Some Kind of Magic

by Mary Ann Marlowe

  I turned around and said, “Jacob.”

  He drew his hand back. “I’m sorry.” He dragged his teeth across his lower lip. “I didn’t mean to push you. I’d really like to get to know you better.”

  I threw a glance at the stage, at Liam yodeling “Royals.” Fuck it. I was going to break my own rule.

  “Jacob, look. You seem like a nice guy. Maybe at another time—”

  “That’s what you said last time. Is that your default letdown phrase?” He wasn’t pouting. In fact, his expression was disarmingly charming. That half smile might’ve won me over. But I wasn’t feeling it. This kid was playing with dynamite, but Adam played with nuclear warheads. There was no way this kid could reach me where I lived.

  “You misunderstand me. I’m not saying maybe another time in the future. I’m saying maybe at another time in the past, I might’ve been interested. But right now, I’m not in the market.”

  “You’re seeing someone?” He narrowed one eye, still charming. “Are you really dating Adam Copeland?”

  The question jarred me on several levels, not the least of which was the casual nature with which Jacob had admitted to gawking at my private life. Granted, my private life had been made public thanks to that gossip columnist, but nobody had forced Jacob to click the link.

  And just like that, I felt the hypocrisy of my judgment. Had I been any better when I’d started dating Adam?

  “No, we’re not dating.” Not exactly. “It’s just that my head’s not in the game.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll ask you again next time then.” He flashed that grin again. Bonus points for backing off without a fight. Or at least not much of one.

  “Thanks for understanding.” If he’d caught me a month ago, a gorgeous guy with a future in architecture and a history of charitable work? On my back in minutes.

  But my perfect guy had been rescripted, and what I needed was a brown-eyed, black-haired, tattoo-covered, thin, grungy rock musician named Adam. Too specific?

  If I’d been impossible to please before, I was destined to be a spinster. I couldn’t see how any guy would ever live up to my new standards.

  I left Jacob and went looking for Tobin. I needed to have a word with him. He was out back, smoking with Liam.

  “Nice set, Liam,” I said robotically. Liam was one of those people who could sift through a pile of criticism to find the one positive comment, so I didn’t think he’d hear the lack of enthusiasm in my voice.

  “Thanks, Eden. Those girls were really eating it up.” He took one last drag, dropped the cigarette, and then stubbed it out with his shoe.

  When he’d gone in, I rounded on Tobin. “So, about those people wanting me to come out to play . . .”

  “What about them?”

  “How many calls did you get, Tobin? One?”

  “There were at least three.”

  “Did they all sound the same? Were they all college-aged boys named Jacob?”

  He averted his eyes. “I don’t know. I didn’t take the calls.”

  “So maybe the same person called multiple times? Is that possible?”

  “Look, Eden. You’re early on in your career. Don’t worry about it. You’ll build up to something.”

  “I’m not worried about that. I’m trying to ascertain, Tobin, whether or not I have a stalker.”

  Tobin snorted. “After one show?”

  It did seem ridiculous, and I laughed, too. “Okay, maybe stalker is too strong a word. But listen, do you think you could get me on as the main act again sometime?”

  He shrugged. “If someone cancels last minute, I’ll give you a call. You’re welcome to play the first opening act next Friday if you like.”

  It would have to do. “Thanks, Tobin. I’ll let you know.”

  I left the bar alone and took the subway to Micah’s, thinking over the night. I knew I had a long way to go before I could make a living as a musician. I knew I’d have to have my own CD and my own fans before Tobin would consider letting me headline unless, like before, he was desperate for anyone to fill the time slot.

  And yet, with as low a profile as I had, there was Jacob, calling the venue to bring me back. If he hadn’t revealed that slightly creepy bit of overinvestment, and if I hadn’t removed myself completely from circulation, how flattering would his attention have been?

  If Adam never forgave me and I had to go out on the market again, I’d forever question the motives of the guys offering me drinks. And it would likely only get worse if I made a name for myself. That was what I was signing up for.

