“Well,” he said. “Since every non-musician I know, and actually a lot of musicians for that matter, always seem to be complaining about their jobs, I think it’s refreshing to hear someone be so positive about what they do.”
I smiled. “So hey, maybe when your music career hits the fan, you can just turn to writing about other artists instead. You know, like the rest of us non-euphonious plebeians.”
“Euphonious?”
“Yep. When you write about music for a living, you develop quite the repertoire of words to describe how something sounds.”
He laughed. “I’m not so sure about becoming a writer, mostly because there are a number of grammatical rules that I never quite mastered. Not to mention the fact that my vocabulary bench isn’t even close to deep enough to include words like ‘euphonious.’ But I’ll keep it in mind anyway. It never hurts to have a backup plan.”
A moment passed before he casually asked, “And your boyfriend, what does he do?”
I raised my eyebrow at him. As a woman in her late twenties, this line of questioning always made me uncomfortable. The truth was that I didn’t have a boyfriend, and I hadn’t since my last year of grad school. My early twenties had been marred by a series of breakups, and I was not eager to repeat those experiences. So now, I went on the occasional date and had the sporadic fling, but nothing more serious than that. However, my hesitation to answer the boyfriend question didn’t come from my own personal hang ups about being single. I honestly didn’t mind. I actually liked being single in a lot of ways. It was just that whenever anyone asked me about it, I felt like I had to break into the just-haven’t-met-the-right-person-yet song and dance that somehow always came off as contrived. I constantly imagined the person on the other end of the conversation was thinking, “Just buy a cat and throw in the towel, you pathetic spinster.”
So to Luke, I responded, “He’s in investment banking…or maybe corporate law…or, hell, he might even be writing the next great American novel. I can’t say for sure since I haven’t met him yet.”
Luke smiled. “Hmm,” he said. “None of those careers seems quite right to me. Although I do think that you should end up with someone in the arts.”
Is he talking about himself? Is he hitting on me? I couldn’t tell. And I was too shy to ask him if he had a girlfriend, so I just said, “Yeah, well, only time will tell, I guess.”
“I guess so.”
We talked and joked for a while longer until finally, having finished our drinks, it was time to go. Normally I felt a sense of relief when an interview ended and I could retreat back into solitude to write about it. But for the first time ever, I was sad that we were done. I’d thoroughly enjoyed talking to Luke and I didn’t want our conversation to end. Now that I’d gotten to know him a little, I was really starting to like him. Oh well, I thought as I pushed away from the table. I doubted that I would see him again after tonight.
We walked out of the bar and I put my hand out to hail a taxi.
“Are you taking a cab?” Luke asked.
No, I have a question and I want you to call on me. “Yeah, aren’t you?” I asked, confused.
“No, I’m parked around the corner. Come on, I’ll drive you home.”
My stomach did a little flip. “No, that’s okay,” I said, trying to give him an out in case he was just trying to be nice.
“You’re not taking a cab when I can drive you,” he said. “It’s no problem.”
I made one last faux-attempt to refuse. “But, you’ve been drinking. I’m sure you don’t want to have to go driving all over town.”
“I’ve got news for you. Two beers over two hours on my frame does not constitute drinking,” he smiled.
I didn’t want to tell him that two whiskeys wasn’t really “drinking” for me either. I felt like I had to limit the number of unladylike characteristics that I revealed about myself in one interaction. “Alright, fine. And thanks,” I said, and then I followed him to his car.
He held open the door for me to an unassuming black SUV and I found I liked that he wasn’t whipping around town in some ostentatious G-Wagon with massive rims. I liked that he seemed to be a pretty understated, down-to-earth guy. It was different from a lot of the artists I interviewed who thought that one hit single made them god’s gift to music.
As we pulled away from the curb, an awkward silence descended between us. No, awkward was the wrong word. More like charged. I was very aware of our close proximity and I was pretty sure that Luke was too.
