Me: I would love to.
In the end, Ben does help us get tickets for “All the Way.” The seats are great, but I just hope they didn’t really cost as much as I think they did. I accept the tickets but tell him he cannot do anything else nice for me while my mom is here. I try to make it clear to him without hurting his feelings.
“It’s not that I don’t want to tell her about you, but we barely had any time together. We haven’t even gone on a real date! I just want you to myself for a little while, is that so wrong? I want to see where things go first,” I tell him one of the times I’m able to get away to see him.
“I know, but somehow it almost feels wrong sneaking around. We’ll have to remedy the date situation soon, too, you know?”
When my mother does leave a few days later, though, it’s all forgotten. We are back in business, without having to hide, and I’m back working on the book, editing and killing myself over the fact that I have no way to get in touch with the elusive Matt Young. I should have asked for his phone number.
We even postpone our weekend at the beach, once again, because we decide to try to track down Matt. We spend most of Saturday afternoon at the park, and even go back on Sunday, but he is nowhere to be found. When we see that different musicians have taken Matt’s spot, we walk around looking for him, but in the end it is clear that we are not going to find him.
He could be anywhere in Central Park, and we are not even sure if he’s here at all. I don’t feel like the weekend is a total bust, though. Searching for Matt Young gives us a reason to be outside and not all over each other. Well, we are still all over each other, to an extent. I love the way he holds me in the subway, placing a steady hand on the small of my back, making sure I don’t fall when the subway train comes to a sudden stop. It is so, so easy to get lost in his eyes.
My cheeks hurt from smiling, and I have to remind myself how obnoxious excessive PDA is for other people, because all I want to do is kiss him over and over. We walk in the park hand in hand, just like a couple on a date, occasionally stopping to kiss.
The weather is perfect. I enjoy the sun and it's not nearly as hot as it could be for the end of June. When we get too tired of walking around, we decide to head back to Brooklyn. We are about to leave the park and exit close to 72nd street, when I hear a melody different from the ones I have heard in the last two days. I stop dead in my tracks and I look at Ben.
“Is it him?” he asks.
I nod, and we quickly head in the direction where we think he might be. Trying to find Matt almost feels like a chase, a scavenging hunt.
When we finally get close enough to see him, I tell Ben excitedly, “It's him.”
A smile spreads on his face. He tugs my hand, saying, “Come on, then. Let's go.”
I’m suddenly a little nervous, and I am happy I have Ben by my side. I hate asking people for anything, so it’s a really good thing I brought a smooth-talker. We listen to Matt play for a while. He has a nice little crowd around him that is way bigger than the last time I saw him play. I lean into Ben's side and he kisses me on the forehead.
Matt is doing a mix of his songs and covers. He starts playing a song called “If you Love Me (Really Love Me),” and damn it if it’s not nearly impossible to hold back tears. I know the song very well: it was originally sung by Edith Piaf, but he is playing it with the guitar the way Jeff Buckley covered it live.
Oh, God. This song is guaranteed to make me a puddle of tears. I try to hold it together as much as I can, not wanting to freak Ben out.
“Thank you,” I whisper against his lips as I hold on tight to him.
I see a questioning look in his eyes, but he doesn’t really say anything, just kisses me back, and dries the couple of tears I couldn’t reign in.
When Matt finally takes a break and most of the crowd dissipates, we introduce ourselves to him. I tell him I saw him play a couple of weeks before. He seems to remember me, vaguely.
“Matt, I loved your album,” I say. “Your songs . . . are so, so good. They need to be heard.”
By a larger audience, I want to add, but I don’t really know what kind of audience I can grant him.
Matt looks back and forth at the two of us and asks excitedly, “Are you guys music execs?”
“Not exactly,” says Ben.
I chuckle and think, Not exactly? Not even remotely close.
“We would like to talk to you about your music, privately. We don’t work in the music industry, but we would like to use your songs for a media-related product. You will be compensated for it, and possibly get some more recognition and even sell more of your music. Why don’t you tell us when we can sit down to talk about it?”
It’s the first time that I see Ben in action with someone other than myself. It’s pretty hot. He is vague but intriguing. If I were a struggling unknown musician, I would be all over his words and fanning myself, but that’s because I might be a little bit biased.
Matt only looks moderately excited. It’s probably not the type of thing he wanted to hear; he thought we were people of the industry. Still, Ben’s speech must have worked somehow, because Matt gives us a time and place where we can meet him, and we part ways.
I can’t stop fidgeting while we wait for Matt to show up. I’ve almost spilled my beer twice already. You wouldn’t think a stranger could make you this nervous. Or is it just the possibility of rejection that makes me this nervous? The truth is, ever since Ben brought up the idea of working or mentioning the songs in the book, I haven’t been able to see it any other way.
It only makes sense to use the songs, because the story was inspired by them, by the idea of a struggling musician.
“He will show up, don’t worry,” Ben says, taking my hand and looking at me reassuringly.
“If he’s not stupid. No aspiring artist would ever miss a meeting that would involve talking about his music.”
When I see Matt enter the bar, I breathe a sigh of relief. We introduce ourselves again, telling him what we really do, and he does look disappointed when he sees we have zero to do with the music industry.
