Learning to Love Again 2

by A. K. Rose

  “Oh come on!” Jon reacted immediately, drumsticks clicking together as they tended to do. “I thought you were seeing that lawyer chick, we’re done with covers for a while, right? You don’t need covers to get her into bed anymore . . .”

  “Hear me out, okay?” Lana replied gruffly, perhaps a bit more so than she intended, so she threw in a toothy smile at the last minute, her social worker savvy back in the forefront. “This one is special. This time, there’s more to the story.”

  “More to the story, huh?” Josh chimed in as he picked a high E on his acoustic guitar. “Do tell us, what the more to the story could be . . .”

  “You guys, come on. Can you just do this for me? It’s been over a month since I’ve asked for a cover—we’ve played four gigs since then. I just want to do something nice for Jess, that’s all.”

  “Okay,” Jon offered, tap, tap, tapping the snare before adding an accentuated drumroll. “What’s the song?”

  “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing . . .”

  “Aerosmith? You want to sing a power ballad? Are you nuts?” Jon countered; for once his drumsticks were completely still.

  “She’s in loooooovvvveeeee,” Chuck chimed in, rolling his stool to Lana’s side and leaning into her torso in a display of brotherly affection. They weren’t siblings, but the band may has well have been family, they knew each other so well.

  “That’s the song, okay?” Lana persisted. “I already know the bass part, and I already emailed Jeanine to ask her to learn the keys. That leaves guitar and drums, and Chuck you’d need to play violin on this one. Are you boys with me, or what? You know, if we work it up for Valentine’s in a couple of weeks, we could split the singing and have all the significant others there. It could be really cool, a five-way love song.”

  “Alright, alright, the drum part is easy on this, and three weeks is plenty. But I don’t want to sing.” Jon said, conceding. Things with his wife Renee weren’t great lately, so the last thing he wanted to do was sing her a love song. But he’d support Lana; he always did.

  “Great, thank you, but no singing huh? Everything okay with you and the missus?” Lana questioned, picking up on the somber tone in Jon’s voice, but knowing he probably wouldn’t say much in his own garage if his marriage was faltering.

  “All good, thanks,” was the simple reply. Jon clearly didn’t want to talk about it.

  “Okay, brothers, you’re in? Chuck, you’ll dust off the violin for me? Please?”

  “For you, I will,” Chuck said, stroking his hipster goatee as he did. “And I think it’s kinda sweet anyway, each singing a bit. But there are only three verses—how should we break it up?”

  “I think we could make up a fourth verse . . . what do you think?” Lana asked, knowing exactly what she wanted to do. She intended to create the fourth verse herself and sing it directly to Jessica. She could see the boys nodding in agreement, and added, “I’ll write it and I’ll sing it. You guys and Jeanine can decide which of the other three you want to sing. Cool?”

  And with that, it was decided. Valentine’s Day would provide an opportunity for them to do something they’d never done—split singing duties in the same song—and serenade their loved ones in a unique way. Lana would find out what was going on with Jon later. She didn’t like the look of pain on his face; didn’t want to see him unhappy.

  # # #

  Light filtered in through a small slit in the white linen curtains in Jessica Taylor’s bedroom as the sun slowly rose, alerting her that the world was waking up; there was life outside the twelve-foot-by-twelve-foot square where she slept. As she blinked back the sleep from her eyes, she remembered she wasn’t alone. In fact, she was being held quite tightly from behind, Lana’s arm cradling her abdomen in a now familiar closeness, her tabby cat Peaches snuggled in front of her. She was sandwiched under the fluffy comfort of the synthetic down duvet. Jess had learned how goose down was obtained in her youth and swore she’d never support the down industry. She was too much of an animal lover to condone that kind of cruelty.

