Double Act

by Foster Bridget Cassidy

  “That seems like a good idea,” Emerson said. “I’m willing to do it if you all decide it’s the best course of action.”

  “It is,” Sean insisted, giving Emerson’s shoulder a squeeze with his right hand.

  Matthew reached inside his briefcase and extracted a stack of papers. He held them out to Emerson who took them.

  “This is a contract,” Matthew explained. “It’s basically saying you’re on an ‘as needed’ basis. We can ask you to play for any number of concerts in the upcoming tour, and your material compensation would be fifteen percent of the profit from each show you participate in.”

  Emerson raised his eyes from the paper—it was all legal mumbo jumbo to him, anyway.

  “You’re going to pay me?”

  Sean laughed, and even Macie snorted in what appeared to be amusement.

  “Yes,” Matthew answered as if it were a normal question. “Any musician we hire would be offered this same contract.”

  “I never realized I’d get paid. I thought I was just…volunteering.”

  Sean rubbed Emerson’s shoulder. “So you were willing to take a three-week vacation from work for free? God! You are an angel!”

  Matthew shook his head in Sean’s direction. “Can we keep to the topic, Sean?”

  Sean grinned, but didn’t apologize.

  “Back to what I was saying, each concert makes a different amount in profit, so the payment would fluctuate with each performance. But it averages to $10,000 after taxes.”

  Emerson’s mouth dropped. “$10,000 for one show?”

  Sean’s smile was almost to the point of being indulgent. “That’s fifteen percent of what I make.”

  The amount was mind boggling. He barely earned that in three months of work. And now he’d make it in a single night. It definitely sweetened the deal.

  “So, who’s in favor of Emerson filling in? And if not, what are your complaints?”

  Emerson glanced around the room, waiting for objections. No one spoke.

  “I want Emerson,” Sean said simply.

  Jake added, “It’ll make a great story. Something the fans can get behind.”

  Macie nodded. “Emerson proved he’s trustworthy. He’ll make the best substitute because we already understand his motivations for being with us.”

  Finally, Matthew said, “I agree that getting Emerson started right away will be the easiest transition. For getting another musician, we’d have to vet them, and who knows how long that would take.”

  They all turned to Emerson, his last chance to back out.

  “I will give this my all. I swear it.”

  Sean leaned over and snaked his arms around Emerson. “This is going to be great!”

  Chapter 19

  Sean couldn’t keep the smile off his face. The next best thing to playing himself was having Emerson play in his stead. It would be a tough few weeks, endless practices, but Sean knew the type of stuff Emerson was made of. He knew Emerson could withstand the stress without breaking.

  “Will you come stay at my house?” Sean asked after everyone left and it was just the two of them.

  Emerson hesitated, which surprised Sean. He’d hoped that this melding of their minds would help strengthen their other bonds. Maybe not.

  “Why? Couldn’t we stay here instead?”

  Sean raised his eyebrows. So it wasn’t being in Sean’s constant company that was making him dawdle on this decision. It was still moving into Sean’s place that was the stumbling block. Emerson had given so much already. If he was more comfortable here, there was no reason for them to move. Still, he had to make sure he and Pip were still invited.

  “If you’d rather stay here, that’s fine. Do you want us to leave, so you can practice on your own during the day?”

  Emerson shook his head and walked into Sean’s personal space. His hands encircled Sean’s waist and cupped the small of his back. “I want to stay with you forever, Sean. But baby steps, okay?”

  Sean tilted his head and pressed his lips to Emerson’s. “I will do anything you want. If you need space, let me know. Pip and I can get out of your hair. Even if it’s just for a few hours.”

  Emerson chuckled. “Well, there may be times when I’ll ask you to take both the dogs. Get you all out of my way for ten minutes.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “But for now, if you don’t mind, I’ve love it if you stayed. It’s been really great having you here. And I can practice just as easily here as there.”

  Sean nodded, then buried his face into Emerson’s neck. “I’ll have Macie bring over a couple of my guitars and music sheets. Maybe more clothes. We can make this our base of operation.”

