Behind the Strings

by Courtney Giardina

  Stopping in Nashville this week on our way to Austin. Would love to see you.

  I drummed my fingers against my iced coffee cup as I sat outside Soulful Grinds. The foot traffic was heavy as the coffee shop was holding a songwriter’s night that Friday. It would begin rather soon and I would’ve loved to go in to listen. Tonight, though, I had a very important meeting.

  Logan said he’d meet me at 7:30. I glanced at my watch. He's only five minutes late, I thought to myself as the sun fell closer to the horizon. I chewed on my straw more intently with every minute that passed.

  I tried to distract myself by organizing the notes I’d taken during my latest interview earlier that day. I'd spent the afternoon at a local radio station interviewing Layna Howard, the newest addition to Yellow Dog records. She had just wrapped up an opening gig on one of this summer’s biggest tours and I had a great angle about a woman in a man's world since she'd been the only one on the tour. After the interview, I was excited to have a ton of notes to get me started. I typed a few words and then deleted them. I did this a few times before a voice broke my rhythm.

  "Hey Celia, can I get you anything to go with that coffee?" she asked, holding out a tray of baked goods.

  "I'm okay, thank you, Jordyn," I said. I loved how I was on a first-name basis with pretty much all the baristas. It made Nashville feel cozy and intimate, just like my hometown. It was one of the things I always loved about growing up in Hamden.

  By twenty after eight I had sucked down the final drop through my now shriveled straw. I tossed the cup in the trash and headed across the street, playing back my mom's words about how not everyone was like my father. I shook my head, noting at that moment how maybe not everyone was, but musicians were musicians. Rock ‘n’ roll or country, it didn't matter; their hearts only had room for one thing, and that was music. It's something I learned at an early age and something I would firmly believe in until my last breath.

  I did whatever I could to tune out my disappointed and denial of sadness. I dusted the living room twice, swept the cherry floors, and had just begun to do the dishes when a hard knock came from my front door. I put the dish down into the sink and dried my hands with a towel as I walked towards it.

  Nothing but darkness filled the peephole. What the heck? My hand turned the knob and pulled it toward me. A sweaty and tired-looking Logan appeared on the other side of it.

  "Good, you're still awake," he said as he invited himself in. "I'm sorry I'm late."

  I didn't answer, or look up at him for that matter. I didn't want to be angry. I didn't want him to know it had affected me as much as it did, but I couldn't help it.

  "It's fine," I lied.

  "I am really sorry,” He repeated.

  "Sounds familiar,” I mumbled under my breath.

  That was my father's second-favorite phrase. His first being “I'll make it up to you.” Logan's dislike for my father was probably pretty close to my own, so things weren’t about to go over well once he realized I had made that comparison.

  "What does?"

  "Never mind," I said.

  "I would’ve been on time, but we had some bus trouble.”

  "I said it’s fine."

  "Celia, I would never let you down." In my heart I think I wanted to believe him. I should have, but he could tell I didn’t. "I'm not your dad."

  “I didn't even say anything like that.”

  “You don't have to. I've seen that look enough times from you to know better.”

  “What look?” I asked him.

  “Disappointment. Don't put me in that category.”

  “You have a cell phone, you know.” It was the only response I had, and it burst right out of me without thinking. “It isn’t that hard to pick it up, push a few buttons and let me know. Instead you left me waiting, sitting there all alone. Not calling is something my dad would do.” I swallowed hard as soon as I said that, immediately wishing I could pull those words back in. Logan’s face became flushed as he took a step away from me.

  “No,” he said, “not calling because he was too drunk to remember is something your dad would do. guilty random body parts for endless girls at the end of every show instead of calling his daughter to say goodnight like he said he would is something your dad would do. Not being able to call you because the tour bus died along with my cell phone just outside of town, asking my band mates to wait with it so I could walk two miles here to make sure I could at least see you for a few minutes, that isn’t something your dad would do. But it is something I would do, something I just did because I care about you and you should damn well know that by now."

  I'm pretty sure the words “royal bitch” were stamped on my forehead by the end of his declaration.

  “Not everyone is like him, Celia. You’ve gotta believe that.”

  "You sound like Mama," I said.

  “Smart woman, she is, I knew I loved her for a reason.”

  He reached over and pulled me into him. I gently wrapped my arms around his moist and sweaty skin.

  “I'll never let you down. You should know that by now. You have to stop thinking that,” he said as he placed his lips on the same spot of my forehead as the last time I saw him.

  “I’m working on it.”

  I squeezed him a little tighter. We stood there in the foyer rocking back and forth in each other’s arms for some time before Logan had the idea to grab a drink downtown. He wanted to make up for missing dinner. I let him rinse off the obliterating August heat in my shower before we left. As if things in my life weren’t already blurred enough, a night out in Nashville was about to make it a whole lot more complicated.

  7

  The one thing I love the most about Nashville is that it doesn’t matter what time of day it is, music is always playing. But when the sun goes down, that’s when the city really comes alive. The neon lights of marquees glare at every corner with music coming out of every bar you pass. The undiscovered talent you get to see on a nightly basis is exhilarating.

