“Sean, why are you still here? This is awkward enough without you standing there and staring at me.”
“Maybe I’m just trying to get inside your head. Get an edge on you in the competition.”
“Sean, we’re not even on the same team. We won’t compete against each other unless we both make the live show. And I highly doubt either of us will. No matter how much you might look and sing like Avril Lavigne.”
“I don’t sing like Avril Lavigne.”
“I thought you said she was the shit.”
“If you have to keep talking,” the makeup artist said, “could you at least sit still?”
Sean stepped up closer and lowered his voice. “Say, how are things on your team?”
“They’re fine, Sean. Everyone’s just trying to make it to the next round.”
“Is there anyone you’re particularly worried about?”
“No, not really. We’ve only had group rehearsal once. And I try to focus on my own performance.”
“Well, okay, then, but maybe what about Jordyn? Have you talked to Jordyn?”
Caleb saw the look in his eyes and realized why Sean was over here harassing him. He decided to play with him a little.
“Jordyn who?” Caleb asked.
“You know—Jordyn from New York. What’s she like?”
“You mean Jordyn-with-a-y?”
“Shit, Caleb, how many Jordyns are there on your team?”
“Just the one, I think.”
“Then I meant her,” Sean quipped.
“Okay, sure,” Caleb shot back. “What about her again?”
“Has she said anything to you?”
“Only that she’s not into dudes who wear eyeliner.”
“Just forget it,” he said, turning and storming off.
Caleb grinned and watched him go. Sean hadn’t quite left the makeup and dressing area when he called back.
“And everyone knows chicks dig eyeliner.”
After he had disappeared, the makeup artist looked at Caleb in the mirror.
“He’s right,” she said. “Chicks do dig eyeliner on a guy.”
Caleb just shook his head.
When Caleb stepped out onto the stage, everything in his head went quiet. Quiet and white. It had always been that way. It didn’t matter to him whether he was playing for passersby in the street, a bar full of drunken music lovers, or a reality TV judge backed up by a crowd of fake fans in a Hollywood studio soundstage; once he plucked the first chord, the result was the same. He wasn’t playing for anyone, he was playing for everyone.
He sometimes imagined a great mythic cloud passing by overhead and in the cloud was every story ever told and every song ever sung. And if he was lucky, he got to reach up into this cloud and pull something down and shape it in his own way and show it to someone so that they might see for just one fleeting but magic moment the greatness that they themselves were capable of. Then he’d strum the last chord and his song would drift back to join the ether from where it had come. And he was just fine with that. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Listen up,” the producer shouted from the edge of the stage. “This isn’t being broadcast live, but we have a full afternoon and we’d like to get this filmed in one take. Those of you in the audience, please pay attention to the applause sign. It’s very important that you cheer at the right moment. And for our artist . . . let’s see . . . Caleb, right? Caleb, you need to let a few beats pass after they call action. Don’t play right when the curtain lifts, okay? Just a pause to set the mood. And do the same when you finish the song. You can react naturally to the applause, of course, but don’t look too happy to be through with the performance. Stay in the moment. Got it?”
Caleb nodded that he understood, even though he wanted to walk off the stage. And he probably would have if he hadn’t been worried about disappointing Jane.
The producer called for the set to be readied and the partition dropped in front of Caleb, blocking him off from the audience and the judge. He stood alone with his guitar, listening to the producer bark out his final orders.
Caleb had known before he came that these reality shows were mostly scripted. But now that he had looked behind the curtain, he saw that they weren’t just scripted, they were total bullshit. He actually felt relieved that he’d probably be going home. There were eight artists on his team, and by the end of the week, only four would remain. He didn’t have a lot of hope for himself, considering his judge had already given him a thumbs-down.
Caleb heard the director call, “Action!”
Then he heard applause as the partition lifted away on its cables, revealing the crowd. He looked into the lights and listened to the applause, and he knew that this was what every musician dreamed of. And hadn’t he secretly dreamed of it too? But not like this. Not with phony fans and an LED sign that told them when to cheer.
He pushed these thoughts from his mind and looked to the crowd for inspiration. He hadn’t decided yet which of his songs to sing, but when he glimpsed a woman in the front row who reminded him of his aunt, his fingers moved, striking a familiar melody in a minor key.
“This is for everyone out there who has lost someone,” he said. “Especially if that someone happened to be a soldier.”
Then he sang.
