Goode To Be Bad

by Jasinda Wilder

  Liv blinked, and a tear trickled down her cheek. “No. No, no way. He didn’t.”

  Charlie shrugged. “That’s what she said.”

  “Oh, Darren.” Liv wiped at her cheek. “How could he crush her dream like that?”

  Cassie laughed bitterly. “He never believed I would make it as a professional dancer. He paid for the lessons, went to the recitals, but he never really believed in me. He never told me I wouldn’t make it like he did Lex, but I knew that he didn’t really think I could do it. He was always like, sort of just waiting for me to fail, to come to my senses. I knew it. I also knew that dance was the only thing that made sense to me. It just…defined who I was. I’ve learned to define myself other ways now, but then, it was all I had, so I believed in myself despite Dad not believing in me.” She smiled at Liv. “And you were there for me, so that made a huge difference.”

  Liv shook her head. “I was there for you. But clearly not for Lex. Darren just…how could he crush the dreams of his child like that? How could he?”

  Cassie shook her head. “I don’t know, Mom. Like, what’s weird is, I loved him. He loved us and I assumed that my whole life. I didn’t feel, like, UNLOVED, by him. But it just felt…shaky. I don’t know how to put it—I think I’m still working through it.”

  “Dad was an asshole, that’s what it is,” Charlie said in an uncharacteristic outburst of anger. “He tapped out. Gave up. Stopped trying. With you, with all of us. Why, I can’t even begin to understand. But it’s an undeniable truth. And I’m getting the impression that of all of us, Lexie suffered from that the worst.”

  “He was musically talented,” Liv said, musing half to herself. “Once upon a time, at least.”

  Cassie stared. “He was? How? I never saw him with an instrument, never heard him sing a note unless it was in the car or the shower, and he wasn’t bad, but I wouldn’t have called his singing voice exceptional.”

  Liv sighed. “He played the guitar, acoustic and electric. He was in a band. A pretty good one, too. Back when he was in high school. He actually took a gap year to try and make the band work—of course, back then nobody called it a gap year, we just called it not going to college. His dad gave him a year to make a go of being in a band instead of going to college. He was lead guitar and did backup vocals, and he was…really, really good. He could play almost anything—The Allman brothers, ZZ Top, Black Sabbath, even a decent cover of some Jimi Hendrix songs. The band did well, for a while. Started gaining notoriety in the local scene where we grew up in Connecticut, started booking gigs on the coast and even a few in New York. But they never quite got the break. They got close, got heard by some producers a few times, but never got the contract offer. And then the year came and went, and his dad forced his hand. Choose—pursue the band, but if you do, I won’t pay for college when you realize your band isn’t going anywhere and you don’t have a future.”

  Charlie winced. “Ouch.”

  “And let me guess,” Cassie said. “He chose college?”

  Liv nodded. “Gave up music, went to college, got a job, made that his career, and that was it. I don’t think he ever looked back.” She was staring up, to the left—remembering. “He never talked about music. He enjoyed listening to it, but after he quit the band, he never even thought about it again, as far as I know. Not with me anyway.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “I know this is your personal family business, but from an outsider’s perspective, it seems to me like he never really did get over it. Just shoved the dead dream down into the back of his head. For you, Cassie, your dream was dance, and when his own dream didn’t pan out he was skeptical anyone else’s could. Your dream being different from his meant it didn’t hurt him as much. For Lex, having a dream that had been his dream? It must have cut. He was jealous. Sorry to seem like I’m shittin’ on his memory, but…he cut Lexie to the bone when he said what he did—and I got no reason to think she was lyin’ or makin’ that up. I don’t think she recovered from it. And for the record, Alexandra is goddamn talented. I’ve only managed to tease a few little snippets out of her, and even that little bit blew me away. Just her and her little ukulele in the back of my bus––she was hesitant and quiet, but she…” I growled a sigh. “She’s got real talent. I’m sayin’ this as a professional, not as someone who has feelings for her.”

  “And you think her dad killing her dream is what has her so upset?” Liv asked me. Her eyes were sharp.