  I chuckled thinking back on how I’d naïvely chided Adam, telling him he could combine a career in music with a normal low-profile life if he wanted to. Because Hervé could. As if he could somehow play the role of his drummer, simultaneously in the limelight and nearly anonymous. And I understood why Adam would’ve been charmed by my complete ignorance of his celebrity. It was the same reason I was relieved to discover Thanh’s tonic was inert, for the knowledge that he wanted me for who I was.

  But I understood it all too late. And now I was going to have to find a way to win him back with all the baggage that came with being a simpering fan girl—distance, lack of access, and an idol-like worship of his sexiness.

  Chapter 21

  Micah’s apartment sat along a lovely street with a trendy coffee shop on the corner. With nowhere else to be, I threw on jeans and my warmest sweater and camped out at a table in the back with my laptop, a latte, and an apple-cinnamon scone.

  My headphones drowned out the clink of dishware as I listened to the videos Jacob had faithfully posted the night before. He did good work, and the videos were high quality with excellent audio. I clicked through them quickly to check the view count and get a sense of the comments. I couldn’t bear to watch them if everyone was panning them. But they had a surprisingly high number of views, especially “Expulsion,” but that could easily have been from people searching for Adam’s version.

  A woman asked if she could borrow a chair, and I slid my headphones off to hear her question and waved my permission. Then I disappeared back into the night before. I was pleased with how clearly the lyrics to “Atonement” came out.

  The comments below were fair, mostly complimentary of the song and my voice.

  Great song. Where can I buy this?

  I saw this show last night. Check out the other videos. She killed it.

  Catchy tune. Great voice.

  Is this the same girl that sang with Adam Copeland a few weeks ago?

  There were some insulting comments mixed in as well, but they seemed to mostly focus on me as a person rather than the song. She should open her eyes when she sings. Or Is that the bitch shagging Adam Copeland? And of course, as expected, a few people called me a homewrecker and linked to articles about how I’d trapped Adam with an evil spell. Still others linked to Adrianna’s press release in defense.

  My favorite comment came from someone who thought I should get hit by a bus before I ruined Adam Copeland’s music career and attempted to butcher any more of his songs. At least he hadn’t suggested my skull should be bashed in to stop me from performing my own shitty music. I took a deep breath and remembered Adam admonishing me not to read the comments for too long.

  I copied the video links into an e-mail to Micah, along with a note telling him I’d performed the night before and hoped he’d listen. Secretly, I hoped Micah would pass the links to Adam. Then Adam would see the new song and know how sorry I was. And then maybe everything would be okay. I hadn’t heard from Adam the entire week, so deep in my heart, I feared the breach was irreparable. All I could do was apologize.

  It would be afternoon wherever they were. I checked the tour schedule. They didn’t have a show tonight, so they were either in Frankfurt or Vienna, or somewhere in between. I double-checked the calendar. They only had one more week out on tour. Their last show was the following Friday, and then they’d come home. And then what? Would Adam come find me? Would we work things out
then?

  I ordered another latte and watched videos from the Walking Disaster tour from after I left. Adam had stopped singing his new song altogether. On the forum, in the threads from the Copenhagen show, the fans zeroed in on the lack of Adam’s new song and speculated vaguely about its absence. Why had he performed it in only four cities with two different women?

  In some ways, their sleuthing pained me, but other times it amused me. Their conjectures could veer into crazy town, but usually at least one person hit on an explanation very close to the truth. The minute they brought up my name or Adrianna’s, they risked Pumpkin locking the thread, so they spoke in code. Or possibly off the forum.