After I told him where I lived, we barely spoke another word to each other the whole way back to my house. But that didn’t stop my mind from racing the entire time. Did he ask to drive me home so that he could spend more time with me? No, I’m sure he was just being polite. But did he, though? No. But maybe? The sultry sounds of the techno beat pulsating through his stereo only added to the intensity of the situation.
At last, the longest seven-minute drive of my life came to an end in front of my brownstone apartment building in Lakeview. Luke put the car in park and turned to me.
“Hey, I’m playing a few of my new lackluster songs tomorrow night at the Aragon. It’s a showcase thing and there’ll be some other bands from the label there too,” he said.
“Cool,” I replied. “Uh, break a leg, I guess.” I was pretty sure that I knew where he was going with this – at least where I hoped he was going with it – but I didn’t want to get presumptuous by accepting an invitation that he hadn’t actually extended.
He laughed. “Would you like to come? You know, as research for the article.”
“Oh,” I said, doing a pretty poor job of hiding my confusion. Was that code for a date or does he actually want me to write about his shitty new songs? “Sure, but can I bring my friend Seth along?”
“Seth?” he asked.
“Yeah, I don’t usually go to concerts alone, unless my editor asks me to cover the show,” I explained. “And it’ll probably be Seth’s boyfriend too.” I was remembering the guilt trip that my best friend had laid on me just yesterday about how long it’d been since I’d seen him and his boyfriend Alex. “I promised them we’d get together tomorrow.”
“Oh,” he said. Was that relief I’d just heard? “Sure, bring them.”
I smiled and reached into my bag for my keys. When I looked back up, Luke had started to lean in toward me. Oh my god is he going to kiss me!? What is going on here? Does he like me or not? I stayed perfectly still, hoping that I was reading this situation correctly. God he smells good. But instead of his lips connecting with mine, his hand merely connected with the door handle.
“Alright then Ms. Lyons,” he pushed the door open and flashed me a smile that made my heart beat a little faster. “Until tomorrow.”
“Uh, right, yes, uh, tomorrow,” I sputtered. Then I stumbled out of the car with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. If I could act like a bit more of a spaz, that’d be really great.
“Bye then.”
“Bye,” I shut the car door, turned, and walked up my front steps, fumbling tragically with my keys the whole time. As soon as I was inside my building, I heard him pull away.
Leaning against the wall in my front entryway, I let my mortification wash over me. Could I have been any less cool when I said goodnight and got out of his car? Pathetic. Then I began scolding myself. Oh Lyssa, Lyssa, Lyssa, I shook my head. You’ve got it bad for this one, I thought, and then I trudged up the stairs to my apartment.
Disaster Button
I spent the entirety of the next day playing and replaying every moment of the night before in my head. It was times like these when I almost wished I were a guy. Maybe then I wouldn’t analyze this situation like an FBI agent studying the Zapruder tape. It was just that I couldn’t figure out whether Luke liked me or not. Was the concert tonight meant to be a date? So many other decisions hinged on that question, like whether I should wear a matching bra and panties and whether I should shave my legs. Not that classifying something a
s a date automatically meant that I was going to put out. In fact, that was hardly ever the case. But I hadn’t stopped thinking about Luke since I met him, so I’d decided that if the opportunity to sleep with him arose, I was going to jump on it. On him. Ha.
After more debating than I cared to admit, I determined that the best course of action was to err on the side of caution and assume that Luke Davies would definitely be seeing me naked later, so cute knickers and smooth legs it was. After all, wasn’t that how the power of positive thinking worked? Act like it’s going to happen and it will? Eh, there was probably more to it than that, but whatever.
For my outfit, I settled on black high-waisted leggings with a faux-leather front, a loose purple top that let about an inch of my midriff show, and my standard high-heeled black ankle boots. I was confident Luke wouldn’t notice that I wore the same shoes two nights in a row because…he was male. A dusty gray biker jacket completed the ensemble.
