by Kelly, Hazel
I looked Dr. Bower in the eye. How dare she talk to me about heartache. She had no idea what real heartache was. In fact, that was probably the problem. She must've thought she'd seen enough patients to know what the heart could handle, how much stress it could take.
But she didn't have a fucking clue.
For all I knew, my heart trouble had nothing to do with my job and everything to do with the strain my shitty past put on it for so long.
But I wasn't going to get into that with her now. There was no point. After all, there was nothing she could do to change my past, and she obviously wasn't willing to offer me any practical advice for how I could improve my present.
Besides, I didn't have time to tell her how unimpressed I was.
I had a presentation to give.
Chapter 3: Wyatt
When the phone rang, I pulled my truck over to the side of the road.
"Marv," I said. "How are you?"
"Fine, fine," he said. "You know me. How about yourself? Is now a good time?"
"Anytime is a good time to hear I sold a song," I said, turning off the ignition so I could hear better and flicking my emergency blinkers on.
"I'm afraid it's not that kind of time, Jonesy."
"You've got to be kidding me," I said, letting my head fall back against the headrest. "I gave them exactly what they wanted."
"I know you did," Marv said, lowering his voice. "But some other asshole got lucky this time."
"Who?"
"Some new guy. Didn't catch his name."
I clenched my jaw.
"I tried to pitch the song for another scene in the movie, though," he said. "It's still big money even if you're not the main song in the film."
"I'd take being the song that plays during the credits at this point."
"Now don't be like that," he said. "The fact that your work didn't get picked this time just means you're closer to a yes."
"So you keep saying."
"I keep saying it cause it's true."
"Did they say why they didn't choose it?" I asked. "Was it the lyrics or-"
"There's nothing wrong with your song. It just didn't work out this ti-"
"Just tell me what they said.”
"It was the melody," he said. "They didn't think it was the right tone for the movie."
"It was the perfect fucking tone for the movie."
"And they didn't love the lyrics in the bridge."
"Did you tell them those things can be changed?"
"Of course I did," he said. "But I guess the competition nailed it the first time around, and they were itching to go ahead with it so what can you do?"
I squeezed my fist around the steering wheel and tried not to think about how many times this had happened in the last six months.
"Wyatt?"
"Marv."
"I know you're frustrated, but you're a talented guy. All you need is one song," he said. "Isn't that what I'm always telling you?"
"Among other things."
"So there you go."
"What if I already wrote my one song?"
"You probably did," he said. "But that's why you need to relax. Besides, it's not like you need the money."
I sighed. I knew he was right, but it wasn’t about that. It was about not feeling washed up. It was about proving to myself that I could still write hit songs even though I wasn't with the band anymore.
"The royalties for ‘My Heart is Yours’ out earn all the band’s albums put together."
"I know."
"Do you realize that last year it was the most popular wedding song in the country?"
"What's your point?"
"My point is that if you can write a hit that big once, you can do it again. I know you can."
"I appreciate the encouragement, Marv, but I wrote that song ten years ago."
"And ten years from now you'll still be laughing all the way to the bank because of it."
"And so will you."
"That's absolutely right, and that's why I'm sticking by you, Jonesy. I know you've got another hit in that head of yours."
"I want to believe that," I said, thinking of all the time I spent hunched over my guitar in the studio and all the paper and pens I sacrificed trying to find one lyric that would ensure my future security wasn't completely dependent on the only egg in my basket. "But what if I don't?"
"You have to," he said. "You can't do anything else."
I pursed my lips and exhaled through my nose. He had a fair point. Not that I didn't have other skills. I was good with my hands, strong, a well-traveled multi-instrumentalist.
But I hadn't seen a lot of wanted ads for handyman poets or laboring minstrels. Plus, I didn't want to do anything else, and I liked the idea of having to do something else even less.
Making music was my first true love, and I wasn't the kind of guy who gave up on something I was passionate about. But I didn't want to be delusional either, and that's how I was starting to feel. Like I was living off my past glories- literally.
And while I was familiar with all the bullshit affirmations about persistence being more important than talent, I was starting to think that my first hit was a fluke. That I just got lucky. That it wasn't talent at all that made the song take off, that it only happened cause I was in a five piece boy band with four good looking guys and three that could actually sing.
