Songbird

by Jamie Campbell

  There was only one thing I could ask her civilly. “How did you get them into the venue? You didn’t show up on any of the security cameras.”

  “Your dancer, Holly, was on my tour last year. I sent them to her and asked her to deliver them for me. She was keeping me updated with what you were up to. I was halfway across the country, I couldn’t go personally, that would ruin the surprise.” Sierra returned to her dinner, stabbing a bean with her fork. There were suddenly plenty of things I wanted to stab with that fork. “You can thank me later.”

  Oh, I would. I put on my mask, I had to move on or I would break down. “Can we change the subject, please?” I asked, actually I practically begged. “Sophia, aren’t you meant to be dating that guy from the vampire show? Confirm or deny?”

  Sophia lit up with the opportunity to be the center of attention again. The faint blush of her cheeks told me the rumors were true before her voice did.

  My problems were momentarily forgotten by the group as we switched subjects. It was the only way I managed to get through dinner without stabbing Sierra with a fork. As it turned out, my friends never really changed much. I’d just forgotten that fact in my absence.

  Afterwards, we walked to our waiting cars slowly, making sure to smile and grimace at the cameras. I made sure to grin more than moan about my privacy. Demi’s voice was in my ear, reminding me to play along with my agent. ‘They work with you, they are trying to do what’s best for you’. I’d heard that lecture more times than I liked to admit.

  I decided not to go home with the other girls, instead I hailed a cab. My refrigerator was pretty bare and I was craving some ice cream. There was nothing sadder than going home to an empty house with no ice cream.

  The cab driver dropped me off at Walmart, pretty much the only supermarket still open at the late hour. And it was almost empty, bonus.

  My stilettos clicked in the nearly-deserted aisles as I made my way through to the frozen section. I was already weighing up my flavor options. Cookies and cream was really nice, but then so was triple chocolate. Considering the way my life was going, triple chocolate might be the only thing left in the world that could have saved me.

  I stood in front of the brightly lit cabinets. Pictures of all the other flavors were tempting me to change my mind. It was the biggest decision I had made in a long time. I didn’t have Demi to look to for some guidance. That was why I shouldn’t have been allowed out on my own, the whole Forest debacle proved that.

  “Get raspberry ripple, that was always your favorite.” The male voice made me jump. I hadn’t heard anyone approach. I spun around to be face to face with Braydon.

  “Out of all the supermarkets in the world, you have to walk into the only one I’m in,” I replied, wishing I had gone straight home instead. “Are you stalking me, Braydon? Because the moment I return to L.A., you seem to always be there.”

  “Maybe I’m your lucky charm.”

  I snorted, I couldn’t help it. “More like bad luck charm. It’s been a year and I still can’t seem to rid myself of you. Perhaps I should break a mirror or walk under a ladder or something.”

  He looked me up and down, turning the stalker theory into something truly plausible. All he needed to do was lick his lips and the look would be complete. “You look like you are doing alright to me.”

  “Looks can be deceiving.”

  “You’re right, touching is much better.” He licked his lips as he smiled, he really did it. And so completed the stalker triangle of doom.

  “Braydon, what are you doing here? It’s almost midnight – on a school night. Don’t you have a home or something?”

  “Don’t you?” He shot back quickly, like I might have insulted him. Little did he know that I knew he didn’t get offended. His arrogance didn’t allow his brain to believe anyone would make fun of him.

  “Yes, where I’m going right now.” I opened the freezer door and pulled out a tub of triple chocolate. Raspberry ripple hadn’t been my favorite in a long time. Just like my choice in men had changed, so had my ice cream preferences.

  I turned to leave, already imagining being on my couch eating the ice cream. Hell, if the checkout chick had a plastic spoon behind the counter, I’d start in the cab on the way home.

  “Brierly, wait,” Braydon panted as he caught up with me. He kept pace at my side, I had no intention of slowing down for him. He was like the ghost of relationships past that never left.

  “Go home, Braydon.”

  “I was wondering if you would like to grab some dinner sometime? Are you in L.A. for a while? Maybe we could catch a movie or go bowling? It could be just like old times.”

  That made me stop. I stared at him, not believing what my ears were trying to tell me he said. “Are you seriously asking me out on a date?”

  He waved his hands around as he spoke, one of the signs he was nervous. I hated that I knew him so well, I wanted to permanently erase all traces of Braydon from my head. I didn’t want to be remembering all his little habits and cute little things he did. It was too dangerous and I wasn’t that stupid… anymore.

  “Okay, yeah, like a date. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately and I miss you. We had something great and I managed to stuff it up like I did everything in my life,” he admitted. For once, he wasn’t talking like a douche bag, he actually seemed sincere. That was something new and weird.

  “I’m going back on the road in a few days,” I started. It almost felt bad saying no but I had to. If I went out with him again, it would only prove that I hadn’t learnt a thing over the past year. And I did. I seriously learned my lesson.

  “I can wait. Although, I hear you’re down a guitarist. I could fill in and come with you? It would be like the old days.” He nudged me with his shoulder. He used to do that a lot too, I used to find it adorable.