I smiled when I glanced at myself in the mirror one last time. My makeup was on point – I’d gone for a more dramatic look tonight – my hair was behaving itself, and even my nails were uncharacteristically chip-free courtesy of the mani-pedi I’d given myself earlier in the day. I felt good, and even my judgmental best friend Seth told me that I looked “fresh to death” when he and Alex stopped by my place to pick me up.
A short drive later, we arrived at our destination. The Aragon Ballroom was a concert venue located in the Uptown neighborhood of Chicago. I’d been here more times than I could count since I’d started working for the magazine, and even before that while I was in school, but I never ceased to be amazed by the unique architecture of the large, standing-room-only space. As soon as you walked inside, you were transported back in time to the middle of a Moorish plaza in Spain. Sand-colored building facades with intricately painted turrets and balconies lined the walls leading up to the stage. Even the ceiling resembled the night sky. It was truly remarkable. Plus, rumor had it there were secret tunnels underneath the concert hall that led to the Green Mill bar a few blocks away, a favorite hangout of Al Capone during the ’20s. I loved a bit of Prohibition-era lore.
After picking up the tickets that Luke had left for us at Will Call, Seth, Alex, and I immediately found a place to post up near the bar. When I was covering concerts for work, I usually tried to stand up front and abstain from alcohol, but tonight I was here purely for pleasure – or at least I hoped I was – so I didn’t mind loitering in the back and having a beer. After all, I was only interested in one act tonight, and my ticket told me that he was on last.
As we waited for our drinks, Seth said, “Now, tell me why we’re all the way up on the North Side drinking over-priced beer with a bunch of people wearing flannel when we could be downtown drinking over-priced cocktails with a bunch of people wearing Chanel?”
I rolled my eyes. “You are such a snob sometimes. And I already told you, I interviewed one of the artists last night and he invited me.”
“Which one?” Alex asked.
“Luke Davies,” I replied.
“Oh I’ve heard of him,” Seth said. “He had that song in that car commercial.” He began humming the familiar tune.
“Yeah, and in that movie trailer,” Alex added. “Remember? With that blonde girl.”
I nodded. “That’s the one.” They were right, even this many years later.
“Hold on a second, you’re not covering this for work?” Seth asked.
Uh oh. “No. I mean, not exactly.” I tried to adopt an innocent tone while I looked away and took a sip of my beer. But since Seth and I had been friends for almost a decade, it was impossible to get anything past him.
Seth gasped. “Oh my god, I don’t believe it. You like him!” he accused. “You like this guy.”
“Please. I only met him yesterday. I don’t know yet whether I like him or not.” That was a dirty lie. I knew that I liked Luke, but I didn’t want to say it out loud until I was sure that my feelings were reciprocated. It was a self-preservation thing. If it turned out that Luke wasn’t interested in me, then I could pretend that it was no big deal because I’d never liked him in the first place.
“Do not lie to me, Lyssa Lyons, you’re terrible at it. You met a guy, you talked to him, and when you had the opportunity to see him again, you took it. That’s what people do when they like someone. And let me just say, it’s about time. I get that you haven’t had a ton of luck when it comes to love, but you’re twenty-eight years old. You should be dating more.”
“Hey, I date!” I said defensively.
“Not recently,” Seth retorted. “And when was the last time you went out with the same person more than like three times? I honestly don’t even want to know how long it’s been since you’ve gotten laid.”
“Hey!” I scolded. Whatever, maybe I needed both hands to count the number of months it had been since I’d had sex. So sue me for not racking up the world’s longest list of lovers. Wasn’t that usually considered a good thing? “Okay, it’s been a while. Back off. Plus, I don’t even know if this is a date. He just asked me if I wanted to come to his show tonight. I don’t know if I’m seeing him afterwards or anything. I don’t even have his phone number.”