  It was finally Saturday, the first day she didn’t have to go to court in the past five, and the first day she could sleep in, too. The thing was, her body was trained to get up with the sun; going back to sleep wasn’t an option. So there she lay, eyes closed, petting Peaches and listening to Lana breathe, not wanting to stir and wake her. It was such a comforting feeling to be wrapped in her arms, to feel the heat of Lana’s body against her own. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt so safe and so alive at the same time. In the past, she’d always worried that the musician of the month was going to leave in the middle of the night and never call again. Of course, that was because it was a common occurrence. With Lana, she never worried about waking up alone after a heated night—she knew this musician would be there in the morning.

  She found herself thinking about her past, all the failed relationships, all the false starts, the list of breakups she didn’t initiate, and wondered if they were all to lead her to this point. If the path she took was broken for a reason. Twenty-one-year-old Jess wouldn’t have considered a relationship with a woman, aside from drunken make-out sessions at bars. Thirty-year old Jess wouldn’t have either, but present-day, more enlightened, more aware Jessica understood that labels were unimportant. It was the person that mattered. There was just something about this particular woman that captivated her. She’d never met someone with such opposing traits. Tough-as-nails on the exterior, full of confidence and swagger, but below the surface, a gentle soul who helped children for a living. A motorcycle rider who volunteered at a homeless shelter twice a month. Spiky hair and tattoos showing on the weekends, neatly combed and long sleeves during the week. Lana Parker was an enigma.

  “Hey,” Lana whispered as she awoke, her early-morning voice taking a moment to appear. “How long have you been awake?”

  “Awhile,” Jess said, smiling as she watched Peaches hop off the bed, and then turning so they were face-to-face. “You want to go for coffee? Maybe a hike after? I really need to get some exercise—I’ve gained five pounds since we met!”

  “I doubt that’s true.”

  “It is! I don’t have all that free time on my hands to run anymore . . . late nights at bars watching you sing and too much beer . . . and too little exercise . . .”

  “Well, I think you’re beautiful, no matter what,” Lana said, knowing exactly how to console the insecure side of her lover.

  “Thank you, but it’s true,” Jess smiled. “How about it? Coffee and then a hike?”

  “Absolutely, sure . . . but first . . . wait, I need to brush my teeth. And then, I was thinking I could help you with your warm-up?”

  The realities of what Lana wanted at that moment and morning breath collided instantly. They weren’t past hygiene; it wasn’t going to happen. There was spontaneity and then there was courtesy. They could take two minutes for teeth brushing.

  “Where was I?” Lana asked, running a hand through her unkempt hair and spinning around to grab Jess by the waist after she placed her toothbrush back in the cup. Lana had spent enough time at Jessica’s house that she left some essentials there. Not too much, not enough to be considered U-hauling. Just a toothbrush and a few clothes; just enough to make it easier to spend the night. The last thing she wanted to be was a cliché. She was in love but not rushing it. There was no need to cohabitate so quickly, especially with a woman who had been straight her whole life, who Lana worried was perhaps just going through a phase.

  “I think,” Jess said, leaning in as close as possible, tucking a tendril of loose hair out of her eyes, “right about here . . .”

  As their lips met, she sighed. The electricity was still there. The newness hadn’t rubbed off. As much as she wanted to go on a hike, Jess couldn’t drag herself away from the pull of Lana’s force field. The hike could wait, the coffee could, too.

  TEN

  They found one of the last available parking spots at Lady Bird Lake just before noon—a
parallel spot by the curb, the trail just ten feet away, and Jessica negotiated her SUV into place with the skill of a driving instructor. She’d bought the Explorer with the reasoning skills of an attorney, wanting something nice but not flashy, opting out of the BMWs and Mercedes her colleagues chose. She had plenty of student loan debt to consider—there was no need to go into further credit crisis over a fancy car.

  “Nice job,” Lana offered, impressed by the ease with which Jess had just whipped into a difficult spot. “You drive this thing like it’s a sports car or something.”

  “Yeah, well, just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I can’t park with the best of them. I learned to drive an old F-150 crew cab—this thing is tiny in comparison.”