Naturally, I liked to think I was a member of both subgroups. And everyone in the industry knew I was the only one that ever came up with a worthwhile lyric. But ten years was a long time to be defined by something I wrote when I was stoned in my friend's garage. I certainly didn’t think it was going to be my career defining moment at the time anyway.
And that's what I wanted.
A career. And not just any career, but the kind of career that gave me the freedom to have the lifestyle I wanted long term, the lifestyle I’d grown accustomed to.
"Actually, I take that back," Marv said. "You could always get the band back together and go on tour."
I cringed at the thought. "You don't mean that."
"Sure I do," he said. "You know as well as I do that it's an option."
I shook my head. "Everyone's doing their own shit now."
"Yeah, and most of it sucks."
"How do you know?"
"Cause I make it my business to stay on top of this stuff, Jonesy. That's my job."
"Right."
"And you're the songwriter."
"I know," I said. I was anyway.
"But if you want to regroup, I'm sure the guys would be up for it," he said. "Johnny would be the hardest to persuade, but he's the most coin operated of the bunch so-"
"Enough," I said. "You know damn well I don't want to go back on the road. Christ. We're not even a boy band anymore. We'd be like some kind of weird man band."
"It worked for Take That."
"Yeah, but Tommy and I aren't exactly Gary and Robbie are we?"
"You could be Gary, though," he said. "If you wanted it bad enough."
"It's not that I don't want it enough," I said. “I couldn't want it anymore.”
"So what's the problem?"
"I don't know," I said.
But I did know. I lacked inspiration.
When I was younger, one night stands used to fill me with lyrics for days, but they didn't do the job anymore. Something was missing, and I guess it wasn't just me who could hear it in my melodies.
The trouble was, I didn't know what that thing was so I didn't know where the hell to start looking for it.
"I emailed you a new prompt," Marv said.
I squeezed my eyes shut. "What's the movie?"
"Some love story. I can't remember the working title. It's adapted from a book, though. Not one I’ve heard of before, but it sounds like the kind of thing my wife would read. She likes all that gushy stuff."
"Another love song, huh?"
"Don't act so surprised. You know damn well that's where the big money is-"
"
I know, but-"
"I'm sick of your buts. Have a look at the specs and see what you can do."
"Okay."
"And Wyatt?"
"Yeah."
"I have a proposition for you."
"Shoot."
"Make sure it's the best goddamn shit you ever wrote, and I'll never joke about getting the band back together again."
"Sounds good," I said. "You've got a deal."
Chapter 4: Addison
Mrs. Collins was late as usual so I ordered an iced tea to enjoy while I waited and tried not to think about all the work I should’ve been doing, which was a constant battle since I never even got close to the end of my to-do list.
It was like being stuck on a treadmill with no off switch.
No wonder my heart was fucked up.
I felt myself blush when the waiter came with my drink. He hadn't said anything particularly flirtatious. In fact, I don't think he said anything at all, but he was handsome. Not that I'd ever entertain thoughts about dating someone in the service industry.
It wouldn't make sense. We wouldn't be a good match. I wasn't interested in being a sugar momma. I had to play enough games in the workplace as it was. Avoiding them in my personal life was vital to my sanity.
However, right at the moment he arrived with my drink, I'd been thinking about how Dr. Bower told me I should be having more sex, and I was so focused on the prospect I thought he might’ve read my mind.
It was embarrassing to be told that. It kind of implied that she thought I wasn't having enough, which I probably wasn't. But who was? Still, I felt uncomfortable that she came to that conclusion based on the results of my blood tests and some minor poking and prodding.
I mean, was she testing for that deliberately?
It seemed so personal for her to say such a thing. And I know she was only trying to do her job, but she hadn't really elaborated.
I mean, would sex with a random waiter be good for me or did it have to be someone I knew? And if I couldn't find a partner, would sex with myself suffice in the meantime? And exactly how much bud diddling would it take to offset the fact that there was no way in hell I was going to stop working so hard?
I sighed and squeezed my extra lemon slice over my drink.
She was probably right. After all, I hadn't had sex in a long time, especially for someone in their twenties. I squinted, calling the distant memory to mind.
I'd been working late with a former colleague of mine about a year and a half ago. Maybe more like two. And while I considered him a friend, it became obvious that night that he'd had more on his mind all along.
Anyway, when it got too late to stay at the office, we went back to his place to keep working and ordered some food. I remember feeling sleepy in the dim room after I ate, and when he started kissing me, I didn't fight it.
