just some hiker,” James murmured, unwilling to discuss this any further. “What brings you over?”
“Just some hiker?” Rick repeated while he squinted at James. “I don’t think so. You’ve taken in hikers before, but I’ve never seen you write anything for them. Come on, who is she?”
“I said she was a hiker.” James raised his tone; “A talented one, for a change. You haven’t answered my question.”
“Business,” Rick said. “The bosses in Manhattan want to have a word with you. They’ve discovered some new talent. They need lyrics, ASAP: as many songs as possible.”
“Same old story: record company finds a good-looking kid; early twenties; give him a contract; turn him into their bitch; as soon as the contract expires, they kick him out.” A bitter smile formed on James’ face. “Aren’t you tired of all this crap?”
“We’re not living in the eighties, buddy.” Rick attempted a sarcastic tone, “Or the nineties. The music industry is pretty hard these days. People like to see new faces all the time. It’d be great if they found a new Mariah Carey or a new George Michael. You know, someone with strong talent to rely on. But that’s just next to impossible.”
“They don’t want to find anyone to rely on, Rick.” James spoke his mind. “They like things the way they are. When the hell are those rich suits going to get it through their thick skull that writing lyrics takes time? Let me show you something.”
Finishing his sentence, James got up and quickly went to his front door.
“Look at them.” He said, pointing at the massive, balsam fir trees down the slope. “The smallest of those trees is more than twenty feet tall. They don’t grow overnight. It takes them years to reach that height.”
“James, how long did it take you to write those four verses?” Rick asked.
“Ten: maybe fifteen minutes;” James answered. “Why?”
“That’s mighty fast!” Rick laughed. “You’re contradicting yourself!”
“We’re talking about two completely different things here.” James rejected that notion. “You know how it goes. Whenever I need to write lyrics for someone, we meet: we spend a couple of days together; he or she shares some memories; I take notes; and so on… What you read was just the heat of the moment. Last night was pretty intense.”
“I’ll bet.” Rick smiled, mischievously. “Is she hot?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but yeah, she’s beautiful.” James declared, slamming the door behind him. “Are you done with all the questions?”
“James…” Rick began, taking a few confident steps towards him. “You spent one night with her and you’ve already written something. I can’t help but wonder what would happen if you got into a relationship with her.”
“Haven’t we had this conversation already?” James’ tone of voice suddenly became stiff, as he intensified his stare.
“All I’m saying is that you need some more…” Rick drew in a deep breath; “Inspiration. It could help you write faster.”
“Look around you, Rick!” James yelled. “I got all the inspiration I need. I also have my past.”
“What the hell are you talking about!?” Rick cried. “Can you talk to a tree? Can you go on a date with snow? Make love to a rock?”
Rick’s words sent James’ adrenaline into the ozone layer. James was not good at handling pressure. He would not have someone pry into his personal life, even if that someone was Rick. Clenching his jaw, he grabbed him by the collar of his coat, spun him around and pinned him against the heavy, wooden door. His overweight body made a loud thump that bounced off the walls of the living room.
“Listen up.” James snarled, as fear flashed in Rick’s eyes. “What I do with my life is my business: not yours. You got that?”
“Let me go, man!” Rick squealed, pushing him back with all his might: to no avail. James’ grip was too tight. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
James loosened his grip, upon hearing his apology. Unable to control his short breath, he dropped his arms and tried to turn around. As he did however, he sensed Rick’s hand on his wrist.
“You need to come with me to New York.” He said, straightening his coat with his free hand. “Bosses’ orders; nothing I can do about it.”
“It’s not going to change anything.” James said, looking down at him over his left shoulder.
“Please, man!” Rick begged. “I can’t go back empty-handed. I could lose my job.”
“Fine,” James muttered under his breath. “Let me go get dressed.”
6
“Platinum Media Records” was the largest tenant of a massive, steel tower on Fifth Avenue. Nevertheless, James had seen the imposing building many times in the past. Its sheer size and cold, wide corridors failed to intimidate him. . Once again, his employers wanted him to prove that composing and writing lyrics within a given time frame, that they set, was by no means an easy task. In his mind, both he and they only ended up wasting time.
Before joining them in the conference room in the penthouse, he made one request. James told Rick Olivia’s full name, and asked that he track her down for him. He was not going to reprimand her for leaving without saying “goodbye”. After all, he had a very good idea why she did such a thing. Instead, James wanted to give her the poem as a reminder of that night. It was a token of appreciation for what she had done for him; nothing more.