They came in full dress
But you already knew
They handed you the letter and left
But no medal could comfort you
Another hero lost
Another coffin draped in red, white, and blue
Now you stare into the past
Remembering love that was true
I know today you hate the sun
Oh, it pours down love
Love on everyone
But it slips beneath your blinds
Onto memories you rerun
The letters you meant to write
But were never begun
You cry, Give me rain instead
Or even snow
Cold to numb my pain
A flood to drown my sorrow
’Cause if you’ve ever lost true love
The person you knew was the one
Then I’m sure you know
What it’s like to hate the sun
Now the sun’s turned to rain
And everyone’s gone
They left with their condolences
And it’s just you here alone
Oh, the sweet love you made
The promise of years yet to come
But even the best memories fade
Just like the sun
I know you used to hate the sun
But now rain pours down
Down on everyone
It drips from your gutters
Onto the memories you rerun
The letters you meant to write
And should have begun
You cry, Give me pain instead
Or even sorrow
A wind to blow away the rain
A ray of hope for tomorrow
’Cause if you’ve ever lost true love
The person you knew was the one
Then I’m sure you know
What it’s like to miss the sun
You finally visited today, Auntie
I know you were there
I saw you put your ear to his grave
I wonder what you heard
You decided love isn’t gone
You said, It’s right here with me
You knew your heart was his home
And always will be
I know you used to hate the sun
Oh, it pours down love
Love on everyone
It drips into your heart
And onto the memories you
rerun
The letters you meant to write
And have finally begun
You cry, Give me peace instead
Anything but tears
Warm memories to keep
Faith to pass the years
’Cause if you’ve ever lost true love
The person you knew was the one
Then I’m sure you also know
Love just keeps going on
The audience was quiet when he finished—too quiet. They stared at him, and so did the judge, but no one was clapping.
“Cut!” the director yelled.
Then the producer appeared at the edge of the stage. “Damn it!” he shouted out to some distant sound booth. “Why didn’t you throw the applause switch?”
“Sorry, boss,” a voice from the booth said. “I got wrapped up in the song and forgot.”
The producer shook his head. “Get someone less sentimental to run the sign this time. Okay, people, let’s do it over. Caleb, perfect pause. So let’s do the same thing again. Just take it from the top.”
Caleb shook his head. “I can’t do it again.”
The producer had half turned away, but he heard Caleb and spun back around. “Excuse me?”
“I said I can’t just play it on command.”
“Why not?”
“I felt it, but now it’s gone.”
“But that’s your job, son.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have a real hard time in this business if you can’t perform when you’re asked to. This isn’t some art house gig where you get to call the shots, pal.”
“I can probably play you something different.”
“Fine,” he said. “I don’t really care what you play.”
“No,” the judge said. “I don’t want another song.”
Everyone turned to look up at her in the judges’ box. So this is it, Caleb thought. She’s not even going to wait for the eliminations to send me home.
“Why not?” the producer asked.
“Because that one was perfect,” she said, smiling at Caleb. “Let’s just reshoot the applause, can we?”
The producer threw up his hands. “I guess so, sure. Caleb, do you think you could stand there and look like you just played the song again, or would that be too much to ask too?”
Caleb nodded that he could. Then he watched as they got everyone back in their places like so many set pieces in a play. When the director called action again, Caleb strummed the last chord, the sign lit like it was supposed to, and the crowd went wild with the kind of applause that seemed slightly tone-deaf, given the song he had actually played. But this wasn’t his show, so whatever.
After depositing his guitar backstage, Caleb rejoined his group in their assigned section to watch the remaining artists he was competing against perform. He had hardly sat down when Sean leaned his head over Caleb’s shoulder from the seat behind.
“Nice work, guy. Really nice.”
“You think so?”
“I sure wish I could write shit like that.”
“Thanks,” Caleb said. “That one still cuts deep for me.”
“I could tell. Anyway, screw the producer. The judge liked it, so that’s good news for you.”
“You think she liked it enough to pass me through?”
“I’m thinking so, man. Although I could guaran-damn-tee you there’d be no doubt about it if you’d listened to me and worn a little eyeliner.”
“What’s with you and the eyeliner, dude? It’s like you own stock in Maybelline or something. Next thing you know, you’ll be trying to get me to put those disks in my ears too.”
“They’re called gauges, man. And they’re the shit.”
“Well, if you don’t lay off me about the eyeliner, I’ll put a padlock through them while you’re sleeping and chain you to the hotel bed. How about that?”
“That’s just plain mean,” Sean said.
One of the other contestants turned to them and scowled. “Do you mind? I’m trying to listen.”
“Listen to what?” Sean shot back. “The producer barking orders at the light guys? Get over yourself, Carrie Ann.”
Less than two minutes later, Sean leaned forward again. “Check her out, man. There she is onstage. Jordyn-with-a-y. I told you she’s fucking beautiful. Admit it, she’s a knockout and you dream about her at night.”
“Sorry,” Caleb said, “but I dream about my own lady.”
“Fine. But you can at least admit she’s gorgeous.”
“Jane? She’s the most gorgeous woman on earth.”
