by Bryce Oakley
“You’re fucking with me, right?” Billie asked. “It’s definitely thighs, right?”
Vero shook her head with a grin, leaving the room.
Billie called after her, “‘Goodbyes’ doesn’t even make sense!”
Fuck, had she just accidentally made perverted lyrics out of a Fangs song in front of Felix Lucas?
She couldn't wait to tell Domino they had been singing the wrong lyrics for their entire lives, but she’d never live it down if she admitted she sang them in front of Felix Lucas. She laughed in disbelief, slapping a hand to her forehead as her cheeks glowed with embarrassment.
Chapter Ten
Vero
Vero stared down at the notebook on the coffee table. It was the journal that Billie had given her when they began. She treasured it now, but she didn't want to think more about why that was. It was just a pretty notebook, that was all.
She sat on the floor between the coffee table and the couch. Just like Billie had explained, she had journaled her day on the left side of the notebook, then poeticized it on the right hand side.
Where had all of these emotions come from?
She let her head fall backwards to rest on the cushion behind her.
She had written about sitting with Billie in the hot springs — how a fraction of a second could change the mood so quickly.
The moment comes undone.
She crossed out the line.
I come undone.
She imagined pulling a string from a hem, releasing all of the hard work to sew the garment together. She saw a tower of blocks, allfalling after just one near the foundation had fallen.
The friendship — if she could call it that — with Billie was tentative at best. She had seen a different side of her earlier that day at the hot springs, and then again in the music room.
Billie seemed pretentious and elitist from every interview she had read, like one of those people who thought she knew everything, but with a guitar in her hands, magic flowed through the air.
It was an intoxicating feeling: Being near her as her soft, low voice wove melodies and harmonies.
She thought of the trusting look on Billie’s face as she bandaged her arm. It was such a tiny wound, but Vero had taken the utmost care to spend as much time holding her hand and wrist as possible.
Vero’s eyes flicked to the clock, and seeing that she only had a few moments left before they were to meet, her stomach flipped and twirled in excitement.
Embarrassing.
Billie was being nice to her to get the song written. She was being nice to her to meet her dad. She was only being nice to her because the label was forcing her to.
And yet, Vero couldn’t help but feel as though Billie saw her for exactly who she was.
Elena walked into the living room.
“You okay, Nica? You get enough to eat?” Elena asked, pausing beside the couch to look down at her with interest.
“Yeah, dinner was really good. Thanks,” Vero said. She had barely touched her food, almost felt too nervous to eat. Something about the proximity of Billie had made her insides tie in knots.
Elena gave a small chuckle and shook her head. “Whatever you say,” she said, a grin pulling at the edge of her mouth.
If they got the song right that night, would Billie leave in the morning?
“Where are you two writing tonight?” Elena asked.
“In the music room,” Vero answered, only half-listening.
“Okay. I’ll grab whiskey. What else? Need any snacks?” She asked.
“Whiskey?” Vero raised a brow. It didn’t bother her when others were drinking around her, and besides, whiskey definitely wasn’t her drink of choice. There was a reason vodka didn't reside in the house.
“For Billie,” Elena said, rolling her eyes.
“Is whiskey her favorite?” Vero asked before she could help herself.
“Not always,” Billie answered from behind her.
Vero jerked, startled by Billie’s presence.
“How long have you been there?” Vero asked.
Billie grinned. “Not long. Don’t worry, I’m not a total creep,” she said, holding up her palms.
Vero looked at the part of her arm she had scratched earlier. She had transitioned from the wrap to a few simple bandaids. It was hardly a scratch. Vero had just wanted to show off, wrapping it up so intensely.
“You ready?” Vero asked, awkwardly extracting her limbs from under the coffee table as she stood.
Billie had already turned, talking to Elena about whiskey. Vero took the opportunity to take her in for the millionth time that day. Billie, who was so sure of herself, was afraid of hot springs. Billie, the darling of Pitchfork Magazine, sang the wrong lyrics to a Fangs song in front of Felix Lucas.
Vero grinned, watching how Billie brushed her hair behind her ear, exposing her long, graceful neck.
Vero cleared her throat. “Uh, hello, are we writing or what?” She asked, her impatience getting the best of her.
What was this strange feeling of wanting Billie all to herself?
Billie gave her a calm stare. “Yes, your majesty,” she said, narrowing her eyes.
Vero tried to hide a small smile as she walked into the music room. She sat down on a lounge chair.
“Nope,” Billie said, closing the door behind her. “You’re going to be at the piano.”
Vero smirked. “What if this song is better on acoustic guitar?” She asked, crossing her arms.
“Piano,” Billie insisted, pointing toward the piano bench.
“You’re very bossy,” Vero said, trying to sound much more irritated than she was.
“Wow, says the boss herself,” Billie said, laughing. She sat on a chair and reached for her guitar, but paused. “Oh fuck, the strings.”
“Just use the Gibson,” Vero said, pointing.
“Your dad won’t mind?” Billie asked, looking over her shoulder as if Felix Lucas himself was standing behind her with a disapproving stare.