The meeting with his superiors went precisely as James predicted. Hours of arguing repeatedly over same thing; bitter comments from both sides, and most importantly, threats of termination. Familiar with their tactics, he gave them no credence. They could continue threatenign to their heart’s content; he would still not be terrorized. James was a smart man; he was well aware of his talent. Good writers were scarce; it would be most unwise of a record company as prestigious as “Platinum Media Records” to lay off one of their most important assets. Therefore, he stood by his argument: he would not write lyrics for anyone in a matter of a few days, just because his bosses wanted to make a quick buck. Eventually, the board had no choice but to back down on their demands. Howard Peterson, the record company CEO, gave him the address and phone number of a Laurel Thomas, a young, up and coming artist, asking him to do what he normally did: talk with her about her l
ife experiences, especially events that had caused her the most pain.
It was already 7:30pm when the meeting ended and James was in no mood to speak. Incredibly, Rick was still in the waiting room, but, noticing the stiffness in James’ face, he preferred not to speak. In fact, neither of them did, until they left the building behind.
“Come on, man.” Rick urged his friend, walking alongside him, as the honking pierced their ears. “Tell me, how did it go?”
“Just as I thought it would.” James informed Rick; “I’m sick and tired of them.”
“You must be starving.” Rick said. “Want to grab a bite?”
“Actually, no,” James replied, as they approached “Jodie’s”, a retro music club. “I need to get some rest. Sorry about this morning, Rick. I lost it.”
“Happens to the best of us,” Rick said with a grin, stopping just outside the glass door of the club. “Anyway, I think we could both use a drink. What do you say?”
“Oh, no,” James whispered, running his hand through his hair. “It’s too loud for me.”
“This one is not.” Rick shook his head sideways. “I’ve been coming here for years.”
“Alright,” James said with a nod, “But just for a few minutes.”
Rick said nothing. He only gave James a broad grin, before pushing the door open. James soon discovered that he had been honest with him. Indeed, the music was not loud at all. Bob Dylan’s “Knocking on Heaven’s Door” flowed out from the speakers. Posters of famous artists, like Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton, “The Eagles” and others lined the walls in “Jodie’s” club. Dozens of red, green and blue spotlights hung from the ceiling. Two women sat at the counter to the right. The young barista was looking for a bottle on the bar wall, with her back turned to them. Other than that, the place was almost empty.
“What’s your poison?” Rick inquired, hopping on the stool.
“I’ll have a soda.” James’ response made his eyes glint with amusement. Rick bit his lower lip, in an obvious attempt to not laugh, as he sat next to him.
“Ok, tell her.” Rick said, casting a rapt glance at the barista. Then, leaning over he whispered in James’ ear: “You kids have fun. I hear she’s a nice girl.”
Rick had just finished his sentence, when the young brunette turned around. It was Olivia. James’ jaw dropped to the floor. An empty glass slipped through her fingers.
“James!” She said, in a voice filled with surprise, barely noticing when the glass shattered. “What are you doing here?”
Shocked to his core, he could not force another word out of his throat. He opened his eyes wide, as his face loosened in utter disbelief. Looking right and left, he sought Rick, but he was already making his way towards the door.
“Don’t tell me.” Olivia added. “You needed a taste of civilization. Am I right?”
“Not really.” He claimed, feeling his heart ready to explode. “I take it you work here.”
“What gave me away?” She gave him a sweet smile, raising a bottle of vodka in the air. “What can I get you?”
“Nothing,” James said, pulling a piece of paper out of his coat pocket. “This is for you.”
“A letter?” Olivia wondered, taking it in her hands.
“Not quite; just something to remember last night by.” His voice quivered as he spoke; he then hopped off his stool, saying “Goodnight, Olivia. Thanks again.”
“Wait!” She cried, as he started towards the door. Yet, her words passed by him unheard. James had made up his mind. He had lingered there too long. The only thing he could think of was finding a place to spend the night. But, he soon realized, Olivia was not going to let him leave so easily. Just before he reached the door, he felt a tight grip on his forearms. She pushed him back first and then to the left, towards the table closest to the door.
“What the…”
“You’re not going anywhere until I read this.” Her commanding tone completely rubbed him the wrong way.
“Leave me alone!” He yelled, pulling his arms out of her hold.
“Sit down, James.” Olivia commanded, locking her gaze on his.
“Ok, I’ll wait.” He said. “But, I’m not sitting down.”
James slipped his hands into his pockets, as she unfolded the piece of paper. Too embarrassed to even look at her, he dropped his gaze to the floor, impatiently tapping his foot on it. Still, her shaking hands drew his attention, only seconds afterwards. Olivia slowly brought her gaze up to his and eased the poem down onto the table.
“You…” She spoke, her voice a soft, almost inaudible whisper. “You wrote this? For me?”
