Sound Effects

by L. J. Greene

  I melted for that. Melted.

  I also noticed that he spent a lot of time on MySpace and realized one day that he had begun posting acoustic versions of things he was writing on Cadence’s page. Their following was becoming enormous, despite the break in touring. And it was driven primarily by Jamie’s active cultivation of Cadence’s online presence. This was fueling an enthusiastic and ongoing dialog between fans, rave reviews for their music, and many, many questions about their next performance. Jamie said that the feedback helped him to shape certain parts of a song and let him know if he was onto something worthwhile.

  But I didn’t think that was the whole story.

  I knew that Greg had begun posting things on their page, too. And I thought that Jamie was holding out an olive branch. Or perhaps leaving a trail of breadcrumbs, so that one day soon…

  Chapter 32

  Mel

  “SHOW ME WHAT YOU WERE working on,” I asked him one Sunday after finishing some notes on a brief. I shut the lid on my laptop and set it on the coffee table.

  Jamie hesitated for just a second and then picked up the Gibson that was sitting on the floor next to his chair. He positioned it across his lap and began to work out a bright, complex melody. Each time he played it he changed it in some way, though the essential chords remained the same. Sometimes, he changed the key, sometimes he added embellishments, but he played it over and over and over until the progression sounded exactly right to him.

  Occasionally, he’d pull a pencil from behind his ear and make a note or two, but mostly, the work was occurring from memory and from some mysterious creative reserve. And it was amazing to me how fast he became fully absorbed in the process. In fact, I wondered for a moment if he had forgotten I was there, so focused was he inward. His brows pulled together slightly and his eyes were listening, rather than seeing. It was fascinating.

  I watched his fingers move nimbly, finding exactly the chords and strings he wanted without any thought to their placement, as if the work–the fretting, the muting of strings and so forth–just got out of the way to make room for his creativity. With his guitar, he was able to achieve a sound that was so precise, with such a beautiful vibrato, that it really sounded like a human voice; like a very distinct, signature voice.

  I was thinking about all of this when my buzzer rang.

  Jamie glanced up in question, his attention suddenly back in the room with me. We weren’t expecting anyone that I could think of.

  I got up from the couch and pushed the button on the intercom. What came back through the speaker was a rapid-fire set of words, spoken with scarcely a fraction of a second between them.

  “Melit’sgregiwaslookingforjamie.”

  Jamie snapped to attention, instantaneously decoding their meaning like a complicated foreign language. For me, it took a few seconds longer to register that Greg Van de Meer was at my door.

  Jamie was already on his feet by the time I made the connection, and he nodded quickly for me to answer. I have to admit, I was nervous myself for this reunion, and more so at the sight of Jamie. He looked so earnest, with mixed feelings of hope and apprehension written all over his handsome face. I don’t think I had any inkling until that very moment of just how much he had missed Greg–missed his band–in the many weeks they’d spent apart. But he was the most openly expressive person I knew, and as he stood listening to Greg’s footsteps climbing the stairwell, I could see that he was overjoyed.

  A smile burst across his face the moment Greg stepped through the doorway.

  They paused for just a moment, finding each other in sight. And then Jamie took two large paces forward, and surrounded Greg in a tight embrace. There was a lot of hearty back thumping and manly sounds of pleasure. Finally, the two broke apart.

  Greg quickly wiped a tear from his face, and Jamie tactfully looked away as though he hadn’t seen it. That was the tacit agreement men had with each other.

  “I’m …ah…sorry to barge in,” Greg started to say, clearing his throat.

  “Not at all,” both Jamie and I answered in chorus, though Jamie’s voice was thicker and less composed.

  Greg didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did. Men.

  He ran a hand through his hair, and then placed them both carefully on his hips. I thought I saw them tremble. Then his blue eyes came to rest on Jamie’s hazel ones, and he appeared to find his center.