  “Is that right? You know . . . I haven’t been parking in ages, but it was usually dark . . .”

  “You know what I mean. Come on, let’s go—I want to do the whole trail, ten miles. You’re going to need all your strength,” Jess said as she opened the driver’s door and placed a foot on the blacktop, her head-to-toe active wear now on full display for all the runners and cyclists on the trail to see. She hadn’t run in over a month but had the wardrobe ready at a moment’s notice.

  As they walked, the crushed limestone path crunched beneath their feet and provided a steady rhythm for conversation, which inevitably started with music. Their middle ground was always music, which was only fitting since music had brought them together. South by Southwest was coming up soon, so they plotted which bands they’d see, which they’d skip, and mused about how much the festival had changed since its early days. This year, The Crickets had a set lined up on a small side stage—it was going to be a special festival.

  “Did you ever think you could make it only as a musician?” Jess asked, head down and focused on her increasingly dirty running shoes. The trail was damp and muddy in spots, there was no way they were going home clean after this walk.

  “I guess I always dreamed I could. But I’m also a realist. Paying the bills as a musician or a writer or any kind of artist is almost impossible. It only happens for a select few, the luckiest . . . not necessarily the most talented . . . but the ones that just happen to be in the right place at the right time. I’ve . . . I’ve never been in the right place at the right time, I suppose. And in some ways, I think that’s good. Something tells me making a living from music would take all the joy out of it.”

  “I guess that’s right, it might not be as fun, it might seem like a burden,” Jessica agreed. “Anyway if you had been—in the right place at the right time—your life would be completely different. Who knows where you’d be.”

  “That’s true,” Lana said, turning to look for the meaning of the last part of that statement in Jessica’s eyes. Did she mean that they wouldn’t have met? It was hard to tell. “I love my band, we’re like family, but we’re just a garage band of aging punks who like to hang out together and sing. You’ve seen us play!”

  “I think you’re a great band.”

  “You have to think that, you’re sleeping with the manager.”

  “True, but seriously, I think The Crickets are really good. And crap, you’re playing South by Southwest this year. That’s major music credibility. You know . . . I haven’t asked, why did you name your band after an insect?”

  “It’s not really all that deep,” Lana started. “When we got together—it was just me and the boys then, Jeanine came later—we were brainstorming names, and we couldn’t decide. Josh said something about performing solo at a club where the crowd wasn’t into it—he couldn’t get their interest to save his life—and he described their reaction as ‘crickets.’ So we thought it would be funny if our band was called that. We were setting low expectations for success.”

  “And have you ever? Played for crickets?”

  “Yeah, there have definitely been times. If you don’t get ‘em engaged early in the set, you lose ‘em. We’ve learned to open with a really strong cover—something that will get them into it—and then we switch to original music. The early days were hard, that’s for sure. But we’ve learned. Ten years together, and we can just kinda wing it now.”

  “That’s awesome, you have your passion project . . . ten years is a long time together. Did you guys ever think of splitting up?”

  “Only every week,” Lana laughed. “But we can’t. We love each other. We stay together mostly to stay in touch. And we like to pretend we’re badass. We get to live alter egos once or twice a week.”

  “I think you’re pretty badass,” Jessica said, a grin spreading across her face, her hand finding the small of the bassist’s back momentarily before retreating.

  “Well, you’re wrong, but I sell it pretty well. I’ve got the image down pat. What about you, what did you dream of doing before law? You love music way too much to not have had thoughts about it.”

  “It’s true, I love music, but I was terrible at it. I’m a better listener than participant. I tried to play the piano in school, but I couldn’t make my left hand and right hand cooperate. I could play the melody parts just fine, but I couldn’t sync my left hand for the bass; it was frustrating. So I never really dreamed of music aside from being a borderline groupie,” Jess paused, considering. “I always wanted to be a lawyer. I mean, after I decided not to be a professional cheerleader and veterinarian and radio DJ. I had big dreams when I was really little!”