  A bit of the tension went out of Emerson’s body. Sean hadn’t noticed he’d been so tight.

  “Sounds good. Tomorrow, I’ll have to go and ask Ms. Bell for an extended leave of absence. If she doesn’t grant it, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  “Don’t focus on the negative. I’m sure she’ll grant it. It’ll only be three weeks.” Though a part of Sean hoped that was a lie. Even if his hand healed after the first week of performances, he wanted Emerson to keep going with him. Well, he’d come to that when it was time.

  So that was how they started. Early the next morning, Jake drove Emerson to work to ask for the time off. While they were out, Macie and Sean set up their equipment in Emerson’s apartment. There was a little space along the wall for the guitars and their stands. The recording equipment wouldn’t all fit, so they’d have to make day trips to Sean’s place to tape some of their demos. Playing got easier if they could have a default recording of how it was supposed to go. Hopefully Emerson found this helpful, too.

  When Emerson returned with good news, they went out to celebrate. Then, Macie got them down to business.

  “With Emerson in the act now, we have to start spreading the news. I’ve booked you both on America Live for tomorrow. It’ll be during the broadcast, not recorded like last time. We need this announcement to be big, and this is the best we can do on such short notice. Once word gets out tomorrow, then we take it to social media.”

  Sean smiled with delight. This was going to be fun. Usually interviews weren’t his favorite thing, but now he’d get to share it with Emerson. It was perfect.

  Jakes said, “We’re also trying to book you on other shows. Some of them may involve travel. How are you with that, Emerson?”

  At the moment, Emerson looked green. “You booked both of us?” His voice trembled slightly.

  God, was there ever a time when Sean was that shy? He couldn’t remember.

  Macie’s grin showed a lot of her teeth. “Yes, both of you. Remember, from now on you are a double act. Wherever Sean goes, you go.”

  Emerson gulped and looked like he might pass out.

  “It’ll be okay,” Sean told him. “You don’t have to say much, if you don’t want.”

  Emerson breathed a bit easier. “I forgot how much you love to show off.”

  Sean preened. It really was his specialty. They wound up at the America Live studio the following day. As far as interviews went, it was straightforward and easy. The news anchor kept the questions on surface levels—not prying into the personal details of their relationship.

  After the show, they went back to Emerson’s to get practicing. The hard part was Emerson’s fingers. They hadn’t played this extensively for so long that the pain was a major deterrent. They had to stop several times and ice his fingertips. Sean suggested they help him form calluses quicker by using rubbing alcohol, but Emerson didn’t want to try it. So, he did it the hard way, playing until his fingers bled, then resting until he could stomach the pain for a few more songs.

  That night, they were both too exhausted to do anything more than curling up in bed.

  The next day was worse. Sean focused on his social media accounts, posting pictures of Emerson and his guitar, answering a few fans’ questions, updating the tour dates into the calendar. Emerson, though, was re
ally suffering from the pain. Sean wished he could ease it, but this was the best way. The quicker his fingers built up resistance, the better his playing would be.

  At one point, around lunch, Sean settled beside Emerson on the couch. They needed to have a recharging session.

  “You hold up?” Sean asked, rubbing Emerson’s back.

  “More or less,” he replied moodily.

  Sean didn’t blame him for his less-than-happy tone. The stress and the pain were all bundled together in an unwelcomed package at the moment.

  “How about we work on lyrics for a while?”

  “Now you want me to sing? I thought I was just hired for my fingers?”

  “Though your fingers will be put to good use, there’s no reason we can’t use your voice as well.”

  “My singing’s not that great.”

  “You did good singing Tom Petty at my house that other night. Let’s give it a try. Know how to harmonize?”

  Emerson set down Tally—the guitar he favored—and nodded. “Sure. When I was little, we went to a church that sang acapella. No instruments. We used four-part harmonies. My mom always sang alto and I just copied what she sang. My brother hated that I didn’t sing bass with him and Dad. Maybe that was the first sign I was gay.”