  In another subforum devoted to musicians Adam had performed with, they had posted the videos from my own set the night before. They didn’t make a fuss over my version of “Expulsion” except to say it made sense I’d play that since I’d already performed it before with Adam, and since the video started with the audience clamoring for it. Nobody analyzed the lyrics of my new song for any added meaning. They just dropped the videos and pointed out I’d returned from the tour and was back in NYC—in case anyone was interested. Off-site, in the chat rooms and private messages, they’d probably already discussed the coincidence of my leaving the tour at the same time Adam stopped singing the new song.

  My phone buzzed. Micah texted, Congratulations! How’d you end up playing again?

  I texted back, I asked Tobin for a chance to perform and he let me!

  Now we’ll never get you off the stage. I wish you were still here with us. But only one more week and we’ll be home!

  That made me smile. I started to put my phone away, when it buzzed again. Hey, can I share those videos with Adam?

  Bingo. That was what I was waiting for. It’s a free country. They’re public, aren’t they?

  True dat.

  Perfect. I daydreamed a little about Adam listening to the song, recognizing it for an apology, and forgiving me for leading him astray. He’d have to know I never intended to. He’d have to know that when I did intend to, it was only because I was so afraid of losing him so soon.

  But if my daydream extended to Adam picking up his phone to call me, or text me, or send me a long explanatory e-mail, I was destined for disappointment. The morning dragged on, and he remained silent.

  I texted Tobin to find out if he had any openings at the club, but after a couple of hours of radio silence, I got the message. I called Stacy to invite her over, but she had plans with Rick Whedon, DDS, despite my misgivings. I thought about calling my mom, but we hadn’t spoken since the week before. I didn’t even know where to begin. I spent the night alone in Micah’s apartment, eating my weight in pizza. I missed Micah a lot. I missed Adam more.

  Sunday morning, I woke up in Micah’s bed disoriented, feeling untethered. I’d made a mess of everything, and I was pretty sure I knew where I needed to start to repair things. I drove across Staten Island and pulled into my parents’ driveway just after noon.

  When my mom opened the door, she arched an eyebrow, but then her face softened.

  “Eden.”

  “Mom.” The word came out like a croak, and I couldn’t hold back the tears.

  “Oh, Eden.” She pulled me into a hug. “I told you this would happen.”

  I fought the urge to argue with her and wiped my eyes with my sleeve. “It’s not what you think, Mom.”

  She led me inside. I dropped onto the lopsided sofa and pulled myself together. “I came over to apologize for last week. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you. I was just—”

  “You were just embarrassed that you’d made a mistake. It’s okay. I’m sorry that you had to learn the hard way. I did try to warn you.”

  I choked back my usual venom. “I wish it was just a mistake, Mom. It would make things a whole lot easier.”

  She sat beside me. “But I thought you were done with that whole rock music thing. The news—”

  “Mom, don’t even read the news. They lie. Like a lot.”

  She exhaled. “Okay. So tell me.”

  The fact that she was at least trying broke down some of the barriers between us, and I started from the beginning. I told her everything—almost everything—from when I’d first met Adam until that moment. About the perfume and how I’d worried he only liked me because of some man magnet. About how he thought I only liked him because he was famous. About losing my job. About losing Adam.

  “And I thought he’d see my video and forgive me.” My voice cracked. “But he hasn’t.”

  She interrupted me. “Do you love him, Eden?”

  “What?” I wiped a tear off my cheek with the back of my hand.

  “Are you in love with him?” She pressed her lips together, and I knew she was making an effort to listen rather than advise.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. How can I know that? I’ve never been in love before.” I ran my hands through my hair and looked into my mom’s clear blue eyes, so much like Micah’s. “It’s only been a month. How could I fall in love with someone in such a short time? It’s ludicrous.”

  Mom waved her hands. “Time doesn’t matter. For some people it takes years to figure out. For others, it’s as obvious as night and day. Do you think you love him?”

  I thought back over the past month and remembered things Adam had said or done. I missed him so much it hurt.

  “Yeah, Mom. I think I might. I’m not ready for it to be over. But I blew it. He thinks I tricked him, and he won’t even talk to me.”

