Love on the Sound

by Matthews, Jamie

  “What the hell does that mean?” Ben rolled his eyes. “I don’t think I like this new version of you. Are you trying to be new age and Zen?”

  “All right, that’s enough chitchat.” Artie sat back, propped his ankle up on his knee. “So, kid. What’s the plan? Are you in, or are you out?”

  Ben sighed, shoulders tensing.

  “Hell if I know. Help me figure it out, Artie.”

  Artie tapped his fingers on his ankle. “Do you miss it?”

  “What part?”

  “Any of it.”

  Ben looked ahead at Friday Harbor, growing closer on the horizon.

  “Don’t hesitate. Don’t think about your answer, just go with what comes to mind. Do you miss it?”

  “No.”

  “Not one single bit? The attention…the roles…the set…your friends…your house?”

  “I feel like I should miss it,” Ben admitted.

  “Why?”

  “Hollywood was my life. My whole life. Shouldn’t I miss it?”

  “Your life sucked,” Artie pointed out. “You were a train wreck. Drinking too much, making crap movies, living by yourself in that ‘look at me, I’m so famous’ house.”

  “When you put it that way.” Ben laughed. “Here’s what I do miss, or what I did miss until I started writing—that creative spark, the energy that comes from making something really great. I missed collaborating with talented people, but I gotta say, it seems sometimes like those people are few and far between.”

  “Tell me about it.” Artie nodded.

  “Writing, being up here, working with those kids…it fulfills me in a way that I haven’t felt in a long time. That’s what vacation is for, right?”

  “Hmm.” Artie regarded him steadily. “So, you’re rested, recharged? Ready to get back into it?”

  Ben frowned.

  “Look, kid. You had your secret hideaway for the past four months up here. People want to know. Are you going to Greta Garbo it, or are you going to be the newest Hollywood back-from-the-brink redemption story?” Artie stood up as they eased into the harbor. “You don’t need to tell me right this second, but what I’m telling you is, the secret is out. I can hold them at bay for a while, but at some point soon, if you want to control what the media says about you, you need to make a decision. They’ll just follow you around until you do.”

  All signs of queasiness gone, Artie leapt up to the dock and held the rope steady until Ben could get near and tie the knot.

  “Let’s just go see the kids for now. I’m curious to see what you think of them. Maybe you could give them a reality check on what Hollywood is like.”

  “Ha.” Artie snorted. “Wouldn’t want to make anyone cry.”

  When they got to the theater, Ben called the handful of kids up to the stage and introduced them to Artie. The kids peppered him with questions—most of it the typical stuff like how to get an agent, who were his famous clients, etc. But, Nathan and a few other students threw in some more thoughtful ones—what was the best audition technique, whether or not commercial work took away credibility while it paid the bills, did it really matter what school they came from or would they be judged on their talent?

  Ben noticed Artie’s eyes narrow in interest, and he sat up straighter, giving the kids his full attention. Then, Ben asked him to sit in the audience while he directed the kids through short run-throughs of key scenes in their one-act plays. Knowing a Hollywood agent was in the audience, the kids pulled off their best performances yet, and Ben beamed with pride even as he continued to scribble notes on blocking, delivery, cadence.

  At the end, Ben looked over at Artie. “Want to give the kids some notes?”

  Artie remained in the same position he’d held the entire time, cheek resting on one hand, ankle resting on his knee. It was, Ben remembered, the signal he was fully interested and engaged.

  “You go first.” Artie continued to watch the kids as they goofed around a bit, blowing off steam after the rehearsal.

  “All right, listen up,” Ben called, and the kids immediately quieted, coming to sit on the edge of the stage.

  As usual, he went down the list fairly rapid fire, rattling off stage blocking notes, dialogue changes and the like. The kids scribbled in their notebooks and then looked expectantly at Artie when Ben had finished.

  Artie let the silence hang for a minute, and Ben hid a smile as the kids began to squirm.

  “Pretty damn good,” Artie said finally. He pointed a finger at Ben. “What he said.”

