Finding Rhythm

by Lara Ward Cosio

  Martin didn’t reply. Instead, he picked at the blue label on the bottle.

  “Listen,” Gavin said, “I know you’re going through something here. That it’s legitimately fucking with your head and your heart. But don’t throw into the mix any doubts about your place in this band.”

  They shared another long moment of silence. Gavin could see Martin struggling with some thought process. It wasn’t natural for him, but he kept quiet and waited him out.

  “Can I ask something of you, Gav?” Martin finally said.

  “Anything.”

  “Can you and the others just lay off all the joking at my expense? I really didn’t mind—for years now—but it’s gotten to be a bit much.”

  Gavin started to reply that they’d never meant any harm, that even Martin could admit he’d played the fool for a laugh. But he stopped himself from the knee-jerk reaction and thought it through. If he was honest, he could admit that there was an element of cruelty in the way they joked sometimes. It had gotten to be a senseless habit over the years, and Martin was right to call them on it.

  “Yeah, of course,” Gavin said. “I, em, sort of thought you were in on the teasing. But I can see how it mightn’t always have been that way.”

  Martin shrugged dismissively. “So, you got a title for this song you want to write?”

  Gavin smiled. It was well known that he often started with a title as a jumping off point. “Yeah, I do. It’s ‘The Point of No Return’.”

  “Shite. That seems dark.”

  “Thought the subject matter deserved a certain seriousness.”

  “What could I possibly contribute, Gav? I’m not a songwriter.”

  “You can be. I believe it,” Gavin said when Martin laughed. “If you just free yourself to express what’s in your heart.”

  “I dunno.”

  Gavin knew he was not like other men. He not only felt things deeply, but he shared them without hesitation or shame. Except for a brief period after his mother had left, he had always been that way. It came naturally to him to expose his heart. As a result, there was a wounded quality about him that he knew drew others to him. It had served him well growing up as he thrived on being the center of attention. And it aided in his ability to connect to an audience musically. Whereas his critics called him an emotional narcissist, Gavin preferred to think of it as unfettered honesty. But he knew most men weren’t the same way. Martin was a prime example. Suggesting he talk about his heart wasn’t going to magically open him up.

  “Let me start, then. Tell me if this sounds familiar at all for you. When I left Sophie after finding out about her and Conor, I felt like I was cutting off my own arm. It was like a sudden amputation of an indispensable piece of me. I knew I could survive, but I’d never be the same.”

  Martin cocked his head but didn’t say anything.

  “Sophie had been so much a part of me that this was like a death. I was in actual mourning for a time.”

  “Nah, see, it’s not like that with me. What you and Sophie have is this fairy-tale kind of desperate love. Most people just have plain love. Ordinary love.”

  That description made Gavin laugh. “You can’t have thought that when you were falling in love with Celia, though?”

  “I mean, I guess I had what they talk about with the butterflies and all that. But she and I always felt like a sure thing. We got married quick, had kids quick. It became about the family almost right away.”

  “Okay, but you still had this years’ long marriage. A long partnership like that coming apart has to be an intense thing.”

  Finishing his beer, Martin returned to the refrigerator to get another. Instead of popping the cap off, he played with the metal opener, tossing it in the air and catching it over and over again.

  “A better word than intense is inevitable. That’s the truth but also the shitty thing. I think I had fallen out of love and out of our relationship a long time ago. Only, instead of trying to fix it and stay true to it, I just focused on the kids. Meanwhile, Celia was going along thinking everything was fine and was blindsided by me wanting out. If you really want me to express my heart, it’s that I feel like the biggest bastard for walking away. At the same time, I’m also relieved. And that guilts the fuck out of me more than anything.”

  Gavin studied his friend for a moment, trying to envision being in a relationship that he could voluntarily walk out of and be happy about. He had only ever loved Sophie, only ever wanted her. It was impossible to believe he’d fall out of love with her. At the same time, he knew it was common, and that there was plenty of evidence that people weren’t meant to be lifelong partners. It made the song he hoped to write with Martin an even more interesting challenge.

  “Do you think you’d have left her if Ashley hadn’t been involved?” Gavin asked.

  Martin caught the bottle opener and froze. After a moment, he set it on the countertop. “I do. I’m not at all sure how it would have played out, but I didn’t leave Celia for Ashley. As you might have noticed.”

  Gavin understood Martin's meaning. Ashley wasn't the one who had spent the night with Martin the night before. “I liked Lainey,” he said.

  “Yeah, she’s something. I thought . . . well, it was good to hang with her for a bit.”

  The look in Martin’s eyes said more than his words. He had clearly hoped for more with Lainey. Gavin wondered if that would have lead to the “ordinary” love Martin described having had with Celia, or if his friend just needed to find the right person. Like he had with Sophie. The romantic in him believed Martin not only deserved that, but would eventually find it.

  “Anyway, Marty, I think I’m going to start over with the song. I don’t think the title or my initial idea fits. Let me come back at you with something else when I have it?” Gavin asked.

  “Oh, sure. If you’re still up for it.”

  Gavin slapped him on the back. “I am. And I think this has a lot of potential to really connect with people. You know, the ones with the ‘ordinary’ love stories.”