We wait for him to order a beer and then Ben gives me a nod, encouraging me to start.
“Matt, I have been listening to your music non-stop since the day I met you in Central Park. I thought what I heard live was great, but then I listened to your CD and it blew me away. I can’t believe you actually self-produced it.”
“Thank you,” he says, smiling. He seems to relax a little.
“So, when I started listening to your music, this story came to me, and I started writing. Your music fueled me, really. It helped with crafting the story I wanted to tell. I started thinking how many musicians like you are out there, playing, writing, and working so hard. But not everyone succeeds, and eventually, most give up. So that was the idea for the male character. He had released a CD that went completely unnoticed, until this music journalist finds it in the archives of the magazine she works for. She tries to find him for an interview, but he seems to have disappeared from the face of the earth. He has turned into a recluse, and has stopped playing.”
“Is this the plot of some romance novel?” he asks in a dismissive tone.
I arch my eyebrows and look at Ben.
The waitress brings over Matt’s beer and he takes a sip. He must have seen the look we exchanged, because his attitude seems to shift.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to be rude. You caught me by surprise, that’s all.”
“Well, it is a romance novel, in a way. But I think it’s mainly about self-discovery and getting a grip on your life when it seems that things are not going your way. It’s also about not giving up on your dreams. The female character, Kate, thought she was going to have this wonderful career as a music journalist, but she finds herself at twenty-eight still fetching lattes and working odd jobs and freelancing. So she hopes the story about the mysterious musician can finally be her big break.”
I realize it’s the first tim
e I speak of the book out loud. It feels good talking about it. I do love these characters. I hope Matt is the sensitive soul I’d hoped he would be, and not an ass.
“Cory, the male character, has just given up his dream of being a musician, and he runs a bar on Nantucket Island. Kate hides her identity from him, their personalities clash at first, but eventually, they fall in love.”
I feel Ben’s eyes on me, but I’m self-conscious enough, and I don’t have the strength to look at him. I’m afraid I’ll lose my nerve. I know he has read the book, but the story is so new and it was born so quickly, I’m only now figuring out how to present it.
“Do you want to hear more?” I ask Matt. He gives me a tight-lipped smile and nods.
“Kate starts working at the bar Cory runs, kind of by accident. She is about to tell him the truth, but then she decides to stick around, intrigued by his reserved personality. She hopes to eventually get a scoop, maybe make a profile on him. Cory finds out the real reason why Kate came to Nantucket. They fight. Ultimately he realizes she gives him hope. He comes around, and they have their happy ending,” I say, pausing to let it sink in.
“Benjamin Hallstrom, my agent,” I say, gesturing toward him, “brought up the idea of including your music, in some capacity.”
“In what kind of capacity is really up to you and Prudence,” Ben says. “She could include the lyrics of one or more songs or just mention the song titles. But we thought, given you are a self-produced artist, it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to give the rights to use the songs. If we get to work it out with the publishing company, we might even re-issue your CD or do a companion soundtrack. Whatever the case, you will be compensated for it. That’s one of the main reasons why we wanted to meet you. Your music can not only benefit Prudence’s book, but you as well.”
“And the publishing company is okay with doing all this?” Matt asks.
“Prudence is actually in the process of signing with a different publishing company. This book is a bit of a departure from her usual stuff, so we are evaluating going with a company that would market it better. That's why it's important that we know if you are in or not, so we can go back to the publishing company with a specific plan.”
Ah, look at that. The smooth Benjamin Hallstrom, ready to seal the deal. I might be biased, but I can't stop looking at him; I am a bit transfixed. Matt brings me back to reality though.
“So, what kind of books do you usually write?”
Focus, Prudence.
“Young adult,” I say.
Matt’s face doesn’t give too much away, but as far as I can tell, he’s not impressed.
“How is this one different from the others?”
“Well, for one, the characters are older. The situations pertain more to adults and not teenagers.”
“How many books have you published?”
“Twenty-four.”
“All young adult books?” he asks, and I nod, suddenly uneasy. He is not convinced yet, I can tell.
“Look,” I say, “I understand if this is something you don't feel comfortable doing. It's your music. It's perfectly normal to be concerned about the way someone else wants to use it. If you're not okay with this, I'll just publish the book without the songs. It will not impact the story, but it will not be as special as it could have been with your music.”
I look at Ben and make him understand I’m ready to go.
I’m stepping off my bar stool when Matt says, “Wait. I’m not ready to say yes or no. I'll have to think about it for a bit. I think I would need to read the story first.”
I come out of the bar with the tiniest, slightest bit of hope. We parted ways with Matt after exchanging phone numbers and email addresses. Turns out, Matt Young is not his birth name; that's why it was a little hard to find him.
His last name is Banaszynski.
“It's Polish,” Matt had said, smiling, and for the first time he seemed like he wasn't completely diffident. I told him I would email him the manuscript and wait for him to contact me after he is done reading it.
Unfortunately, the sliver of hope I’m holding on to slowly dissipates as I replay the whole conversation in my head. Right now I would say we have maybe a twenty percent chance with Matt. It really all depends on if he is okay with his music being associated with the story.