  He added several notes of his own, then applauded. The kids sported mile wide grins. Ben dismissed them and stood chatting with a few of the kids while everyone gathered up their things. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Artie slipping Nathan a card, hand on the boy’s shoulder, talking intently. Nathan's eyes widened, and Ben could see the boy trying to remain cool, despite the waves of excitement rolling off him.

  “So,” Ben said later, when they locked up the theater and walked back to the dock. “Bratty kids, huh?”

  “Hell, no.” Artie shook his head. “Pretty amazing to see that kind of talent here. I gave my card to Nathan.”

  “I saw. You made his day—hell, his year.”

  “Kid’s got a future. Up to him what he does with it. I told him to come see me when he’s done with school. Hope he doesn’t fuck it up.”

  Ben clapped Artie on the shoulder. “Always an optimist. That’s what I like about you, Artie.”

  On the way back to Lopez, Ben asked Artie about the woman who seemed hell bent on infusing him with some sense of style.

  “It started at one of those God-awful parties—one of my clients insisted I go. Known Lisa for years, but she’d been married for most of them. Divorced now, for a few years. She started ragging on me for not showing my face more. I tried to find out what movies she had coming down the pipe that would fit my clients. Next thing I knew, we had a date to have dinner—”

  “Hold the phone.” Ben turned from piloting the boat to stare at Artie. “She’s a producer?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “You always told me producers are the spawn of satan and the lowest pond scum to slither across the earth.”

  Artie cleared his throat. “Well. Yeah. Most of them. Not Lisa.”

  Ben narrowed his eyes. “Is this Lisa Walker you’re talking about? Lisa Walker?”

  Artie shrugged. “Yeah.”

  Ben threw his head back and laughed. Lisa Walker, one of the most powerful producers in Hollywood, dating rough and tumble Artie.

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “About a year.”

  “A year? How come I didn’t hear about this?”

  “Your head was up your ass, like always,” Artie retorted. He sighed when Ben shot him a look. “We kept it quiet for a while. Wanted to see if there was something there outside of the spotlight, away from the media, the superficial bullshit.”

  “And, you’re still together, so there must be something there.”

  “Guess so.” Artie’s voice remained neutral, gruff, but Ben caught a glimpse of a slight smile tugging at his lips. He leaned back, crossed his feet at the ankles. “So. Those kids. Were they pretty rough when you got a hold of them?”

  “Some of them. Not all, though. Their regular teacher is pretty good, very committed.”

  “You’ve got a natural way about you, good instincts on the blocking, the notes. Gotta admit, you’ve learned more than I gave you credit for.”

  “Why, thank you,” said Ben dryly.

  “Ever thought about directing?”

  Taken aback, Ben frowned. “Not really. It’s always been the writing for me and then acting.”

  “Sure. The writing for the creativity, the acting because you needed the spotlight, and you needed approval.” With a wave, Artie dismissed the past ten years of his professional life. “You might be mature enough now to work behind the camera.”

  Ben bristled, but Artie just laughed.

 
; “I think you’d be good at it.”

  The compliment was so unexpected that Ben just stared at him. Artie shrugged. “Think about it. You get more control, have more flexibility in which projects you take on.” He gazed ahead as Lopez loomed closer, the trees dotting the shoreline beginning to pop into focus. “As far as the screenplay, I liked what I’ve read so far. I can sell it, no problem. Could you have a career there? Absolutely. But, you’ll have to show your face in Hollywood, reassure everyone you’re not a crazy alcoholic, and make the rounds to beg for money to get it funded.”

  Ben nodded. It was one thing to sell the script—another to make sure the movie actually got made and the screenplay didn’t just sit, gathering dust.

  Artie stood up and stretched. “Take a week or two, and let me know what you want me to do.”

  And then, to Ben’s surprise, Artie let the subject drop. Instead of slyly bring it up every ten minutes, as he’d been wont to do in the past, he shared the latest gossip, talked about how he and Lisa were thinking about adopting a dog—a dog! thought Ben with disbelief—and asked questions about the Island. Ben didn’t know if it was just the passing of time or Lisa’s influence, but he found himself relaxing around Artie in a way he’d never been able to before.