  Shotguns was Logan’s bar of choice when we arrived downtown. It was a dimly lit, mellow bar best known for its impressive collection of guitar picks that covered every tabletop. The owner had glued each one down himself. If you look at the table by the window, closest to the bar you may even see one from Logan Kent himself. He played there often on his rise to country music stardom. I knew that from his mother. When still living at home I used to eavesdrop on conversations between my mom and his so I could stay up to date on the happenings in his life. She used to tell my mom all the time that Shotguns pulled in their best business on the nights Logan played that stage.

  Tonight we had to squeeze our way through close to a hundred people, Logan shaking pretty much all of their hands on our way up to the bar. The live music hadn’t started yet, but from what I was told on the ride over, Shotguns had found themselves another pretty popular up-and-coming band by the name of Jackson’s Soul. The lead singer was one of Logan’s good friends here in Nashville.

  “Your usual,” Logan said as he handed me my gin and tonic. “I’m right, aren’t I? It’s still your drink of choice?”

  It’s a secret I’ll never tell my mama, but Logan and I had spent many high school nights while she was at work watching marathons of The Godfather and Rocky in my living room. He’d supply the tonic and coke and I’d scour through the liquor bottles in the kitchen cupboards to see what was full enough for her not to notice our sampling.

  “You are correct. I’ve never wavered.”

  Logan turned away once I grabbed my drink and raised his hand over his head. I followed his gaze to a door in the corner of the bar. A dark-haired guy was peeking out of it, waving back at Logan.

  “Here, follow me,” he said.

  He grabbed my hand and guided me through the crowd to the open door. From the looks of it, I had guessed this was what you would call the dressing room. A couple of guys sat on worn-out couches tuning their guitars. The dark-haired guy came over to Logan and did the whole hal
f-hug, half-pat on the back thing guys do these days.

  “It’s good to see you, man,” he said to Logan. “And who do we have here?”

  “This is my friend Celia. Celia, I’d like you to meet my friend, Jesse Rockford. He’s a phenomenal songwriter. Helped me write a couple songs for my album.”

  “Very nice to meet you,” Jesse said.

  The thick stubble surrounding his smile almost hid a single dimple that appeared on his right cheek. I reached out my hand and looked intently into his deep-set blue eyes. He waved my hand away and leaned in to wrap his arms tightly around me, pulling me against his broad shoulders. I breathed in the smell of his cologne and prayed he couldn’t feel the intensity of my heartbeat.

  When we pulled ourselves away from each other, the smile was still on his face. I felt myself blush as I realized I was beaming as well. Thankfully before anyone else noticed, we were interrupted by a knock at the door. In walked the manager, giving the band a five-minute heads up. It was almost time for me to see if Jackson’s Soul was as great as Logan was making them out to be.

  About thirty minutes in, I was hooked. The band played mostly covers, but Jesse’s voice had a tone to it that any girl would want to be serenaded by for hours. The wisp of black hair that kept sweeping in front of his eyes made him even more intriguing than I already thought he was. I hadn’t noticed it in the dressing room, but a hint of light reflected off of his ear, revealing a single silver hoop. Dressed in black jeans and cowboy boots, he carried an air of mystery with him. I swore every now and then I would look up and find him staring right at me. He’d give a little wink and go back to picking his guitar. After a quick break Jesse started talking to the crowd, which now filled every inch of the bar.

  “I’d like to slow things down just a little bit for a minute and give you a special treat tonight. I wrote a song a few months back with a good buddy of mine and thought maybe he’d like to come up here and play it with me.”

  Logan looked up at Jesse and without hesitation he climbed up onto the stage. The noise level raised a few decibels once people realized who he was. A couple of stools were brought up for them and Logan traded his whiskey and coke for a guitar and leaned into the mic.

  “It’s really an honor to be back here playing tonight, especially with this guy right here.” Logan placed his hand on Jesse’s shoulder.

  As soon as the music started, the crowd began to simmer. My stomach churned as I looked at all of the faces around me. It was one thing to have watched Logan play in a stadium, but this moment right here, this intimate moment where it all began, with all of these people who believed in him before he may have even believed in himself…it was a feeling I couldn’t even comprehend. With every word sung on that stage, I grew more and more confident of the fact that I had made the right decision all those years ago. Logan was exactly where he belonged.

  You taught me how to love you

  Drive you crazy wild

  Taught me how to turn you on

  And how to make you smile

  The song was beautifully written and both Jesse and Logan sang it with such emotion that when it was over there was slight hesitation before the crowd erupted in applause. I smiled up at both of them as Logan stepped out of the spotlight and joined me back in the front.

  I was on my third gin and tonic by the time Jackson’s Soul finished their final set, but the night was still young. I could barely keep up with Jesse and Logan as we meandered from bar to bar, but I sure as hell did my best to try. Most of the night disappeared from my mind after I downed my second shot of whiskey. Vaguely I remember Jesse leading me into a cab. A little more clearly I remember throwing up right outside my driveway and feeling my way through the dark of my house to get to my bed. What I didn’t remember, though, is why when I woke up that morning I rolled over to find that I hadn’t gone to bed alone.