  Mom’s worried expression never changed, but she took my hand. When had her skin turned so paper thin?

  “Eden, I know you’ve dismissed my advice in the past, but hear me out. I don’t know if this boy is right for you. He seems like trouble to me, and here you are nursing a broken heart.” She frowned, revealing deep wrinkles in the corners of her mouth. “But, Eden, if you’re in love with him, you’re going to have to get out of your comfort zone and show him.”

  I sighed. “That’s the thing, Mom. I don’t know how.”

  “If it’s meant to be, God will send you a sign.” She squeezed my hand. “I’ll be praying for you.”

  That was as much of a blessing as I could hope for. “Thanks, Mom.”

  As I drove back across Staten Island and then Lower Manhattan, my phone dinged with incoming messages. Every time it dinged, I held out the always unsatisfied hope for something that so far hadn’t come—a text, or a voice mail, or an e-mail from Adam.

  When I parked the car, I pulled the phone out and scrolled through the notifications, stunned to discover the e-mail right at the top of the list.

  Subject: Atonement.

  My heart rate sped up. He’d sent it twenty minutes earlier, while I was driving. Wherever they were, he would’ve sent it just before his show.

  Did I want to read this now? Did I want to read it at all? I’d waited more than a week to hear what he had to say, but I dreaded what he had to say. What if he told me to leave him alone? Still, I dared hope he’d say he forgave me and wanted to work things out.

  I opened the e-mail.

  Eden,

  Micah showed me the songs you performed last night. You look stunning btw. And your new song is gorgeous. The message in it wasn’t lost on me. I’ve had a long time on this bus to do nothing but think about the conversation we had before you left. I’m glad you’re thinking about it, too.

  When you left, I was angry and confused. Listening to your new song, I realized you’re under the impression I was angry at you for luring me against my will into temptation. Do you really think some love potion could have created feelings I wouldn’t otherwise have had?

  Eden, people take heavy drugs to feel as good as I felt when I was with you. If somehow you had enticed me through chemistry alone, I’d be hard-pressed to ask you to stop. And yeah, it’s even better to find out that what you thought was a drugged reaction was completely natural. It’s good to be sure the attraction was genuine, but seriously, I don’t
care. It doesn’t matter. It never mattered. How I felt with you always felt real to me.

  Even if I had been angry about any of that, I would have forgiven you. The second I stepped off that bus in Copenhagen, I knew I’d overreacted. A lot hit me at once—from the revelation that you’d lied to me about what your company did, that you’d never told me about that perfume, that you might have lied about knowing who I was. It confirmed my worst fears.

  Micah told me you didn’t know I was coming to the club that night and that you really hadn’t ever heard of me. I’m sorry for accusing you of lying about that.

  But there’s still a fundamental issue, Eden. You didn’t trust me with the truth. How can I trust you if you don’t trust me?

  I don’t know where your head is. I’m not sure where mine is anymore.

  It’s funny. I saw your video for ‘Expulsion.’ Damn, it hurt hearing you sing that song the way I’d originally written it. Congratulations for unlocking that, btw. Ironically, you hit closer to the mark with that song than with your apology song.

  Good luck with everything,

  Adam

  I read through his letter twice, trying to make sense of it.

  I closed my eyes and held a mental dialogue with him, painfully wishing he were with me instead of halfway around the world. There were so many things I thought of writing back, but his e-mail didn’t invite conversation.

  And honestly, he’d made it clear when I left that he was done with me. He hadn’t exactly begged me to stay. I recalled his words. Have a good life. They stung still.

  I snorted, thinking about how good my life was since I’d met him.

  I’d walked away from my job search without a pause, thinking it would be so easy to make it work in music. And there I sat without a gig in sight.

  I’d given up my apartment on the assumption I’d find another. And there I sat in my “struggling artist” brother’s apartment with a handful of my belongings.

  I’d moved away from my family and friends on the hope of what? Finding happiness on my own with a guitar?