  Martin’s brows came together in a show of dismay over the perceived dig.

  “I’m not joking you, man. I really do think this has a Springsteen-like quality that we can explore. A real-world scenario that people can relate to.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll think on it, too.”

  “Perfect.”

  Gavin knew that the song would focus not on the sense of overwhelming loss like he had experienced during his separation from Sophie, but on the guilt Martin expressed over him giving up on his relationship with Celia.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Two days later, Martin found himself driving Shay’s rented Aston Martin Vanquish north along the coast at Lainey’s invitation to visit her in Santa Barbara.

  Her text had been short and cryptic: “Santa Barbara is an easy drive from Los Angeles.”

  Martin had almost ignored it, still bothered by her insinuation that he would talk to press about her. But the pique had only lasted a few minutes before his curiosity got the better of him. He replied with a question mark.

  “If you’re free, you could come visit me at my place in Santa Barbara. Late lunch?”

  The hardest part about replying was waiting a respectable amount time because his instinct was to say yes right away. When he agreed to her invitation, she replied back with her address and the caveat that she had a work obligation that evening. This didn’t dissuade him, as he was eager to see her again, even if it required him driving half the day to get there and back for a brief lunch.

  The road leading to Lainey’s house in the hills of Santa Barbara's coveted Upper Riviera neighborhood was lined with willowy eucalyptus trees that rustled in the breeze. The wooden gate to her Spanish-style property swung open before Martin had a chance to press the intercom and he drove the Aston Martin through. The two-story house wasn’t as large as some of the others he had passed, but it was private and serene. Martin got out of the car and stretched, taking a deep breath. Driving on th
e wrong side of the road in the obscenely expensive car had been nerve-wracking. So had his anticipation.

  Lainey opened the front door and leaned out. She wore a simple white linen dress and was in bare feet. When she smiled and waved him over, he felt something shift inside his chest. She was beautiful. And a mystery. He had no idea what to expect.

  “Good drive?” she asked.

  “Yeah, grand.”

  “I didn’t picture you as one of those guys into sports cars.”

  He joined her on the front steps of the house and followed her gaze to the silver Aston Martin. The convertible had a sexy, sleek design with blood red leather seats. It was a showy automobile. When Gavin summoned everyone to Los Angeles, Shay delighted in the idea of driving the three hundred miles south from San Francisco rather than flying. He’d arranged for the rental of the car, hoping to get to top speeds. But other than a few bursts up to one hundred and forty miles an hour, he had to content himself with waiting behind the sedans and minivans locked in cruise control mode along the 5 Freeway.

  “Em, I’m actually not,” he said. “Borrowed it from Shay. Got me here, anyway”

  She wrapped her arm through his and steered him inside the house. “I’m glad it did.”

  Panoramic views of the Pacific Ocean greeted them as she showed him upstairs to the sitting area. The white walls were adorned with large black and white prints, all with people captured in the midst of their regular routines: a trio of women in maids uniforms walking uphill from a bus stop; a harried-looking mother at the park, overwhelmed by a crying baby and a screaming toddler; a moneyed looking man impatient as a woman delivered coffee to him at a cafe; a bored homecare worker pushing an elderly woman slumped in a wheelchair. The artist had captured basic humanity without judgment, but Martin suspected the viewer would infuse their own biases upon them—either sympathizing or demonizing the people they saw based on their own prejudices.

  “These are fantastic,” Martin said. “A local photographer?” They all had the feel of Santa Barbara.

  “Very local,” she replied. “They’re mine.”

  Martin smiled. “A woman of many talents,” he said and she laughed.

  Sunlight, reflecting off the deep blue ocean, poured through the tall frame windows. The furniture was a mix of creams and tans, with the pieces obviously chosen for their comfort rather than for cutting-edge style. A glass coffee table was littered with magazines and scripts. There was music playing, but it was low and it took Martin a second to decipher who it was. The guitar riff was impressive, but then he heard the raspy vocals come in. It was John Mayer. The guy may be a great guitarist but he couldn’t hold a candle to Gavin as a songwriter/lyricist.

  “Have a seat,” she said.

  He sat on the sofa rather than the armchair, just as he did when he had the choice at home. Lainey sat next to him, curling her feet under herself.

  “So, this is my hideaway.”

  “It’s lovely. I’d hide away here, too, if I were you.”

  “Well, after the last few days of non-stop paparazzi, this is exactly where I want to be.”

  The headlines had been brutal, escalating after that first day into conjuring Lainey as some sort of homewrecker, despite the fact that the media had already breathlessly reported on episodes Martin had had with Ashley, among others. It was his first experience of seeing how the media could create their own narrative. The press hadn’t really embellished the story with Ashley or the others. The stories about Lainey somehow coming between him and his wife were made up and preposterous. He had to admit, though, that the photo used by multiple publications helped their angle. It was a photo of them in the Sayers Club, sitting closely together and kissing. What was most striking, however, was that the way he held her cheek in his hand showcased his wedding ring, driving home the point that he was a married man.