“My dad?” Vero asked, trying to keep her face straight. “Why would he be upset?”
Billie sighed. “This is an expensive guitar, Vero. I don’t want to use it without permission.”
Vero couldn’t help but laugh at how sincere Billie looked. “It’s okay. It’s mine, and I say you can use it.”
Billie blinked, not moving. “This guitar is yours?” She pointed to the Gibson Hummingbird as if they may have miscommunicated.
“Yes,” Vero said slowly, to make her point. “And I’d appreciate it if you could look less shocked about my owning a guitar.”
“Can you play guitar?” Billie asked, tilting her head to the side as if seeing Vero from a different angle might help her understand better.
Vero smirked. “Are you kidding me? Of course I can play the guitar,” she said. “Why would I own a guitar if I couldn’t play it?”
Billie didn’t answer, but stared from the guitar back to Vero. “So, let me get this straight. You can play the piano, drums, and guitar. What else?”
Every instrument in the room. Except for the didgeridoo that she had bought in Australia on tour. “A few others,” Vero said, not wanting to sound like she was bragging.
Billie looked around the room as if she was seeing it for the first time. “I thought...” She started, but her voice trailed off. “I’m such an asshole for assuming these were your dad’s instruments.”
Vero laughed, running her fingers along the piano keys without pressing them. “It’s okay. Some are Dad’s,” she admitted. To be fair, her father had given her a lot of the instruments as gifts, but they were hers fair and square. The acoustic bass that her father had played with earlier was his, but every electric bass in the room was hers.
She stretched her arms over her head, then placed her lyrics notebook — Billie smiled, realizing it was the notebook she had given her — on the sheet music holder in front of her.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about that song you played before,” Billi
e said, not looking up from her own notebook. Her light brown hair fell over her eyes, concealing her expression.
“Oh?” Vero asked, unsure what to say. Her insides tingled in anticipation. It was the song she was planning on handing in along with the song she and Billie had written, just to see which the execs liked better without telling them.
She felt a pulse of protectiveness about it, but it melted to sheer curiosity. “What about it?”
“Yeah, would you mind if we started with that first verse?” Billie asked.
“You don’t want to start fresh?” Vero asked, surprised. “That song isn’t—“
“Whatever you’re about to say, save it. I think that song has a good feeling, and I have ideas, so let’s play around with that. That’ll be a good place to start, at least, right? Until we figure out how best to work together?” Billie said, never looking up from her notebook.
Vero realized Billie must be nervous, herself, saying that. It was one of the only times Billie had ever taken charge. She liked it, which surprised her. “Okay,” she conceded. She loved that song, and Billie could only make it better, right? It’d still be hers, no matter what.
“Really? I thought for a second you might hate that idea,” Billie said with a loud exhalation of breath.
Vero gave a small shrug of shoulders. “I suppose I’m full of surprises,” she said.
Billie snorted. “I suppose you are,” she said, but her voice was softer as she said it. “Now play the damn song.”
Vero began, slowing down the rhythm. “Your eyes in the night sky,” she sang and Billie chimed in occasionally, especially when the chorus came.
Billie added the guitar on the second verse, layering the melody in a place where it had grown stale, and then paused to quickly scribble something down.
Vero paused.
Billie looked up with an excited smile. “Keep going,” she demanded, and so Vero did.
They played through the song twice without any tweaks, but at times one would drop out and scribble something down, and then they’d pick it up again.
“Okay, that first verse. I think let’s change that first metaphor,” Billie said.
They continued on for what felt like ages. Vero didn’t remember when, but at some point, Billie joined her on the piano bench, sitting with her back to the keys, the guitar in her lap.
“And then here, I was thinking instead of that chord progression going down, why not soften it and raise it? Like this,” she said, strumming the guitar.
Vero squinted, trying to think of what sounded off with that. “No, don’t go AGAB there, let’s go AEAB for a little drama.” She sang what she meant, adding simple piano notes to accompany it.
“Ooh, love that,” Billie said, scribbling into her notebook.
In two hours, they had everything but the bridge set. Billie was able to see places where the melody went too generic, and Vero was able to rein her back in when she needed it.
“What about on that bridge, we just make it just kind of repeat ‘The mountains between us, they’ve undone all we had,’” Vero said finally, staring at her notebook.
Billie sang it back, changing it from ‘they've undone what we had’ to ‘they’re smaller than our love’ and the moment she did, it felt as though the song clicked into place.
Vero felt her excitement pulsing through her veins as she smiled broadly down at the keys, playing through the bridge into the last chorus.
“That’s it,” she said, feeling giddy with relief and possibility.
Before she realized what she was doing, she wrapped Billie into a tight hug. The guitar body pressed awkwardly into her rib cage, but Billie’s strong shoulders felt right in her arms.
Vero felt the mood in the air shift from jubilation to awkwardness, and pulled away, clearing her throat. Billie was staring at her with an unreadable expression. Was it confusion? Wonder? Unease?
“We should, um, play it through again,” Billie said, standing up from the piano bench to stand beside her.
Vero’s stomach dropped, watching Billie put physical space between them.