“Well,” Alex said. “If he’s smart, he’ll make sure he sees you. You’re a catch,” he smiled and winked at me. In the six months it had been since Seth brought Alex into my life, I didn’t think I’d ever heard him say anything that wasn’t genuine and kind. I absolutely loved that about him and it made him such a good counterpart for the oftentimes bitchy Seth.
Thankfully, right at that moment, the lights went down and the concert started. I was so done having the does-he-or-doesn’t-he Luke conversation, particularly with Seth, but even with someone as sweet as Alex.
The label that was hosting the showcase – the same one where I’d met Luke yesterday – was good, so I wasn’t surprised by the high quality of acts that were here. I had no doubt that I’d be interviewing a number of them for the magazine in the coming months. I actually wasn’t sure why Arthur hadn’t asked me to cover this show for work. Maybe it had just slipped through the cracks. Our publication wasn’t huge, so sometimes that happened. But as hard as I tried to pay attention to each performer that took the stage, I wasn’t fully present. I kept wishing that they’d finish up so we could get to the main event. Yet, as it got closer to the time for Luke’s set, I felt myself getting more and more anxious, so I slammed the rest of the beer that I’d been nursing, hoping it would calm me down.
At last, the whole theater went dark, and a feeling of anticipation filled the room. Or maybe that was just me. When the lights came back up, he was there, standing center stage in a t-shirt and jeans with a guitar slung over his shoulder and his bandmates flanking him on either side. My stomach did a little flip at seeing him again. God, Luke was cute. And as the first chords rang out, I realized that he was quite the performer too. He started with a couple of his more well-known songs, moving back and forth across the stage to work the room and encouraging the whole audience to sing along. I ignored the look Seth gave me that I could see in my peripheral vision when a pack of girls at the front started screaming and reaching up at Luke. He certainly had a corps of devoted local fans…who I of course would have to kill. But seriously, seeing how passionate people were about him and his music made me like him even more.
Then Luke tried out a few of his new tracks. I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, but I quickly determined that he’d been right. The songs weren’t very good. I mean, they weren’t bad necessarily. They were just sort of…blah. The new songs sounded a lot like his old ones, but just nowhere near as energetic and engaging. They didn’t make me feel anything, so even though I was listening intently, they almost sounded like background noise. I was no composer, but I knew that there wasn’t a musician in the world who strove to write elevator music. Luke wasn’t kidding. He was going to get torn apart if he released an album full of this stuff. He was screwed.
&
nbsp; At least he was smart enough to end the show with his most famous single, so when he left the stage for good, it was to the sound of uproarious applause and cheers. I joined in enthusiastically. I knew it was dumb, but I felt a great wave of affection and pride for him at that moment. He really was a talented musician, even if his songwriting ability had slipped, like, a lot recently.
As soon as the lights went up, I noticed an enormous security guard making his way through the crowd toward me. I did a quick mental check to make sure that I hadn’t done anything to get me thrown out. No, I was good. I didn’t know why I always had that reaction, since I wasn’t much of a rule-breaker. But it was like every time I saw a cop, I thought that I was going to get arrested. When the security guard reached the spot where I was standing, he said, “Ms. Lyons, you’re wanted backstage.”
“Oh, uh, okay,” my heart skipped a beat. I really hadn’t known whether this invitation was coming, but now that it had, I was so happy.
Before I could invite Seth and Alex to come with me, Seth said, “Yes! I knew it! Alright, you have fun Lyss. We’re heading down to Boystown to meet up with some other people. We’ll see you later!” And with that, they swept out of the emptying concert hall, leaving me standing alone with the gigantic human. I guess I was on my own then.
Through the crowd, up some stairs, and down a hallway I was led. Spilled beer and ripped up ticket stubs littered the ground beneath my feet the whole way. I was a little embarrassed about the sick sense of pleasure that I got every time a different security guard nodded and let me through. Act like you’ve been here before, Lyss. It wasn’t that I’d never been backstage at a concert. I had to go all the time for work. But, as press, I was usually corralled into some little back room with the other reporters like a flock of sheep. This was different. This was VIP.
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