Music Notes

by Lacey Black

  Whatever you call it, it appears that Mr. Beau Tanner and I have a connection unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I just wish I knew what to do about it.

  *****

  “Come on, we’re heading out tonight,” Corie says from my hotel room doorway.

  “Uh, we are?” I ask, eyebrows raised sky high.

  “Yes, we are. You, me, Ben, and a few others. We’re going to a club down the street. It won’t be a late night since we have early morning fittings,” she says. “Change your clothes. You look like a mom in those sweats,” she adds with a wrinkled up nose as she takes in my gray sweats and my Chicago Blackhawks t-shirt.

  “I am a mom,” I mumble as I move to let her in.

  “I know, but that doesn’t mean you have to dress like it,” she sasses with a pointed look.

  “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere so I’m in my comfy clothes,” I defend, mirroring her stance with my arms crossed firmly over my chest.

  “We’ll we’re going dancing and to have a few drinks. Come on,” she says as she pulls open my closet.

  Thirty minutes later, our small group is making their way to Club Vogue, within a short walking distance of the hotel. After paying the ten-dollar entrance fee, we make our way to the bar. They’re two deep the entire length of the bar which reminds me of home. Chaser’s usually has them wrapped around, two, sometimes, three deep. Nights like this are the nights I love; live for. They keep you hopping and pouring. I’d take a busy night over a dead night anytime.

  “What are ya havin’?” Ben asks, pressed firmly against my shoulder as we all are jostled towards the bar.

  “Just water tonight,” I holler over the heavy dance music pumping through the speakers.

  “No way. One drink.”

  “No, I really shouldn’t. I have an early morning fitting before a whole slew of rehearsals.”

  “One drink. I’ll get you in bed safely tonight. I promise,” he adds with a little smirk and wink.

  God, why can’t I be attracted to Ben? He’s obtainable, for starters. Yet, I feel nothing for him. It’s sad, really.

  “Okay, one drink. Jack and Coke, please.” I try to dig money out of my pocket, but Ben waves me off.

  With drinks in hand, we make our way to the far end of the club where we spot a vacant table. Maxwell agrees to watch our drinks at the table as the rest of us head out to the dance floor to get lost in a song or two. It feels great to laugh and let loose for a bit. With the sadness that has surrounded me these last few days as I struggle to deal with homesickness, and the soap opera drama with Beau and the show, it feels unbelievable to smile and shake my ass. Even Ben’s continuous wandering hand doesn’t seem to bother me as much as it usually does.

  “Drink,” Corie says as she fans her flush face.

  As I sit down in an empty chair at our table, my phone vibrates from my back pocket. At first glance of the initials on my screen, my heart gives a little flutter. Beau.

  BT: What ya doin?

  A simple text message, but one that makes me smile none the less.

  Me: Club Vogue with gang.

  It doesn’t take but a few moments before his reply is waiting for me.

  BT: Sounds like fun. Who’s the gang?

  Me: Corie, Ben, Maxwell, Jess

  BT: Ben as in the Ben who is always lookin’ at you like you hang the moon?

  His reply catches me off guard. I know that Ben has a little crush on me, but is it that apparent to everyone else, too? What’s more alarming is the fact that Beau’s reply seems to have a little underlying jealousy in it.

  Me: Jealous?

  BT: Of Ben being there with ya right now n not me? Hell yes!

  Okay, now that response I wasn’t expecting. Beau is jealous of someone he has no need to worry about. As much as Ben might be interested in something more than friendship, I am not, and I’ve made that clear to Ben. But before I reply, another message appears from Beau.

  BT: I want to be there right now with your body pressed against mine as we dance. I want to be there to watch you let yourself go and enjoy the nite. It kills me that I’m in Atlanta and you’re there. With Ben.

  Me: I’m not with Ben. He’s not the one I want to dance with and let go with.

  BT: Who do you want to let go with, darlin?