  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am it turned into all that,” he told her.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “But it is. I’m the one who dragged you out onto the streets of Hollywood and made a public scene of it. It was because of me kissing you in that club that this all came out.”

  She shook her head with a weary smile. “You don’t know about—I mean, it’s more than that. The press has a love-hate thing with me that started a long time ago. They love nothing more than to treat me like I’ve got a fetish for married men.”

  “That’s about the rudest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said, but she just shrugged.

  “I, um, I actually asked you here to apologize about how I left things,” she said.

  The offense he had taken earlier to her texting to ask him not to speak to the press had dissipated with what she just revealed. He didn’t want to pile on. Instead, he kept his tone light as he asked with a laugh, “What, you mean how you questioned whether I’d sell you out to the tabloids?”

  She smiled but conceded the point with a tilt of her head. “I really have been burned in this business more times than I can count, starting from when I was just a kid. It’s made me cautious.”

  “Okay, I can see how that’d be,” he told her. “And I suppose we don’t much know each other. But for the record, I’ll never speak about you to anyone. Especially not the media.”

  “I’m sure it’s helpful to keep things quiet for you, too. Your wife has probably heard far too much in the last few weeks—including some sort of hookup with a waitress, was it? At Musso and Frank?” She smiled knowingly.

  “Ay, cocktail waitress,” he said. He had no reason to feel guilty about the dalliance, especially as Lainey didn’t seem bothered either.

  “Well, I guess you’re not the first married man to—”

  “I’m separated, Lainey.”

  “Ah, I bet you’ll be back together by the end of the year.”

  Lainey’s confidence in this declaration surprised him. He thought he had made it pretty clear to her that his marriage was over, even if he did confess to having guilt about it.

  “What makes you say that?”

  She shook her head noncommittally.

  Silence filled the space between them for a long minute.

  “I wish you had stayed the other night,” he told her. “I felt like we had a good connection.”

  She took his hand in hers and looked down, playing her fingertips over the wedding ring he still wore. He didn’t know when it would feel right to take the ring off, but it wasn’t yet. Maybe he needed to have a final face to face talk with Celia before doing it. Maybe he needed to be sure his kids would be okay. It would have to come in its own time.

  “I promised you lunch,” she said abruptly. She stood and walked toward the kitchen.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Martin followed Lainey to the kitchen. It was styled in the same cream tones as the living room. Rather than feel bland, though, it was calming.

  “Are you much of a cook?” she asked. She was pulling things out of the cabinet-style refrigerator that blended seamlessly with the other cupboards.

  “No, but I’m open to helping.” He often offered his help to Celia, but she always sent him away. She did not view the preparing of a meal as a shared activity.

  Lainey smiled as he took green onions, carrots, and a white butcher paper package of shrimp off her hands.

  “Glass of wine while we work?” She held up a bottle of Domaine William Fèvre Chablis Grand Cru.

  “Point me to the glasses and corkscrew and I’ll make it happen,” he replied.

  With her direction, they worked together to make an Asian noodle salad with grilled shrimp. The soy, rice vinegar, garlic, and honey combined with chili peppers, sesame oil, lime, and ginger made for a sauce that was sweet, salty, and slightly spicy all at once. Martin enjoyed the way they collaborated to make the meal, finding they had a natural symmetry as they moved about the kitchen.

  They each took a bowl of noodles and a glass of wine out to the backyard where there was a teak table and chairs under a cheery yellow umbrella
. There were padded lounge chairs next to a narrow lap pool. The ocean sparkled in the distance beyond the sprawl of homes and the marina. An expansive view of the curved coastline explained the locals calling this area a Riviera. It was quiet, with just the random bird call or leaves blowing in the breeze.

  Martin turned his eyes away from the view and looked at Lainey. She had her long dark hair in a loose braid over one shoulder, with stray strands framing her face. She was a talented photographer, but at this moment he wanted to take her picture. There was something timeless about her beauty, and though he knew he could find countless images of her on the internet, he wanted to capture this version of her. Before he could make the request to take her picture he suspected she would reject, she spoke.

  “It was nice of you to come see me,” she said.

  “It’s my pleasure.” He wound the noodles around his fork, speared a shrimp, and enjoyed the bite.

  “Your friends didn’t mind you leaving for the day?”

  “Nah. I’m the odd one out there, amn’t I? They’re all coupled-up. Good for me to get out of the way.”

  “I didn’t get the feeling they felt that way. They all talked about you so sweetly.” She took a bite of noodles and considered him. “It must be amazing to have a group of friends like that.”

  Martin thought about that for a moment. Ashley had made him question the strength of his friendships, and that combined with his wild swings into scandal had brought him to L.A. in a foul mood. But sitting here in this gorgeous spot and with a bit of hindsight, he took Lainey’s impression to heart, and realized he had been too quick to forget how genuine his friendships with Gavin, Conor, and Shay were. They had all come to his aid in various ways during this rough patch of his life.

  “You’re right, it is,” he said.

  “Do you have someone you hook-up with on a regular basis?” she asked without preamble.

  He stopped chewing for a minute and looked at her. Her face was blank. Pleasant, but blank.

  “Em, no, not really.”