She took a deep breath. “Sure,” she said.
They played the song through four more times until neither of them made any tweaks.
“What should we call it?” Vero asked.
"What about the title ‘Lost Love’?” Billie suggested.
Vero smiled. “Yeah, that's beautiful.” She found herself looking into Billie’s emerald eyes.
Billie glanced at her watch. “Oh wow, it’s one in the morning,” she said, rubbing at her eyes and yawning.
Vero wondered for a moment if she was forcing that yawn to get out of being near her. She stared down at the piano keys, unable to meet Billie’s eyes.
Why had she hugged her like that? They weren’t friends. They’d never be any more than that, either.
She wanted to bang her forehead on the keys.
Billie’s hand squeezed her shoulder. “Vero?” Billie asked. “Something wrong?”
Vero went still, feeling Billie’s touch. She shook her head, embarrassment burning her cheeks. Why had her pulse jumped when Billie’s hand squeezed her shoulder? She felt weirdly desperate.
She set her shoulders. “Sorry, just tired,” she lied.
“Let’s go to bed,” Billie said. “And then, if you’re up for it, I have an idea for the next song that we can start on in the morning,” she said.
“Another?” Vero asked, blinking.
“Yeah, I think you’d be right for it,” Billie said with a warm smile.
Vero pressed her lips tightly together to suppress the grin that was threatening to take over her entire time. “Sure, we can try,” she said, forcing a casual air.
Vero grabbed her notebook and together, they walked out of the room and up the stairs.
Her body was intensely aware that Billie’s shoulder touched hers as they walked up the stairs and turned the corner to the hallway where their bedrooms were.
They paused at Billie’s door and she turned, wrapping Vero in her arms. Without the guitar between them, their bodies fit together as though they were made from one. Vero breathed in Billie’s cedarwood and vanilla scent, heady with how it immediately made her feel both comforted and thrilled.
They began to pull apart, but Billie paused. Vero looked up at her, and even in the dim light of the hallway, she could see the furrow in Billie’s brow. Indecision weighed heavily, as if Billie was considering something very important.
Billie’s gaze flicked to Vero’s mouth, then back up to her eyes.
The air grew charged around them, as if static electricity would make their hair stand on end at any moment.
“Your voice is perfect for that song,” Billie whispered. “I really enjoyed writing it with you tonight.”
Vero’s arms were still around Billie’s shoulders, and she used that leverage to lift onto her toes to press a kiss to Billie’s mouth.
Time seemed to slow as Billie took a second before returning the kiss, her soft lips moving over Vero’s in a way that made Vero’s entire body hum with delight.
Billie’s hands moved to Vero’s hair, holding her fast as their kiss grew more desperate.
Vero was the smaller of the two women, but she guided Billie back until they were pressed against Billie’s door.
Billie’s tongue swiped against Vero’s lower lip and as Vero moaned in response, she could feel Billie smiling against her mouth.
They parted, both panting.
Vero’s heart was pounding so loud that she was sure Billie would hear it.
Billie stared down at her with a curious glint in her eye and a crooked, confused smile.
“Oh, if you were wondering, I’m super gay,” Vero joked, unsure what else to say.
Billie laughed quietly. “I guess that answers that,” she said.
Vero took a step back, her entire body trembling with excitement. “I’ll see you in the morning, then,” she said.
She desperately wanted
Billie to invite her in, or for the courage to invite Billie to her own room, but something about leaving the moment short and sweet also sounded appealing.
As Billie’s door shut behind her, Vero strolled down the hallway. She resisted the urge to skip and jump and high-five the paintings as she walked past, but she dared not try to stifle the gigantic smile that was making her cheeks hurt.
Chapter Eleven
Billie
Billie stared up at the ceiling above her bed, the morning sun taunting her after a restless night of tossing and turning.
The ceiling was coffered, as if dozens of tiny beams criss-crossed one another. She wondered how much time a technique like that took to plan and construct. Were they tiny beams all pieced together or several long beams fitted perfectly?
It felt relaxing to wonder about the ceiling after spending hours awake, tossing and turning, thinking about that kiss.
And now, she was daydreaming about how the dark wood beams were the same color as Vero’s eyes.
She had deconstructed each millisecond that led up to it. The way Vero had looked determined one moment before leaning into her, or the way Vero had taken Billie’s lip gently in hers. A tiny gesture, but a promise of something more. A revelation of what could happen.
She had come on the trip wanting to be utterly professional.
Now she was making out with one of the most famous women in the world.
What had she been thinking?
It had started with that silly hug on the piano bench. Vero had let her defenses down. Her mask strings had come undone.
Billie had desperately wanted to make that moment last forever. She had stiffened, afraid that if she moved at all, she might make never get a chance to hold her again.
It wasn’t that Vero reminded her of a wild animal that she might startle. She hated that analogy. Vero was a strong woman, not some chipmunk they had scared off the path during a hike.
No, it was as if she and Vero had been building something tenuous, weaving threads of friendship — maybe more? Was something there or had she been caught up in the feelings of the night before?