  Sean laughed. “I can’t wait to meet your family. But having a background in harmonies will help. You ready?”

  When Emerson nodded, Sean launched into the first verse of “My Own,” a love ballad about a dog. After the first few lines, Emerson began to hum along, adding a harmony. When they got to the chorus, Emerson attempted to sing the lyrics at the same time. It actually sounded good. Emerson’s voice was lower than Sean’s—surprising since he claimed to like alto; he’d probably be more suited for bass. But it meshed together, Sean singing the higher melody, and Emerson’s soft voice carrying the lower. When they got to the end, Sean was smiling.

  “That sounded amazing,” he said.

  “It did, didn’t it?” Emerson’s surprise was obvious. He hadn’t expected it to go so well.

  “I’ve always fancied myself a folk singer, but I’ve never had a partner to harmonize with. I needed an Art Garfunkel.”

  Emerson laughed. “I think Paul Simon was the one who usually took the backup vocals.”

  “Either way, I think this might work.”

  The smile vanished off Emerson’s face. “I don’t know, Sean. Learning all the chords, and then learning all the melodies might be too much.”

  “I think it would be easier to learn them simultaneously. But if you don’t want to sing, you don’t have to.”

  “Oh, no you don’t. I know you know how to get me to do what you want. Don’t act nonchalant about this.”

  Sean grinned deviously. This man knew him so well. “Fine, I won’t play that game. In all honesty, I think we could give a better performance if we both sing. It will seem less weird, too. If you only play the guitar, you look like just a background musician, not a part of the band.”

  “I don’t mind not being a part of the band. This is your thing, Sean. I’m only filling in.”

  Again, Sean’s heart hoped those words weren’t true. He really wanted this to last longer. Forever would be ideal.

  “So, will you try the harmonies?”

  “You know I will. You can get me to do anything.”

  Chapter 20

  The days began to blur together. Emerson thought he might be going crazy. After the first few days of immense pain, his fingers got used to the constant playing. That eased some of his worry, but not all of it. The worst rose from these interviews Macie insisted they do. The America Live setup had been bad enough, with the lights, makeup, cameras, and people. But later in their first week together, Macie booked them on three different shows.

  Thursday, they’d been on The Nick Rafferty Show—a late night comedian. It had been terrifying. Nick Rafferty had gone for the humor angle, talking about how Emerson got a boyfriend and a record deal all in one go. Of course it looked funny when you said it like that. The problem was Emerson was not a funny guy. He liked to laugh and he had a great sense of humor, but he couldn’t think on the fly. Rafferty kept coming at him, and it was only thanks to Sean and his quick wit that Emerson survived the night.

  Friday, they were flown to Los Angeles for a double header—the Martha and Mitchell Show in the morning and Evening Dish in the afternoon. They’d practiced on the flight out, in between the shows, and on the flight back. They’d stumbled into Emerson’s apartment at one in the morning and didn’t move until noon the next day; then it was practice, practice, and more practice.

  Even the weekend was filled with interviews over the internet, over the phone, and over the radio. Emerson wondered how Sean ever managed to do any songwriting if he had to constantly go at this breakneck speed.

  There was also the backlash from the fans. Sean was a solo act. He would always be a solo act. Emerson was an upstart, after Sean’s fame, money, and good looks. Emerson received hate mail. He never imagined he’d ever receive hate mail.

  He could understand their reaction a bit. From the outside, it might look that way. That was one of the things Emerson emphasized during these interviews: he had been asked to step in, and it was a pleasure to do so. He hadn’t orchestrated some evil plot to maneuver into Sean’s performances. The reverse was true. This was all Sean’s evil plot.

  At least Sean didn’t listen to anything the upset fans said. He’d shrugged it off, telling Emerson that people liked conflict and drama. They’d lash out, and when things died down, they’d rush onto the next thing to fuel their anger.