  “I’ve been working on that new song you wrote, Yours,” he blurted, like it was a race to get the words out. “And I like it. It’s really great. But I think it needs something.”

  I didn’t know if he was waiting for Jamie to acknowledge this, but for his part, Jamie seemed to have gone completely mute, so Greg barreled on.

  “Well, see, I thought maybe we could rewrite it for the piano. You know, make it feel a little more personal, and add kind of a build up at the front. What do you think?”

  The look he gave Jamie was nothing short of hopeful. Jamie was stunned, nodding and blinking like a bobble head, but at last managed to push out an answer. “I could see that,” he said, roughly. “Definitely.”

  Greg face lit up with pleasure. “And I was also thinking that it could use a coda before the last verse, to give it a little variation. I’ve been working on a couple of ideas.”

  “Yeah?” Jamie was now glowing in his own right. “That’s brilliant.”

  “Okay. I just wanted to check.”

  I just wanted to make sure we were still a band, I thought he was actually saying. Greg had never been very predictable for me; he was an odd mixture of disciplined and eccentric. But the one thing I knew for sure about him was that he was extremely loyal. And you had to love him for that.

  Greg looked down at his hands self-consciously, as though, having concluded his stated business, he wasn’t sure what to do next. He didn’t seem to have a plan beyond this point in the conversation.

  “How have you been?” Jamie asked gently, understanding instinctively what was needed.

  “Good.” That seemed like an overstatement, if he was even half as invested in the band as Jamie. And I knew he was.

  But with every passing minute, he appeared to relax a little more, to grow a little more comfortable in the circumstance. Finally, he took a deep breath and exhaled, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Been working a lot. I’ve missed you guys,” he added with surprising candor. “You know, playing together and…hanging out and shit.”

  That seemed to strike Jamie hard. But before he could answer, Greg cut in.

  “Derek White called me yesterday.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “He said they’re doing a show at The Fillmore next weekend, and one of the bands in the line-up had to drop out. The lead singer’s got nodules on his vocal chords or some shit like that.” He looked at Jamie questioningly and with such acute vulnerability. “He wanted to know if we might want to step in.”

  “Fuck, yeah!” Jamie affirmed without hesitation, and shoved his own hands deep into his pockets, exposing a tempting line of taught skin just below the hem of his t-shirt.

  “Yeah?” Greg’s eyebrows shot up comically on his forehead, and a medley of emotion careened across his face. “Okay. I’ll let him know. I told him I would talk to you.”

  Though both men seemed determined to contain their joy under the thin veil of male bravado, it radiated from them, nonetheless.

  “We’regonnaneedtorehearse,” Greg said in one long, happy syllable. “Weprobablysoundlikeshit.”

  “I’m sure we do,” Jamie nodded eagerly, as though he hadn’t just agreed that they probably sounded like shit. “And I want to hear what you came up with for Yours. I’ve been feeling like it could be better, but I didn’t know how to fix it.”

  “Yeah, okay. I’m free tonight, even,” Greg shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I just have to photograph an apartment in North Beach first.”

  “Okay. Want to meet at Nash’s flat at like 7:00?”

  “Yeah,” Greg smiled,
turquoise eyes shining brightly. “Good plan.”

  And then neither of them said anything. I watched them just stare at each other awkwardly, as if they both had to fart and neither wanted to be the first to let it out. Making up was hard to do. Painfully hard for men.

  “You know, I hear Nash wants your arse off his couch.”

  Greg laughed wryly, rubbing his dark goatee in what I had come to know was an unconscious habit. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  “Maybe it’s time you came back to our place.”

  There was a long pause, so full of unspoken sentiment. I had nothing to do with this conversation, yet my heart was practically ramming itself into my throat.

  “Maybe so,” Greg answered softly, setting the butterflies in my stomach free at last. He looked at Jamie with so much love that it spilled from him, genuine and unrestrained. “Good to see you, brother.” Then he smiled shyly and turned to leave.