  “I already have everyone I need, thanks. We’re done, Braydon, really,” I said gently. “There are plenty of other girls out there and you’ve never had trouble finding one before. Cast your net, you’ll catch one in no time.”

  I made a move to leave again, the ice cream starting to form a layer of wet condensation that was too cold in my hand. Braydon’s hand shot out to rest on my arm, stopping me.

  “Brierly, I want something real. None of those girls are anything like you. I wish now that I’d seen that before, but I was too blind back then. I took you for granted and I’m sorry.” His green eyes were full of emotion and sincerity. I actually felt a little sorry for him.

  Despite my better judgment, I reached up and hooked an arm around his neck, pulling him into a hug. Both his arms wrapped around me, crushing me against his chest. All the memories of us being together flooded back, threatening to overwhelm me. If I only remembered the good times, I could drown in those emotions. I could get giddy with the same infatuation and lust I had before.

  But I was a different person now, Braydon had seen to that by starting my downward spiral. I let him go and stepped back, my hand still resting on his chest. “Braydon, we can’t do this again. You’ll find someone that’s right for you and I’ll find someone that’s right for me. Us, together, is just trouble.”

  He took my free hand in his. “Give me a chance, Brier. I can show you how much I’ve changed.”

  I shook my head slowly. “I need to go. Goodnight, Braydon.”

  I extracted my hand and he let me leave this time. I didn’t hurry, I just casually walked toward the checkouts, acutely aware of his eyes on my back.

  I caught a cab home and took a long shower, trying to wash away all thoughts of my exes. I seriously needed to change my M.O. Soulful musicians were not good for me, not in any way, shape, or form.

  I snuggled up in my big, empty bed with my large screen television set and ice cream. Triple chocolate was exactly what the doctor ordered.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I needed to change the security code for my alarm system. That way, I could be alerted when Demi was approaching so I could pretend I wasn’
t home. Because she knew the code, she was able to sneak up on me and there was no escape. I made a mental note as I tried to drown her out.

  “Maybe you should speak to someone? Like a counselor or psychologist or something,” she continued. “I can arrange for someone to meet with you.”

  “I don’t need a shrink.” I’d already wasted half an hour trying to convince her otherwise. “I’m just tired. It’s tiring being on tour, you know. All that singing and dancing, it takes a toll on the old body.”

  Demi gave me a look that told me she didn’t quite buy what I was selling. “You’re twenty-four, Brierly. You’re hardly ready for the old peoples’ home yet. Are you sure there is nothing else going on?”

  No matter how many times she asked me, I wasn’t about to bare my soul to her. I loved Demi, but she wouldn’t understand why I was still so melancholy over Forest. She thought I was over it and I’d like her to continue thinking that. I didn’t need anyone giving me that poor, delusional woman look.

  “Demi, I swear it’s just fatigue. I need a few weeks holiday.”

  She snorted out a laugh. “Don’t we all. Once we’re done with the tour, why don’t you book some time off for yourself? You could sit around doing nothing for a while.”

  “I’m already dreaming about it.”

  “You could go to Hawaii… you might need your manager to accompany you though.”

  I bumped her with my shoulder. “Do you really want to hang out with me even longer? Aren’t you sick of me yet?”

  “God, yes,” she joked. At least I hoped it was a joke. “But I am not above tagging along with you to a tropical island. I couldn’t let you go by yourself, it would be irresponsible of me.”

  “No, of course not,” I said seriously. Perhaps I did need a holiday to Hawaii. I had been planning on taking some vacation time after the tour anyway, I always just expected it to be with Forest. Going alone now sounded depressing. Perhaps Demi was the next best thing.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?” Demi asked suddenly in the quiet lull.

  I shook my head. “No, I think I might spend some quality time in my music room. Are you alright here by yourself?” I stood, she did too.

  “Of course. I have a bunch of calls to make. Yell out if you need anything.”

  I left her to get some work completed. She would probably get way more done without me hanging around away. She claimed she needed me nearby while she did it so I could give her quick decisions on anything that popped up, but I think she really enjoyed the plush surroundings better than her tiny apartment.

  The music room was my sanctuary, I had missed it terribly while on the road. My housekeeper had given my piano a dust before I returned home. The white lid sparkled under the sunbeams shining in through the windows.

  I slid my finger along the edge, it hummed with everything I loved about music. There was something healing about the notes, something soothing about the rhythm. Whatever it was, the World Health Organization should bottle it and they’d make billions.

  Lifting the lid over the keys, I took my seat on the stool. My body immediately went to my playing posture, instinctively knowing the best way to play.

  Whenever I had been hurting in the past, the music room restored me. It did for my relationship break-ups, and it did when I was released from hospital last year. Maybe it could now? Maybe I could let the harmonies and notes heal my heart from the damage Forest had inflicted?

  My fingers rested on the keys, poised and ready to go. The problem was, I couldn’t find a tune to start. My mind was blank, not even something meaningless and tuneless would make my fingers move. They were frozen in place, unable to find the inspiration to do anything.