  He took Artie out for pizza dinner, much to Artie’s delight, as he claimed Lisa had him eating “rabbit food.” Then, both because he’d grown to genuinely love the open mic nights and because he thought Artie would get a kick out of it, they stopped by Hannah Bobannas.

  Amy waved to them from the stage, where she and Paul played a rollicking, flirty love song that had the crowd clapping along. Artie settled into a chair while Ben ordered their espressos.

  “Did he write this, or did she?” Artie took his coffee without taking his eyes of the stage.

  “Both, I think.” Ben waved at Nell and Adrian, who chatted with Hannah across the room.

  “Hmm. Not bad.”

  After the song ended, they switched to a ballad of love lost, and Artie narrowed his eyes. Ben knew the look and just sat back until the song was over, after murmuring to Artie that this song was written solely by Paul. When the last notes died away and Amy and Paul turned the mic over, Artie sipped his coffee.

  “She’s got a decent voice, but nothing special,” he said quietly. “Him, though. I could work with him. The writing on both songs is nothing to sneeze at.”

  “Nothing special?” Ben shook his head. “Her voice is amazing.”

  Artie laughed. “That’s because you have hearts and rainbows coming out of your eyes when you look at her. I said her voice was nice. She’s not Adele.”

  “Anyway, she’s not interested.” Ben frowned. “I think she’d hate that. Paul, I’m not sure. I get the impression he’s not real interested in it either. Now, becoming mayor of Lopez, that is more his gig.”

  “Paul, mayor of Lopez?” Amy came over to hear the tail end of the conversation. She let out a peal of laughter, but as it died away, she turned thoughtful. “Huh. Actually, that’s not as crazy as it sounds.”

  “I know people,” Ben said, pulling her down to sit on his lap. “So does Artie.”

  She smiled at Artie. “And, what do you think of our little talent show? Pretty second rate, I’m sure.”

  “I could get representation for Paul,” he responded, sipping his coffee and eying the front counter where the pastries were displayed. “Is that lemon meringue pie?”

  Amy’s jaw dropped. “Paul? You’re saying he could be famous?”

  “No, I said I could get him an agent,” Artie said, smiling at her. “What he did with that would be up to him. To be honest—”

  “Are you ever not?” Ben murmured.

  “—I’m not sure he’s star quality,” Artie continued as if Ben hadn’t spoken. “But he could make a decent living at it.”

  “Hi, there.” Paul showed up at the table, slice of pie in hand. “I heard you’re Ben’s agent, the one that made the paparazzi headache disappear. Allow me to buy you some pie as thanks.”

  Artie grinned and accepted the plate with relish. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  “Paul, this is Artie. He says he could get you an agent,” Amy said, raising her eyebrows at him.

  “What?” Paul shuffled his feet, a red stain rising on his cheeks. “Get out of here. You don’t have to be so kind.”

  “He’s not kind,” Ben assured him.

  “Totally rude son of a bitch,” Artie agreed, closing his eyes as he relished the bite. “Ask anyone.”

  “Not exaggerating,” Ben said and grinned at Paul’s confusion. “He thinks you’re pretty talented. Not platinum record talented, am I right? But talented enough to do all right for yourself.”

  “Shit, even I would have put it more tactfully than that.” Artie rolled his eyes. “I liked your writing. You’ve got a good voice, good stage presence. Nice catchy rhythms. Here, I’ll get you my card.”

  “Whoa, whoa.” Paul held up his hands and laughed, backing up a step. “I’m so flattered. But, I’m happy running the family business.”

  “Told you,” Ben smirked.

  Artie just shrugged, handed the card to Amy instead. “In case he changes his mind.”

  “Pull up a chair,” Ben invited, smiling as Paul just stood there, speechless. “Artie’s got all kinds of interesting stories.”

  “Some of them about Ben,” Artie agreed.

  Amy leaned back into Ben and grinned at Artie. “I’ll buy you a second piece if you tell all.”