  Jamie halted him. He placed a hand on Greg’s shoulder and squeezed, returning the affection in his eyes in equal measure. “Good to see you too, my brother.”

  Chapter 33

  Mel

  MAGIC. IT WAS HIGH ON my list of favorite words that Jamie says, and it was the very best way to describe Cadence’s return to the stage. And what better stage to make that return than The Fillmore? It was a magical place, after all–a cornerstone of the San Francisco music scene, richly steeped in music history. Many, many great bands had played here; many incredible performances had taken place here.

  The standing room-only venue was filled to its capacity of about 1,200 people, and though the band had only signed on to do the show a week in advance, the number of Cadence fans in attendance was astounding. Everywhere I looked, people were holding up signs for the band and wearing those cheesy Cadence t-shirts.

  One such person happened to be an insanely good-looking megafan with strawberry-blond hair and intense green eyes.

  “Danny! I didn’t know you were coming!” I shouted over the backstage changeover as Danny snuck up on me from behind. “Does he know you’re here?”

  “Yeah,” Danny beamed with his Cheshire smile. “I just surprised him. I couldn’t miss this.”

  To look at Danny, it would be easy to get distracted by his outward attributes and not see the substantive person beneath. And I had a sense that, in some ways, he counted on that. Almost like camouflage. He wasn’t shy, but he was harder to get to know on a real level. He and Jamie shared a bond that I didn’t think either of them shared with many others. I knew for a fact that Jamie kept a pretty tight circle of friendships. Still, the ones he had were extraordinary.

  §

  Right from the start, the stage lit up with a sound that was so distinctly Cadence, and the crowd erupted in a roar, unlike any I’d heard. It was both fearsome and exhilarating. In a monumental crush, the entire audience seemed to press forward, pushing against the barriers, closing every inch of available space between them. I’d never seen anything like it. The front row was reaching as far onto the stage as they could, mouthing pleas for drumsticks or guitar picks. Male and female alike; they were frothy with excitement.

  Weeks’ worth of tensions dissolved in an instant, and nothing in the band’s recent past could dull the glory of being onstage for the better part of that hour. They seemed to rejoice in their reunion, knowing exactly what it was that they had missed.

  Beach balls began popping up from the crowd, painted with the band’s name in glow-in-the-dark letters. They were tossed about in a sea of outstretched arms, a joyful mirror image of the emotion flowing on stage.

  It felt as though the whole room was suspended in a reverie of music and light, and together the band became something even greater than the collection of extraordinary artists they were. It was very much the way a group of carbon atoms under the right circumstance becomes a diamond.

  That was Cadence, live at The Fillmore.

  And I realized, for the very first time since I met him, when I watched Jamie on stage, all I felt was pride. Wild, ferocious, crazy pride. Gone was the fear, gone was the envy, and gone was any insecurity about being able to hold him.

  Because, although I loved this part of him fiercely, I could readily share it knowing that I alone was privileged to see the other side. And I alone was trusted to keep it safe.

  He had taught me so much about myself, given me gifts of faith and confidence that I could never repay. He’d shown me the world through a different lens, and helped me to celebrate every aspect of who I was.

  I smiled to myself… or maybe not so much to myself because Danny elbowed me. “What?” he mouthed.

  “I’m just happy,” I yelled back into his ear.

  And he grinned, put his arm around my shoulder and kissed the top of the head. Yes, he would be a great friend to have.

  §

  It was almost eerie the way Jamie echoed my thoughts.

  The band was nearing the end of its set, when they finished the song they were playing and Jamie began, once again, to chat with the crowd. The band waited patiently, keeping up a steady, quiet beat.

  “So, I had a question for you,” he mugged as he strode across the stage, prompting wild cheering from all sides. “I wondered if you’d mind if we played a new song tonight?” he asked, as if he needed to. “It’s kind of a love song.” The crowd roared enthusiastically, and he laughed into the mic.

