by Weston, Dani
“How do you know she ain’t just like him?” Jimmy’s grandmother said, pointing at Local.
Local stood. His palms were pressed on the table. “Now look here. That’s about enough of your talk. You can be mad at me till kingdom come, woman, but you ain’t taking your bitterness out on this girl. She’s nothing but good. And these two got potential. Surely just as much as we did, back in the day. And if nothing else, we ain’t gonna ruin their lives the way we ruined ours. Did you learn nothing at all?”
I set my glass down slowly. I avoided Jimmy’s eyes, even though I knew he was looking at me. My pulse pounded painfully.
“Don’t talk to me about the life we could’ve had, Local Jackson. My love was so deep…” Jimmy’s grandmother’s voice was low, broken. We all strained to hear her. “…it never stopped.”
Our breaths mingled in the air that followed her gentle pronouncement.
Local sat back down. He reached his hand across the table. “Neither did mine, darlin’. Neither did mine.”
*
My appetite finally returned, as we sat there, listening to Local and Jimmy’s grandma tell their story.
“I’d been a war widow for three years when I met Local Jackson. Oh, I’d heard of him before that. Big time man in the Big Easy. We all knew he was as full of himself as the swamps are full of mud.”
“I was young,” Local said. An excuse. An explanation.
“We all were. It was young days. The war made us poorer than we’d even been before, and that’s some kind of poverty. Ain’t no one seen that kind of poverty, nowadays.”
“You sang for your supper,” Local said. “Came down to New Orleans, got yourself a room with your two kids, and you sang. I’m pretty dang sure you sold out every night after the first. Soon as word got around about that voice of yours.”
“You wouldn’t know it, the thieving ways of the club owners, skimming my checks like I didn’t have babies to feed.”
“It was a hard livin’,” Local Jackson agreed. “But we was happy. We had music. We had each other.”
“For a while, at least,” Jimmy’s grandma said, darkly. “You were good to have around. You were good to my children. You were a good musician. So why, for law’s sake, couldn’t you be the man I wanted you to be, Local Jackson?”
I chewed my ham slowly, watching Local’s face. He thought hard about what he was going to say, and I guessed at the possibilities. It was all a misunderstanding. The woman was a relative. It wasn’t him, kissing her, after all. Anything to give their story some kind of happy ending.
But it wasn’t that simple. Or, really, it was too simple.
“I was a stupid, young fool who couldn’t see I already had the best thing, right in front of me. I’ve said sorry about a million times, darlin’, and I’ll say it once more and be done with it. I’m sorry. It was some forty years ago. Maybe time can’t heal, after all, but it can teach us that we shouldn’t be meddling in these young people’s lives.”
He looked from me to Jimmy. Jimmy’s grandmother dropped her arms. Her shoulders slumped, defeated.
“I ain’t going to send anymore notes, if that what you mean.”
“I think something more along the lines of an apology are in order,” Jimmy prompted. “Grammy?”
She was a stubborn woman. If forty years of holding on to a grudge hadn’t shown me that, the way she tightened her jaw and wouldn’t look at me would have. After everything—the fear and exhaustion, the heartbreak and rigorous work schedule—this, strangely, felt funny.
So I laughed. I pushed my plate away and let the giggle that was building up in my chest loose. Let it escape, let it run wild, let it fill the entire restaurant. Let it take root, deep in my belly, and grow and grow and grow. Relief flowed from me. It was like I was emptying out months of torrid emotion, and the more space I freed up, the better I felt.
When I took a breath, I realized I wasn’t the only one laughing. Local Jackson was guffawing with heart, Jimmy was laughing with his head tossed back, and even Duncan, who’d made no more sound than his chewing all this time, was chortling into his fist. The only person not laughing was Jimmy’s grandmother.
But joy softens hard hearts, and after a time, she let a smile creep across her face.
“All right, you two,” she said to me and Jimmy. “You have my blessing. On one condition. Jimmy, you got to talk to Smalls. Explain to him that he’s always got family with us.”
“Will do, Grammy.”
“And you, Local Jackson.” Jimmy’s grandmother stood and gathered our plates. “Well, I can’t be sure I’m going to forgive you, after all, but I will serve you a piece of this chocolate pecan pie I baked earlier today.”
“Darlin’, that’s about as close to forgiveness a man could ask for.”
We lingered a little longer, until the moon was full in the sky and the frogs were croaking a symphony, then Jimmy, Duncan and I left. Local Jackson, the old devil, said he’d find a ride home on his own the next day. And based on the look Jimmy’s grandmother gave him under her lashes, I figured he wouldn’t be back in New Orleans for a few days, at least.
The drive back to the airport didn’t feel as long as the one to the restaurant. I dozed off again, but it was with the comfort of safety and security. My muscles felt relaxed for the first time in a long time. Even so, I knew Jimmy and I had to talk. I assumed we would do so sometime after getting back to L.A., but he sat next to me on the place and covered my hand with his. Duncan slipped headphones over his ears and closed his eyes to give us some privacy.
“Thank you,” I began. “For coming out here. For figuring out who was sending the notes. How did you figure it out, anyway?”
“Grammy’s birthday card arrived the day before I left. It was signed in a strangely familiar handwriting. So I called her up. Asked her outright. She didn’t deny it, but she wouldn’t admit to it, either. And that’s how I knew it was her. As you say, Grammy doesn’t mince words. If she was avoiding the topic, that meant something was up.”
“And you hopped on your jet and demanded the truth.”
“That’s what I did.”
“For me.”
“Your safety means a lot to me.” He brought his face in closer to me so that I could see the range of browns in his irises. “You mean a lot to me.”
“Jimmy, what Local said…” I didn’t know how to finish the statement. I felt embarrassed. Scared to put myself out there, when I wasn’t sure about his feelings.