  “Sugar, for you, I’ll do it for free.” Artie winked at her, and Ben shook his head. Was it true love that had softened Artie, or did he just like Amy better than the other women Ben had dated?

  When Amy let out her big, rolling laugh, he tightened his hold on her and silently agreed with Artie—this woman was so far above all the others he’d dated. He could barely remember the way some of them laughed or felt in his arms. But this one—she’d be haunting his dreams for years to come.

  ***

  The next morning, Ben helped Artie load his suitcase into his car. Artie closed the trunk, then surveyed the inn, hands on his hips. Amy had given him a huge hug and left them to say their goodbyes.

  “Gotta admit, I wondered what the hell you were doing up here.” Artie tipped his head up to survey the trees blowing in the slight breeze. “Turns out it was the only halfway intelligent thing you’ve done in the last several years.”

  “Get the hell out of here.” Ben punched him in the shoulder but secretly basked in the compliment.

  “Get back to work,” Artie replied. “You’ve got a few hours of work left on that screenplay, tops. Man up, and finish it.”

  Ben hugged him, smiling when Artie hugged him back. “Thanks for coming up to see me.”

  Artie got into his car, then rolled the window down, looked up at him. He jerked his thumb towards On the Sound. “And for God’s sake, don’t let that one go.”

  He sped off, gravel spewing from his tires, before Ben could reply.

  Ben trudged back into On the Sound. He debated about heading over to Friday Harbor with Amy and keeping her company on her weekly supply run. But, he realized Artie was right, as usual. Instead, he sequestered himself away in his room, stared at the blinking cursor, reluctant to finish. Because once again, Artie was right. He was well on the way to that last page.

  Then what? His reservation ended Christmas Eve, just a few days away. He and Amy planned to go to the airport together—she to fly to San Francisco to see her family, and he to the East Coast to see his own version of family. They hadn’t talked about what happened after that.

  No way in hell would she ever want to leave the Island, not after working so hard to build her life and business here. Hell, he wasn’t sure he wanted to leave, either. But, one thing he’d discovered during his visit—his love of writing, theater and storytelling hadn’t died after all. And, she was a woman made for the quiet, family life.

  One thing at a time, Ben told himself. Was he rea
dy to say goodbye to her for good in a few days? The answer came immediately—hell, no. Did he want to see this particular screenplay made into a movie? Hell, yes.

  Decision made, he turned his attention back to the screen. His fingers flew across the keyboard as he guided the story to the end.

  ***

  “I finished it.” Ben sank into the stool in the kitchen where Amy peeled potatoes.

  She dropped the peeler in the sink, whirled to face him.

  “Oh my God!” She flew over to him and hugged him, eyes sparkling. “Congratulations! When can I read it?”

  He laughed a little at her enthusiasm. “Tonight, if you want.”

  “I want!” She retrieved the peeler from the sink and rinsed it off, then handed it to him. “Can you handle peeling the potatoes and putting them in boiling water so I can read it right now?”

  “My number one fan,” he teased, giving her back a quick stroke as he took over at the kitchen counter. “But first, let me ask you something.”

  When she stopped, looked back at him, he paused, suddenly tongue-tied. “So…do you have plans for New Year’s?”

  She shook her head, her expression unreadable.

  “I have to make the rounds in L.A. to try to get funding. I thought, maybe you could come visit after Christmas. Like a little vacation. I’d take you around to the sights, we could go to the beach…” He trailed off when she just watched him with those big brown eyes.

  “Are you…” she paused, seemed to think. “We said from the beginning that this wasn’t serious. That we were just living in the moment.”

  “Right,” Ben agreed. Was she turning him down? “If you don’t want to…”

  “I just want to make sure we’re both on the same page.”

  What page was she on? Ben wondered. Then decided, fuck it.

  “Look.” He set the peeler down, took her by the shoulders. “I know what we said. I also know that the truth is I’m not ready to say goodbye to you in a few days at the freaking airport on Christmas Eve. I’d like to see you again. You live here, I…don’t.” He smiled weakly. “I don’t have the magic answer. And, you may very well be done with me. But if you’re not, I’d like to see you again.”