  It wasn’t as easy to ignore as Sean insisted, but Emerson did try.

  Now, when he gripped the guitar, his fingers felt no pain. That made him happy, knowing he was adjusting to this lifestyle. Even better was how much time he was spending with Sean. At first, Emerson had been a little afraid they’d chafe being together so much. But it was the opposite. When Emerson hit a snag learning the next song, Sean was there with tips on how to transition from one chord to the next. When Emerson was so frustrated he wanted to throw the guitar through his fifth story window, Sean sat down on the couch with him and put in a movie. When both of them were exhausted from a hard day’s work, Sean would call for takeout.

  Though Emerson’s mind was spinning from the fast pace of swirling events, he was so grateful that Sean was beside him through it all.

  And as the next week went on, Emerson realized he loved playing guitar. He thought that emotion gone, left behind when he graduated and became a real adult. Mom and Dad had stomped on any inkling of a creative life, making sure Emerson knew that stability was the best course for a happy future. He wondered if they’d been right. Things could have been so different if he’d stuck with his guitar all these years instead of hiding it in the closet. It was thanks to Sean that Emerson rekindled that old flame.

  And singing with Sean was a dream. Emerson knew his vocals weren’t amazing, not like Sean’s, but they still sounded great together. They offset each other, Emerson’s lower tones helping to strengthen the strands that Sean sang. The blending of their voices fulfilled Emerson in a way he never thought possible. And with all this came a deep love for Sean.

  Emerson hadn’t said it yet. Couldn’t say it yet. It was ridiculous to think he could fall in love so soon. He wasn’t like Sean who rushed head first into anything just for the hell of it. Well, he hadn’t been. Now, he could see that he was picking up a few of Sean’s habits, the way Pip picked up Ninotchka’s. But before he used that precious word, he had to be sure. Respect and admiration were often misconstrued as love. He wasn’t saying anything he couldn’t back up one hundred percent.

  There was a buzz at the door, and Emerson set down the guitar to push the call button. “Yeah?”

  “It’s me,” Macie said.

  He pushed the button to let her in, then unlocked the door. He went back to the couch so she wouldn’t scold him for not practicing every available second—
which had happened a few times already.

  When she walked in, she had a smile on her face, and for once, it wasn’t directed at Ninotchka. “How you guys doing?”

  “Good,” Sean said hesitantly, obviously as thrown off by her cheer as Emerson.

  “Great to hear. Emerson, I’ve got all your tickets ready. Two for your parents in San Diego, two for your brother in Vegas, four for your sister in Portland.”

  “Thanks, Macie. That’ll be awesome. Sorry I asked for so many.”

  She waved away his words. “Don’t worry about it. You’re part of the act. You can ask for as many as you want.”

  He tapped his fingers together. “What about sending some to my coworkers? Ms. Bell, of course, and then Rob, Mal, and Claudia?”

  “Sure,” she agreed, settling into the armchair. “I’ll get them sent to your office later in the week.”

  “All right,” Sean said, advancing on her. “Out with it.”

  Her smile grew bigger. “I got the record label to agree to re-record ‘Flyin’ High,’ with Emerson on vocals. We can begin teasing it on the radio as soon as we get it finished.”

  Sean laughed delightedly, but Emerson didn’t join in the celebration. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s a bit like a remix,” Macie explained. “They have radio versions of album songs. For ‘Flyin’ High,’ we’ve only released the album version; that’s what they currently play. But we can record a special one specifically for the radio stations. This will add some hype, let fans hear a bit of what we’re offering for the concert.”

  “When can we record?” Sean asked, his excitement almost palpable.

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  Emerson’s stomach churned. “Tomorrow? Does that give us enough time to prep?”

  Macie chuckled and some of her humor returned to her normal, devious flavor. “You’ve been practicing all week. I think this will give you a good taste of what to expect on the tour. All the hoopla, as it were.”

  Emerson swallowed past a lump in his throat, but nodded. There was no backing out of this, so he might as well go forward.