“Here’s the thing, Courtney. Asking you to take this leap, in this world, is only the beginning. Being a musician can be brutal. You’ll be tired. You’ll feel all the creativity sucked out of you. You’ll have to ignore what people—everyone—says, because everyone will have something to say, good and bad. I’ll understand if, after all, you don’t want to do it.” He stroked my cheek. Brushed back a bit of my hair “Being in this industry is more than playing an instrument well or singing like a songbird. Those people are a dime a dozen. It’s learning not to fuss over the little things. It’s figuring out how to pick your battles…and fighting tooth and nail, when you do. It’s learning to separate what you have to do for the public, and who you get to be in private. In the end, having someone to come home to at the end of the day who gets it could be the best thing of all. Having someone who knows the real you and loves that person. It’s something I could use, that safe, comforting place at the end of the day. I’ve never had it. But, it’s something I’m hoping…maybe…we could learn to be for each other. I’ll never lie to you about what you mean to me. About how real this relationship is. And it’s more real than any I’ve ever had.”
“What about what people will say?”
“Who cares what they say? This isn’t a contract and this has nothing to do with promotion. I want to work this out, Courtney Dreger. I want to be with you. And that’s all there is to say.”
“Oh, that’s all, is it?” I teased. “That’s pretty much…everything.”
I k
issed him, long and hard, and soft and sweet, and we crossed the country, all the way back to L.A. and the new life we could build together.
March
Diya sat on one side of me, holding my left hand, and Bea sat on the other, clutching my right hand, until I thought my fingers were going to break. Jimmy—Kevin—paced in front of us, a phone held up to his ear. He was listening, waiting, for the voice on the other line to give him the news. The thumb that wasn’t holding the phone played over the top of a bottle of champagne, chilling in a silver bucket near the piano.
Kaitlin nursed a bottle of cider in the corner, and even Julia Wood was there, nibbling the end of her nails while her girlfriend held her close, an arm wrapped around Julia’s waist. We’d been friends, me and Julia, ever since the notes. Ever since she’d agreed to star in our first video. Ever since she’d showed me how to handle the paparazzi gracefully. Ever since I let go of feeling threatened by business. Because my relationship was real.
Air felt trapped in my lungs and my pulse thumped in my neck. I pursed my lips, forcing myself to stay calm. To let out a slow, steadying breath. Bea squeezed harder.
“I need those fingers to play,” I said to her.
“Sorry. I just…you know.”
Yeah, I knew. The news Kevin was waiting for meant a lot. It told us whether we were going to be a breakout hit, or a failure. It told Kevin whether or not he could successfully transition into producer role, like he wanted to.
“No matter what,” Diya said, “you have succeeded. Hardly anyone gets this far.”
I nodded. Somewhere in my brain, I knew she was right. But right now, it felt like there was only one predictor of true success.
Finally, Kevin raised his head, his whole body stiffening with alertness. The air in the room thickened. Los Angeles’ lights, sparkling outside Kevin’s windows, seemed to increase in intensity until I had to squint against them. My breathing picked up, again.
Kevin made a few sounds. Not words. Diya covered my hand with her other one, cradling it. Kevin pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed the screen to end the call. He kept staring out the windows for a few seconds longer, his back still to the rest of us, and my heart began to sink.
We hadn’t hit the charts. We’d failed. We were done for.
I tried to control the rising panic and pain in my stomach. A thousand reasons, excuses, words of self-encouragement flew through my head. I started thinking about the business classes I would have to retake. How I’d pushed back my MBA program a whole year. How disappointed Local Jackson would be.
I couldn’t stop tears from welling up in my eyes, no matter how hard I tried to fight them.
Kevin turned. His face was blank. He was going to try to break it to us gently. But I didn’t want that. I just wanted a quick truth, a sharp, clean pain that would let me start healing quickly. Just rip off the bandage, I wanted to tell him.
He crossed the room to me and I stood, dropping Bea and Diya’s hands. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kaitlin take a long drink of her cider, finishing the bottle off. We’d all worked so hard on this, it was breaking our hearts to fail. But we also all knew how tough this industry was. That so few musicians made it. Diya was right: it was an accomplishment to have even gotten this far. Maybe, someday, we would even get together and try again. But a second album felt very far in the future. Disappointment this deep would take time to overcome.
Kevin took my hands in his, interlocking our fingers. His eyes caught mine. I put on a tiny smile, for his sake. After all, I would still have him.
“Kevin,” I said. “What did Duncan say? Does he have the numbers yet? Is it good news? Is it…” I swallowed. Looked around at my friends and band mates. Everyone was anxious and avoiding my gaze.
My glance fell to Kevin’s lips. I blinked. The corners of his mouth were twitching, rising. A fluttering replaced the tightness in my chest. His teeth flashed as the grin he was trying to hold back fought through, and won.
“Ladies in Waiting is debuting at number two!” he announced to the room. Kaitlin dropped her bottle with a thud. Bea screamed. Julia threw herself into her girlfriend’s arms for a hug.
And me?
My smile came slowly, my fingers tightening around Kevin’s, my body pressed closer to his. He dropped my hands and tucked his palms under my jaw, bringing my mouth to his.
“Congratulations,” I whispered against his lips. His eyes searched mine, the corners crinkled and his pupils sparkling with delight.
“You earned this,” he replied.
“And so it begins. For real.”
“The work gets harder from here,” he warned.
“It’ll be worth it.”
“You’re worth it,” he said, finally closing the tiny space between us and covering my lips with his.
And that night, when everyone else had gone out to celebrate, still soaring on the high of success, me and Kevin stayed in, testing the strength of realness and trust, and playing our own kind of music.