  Me: You

  There. Sent. Without even batting an eyelash, I told him exactly what I wanted. Of course, he’s miles and miles away and not staring at me with those intense eyes, so it’s easier to say the things I’d probably never say if we were face to face.

  BT: If I were there right now, I’d be kissin you.

  “Hey, what are you doing over there? You’ve been so engrossed in your phone that you missed your shot,” Corie says firmly. I glance down and see the full shot glass sitting in front of me while everyone else’s is empty.

  “Oh, sorry,” I reply as I place my phone back in my pocket without replying. As much as I’d prefer to talk to him right now, Beau is going to have to wait.

  I quickly down the shot, which I discover is Fireball, and allow Corie and Jess to lead me back to the dance floor. We laugh and dance, moving our bodies in rhythm of the upbeat music. Every few songs, we slip back over to the table to enjoy our drinks or take a shot. Ben and Maxwell sit around the table, talking sports and girls.

  Well after midnight, we head out of the club and towards the hotel. My phone vibrates in my pocket, which instantly makes me think of Beau. I never replied to his earlier text.

  BT: Did I lose you?

  Such a simple text, yet so full of underlining meaning.

  Me: Nope. Got distracted at the club. Heading home now.

  BT: Did you have fun?

  Me: Yep. Probably more to drink than I should have. ;)

  BT: That’s ok. As long as you’re going home by yourself.

  Me: Definitely. There’s only one cowboy I’d be heading home with.

  BT: God, I so fucking wish I were with ya right now.

  And because I can’t seem to help myself, I ask the burning question.

  Me: What would you do with me?

  His reply is instantaneous.

  BT: Whatever the fuck I wanted.

  It vibrates again in my hand before I can even process his words.

  BT: I’d start with that sweet mouth of yours and work my way down your entire body.

  Holy shit! My entire body spasms with excitement. His words are like an elixir, a drug that I crave.

  Me: Aren’t you at a concert? Shouldn’t you be working, not hitting on me?

  BT: I just finished my show and waiting to pull out to head to the next stop.

  Me: I’m almost back to hotel.

  BT: Will you keep me company?

  Me: Sure.

  When we reach the hotel, I have barely pulled my nose out of my phone. He tells me all about his first gig when he was a green rookie straight out of high school, playing at a dive bar with a cage around the stage. His cocky attitude was quickly given a gut-check as he realized that breaking into the music scene wasn’t as easy as just showing up and getting a record deal. Beau’s story is fascinating, to say the least. Nothing came easy to the award winning country powerhouse that we all know today. Back then, Beau struggled and considered giving it all up on many occasions.

  BT: That’s when James Rollins walked into the club I was playin. He offered me a shot and I’ll forever be grateful to him.

  Me: Sounds amazing.

  BT: Can I call you?

  I’m throwing on my pajamas as his latest text message arrives. I quickly scrub off the remnants of my makeup and type out a quick reply.

  Me: Aren’t we talking?

  BT: Yes, but I need to hear your voice.

  Well, then…

  Before I can reply, the phone sitting next to the bathroom sink is ringing. Sharing my life with Beau has been easy all night, but now to hear his voice? My heart rate kicks up a few hundred beats per minute before I even pick up the phone.

  “
I didn’t say yes,” I tease in way of greeting.

  “True, but this way, ya don’t have the chance to say no.”

  “I would never say no,” I tell him, knowing that I mean so much more than just referring to his offer to call me.

  “That’s good to know. So, what are ya doin’ now?”

  “Getting ready for bed,” I tell him as I take my phone and plop down on the mattress.

  “Well, I should probably let ya go,” he quips with a yawn.

  “Sounds like you could use a bed yourself,” I reply, yawning myself since yawning is always contagious.

  “I could. I’ll be back on Sunday afternoon, and I’m thinkin’ I might need a few moments of your time. In private.” The underlying meaning is so obvious that a deaf man could hear it.

  “Aren’t we supposed to be staying away from each other in private?”