  I knew I owed her the truth. “I think that’s part of it, but not all.”

  Liv tilted her head to one side. “What else would there be?”

  “I honestly don’t know. She won’t talk about it.” I shrugged. “Not to me, not about the past, but I know there’s something. You don’t walk around with the kind of anger she’s got without somethin’ big lurking way down deep.”

  Liv’s sigh, then, was pained. “And I have no idea what it could be—which means I missed something huge. Something beyond the fact that she had a dream and the talent to pursue it, and her father crushed it because of his own insecurities.”

  “I wish I could offer more insight, but she keeps me at bay as much as she does everyone. And I confess I don’t know what to do.”

  “I’ve seen her with you,” Charlie said. “She’s different with you. She’s let you in farther than anyone, including us. So, speaking for my family, I think, I would just say…please don’t give up on her. I think if anyone has a chance of getting her to open up and find some kind of healing from whatever it is that hurt her, it’s you.”

  I felt my heart flip. Felt a heavy burden on my shoulders. “I’m tryin’. This is all new territory for me, and hell if I know what I’m doing. But I care about her and I’ll keep holdin’ the line with her until she won’t let me no more.”

  It was something like two in the morning. I was buzzed, but only pleasantly so. I hadn’t seen Lex since earlier on the pier. The party had picked up as the evening went on—by some kind of unspoken agreement, the men all spent the early part of get-together doing the bulk of the kid-wrangling while the women congregated and drank and talked and laughed; the men still had fun, but it was obvious they were holding back. And then, when the kids became cranky and difficult, the women took over. And then, eventually, those with little ones all carted the kids across the street to the yacht—which belonged to Harlow and Xavier, it turned out—and it was just the men in the bar. And that’s when shit got a little nuts.

  The casual sipping of beers became glasses of whiskey, and the oldies and classic rock became hip-hop and modern heavy rock, and the whiskey on ice became shots, which became passing bottles around. And eventually the party moved up, onto the roof, which had been turned into a whole other hangout area with a separate bar and a small stage area and lots of couches with lots of corners, interspersed with those tall outdoor heaters for warmth.

  I found the guys all to be the epitome of cool, but no two were the same. Bast was gruff but easygoing, Bax was loud and vulgar and hilarious, Rome was a lot like Bax, Brock was chill and prone to deeper conversation, Lucian rarely spoke at all but when he did everyone shut up and listened, Remington was sort of in between Bax and Bast—able to cut loose and be goofy and loud but not quite as dedicated to being the center of attention; Xavier spoke for no more than five minutes but was insanely cool nonetheless, and Ramsey was distant and aloof but he loosened up as the night wore on and the booze flowed. Ink was fascinating and intimidating, and of course, Crow was Crow, and by god it was great to be with him again. I really missed him and now that he was up here in Alaska with Charlie I wanted to find a way to get up here more often.

  Canaan and Corin were absent for a bit of the night, and when they came back it was with armloads of instruments. Several guitars, a wooden box of some kind, a mandolin, and a didgeridoo. Canaan handed me a guitar, Crow another, and Corin sat down on the box. At first Crow and I just stared at the guitars in our hands.

  “Um.” Crow eyed Canaan. “I make ’em, I don�
��t play ’em.”

  “Bullshit!” Canaan sing-songed. “I know you play. Heard you play when you were finishing that guitar you made for Myles.”

  Crow shifted, still wasn’t buying it. “I didn’t make it, just finished it. And that was just fuckin’ around, not really playing.”

  Sitting beside him, I sighed. “Crow, you ain’t still stuck on that bullshit, are you?” I gestured around. “This ain’t a stage, brother. This is a bunch of guys, and zero pressure. No one’s askin’ you to record or perform. Just…jam, man.”

  Canaan, to his credit, sensed the breadth and depth of the unspoken but clearly ongoing debate between Crow and me. Just waited.

  Crow stared at me. Then the guitar. Slowly, he relaxed, and settled the guitar on his thigh. “You ain’t gettin’ me on stage, motherfucker, so don’t try.”