I didn't really want him, not like that. But I trusted him, and I can’t say that of many men I’ve known. So I let him put his lips on my neck and grope my chest over my shirt and then under.
I just kind of went along with it.
I think on some level, I was hoping I would wake up highly sexed and madly in love with him. But it didn't happen. And I wasn't surprised. How could I be when that had been my experience with every sexual encounter I'd ever had?
Sure, I hoped it would mean something, that it would make me understand poetry and love songs better, that it would make me feel safe and satisfied.
But it didn’t.
If anything, it was the opposite. I felt even emptier than usual. Especially when I realized it meant something to him, which made me wonder if I was broken.
I didn't think I was asexual or anything. I could recognize a handsome man when I saw one, and I longed for those feelings of fulfillment that supposedly came from love.
But just because I longed for it didn't mean I believed in it. In my experience, love was just an excuse, like time or the weather. It was just a word people threw around to excuse irrational behavior.
I mean, the first person who was ever supposed to love me used love as an excuse to abandon me. So as far as I was concerned, it wasn't something worth pursuing.
But I couldn't shake the fact that good sex might be. I just didn't know how the hell I was supposed to find it without kissing a bunch of frogs which I had neither the time nor the stomach for these days.
"I'm so sorry I'm late," Mrs. Collins said, pushing some mousey frizz away from her face.
"Not at all," I said, standing up. "You're worth the wait."
She smiled and kissed me on the cheek. Then she gave me the kind of squishy hug that only a woman her age could get away with, the kind that lasted a little too long and was a little too tight.
"I hope you don't mind I went ahead and ordered a drink for myself," I said. "I was just so thirsty when I showed up-"
"Of course not," she said, pulling out the chair across from me and taking a seat. "I was almost afraid I'd have to cancel. One of the kids just got the chicken pox-"
"Uh-oh," I said. "Is it a new kid or-"
She shook her head. "No. It's Trisha. She's been with me fourteen months now. Very bright girl."
I nodded. "You've mentioned her before," I said, thinking how lovely it was that she bragged about the kids like they were her own.
"The problem is that three of the smaller children haven't had them yet.”
"What are you going to do?"
She sighed and opened her menu but didn't look at it. "Well, I was going to try and keep them apart as best I could-"
"Right."
"But then I realized that I was only postponing the inevitable," she said. "So I gave Trisha her first babysitting job."
I rolled my eyes. "Jesus."
"I suspect they'll all have it by the time I get home."
I laughed, wondering if she had palpitations from the kind of stress she endured on a daily basis. "You're a brave woman."
Suddenly, her face fell. "Wait- you've had them right?"
"Yeah," I said. "I think I was seven or something. Long before I came to live with you anyway."
She nodded. "Good."
"How many kids do you have right now?"
She rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. "Seven- no- eight."
"Yikes," I said. "I don't know how you do it. I can't even imagine having one." And I wouldn’t want to. After all, what the hell would I know about parenting or providing an innocent kid with a normal childhood?
"It's actually not as tough as people think."
"Don’t be modest," I said, leaning back in my chair. "You're a saint."
"Genuinely, though, once you get past four, having more almost makes it easier. It changes the dynamic to a more team-like environment."
"Is that so?" I asked, catching a whiff of freshly baked bread.
She shrugged. "I've always found that to be the case anyway. I think it's because love breeds love, ya know? Like the more you have, the faster it grows around you."
I raised my eyebrows. “Like a weed?”
"Exactly," she said, smiling. "All you have to do is let it take root and nature will run its course."
"And eventually you'll have a whole garden full?" I asked, trying not to sound too sarcastic.
"Yep," she said. "And you won't even have to tend it. It will tend you."
"Good to know," I said. "Not that I have much time for gardening lately."
"Work getting you down?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Hopefully up," I said. "If I get the promotion I'm after."
"I'm sure you will, Addy," she said. "You're more driven and hardworking than any other kid that's come through my doors. Not that you're a kid anymore, but you know what I mean."
"Thanks."
"And how's everything else going?"
I shrugged. "Fine. To be honest, though, I haven't had time to do much outside of work lately.” I pinched my straw and pushed the lemons in my tea to the bottom of the glass. “But I like to keep busy so I don’t mind."
"Just make sure you mix some play into that work," she said, raising her eyebrows. "Or you'll lose your marbles."