  “Yep, but sometimes I just need a quick little fix. You know, like a hit. A shot. Somethin’ to tide me over ‘til I can get my next fix of you, which won’t be too far off since I can’t seem to control myself around ya.” The honesty in his statement is like a gut-check. My stomach flops around like a fish out of water, and it’s good to know that he’s feeling the same things I feel.

  “Your words are making it so hard to stay away,” I whisper honestly.

  “Darlin’, you have no idea what hard is.”

  I gasp loudly at his statement. Never before have I been so seduced by a few simple words. Even for someone who is affected by song lyrics on a daily basis, I’ve never been so intoxicated by words before in my life.

  “I dream about you,” he confesses softly into the phone.

  “You do?” I whisper as if concerned who might overhear.

  “Yeah. Almost every night,” he adds after a pause. His confession rocks my very foundation.

  “I dream about you, too.”

  “Really? What do you dream about?” he encourages, a hint of a smile laced in his words.

  “Stuff,” I reply vaguely.

  “I dream about stuff too. Stuff like your lips and your mouth and the things I want to do to them. And then there’s your hands. I dream a lot about how your hands feel against my body. I wake up so fuckin’ hard, I have to jack off in the shower to images of your beautiful face.”

  I gasp at his confession.

  “I’m sorry. That was probably too much information,” he says.

  “No,” I say quickly. “Actually, you’re not alone on the dreams.”

  “Do you touch yourself, Layne? What do you picture when you close your eyes and touch your body?”

  His words ignite something deep inside me. My body yearns for his. “I think about you. I picture you when I touch myself.” My confession takes me by surprise, but feels freeing to say the words aloud.

  “Fuck, that is the hottest thing ever. Every time I see you now I’m going to picture you with your hands all over your beautiful body.”

  “You have to stop that. I have a hard enough time concentrating when you’re in the room. The last thing I need is to think about other things in your presence. I’ll never be able to sing without blushing.”

  “I promised that I would try to control myself when I’m around ya, and I will. But sometimes, I’m going to fall off the wagon. Especially when I imagine you lying on your bed in sexy lil’ pj’s and touching yourself.”

  “But I’m wearing sweats,” I counter with a smile.

  “A guy can dream, sweetheart, and right now, my mind is working overtime. Just let me have my thoughts. It’s all I have right now.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  There’s silence as we both absorb our conversation. I want him. He wants me. Yet, neither of us is able to do anything about it. So, we’ll dream. Until this show is over, our dreams are all we’ll have.

  “Go to sleep, beautiful.”

  “You can’t say that, Beau.”

  “Why? You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,” he tells me. His honesty courses through the phone, zapping me straight to the core.

  “Because I can’t be distracted by your words. I need to focus on this show so I can provide Eli with a better life.”

  “Eli has a better life just by you being a part of it, Layne. You are the reason he has an amazing life. You are the reason he is loved beyond his ability to even recognize it. And you are the reason I can’t stop thinkin’ about returning to Los Angeles. Not the show, Layne. You.”

  I have no idea how to respond to that. If I was able to produce sounds at this moment, I’m not ever sure they’d be actual words.

  “Go to sleep. Have sweet dreams. Dream of me, and know that I will be dreamin’ of you. Even though I’m not supposed to, my dreams are all I have right now,” he adds before telling me good night.

  I mumble something incoherent and sign off. My head is a mess right now, his words affecting me in more ways than I ever could have imagined. Mostly because for the first time since I’ve been here, the competition is placing a distant second to what I’m feeling for Beau. He makes me want to throw caution to the wind and say forget it to this entire thing.

  But I owe it to Eli and my mom to finish this out. I owe it to myself, and I even owe it to Beau. He has worked hard to prepare me week after week for the cutthroat competition that is Rising Star. I owe it to him to give it my all. And, unfortunately, giving it my all means no distractions.

  Beau is a distraction.