Ben puts his arm around my shoulder, and we walk together to the subway. I lean against him and hold him by the waist. We don't speak until he sees the expression on my face on the train.
“What's wrong?”
“It's nothing,” I say and shake my head.
“He will say yes, you'll see.”
“How do you know?” I say, looking at him. “He seemed to be pretty skeptical.”
He smiles softly, lacing the fingers of one hand with mine.
“Because this is what I do. He will say yes. We peeked his curiosity, he will probably read some, or maybe all of your story, and then he will let us know,” he says, trying to be convincing.
I sigh. “You seem so sure.”
“I am. Trust me on this.”
An expression like this would usually sound cocky and insufferable coming from any other man, but he says it in such a protective, sweet way, I can't even get mad at him.
“You know, if anyone else said anything like that to me, I would probably want to kick him in the nuts.”
He laughs and kisses me briefly before saying, “Good thing you like me so much, then.”
Chapter 15
THE WEEK after the meeting with Matt is insanely busy. I wake up on Monday with Ben giving me a good morning kiss on my forehead before he gets in the shower. It’s seven in the morning and we were up pretty late. I want to join him in the shower, but he says he has to be in early and I should just sleep in and leave whenever I want. He says he’ll leave me the keys and just get them back at the end of the day. I am pretty impressed at how comfortable he is with the whole thing.
His cell phone starts buzzing on the nightstand while he’s in the shower. Who could be calling him this early in the morning? My curiosity gets the best of me and I lean towards his side of the bed just before the phone stops ringing. Ezra Hunter. Mr. Hunter is calling Ben on his cell phone at seven in the morning. Why? What could be so urgent to have such an early call?
Sure, Ben uses his cell for business. He and Mr. Hunter are very friendly, but are they friendly enough to call each other at this time of the day? I see the screen flash again. A new voicemail message. I wish I could listen to that voicemail without consequences.
I toss and turn, trying to go to sleep, but I can’t sleep anymore after that. I wish I had never seen who was calling. The thought of that phone call will bother me until I will have the balls to ask him what it was all about. What if the rumors of the relationship between them are true? Don’t be ridiculous, Prudence.
But another voice says, “It’s possible.”
If there’s one thing I have learned about New York, it’s that straight men are hard to find. Mr. Hunter is so much older than him, though! Ben also doesn’t strike me as bisexual, but the truth is, I know zero about bisexual people. I only have “straight-up” gay friends.
He comes out of the shower just as I’m having these kinds of thoughts about him, and I blush, embarrassed. He is naked except for a towel around his waist, and another one around his neck, the rest of his body still covered in droplets of water. He chuckles seeing me lower my eyes.
Of course he doesn’t know my blush is due to my malicious thoughts, and not the fact that he is impossibly hot, freshly showered, with his wet hair swept back.
“You’re adorable, you know that?” he says with his back to me, looking at me in the mirror on the dresser.
“Shut up!” I say, covering my face with my hands. He doesn’t stop the teasing, though, and drops the towel around his waist on the floor, so I’m left staring at his butt. I even like his tan lines, it’s ridiculous, really.
He seems to be putting on a show for me, so I
lie on my side and hold my head up. I watch him grab boxer briefs and stifle a laugh, biting my lip.
“What’s funny?” he asks.
“I’m used to seeing you getting undressed, more than getting dressed. Now that I think of it, I don’t think I ever got to undress you when you were wearing a suit.”
“Really? Well, we’ll have to fix that,” he says, a wicked grin spreading on his face just for me. “Tonight,” he adds, looking at me with those aquamarine eyes.
He exhales and says, “This is going to be a long day.”
“Why?” I ask, sitting up against the headboard. He sighs, sitting down next to me on the edge of the bed. He starts running his hand up and down my thigh, going a little bit higher with each pass.
Damn him. I try to look unfazed, but I shiver, and I know he can feel the goose bumps under his fingertips.
“Because I’m going to be thinking about you naked in my bed, that’s why.”
His hand on my skin and his words are enough to set me on fire, and I try desperately to ignore the small area in my brain that keeps blinking red, trying to tell me Alert! Alert! Remember the suspicious telephone call just fifteen minutes ago?
My heart though, is a damn traitor. It thinks my brain is being a pain in the ass, and just doesn’t want to hear it, especially not this early in the morning.
“Let me help you with your tie,” I say, kneeling on the bed. He hugs me to him, and I end up straddling him while I put the tie around his collar. He runs his fingers along my back, making me shiver again. I can feel his erection pressing against me. I catch a glimpse of my naked self, wrapped around my blue-suited Benjamin, in the mirror across the room.
He kisses me softly and his beard tickles my skin. His tongue parts my lips and wraps itself around mine. He gets a handful of my ass and presses me against him.
“The hardest day ever,” he says, and we both chuckle.
I grab his hands and take them off me, telling him, “Go, you’re getting me all worked up too!”
“Go back to bed,” he says softly, kissing me on my cheek. I oblige him, but watch his every move. He grabs his phone and sees the missed call. His brows furrow and his face looks worried, if only just momentarily. He puts the phone away quickly and kisses me goodbye.
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