“No, not Jane, guy. Jordyn. Check her out.”
Caleb looked at her on the stage. Dark blue dress, wavy auburn hair, red lips. She was sitting on a stool with an electric slide guitar on her lap, and even the sound crew guys plugging her in and setting her microphone were having a hard time keeping their eyes off her.
“Okay, I’ll admit she’s pretty. In a Lana Del Rey sort of way. But anyone can show a little skin and make pouty-lipped love to the camera these days, and become an Internet star. I’d be more impressed if she could really sing.”
Sean sighed. “Man, are you in for a big surprise.”
When the director finally called action, Jordyn came alive. It was as if the camera changed her. Something in her posture, or maybe just her eyes. She looked beyond the camera into the audience, as if seeing someone or something there that she loved, and then she began to play the slide guitar with a smoothness that Caleb had only seen in old-time steel players. Her voice was rich and husky and sensual, and her song was so haunting and beautiful that Caleb could hardly believe she had written it.
When she finished, the applause light hadn’t even gone on yet and the entire audience was on their feet. Then even the contestants all stood to clap and to cheer, and only Caleb was still sitting—watching, wondering, worrying.
Sean put a hand on his shoulder and leaned down. “What do you think now, guy?”
Caleb was still looking at her when he answered. “You were right. She’s the one to beat.”
“A meter maid? Are you shitting me?”
Jane laughed on the other end of the phone. “The proper term is parking enforcement officer, young man. And unless you want to see a bunch of unexplained tickets with your name on them when you return, I’d suggest you not call me a meter maid from now on.”
“But I don’t even have a car.”
“Maybe I’ll use my handcuffs on you, then.”
“You get handcuffs?”
“No. I was only kidding. It’s not a bad idea, though. Kind of turns me on. Where are you right now?”
“I’m lying on my bed.”
“What are you wearing?”
“Sorry, not tonight, babe. Sean’s here. He’s in the shower. Seriously, though, this is great news about the job, Jane. I’m so excited for you. But are you sure it’s safe?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know. You said you’d be doing the night beat downtown, right? That can get kind of rough, don’t you think?”
“The night shift is only Thursday through Saturday. But don’t worry. I’ll be with a trainer for the first week. And we’re issued a radio and can summon police if anything happens. Plus, I’ve got pepper spray.”
“You do?”
“Uh-huh. Got it this afternoon at the gun store.”
“The gun store?”
“Yep. The guy there tried to sell me a thirty-eight instead, but I stuck to the MK-9.”
“MK what?”
“That’s the agency-recommended pepper spray.”
“Shit, Jane. I’m gone for less than a week and you’re putting on a uniform and gun shopping. What’s going on down there?”
“Maybe this would be
a good time to tell you that I have glasses now too.”
“What? You do? Like eyeglasses?”
“Yeah, but I only really wear them when I’m driving. But they’re sexy, I promise.”
“I’m flying home,” he teased. “You can’t be left alone.”
“You just miss me and you’re looking for any excuse to come back.”
“I do miss you.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. Like a lot.”
“But you’re doing good, right? I mean, you made it through to next week.”
“Yes, I made the cut. But I don’t know, Jane. These kids, they’re good. You remember that little punker girl from my audition? The one with the clock around her neck?”
“The girl with the voice? How could I forget her?”
“Did you know she’s classically trained? And she writes music too. All I can do is write tabs for my guitar. I’ve always had to have Jeremy or somebody else write for the other instruments. And Sean’s really good, as goofy as he is. And then there’s this girl from New York on my team. I say team, but really I’m competing with her. Anyway, she’s got like millions of YouTube followers and an album out on iTunes already, and she looks like some kind of pop princess. But get this, she’s got rich parents or something and she went to Juilliard, Jane. Fucking Juilliard.” He paused to take a breath. “I guess I just feel out of my league.”
“A pop princess from Juilliard, huh? I’m feeling out of my league too. What’s her name?”
“Jordyn-with-a-y.”
“Shit, even her name trumps mine.”
“How so?”
“It’s like Jane except with an extra syllable.”
“Jane, seriously, I’m worried I can’t beat her.”
“I’ll tell you what, baby. You stop worrying about her and focus on just being you, okay? I know you, and you wouldn’t want to win any other way. And if you do get sent home, I’ll be waiting here with open arms. And maybe even a pair of handcuffs too.”
“You’re right, babe,” he said. “You always are. And I love you so much. I have no idea what I did to deserve you.”
He could tell Jane was smiling on her end of the phone.
“You gave me multiple orgasms, for one thing,” she said.
“Oh, I did, did I?”
“Yes. Just this morning, in fact.”
“Wow, I must have mad powers to be dishing out multiple orgasms from a thousand miles away. Are you sure you’re not just using me for sex?”
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