  So, for the thousandth time in the past week, I tell myself to forget about our attraction and concentrate on the prize at the end of the road. The record contract. The cash. It’s all there, just waiting for me to grab ahold of it.

  I just pray that I don’t trip and fall on my ass on the way to the top.

  Note to self: When your world starts to crumble around you, just keep smiling! And make mental note of names to add to the hit list.

  I arrive at the studio at nine o’clock on Wednesday morning for my scheduled final stage rehearsal. Tonight is another live performance for votes before tomorrow night’s elimination round. I’ve been working with Beau and the show vocal coaches to perfect my song for this evening, and feel confident and ready for the performance. Since our team performed as a group last week, the other two teams are performing group performances tomorrow night. Beau has hinted that next week’s shows will start contestant duets, and I can’t wait to see what that’s all about.

  “Layne, they’re looking for you in conference room A,” Gabby says moments before I step out onto the stage to run through my song one final time with Mallory, the choreographer.

  “Who’s looking for me?” I ask, confused about who would pull me away from my final practice.

  “Everyone. The network,” she says with a pointed ‘I told you so’ look.

  The network? Oh my God, this can’t be good, can it?

  My legs are numb as they carry me towards the network executives. Gabby doesn’t say anything else as she leads me through a series of hallways, past offices that I didn’t even know were here. After a quick knock on the closed door, she opens it and allows me to enter.

  Inside the room sit about six men and women all dressed in professional suits and dresses. Sitting at the end of the conference room table is the man with the starring role in my dreams. Beau Tanner. I swallow the golf ball that’s suddenly lodged in my throat and return my focus to the man standing at the opposite end of the table.

  “Layne, it’s good to finally meet you. I am Jackson Zimmerman, President of the network. Please have a seat,” he says, motioning to the empty seat next to Beau.

  I feel all eyes on me as I make my way to my seat. I was just about to step on the stage for my final dress rehearsal so my attire isn’t exactly “executive” appropriate. The tight leather dress and blood-red pumps don’t do much for my confidence as I stare down the faces of the handful of people who could decide my fate on this show. The real people who decide if I even perform tonight.

  “Miss Ca
rter, I’m going to be frank with you. We’ve had concerns from other contestants as to the extent of your relationship with your coach, Beau Tanner. This is something that we take very seriously. Contracts were signed by all parties at this table–namely you and Mr. Tanner. Now, while we encourage you all to continue to live your lives, we can’t have relationships between the coaches and the contestants. You recall signing the agreement, is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir,” I reply through my dry throat.

  “You don’t need us to produce the document you signed? Margaret from Legal is here and would be happy to show you the document with your signature,” he states, indicating towards the woman to his left.

  “No, sir. I recall the document.”

  “Good. Now. We have a slight dilemma with this entire situation. We’ve had a lengthy conversation with Beau and he ensures us that your relationship is purely friendship and in no way breaks the contracts that you’ve both signed. Is that how you’d describe it?”

  “Yes, sir. Beau and I are friends, nothing more.” I don’t dare risk a glance over at him. I don’t know what would be worse: seeing him so casual at this moment or him seeing straight through the lies.

  “That’s good. But, here’s the dilemma. Apparently, America loves the thought of you two together.”

  I’m startled by his words, looking up at him with big, shocked eyes. Now, I look over at Beau for the first time since I’ve sat down. He’s staring at me with those intense eyes that hold a hint of laughter.

  “The website, which hosts the Behind the Scenes videos, has increased traffic ten-fold. Social media is abuzz with speculation about your relationship. The network has done extensive polls on the topic in recent days and it seems that America wants to see more of you and Beau, Layne.”

  “Sir?”

  “So, while we’re in no way condoning the breach of your contract with us, we are maybe encouraging you to…tease the audience a little more.”

  “What do ya mean by that?” Beau asks, speaking up for the first time since I walked into the room.

  “Oh, you know, little touches here or extended glances there,” the woman on the right of Mr. Zimmerman says.