A simple nod served as her answer. A blissful smile lit up her face, as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Tilting her head up, Olivia closed her eyes and pressed her lips against his mouth. A gasp of surprise escaped him, but, the sensation of her warm kiss felt too good to resist. A split second afterwards, he entwined his long arms around her back and embraced her, as she pressed herself into him. A gentle caress on the back of his neck made him tingle, as he stroked her back. Olivia’s passionate, fiery kiss left him breathless. By now, he was enjoying it so much that he made no attempt to stop. She trapped his lower lip between hers one last time and gently pulled back. Opening her big, sparkling eyes, she fixed her gaze on his.
“I’m the devil in disguise?” She asked, her voice sweet and playful, as she smiled up at him.
“Among other things,” He affirmed in his baritone, returning the smile.
“Who are you, James?” she whispered. “What are you? A poet? A hermit?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” James put a little force in his voice.
“Try me.” She encouraged, sliding her hand up his neck.
“I can’t.” A long, heavy sigh left his lips.
“Can’t or won’t?” Olivia’s tone was not sweet anymore. On the contrary, she sounded skeptical and her smile fled as she addressed him.
“I can’t.” He insisted, his voice dropping down an octave.
“Alright,” she let one more whisper leave her lips, as tears welled up in her eyes. “I’ll come back to that cabin of yours. And I’m going to keep coming, until you tell me just what it is that you do.”
Tension tightened the back of James’ neck. Her steady tone and her eye contact were clear signs that she meant it. Also, judging by her brash behavior the night before, she was not going to back down, until she got what she wanted. At any rate, James was too emotional to reveal anything to her. More than that, a club, even as fancy as that, was no place to share his life’s story with his newfound inspiration.
“What time do you get off?” He inquired.
“Eight o’clock.” Her response was sharp.
“I’m going to tell you, on one condition.” James took his right arm off of her and raised his index in the air. “That you don’t tell anyone. I’m warning you, though. It’s a really long story.”
“Thank you.” His words brought a big smile to her face. “I can’t wait to hear it. Do you want that drink now?”
“I’d prefer it if we did this somewhere more…” He paused. “Private.”
“Ok.” She chirped. “My apartment’s just down the street. You can tell me there.”
7
The skies opened up, as James and Olivia left “Jodie’s” bar. Holding him by the arm, she started a dash towards her apartment building as the heavy rain poured down on them. By the time they arrived, they were soaking wet.
Being completely drenched did not trouble James one bit. What worried him at the moment was he had promised to open up to a woman he hardly knew. Doubt still festered within his heart; he had no idea whether he was doing the right thing or not. He was about to do something he had not done in nearly a decade: put his trust in someone.
Olivia unlocked her old, faded, apartment door, walked in and went to the left, mumbling “wait here”. James found himself in a rather small living room. The furniture was old. Small pieces of leather
on the cushions of her brown couch were missing. For some reason he could not explain, this made him feel better and assured him that he was doing the right thing.
“It sucks, I know.” Olivia said, tossing a pink towel to him. “It’s not much, but it’s mine. Make yourself at home. Can I get you anything?”
“Just some water,” James requested, peeling off his coat.
“She’s poor. That’s weird; there are a lot of things she could do with her body. No, it’s not weird, James. She seems honest. Poverty is the price she pays for that honesty. Feisty? Yes. Confident? Sure. A sell-out? No.”
“Here.” She said, handing him over a glass of water. “I’m all ears.” She continued, taking a seat on her couch. James downed it in a hurry. Sitting beside her, he sucked in a deep breath.
“Well…” He began. “About eleven years ago, I had this friend. His name was Darryl Baines and we had grown up together. We started a band in high school which was very popular. First, we only played cover tunes, but, after graduation, we wanted to try to write our own stuff. Darryl was great at writing music. I wrote the lyrics. We sent a demo tape to a few record companies. One of them called me the very next day. They said they liked us. We set up an appointment and I went over to Darryl’s. That’s when …” His voice broke, as the image that had been haunting him for years flashed through his mind. “That’s when I found him in bed with Diana, my girlfriend at the time. They ran after me, but I didn’t want to hear a thing they had to say. I tore out of there, driving away, and still they followed me. We both sped up to beat a yellow light. I did. They didn’t. They crashed into the side of an oncoming truck; they were killed on the spot.”
“Oh, my God…” Olivia whispered, as tears spilled from his eyes. “What happened after that?”
“A couple of days after the funeral, I met up with a couple of ‘Platinum Media Records’ top people. Darryl’s folks were there with me. They didn’t know their son got killed chasing me. Of course, there was no band anymore, but they knew how close we were. They insisted I sign a contract. I hate publicity; I didn’t want to use my real name. So, I became ‘Jimmy X’. That’s why I live on the mountain. That’s why I didn’t touch you last night. You’re a distraction, Olivia.”
Filthy Desires: A Romantic Suspense Collection Page 80