  I felt as giddy as a little kid—I’d been trying for years to get Crow to do more than just write music on his own. He rarely even let me see him play when it was just the two of us—he’d record the music on his iPhone in the middle of the night, alone, and I’d show it to Zan, and we’d arrange it and put my lyrics over it, and that was how the songs got written. So, this promised to be fuckin’ amazing.

  Crow slid his hand up and down the neck of the guitar, making the strings zzzzhhhh musically, finding the balance, the weight, the feel. His right hand rested flat on the strings, and then he plucked a few strings, no pick, finger style, open chord. Then he tried a few transitions, a few slow chords, learning the guitar’s sound and personality. It was a beautiful piece, a sexy blond Taylor custom with a rich honey sound.

  He glanced at me. “What are we playin’?”

  The twins were watching me, waiting, and I guess because I was the famous musician, I was lead. Even though Canary was a hell of a well-known act. Whatever. It was just a jam session.

  “How about…” I let my own fingers start plucking a tune, which turned into the percussive low notes of a Johnny Cash song— “Get Rhythm.”

  It was a fun, rollicking tune, and Corin quickly found the beat on his box drum—hell if I knew the name of it—and then Corin had a mandolin in his hands and he was picking a quick circle around the melody, weaving harmony above and below me, and then Crow was playing, effortlessly mirroring and matching me. I knew the song cold, ever since my days as a cover artist.

  Johnny Cash turned into a Bruce Springsteen song, and after I’d started it, Crow surprised me by taking over the lead and I let him, amazed at his facility and skill. I knew he was good, but…he was good.

  Canaan was a wizard—he also had brought a banjo as well, and seemed equally as talented with the banjo as he was with the guitar and the mandolin.

  How long we’d been playing, I wasn’t sure. I just knew the hours flew by, and I felt more at ease than I had in years, even with my band.

  Then I felt her.

  I twisted in my seat on the couch and saw Lex, standing in the doorway of the stairs to the roof, her ukulele case in hand, and a look of raw, ragged longing in her eyes. She wanted to play.

  I grinned at her and waved her over. “Come on, Lex!”

  We weren’t playing a song at the moment, just sort of noodling, each one of us playing whatever we felt in the moment and making it work. At some point, most of the women had joined us as well—all except Mara and Dru. Aerie had a ukulele as well, and had been sitting and listening. And now, seeing Lex, she brightened. “Come on, Lex! I’m too chicken to join in on my own.”

  Lex hopped onto the couch and sat between Aerie and me. “Oh you are not chicken. You’re Canary, and you’ve got a fucking Grammy.”

  She pointed at Canaan. “We’re Canary, and we have three fucking Grammys, but Cane is the real talent. I just plink my little uke and sing a few little songs. This much talent in one place? It’s intimidating.”

  “You know I don’t like it when you’re overly modest, babe,” Canaan said. “And we’re just jamming. Nothing to be intimidated by.”

  Aerie pointed at me and then Crow. “The boys I’m used to. Myles North is like, almost as famous as Harlow, and Crow is an entity unto himself with that guitar.”

  Tate, who had her cello out and was rosining her bow, grinned. “Shut up and play, Aerie. This is a once-in-a-lifetime jam session.”

  Aerie glanced at Lex. “Well? You in?”

  Lex eyed me. “I don’t know.”

  “She’s in,” I said. “She just needs to hear something she knows.”

  Lex frowned. “You’re speaking for me, now?”

  I grinned, and let the melody playing become “I Need You” by Tim McGraw, a song I knew she knew and loved, having heard her hum it in the shower more than a few times.

  “No,” I answered. “I just know you.”

  The others picked it up immediately, Corin with the beat, Crow with the lead, me flowing around him and Canaan with the banjo making it sound kinda bluegrass. Aerie started in on the lower range of her ukulele, and Tate plucked her strings with her fingers to mimic a bass note. Which left Lex.

  And the vocals.

  After a moment of watching and listening, Lex closed her eyes. She sighed, a low, tight sound, not quite relief, but something more painful, fraught. As if she was giving in to something forbidden. And joined in, hesitantly at first.