  “Now,” he paused dramatically to the soft sound of Nash’s cymbals, “how many of you would say you’re in love right now? Show of hands.” Jamie put up his own hand expectantly, and then more shot up from all over the venue. He seemed to be counting them.

  “I love you, Jamie!” shouted someone from the audience.

  “Ah, you make me blush,” Jamie mugged to the roaring crowd, shamelessly employing his dimples. “But now you’ve gone and banjaxed my count.”

  Killian snarled on the guitar. More cheering followed, and various calls, inexplicably, for Jamie to remove his shirt or to play ‘Free Bird.’

  “No matter. We’ll go ahead and play the new song, anyway. And if you like it, maybe you could clap a little at the end. Make us feel good. All right?” he asked, still smiling. “It’s settled.”

  Then, to my surprise, he turned to the balcony, and spoke to me as though the room was suddenly empty, save for the two of us. “This one’s for you, Mel.”

  The audience was still cheering as Jamie sat down at a piano that one of the crew members had brought out while he was talking. He adjusted the mic to his preference as the music from the band came to a close, and then began to play.

  Jamie had often said that the magic of a song was in its melody. This one was simply gorgeous. It was passionate and aching, and I wished I could have seen his hands as he played. From my vantage point, I could only see the way he leaned in to the instrument and the movement of his shoulders as he reached for the keys.

  It started out slowly, and as I listened, my mind flashed to the scribbles in his notebook. Is this the tune he had heard in his head while he watched me sleep? Were these the notations that I could touch with my fingertips, but not yet understand? Suddenly, the room seemed very small to me, like we were back in his apartment, sitting shoulder to shoulder as he delivered a piece from memory.

  As with every song he sung, the emotion flowed through him like a river. He glided effortlessly from that soft baritone that called to me, to his beautiful, clear falsetto. He was positioned to face me, with the expanse of the instrument between us. And as he played, he looked up in the balcony and sang the words he’d said came directly from his soul.

  §

  Stolen is the kiss, angel, you’ve lifted from my lips

  Stolen is the fight I loathed, wiped clean from my fists

  Gone may be the lock you shattered when you pried it from my door

  Makes no difference, we both know I’m captive as never before

  Because you alone know something the rest would never see

  You alone had faith tha
t there was so much more to me

  More than just the lonely fading of footsteps on the floor

  More than just the hollow echo in darkness, closing a door

  I’d listened far too long to the man who bears my face

  Listened to every doubt I’d had that I could make a place

  But you wouldn’t let me turn away from what I’m meant to be

  I point to you; you’re my proof that I’m what you’ve seen in me

  Now the sound effects of my leaving you are receding into memory

  In the after-effects of your loving me, you’ve torn away my boundaries

  And still I’m more than all of these things, my love. So much more

  The best of what I am, my love, is yours. I’m yours

  Can’t think of anything I’d rather be than yours

  Chapter 34

  Mel

  CADENCE’S JOB WAS DONE. THEY finished the set with a rousing rendition of False, as they often did, and walked off the stage to the crowd’s deafening approval.

  Greg and Nash planned to take the van and drop the equipment at Nash’s place, and then meet the rest of us at an all-night breakfast place nearby. Killian and Jamie were signing a few t-shirts and CDs by the side of the stage.

  “Jamie looks the happiest I’ve seen him in a long time,” Danny said to me as we waited for them to finish.

  “Being back together with the band has been really good for him.”

  “That’s part of it,” he agreed. But he paused, still looking at me, and there seemed to be something more on his mind. “Did he ever tell you how we met?”

  “Only that you were nine.”

  “That’s right,” Danny nodded. “I was at school on a Saturday, shooting hoops on the playground, when I heard this kid shouting the worst obscenities I’d ever heard in my life. I didn’t even know what half of it meant. Later I realized he’d made up a lot of the words, but I’m telling you, he was convincing.”