  8

  I had to rub my eyes a few times to get a clear vision of Logan, facing me from the other side of my bed. His eyes were closed, shoulders bare and hands grasping tightly onto the pillow where his head lay. My hands lifted up the sheets that covered both of us and I let out a heavy breath to see that both of us remained clothed.

  As soon as I pulled my head from the pillow the room began to spin around me. I plopped it back down and moaned. My agony was loud enough to startle Logan out of his sleep. I saw his eyes open and I turned slowly towards him, my hands grasping at my head.

  “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he said.

  He lifted himself up onto his forearm and reached over to pat the top of my head.

  “Oh, Logan, please stop.”

  “Those weren’t the words you were saying to me last night.”

  I froze for a moment then looked wide-eyed at him. My mouth was moving, but my lips couldn’t seem to formulate any words. I tried so hard to remember the night before, but short of reaching the final stair to the second floor, there was nothing.

  “It’s okay, I won’t hold it against you.”

  “I’m so sorry, I don’t…”

  I sat up quickly, forgetting the significance of my hangover until I was fully upright. I placed my hand over my mouth, threw the sheets off of me and ran to the bathroom. Damn that whiskey. Nothing ever good came from it.

  “Everything all right in there?” Logan asked.

  I could see him peeking through the bathroom door. With my head hung over the toilet, I nodded. It took me a couple of minutes to gather myself up; then, sluggishly, I brushed my teeth and slipped back into bed. I was alone only for a minute when Logan returned with a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin.

  “Thought you might need this,” he said.

  “Thanks.” I dumped out a couple aspirin and swallowed them. I returned my head to my pillow and curled my knees into my chest. With my eyes closed I tried to speak. “Logan, did we really…” I couldn’t get the words out.

  “Have sex?” he finished my sentence for me. “No, I was just playing with you.”

  “Oh my god. Seriously? Not funny,” I said, flailing my arm in his direction.

  “I thought your reaction was quite amusing, actually. Well worth it. But no, I would never take advantage of a drunk girl on any occasion, you especially.”

  “Good to know,” I said. Then I asked for a play by play to debunk any other facts I might possibly misinterpret as I sobered up.

  Apparently the cab I got into was the back of Jesse’s Mustang. Neither Logan nor I were in any state to drive so Jesse offered his services. I was so thankful I at least made it to my driveway instead of anywhere inside his car before the alcohol really hit me.

  “Yeah, you were kind of a mess,” Logan said as he lay back down beside me. “I didn’t want to leave you here all alone. I slept on the couch most of the night, but I think I was too tired to walk downstairs the last time I came up to check on you, so I just crashed.”

  “You’re a good friend.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  We both laughed and then Logan had the horribly awful idea to ask me if I was ready for breakfast. The thought or smell of anything at that point would most likely send me back to the bathroom. I flailed my arm at him one more time before I pulled the covers back over me and slept the day away.

  9

  By Monday morning, all that was left of this past weekend’s hangover was a minimal appetite. My headache was gone; everything around me had stopped spinning in circles and the bathroom was no longer my most trusted companion. You know you’re growing up when it takes longer and longer to recover from a night of drinking.

  “I come bearing gifts,” Jaycie shouted as she burst through the front door.

  She never knocked anymore. This place may as well have been hers, too, she was here so often. I warned her in the beginning that I liked to walk around half-naked most of the time, but it didn’t seem to bother her. If best friends couldn’t deal with each other in their underwear, what kind of friendship could they have? That was her logic, anyway.

/>   “Coffee,” I said in pure bliss. “I knew I loved you for a reason.” I grabbed the cup from her hand and took a large sip of the double-shot macchiato before grabbing my purse and following Jaycie off to work.

  I pulled my sunglasses off my half-opened eyes once I reached my desk and then settled into my chair to start the day. I had calls to make, interviews to set up, and concerts to schedule all before I headed to dinner with Logan for his final hours in Nashville before he was off on the next leg of the tour. I was making great headway until just before lunch, when a shriek came from my editor’s office.

  “Celia!”

  The other end of my phone had just begun to ring when it fell from my hand. I hurriedly felt around on the floor around me until it was within reach and hung it up before anyone answered. Hearing my name again a second time, I shot up out of my seat and looked wide-eyed at Jaycie before parading down the hall into the office of Frankie Lennox.

  Frankie was the senior editor of Behind the Strings. She’d been in that position about three years now and was one of the people I met during my interviews and eventually the one who made the final call to bring me aboard. We had a very professional relationship. She’d give me an idea and a deadline, I’d work to meet it and send over the final project when finished. No small talk, no personal information exchanged, always business. It had been that way for as long as I could remember. So when my name was echoing through the office hallways, I figured it would be the same kind of conversation. The smile on her face when I walked through the doorway however was anything but the usual.

  “Celia, close the door behind you and have a seat,” she said.

  I did as she asked.

  “So tell me, is he a good kisser?”

  “I’m sorry?” I asked.

  My mouth dropped open and my fingers gripped tightly around my knees as I sat frozen in the chair in front of her. I could only imagine she was talking about Logan, thinking that she too saw the picture in front of the bus…until she turned her monitor to face me.