  “All that and a professional cheerleader, huh?”

  “Yeah, not just any of course—a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader. I only wanted the best, but I grew out of that phase. And then I found out vets have to put animals to sleep, and I wasn’t interested in that at all. I don’t have a voice for radio, I knew that, but I still tried even through college. I couldn’t even get a job at KVRX—they give those to all the communications majors, and I was a sociology major in undergrad. But trust me, I tried. I was desperate to get an inside edge into Austin City Limits, but had to settle for just being in the audience when I could get tickets. Somewhere along the line I realized I was interested in research, in the law . . . I liked to read and I devoured John Grisham books. It was an easy path. So, I went to law school.”

  “And is it what you thought it would be?” Lana questioned, already knowing the answer.

  “No, not really . . .” Jessica sighed, adjusting her running cap over her eyes to shield from the sun as it grew higher in the cloudless sky. She noticed that her legs moved in exactly the same time as Lana’s, they were perfectly in sync as they walked. “I had romantic notions about the law; I think that’s pretty normal. In reality, it’s a grind. It’s all about billables and getting new clients, and court is nothing like you see on TV. It’s pretty boring.”

  “Yeah, I know all about court. I’ve spent plenty of time in court for work, but not like you’ve been doing this last week. How’s the case going?”

  “It’s . . . going. I can’t really talk about it, but it’s a pharmaceutical class action, like I told you. I just . . . it’s making me question if I want to keep doing what I’m doing, or if there are better ways to use my skills, you know? I listen to what you do all day and you’re making a difference. You’re helping people. I have these days where I think I should be doing something important, not just meeting quotas and finding loopholes and helping rich people get richer . . . God, this statue is so awkward, isn’t it?” Jess asked, changing the topic as they arrived at a bronze likeness of the late Stevie Ray Vaughn, city skyline in the background.

  Just then a jogger bumped into Lana on his way by, fiddling with the watch on his wrist, not even stopping to apologize. “Geez, buddy,” Lana said under her breath before acknowledging Jess’s comment about the statue. “It really is . . . so awkward,” she agreed, sitting on a limestone half wall to look at the statue and take in the city view across Colorado River, water lazily flowing on its way to points east. Austin was a beautiful city, and she’d lived there her whole life. She’d seen a sleepy little town grow into a major metropolis seemingly overnight. �
��He was such a phenomenal guitarist. His story is so sad, but it reminds me of something that’s relevant to what you’re saying.”

  “It does?”

  “Yeah, it does. Here was a guy who was amazingly talented, in the prime of his life, experiencing success most of us could only dream of. He was doing what he loved—he was touring with Clapton, for God’s sake—and then, in a blink, he was dead. Here one minute, gone the next. The lesson’s pretty simple—life’s too short to do something you don’t love. Every day is a gift, so we shouldn’t waste any.”

  “You’re right,” Jessica said, sinking onto the half wall beside her companion as it hit her. Lana was completely right. “How many people do you think understand that?”

  “Not enough. I see it every day. People get so caught up in their own dramas, petty arguments, and in pointless bullshit that they forget that we’re only here for a little while. We shape our own destiny; we have to choose to be happy,” Lana said, conviction in her voice, eyes focused on the skyscrapers of downtown, metal and glass contrasting against a cornflower blue backdrop. “Life’s not easy—it never will be—but we can control how much more difficult it is than baseline. It would be so easy to drown in the drama of my work but I try as hard as I can to keep an even keel, and it really is hard. I think so often that the kids I work with understand this more than adults. Kids look at the world with excitement and wonder, even a lot of them that are in the system. But something happens when we get older. We lose our perspective; we forget to just have fun. Work isn’t everything. How much money you make isn’t everything. Having it all doesn’t have a thing to do with material possessions, it’s more about people and experiences. Having it all is a mindset.”