  We were all bound in this moment—all of us. They’d all heard the conversation we’d had about Lex and her dad, so we all knew what a big deal this was for her. She’d clearly never stopped playing, because after her initial hesitation, her fingers began to fly. Virtuosic, fluid, finding the melody for herself and putting her spin on it, soaring above in high range in counterpoint to Aerie’s lower thread.

  I knew the song. Knew the words. Mind like mine, mind for music, the lyrics are just there, and that’s a song I’d heard a thousand times, a song I’d sung a million times myself—always solo, just me singing Tim’s part and always half wishing in the back of my mind and at the very bottom of my heart for someone to sing the harmony, to sing Faith’s part with me.

  This was that moment.

  Her voice found mine, wrapped around it. She had a surprisingly soft, quiet, smooth voice, contrasting with her loud, bold personality. She sang with her eyes closed, leaned over her ukulele and played her part without thinking, sang with depth and passion.

  She wasn’t just singing, she was performing.

  She just didn’t know it.

  The professional in me was watching her carefully, and I knew she was not just talented. She was a once-in-a-generation talent. Raw vocal power that didn’t need to be loud to be perfect. Each note was effortlessly flawless. Not sure this makes any sense, but her voice was just liquid. Sweet as honey and strong as whiskey, yet it moved and breathed.

  Her face, already beautiful, shone when she sang. Radiated pure joy as she performed with me. Her fingers flew, and the song neared its end.

  Her eyes opened and met mine.

  I knew the song we’d do next, and I knew it’d surprise her. I also knew she knew it—I’d heard it on her earbuds as we traveled, a song she tended to listen to regularly.

  “Just Give Me A Reason” by Pink and Nate Ruess.

  I plucked out the melody, and I saw her recognize it.

  “Damn you,” she whispered.

  “Never said I’d play fair, darlin’,” I said, grinning with an ease I didn’t feel.

  This moment, playing with her, it was heavy. Beautiful, deeply meaningful…but fuckin’ heavy.

  She sang, and no one else played. Just my guitar, her voice. Stripped down to the barest bones. Lexie fell into the music, dove in and swam deep. The soft quiet voice she’d used for the Tim and Faith song was replaced by a low, powerful one, not quite a belting voice but close. Strong, impassioned.

  When it was my turn, I made sure my voice stayed in the backing harmony, letting her be the focus. She didn’t play either, just held the uke with her hand on the strings, palms flat on neck and bridge, head ducked, curled over herself and rock
ing as she found the power in her voice to let loose, to belt the lyrics as they were meant to be sung, with passion that could almost produce tears. When she got to the chorus and sang about being not broken just bent, I heard her shake, almost crack, and keep going.

  Stronger for the breaking.

  When the song ended, there was total silence.

  “Fuck me,” I heard Bax breathe, awed.

  Canaan nodded. “Music’s next great duet has been born, and we watched it happen.”

  Lexie seemed to come awake; shaking off the stupor being in the zone like that can put you into. “What? What do you mean?”

  Aerie leaned close to Lexie, wrapped a slender arm around Lexie’s shoulders. “You don’t realize, do you?”

  “Realize…what?”

  Aerie kissed Lex on the cheek. “That you just found your purpose in life.”

  “My…purpose?”

  I held her gaze. “How do you feel right now, Lex? Honest. No filter, no bullshit. Right now. How are you feeling? What are your emotions?”

  She swallowed hard. “My hands are shaking. My whole body is shaking, like an adrenaline rush times a thousand. I…my soul is shaking. I feel…” She closed her eyes and then opened them and stared up at the endless wash of Alaskan summer stars. “I feel like I’m more alive than I’ve ever been. Like I’m finally awake.”

  “You understand what that is, right?” I didn’t wait for her to answer. “It’s your soul finding its home.”

  She shook her head—disbelief, not disagreement. “It was a couple songs. No big deal.”

  Corin, who had a more caustic sense of humor than his twin, just snorted. “Bzzzzt!” he buzzed. “Wrong answer, try again––big deal. Way big deal. Biggest deal ever. It wasn’t just a couple songs, it was you finding the real you that you been hiding from your whole fuckin’ life.”