  I clenched my fingers, curling them into tight little balls before shaking them out again. I rolled my shoulders, trying to loosen them. I needed to relax, that was all. I couldn’t expect to play anything when I was nothing but a conglomerate of stress.

  I positioned my hands over the keys again and waited. And waited. For the life of me I couldn’t think of one tune to play, I couldn’t even decide on a note to start with. I was completely dead and motionless.

  I retrieved some sheet music from the bookcase, finding a songbook from my favorite musical. I opened it up to one of the songs I always loved to play and propped the book on the stand.

  I went through the process again. Rolling my shoulders, shaking out my fingers, and then poising my hands over the keys. I had the music there in front of me now, I knew how to play the notes and carry the tune. I could do it.

  Except I couldn’t. My fingers may as well have been made out of jelly and custard for the good they were doing me. My brain said to move and they didn’t care.

  I closed the lid and leant my elbows on the smooth surface. I cradled my head in my hands, wondering what was wrong with me. Music was my medicine, my heart, and my soul. To be unable to play was like losing a limb.

  For whatever reason, I was locked up. I couldn’t seek relief in the beautiful sounds my piano always managed to play for me. And if I didn’t have music, I didn’t have anything. It was my life, my blood, my air.

  Looking around the room at all my musical instruments, I wondered if I would be able to play any of them. I swiveled around on the piano stool and picked up my guitar. I placed my fingers in the A Minor position and went to strum. My hand brushed the strings, managing to get some sound out of the instrument. It was far from a tune though.

  A knock on the door made me jump. “Brierly, can I come in?”

  I quickly put the guitar down. “Sure.” For once, I was glad of the interruption.

  Demi peeked her head in cautiously, like she was scared about invading my sacred place. I normally hated being disturbed in the room, she probably had good reason to think like that.

  “What’s up?” I asked, trying to pretend like there was nothing wrong with me. Like I had just been playing a beautiful song and she had missed it. I wished that was the case.

  She held up some pieces of paper. “I have a song for you.” My confusion must have shown on my face as she continued. “I know you normally write your own, but I think you might really like this one.”

  I accepted the loose pages of sheet music. The notes were hand drawn, the lyrics written in neat block letters. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to write the song and present it nicely.

  “Who wrote it?” I asked, noticing there were no credits under the title where they would normally be.

  “Just a friend.”

  I held out the pages for her to take back. “Thanks, but I only play my own stuff. Maybe they can sell it to someone else.”

  Demi refused to accept the pages. She shook her head and took a step back. “They don’t want any money, they just want you to take a look and see what you think. Please? For me?”

  I inwardly sighed. There was no way I was going to get out of it. I considered coming clean and telling her I was in some kind of no-music shutdown but that required a lot more effort than actually having a look at the song. Surely I could spare two minutes to have a read through, especially considering I couldn’t play any of my damn instruments.

  “Fine, I’ll take a look,” I finally replied. Demi thanked me before leaving again, closing the door behind her.

  I was left in silence again, sadly lacking any music. I put the sheets on top of the piano as I grabbed my songwriting notebook. If I couldn’t play, perhaps I could write.

  I opened up a new page and picked up the pencil. Just like at the piano, I poised the nub and got ready for inspiration to hit.

  “Come on, Brierly, damn it,” I mumbled to myself. I had been on a rollercoaster of emotions for the past few months with Forest. Surely I had accumulated something worth writing about? Normally all my songs came from some heartache or ecstasy. Whenever something bad happened to me, I always consoled myself with the fact I could write about it and actually turn it into something beautiful.

  But I was completely stuck. Apparently not even findi
ng out I was a mistress to someone I loved dearly was enough cause for inspiration. My muse had died, she was dead and buried along Route 66. The thought of not even being able to put one word on the paper was depressing.

  I threw the book across the room, frustrated. There were dozens of songs in that notepad, all written at times when I needed to vent my feelings. What was so different about now that I couldn’t even write one line?

  The sheet music from Demi’s friend stared at me across the piano. If I couldn’t write anything, I was going to have to start buying other people’s songs. Now that was a depressing thought. Telling other people’s stories through music was not how I wanted my career to go.

  It teased me, taunted me that it was probably better than anything I could write anymore. The song was probably brilliant, Grammy-worthy. And I just sucked.

  It got the better of me, I had to take a look at the song. I perched on the edge of the piano stool and picked it up.

  The song was called ‘My Mistake’. It was catchy, punchy, short, and sweet. It was probably a good start. I wasn’t a fan of songs with long and complicated titles. Some people loved them, I wasn’t one of them. Plus, it looked better on the CD jacket when the words weren’t all squished together. Not that people really bought CD’s anymore, but I still did. I still cared about the few people that would see it.

  I traced my fingers along the music first, not glancing at the lyrics. I always liked to hear the tune before placing any words to it. There was something simple and pure about the music by itself. Sometimes I thought the lyrics just complicated things. Kind of like talking did to relationships. Touching was always better than talking, Braydon was right about one thing.

  The tune was a simple four beat rhythm, meant to be played slowly. The song was soulful, the notes would sound a little sad when played. Whatever the writer’s mistake was, it was a tear-jerker.