Night Shifts Black

by Alyson Santos

  He looks away again, and I find myself instinctively taking his hand. My instinct reacts surprisingly open with him for some reason.

  “I tried to be the responsible one, but failed more times than not. One night…” He shudders. “Anyway, we both ended up in the hospital, along with a ton of headlines the Label was not happy about. Unfortunately, since I’m not Luke Craven, I didn’t get the grace Luke did. They basically gave me a choice at that point, distance myself from Luke and rejoin the band, or they’d drop me. So I had to make a choice. Career or friend.”

  “And you chose career.”

  Casey laughs. “No, of course not. I chose Luke, but he wouldn’t let me. We fought about it for days, and then suddenly, he just disappeared. Abandoned his house, his accounts, everything, and stopped answering his phone. No one knew where he went, including me.” He sighs. “To this day, I don’t know if he ran for my sake or his, but the result was the same. I had no other choice at that point. If I couldn’t help him, I had to go back. So I did. Cleaned myself up, got back on track, and was thrilled when our manager called to say that he’d finally heard from Luke. That he was here. I came as soon as I could which was during our quick break before the Calisto Festival.”

  “The day you came to breakfast club,” I recall, and he nods.

  “Believe me, I was in shock he not only let me in when I showed up, but let me stay the night. It was a short honeymoon, as you saw, but at least we started talking again.” He shrugs. “He invited me to his party, right?”

  “He loves you,” I say, squeezing his hand. “He does, he just hates himself too much to let anyone love him back.”

  He grunts. “I know. I mean, most of the time I know. It’s hard to believe that sometimes, but I try to keep hoping he’ll let me back in at some point. I don’t know how to help him if he doesn’t.”

  Casey’s phone starts buzzing, completely startling us, and he glances at the screen. He curses and gives me an apologetic look.

  “I should take this. Sorry, give me a minute?” he asks, and I offer him my most forgiving smile. I have plenty to absorb anyway.

  I watch his face as he answers and gets to his feet.

  “Yeah. Wait, what? Why would you do that?” Casey cries, clearly exasperated, and rubs his hand over his face. “No, I know. I just…yeah…Yes, I know where he is. I’m with him now. No, it’s not…Because he’s not ready!...I don’t know, I’ll figure something out…Dammit, TJ, I told you I know! I’m working on it! …Ok, yeah…Ok…just don’t…no…I know...ok, just don’t call him again, ok? Call me if you need anything. Me, not him!…ok…yeah, ok. You, too.”

  Casey hangs up with a curse and shakes his head. “What an idiot,” he mutters.

  He gives me another apologetic look. “Sorry about that.” He takes a deep breath. “You know, sometimes I think I wish my life was more shallow, but then I talk to TJ. He always snaps me out of it.”

  “TJ?”

  “Our Manager.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah…He’s awesome at what he does it’s just unfortunately all he does. He tried to call Luke.”

  My eyes widen. “Oh…”

  “Yeah.”

  He glances toward the hall as if expecting Luke to come marching down in a fury. He sighs.

  “We have four months before our next tour and they want at least three new tracks. We should be releasing an entire album and building the tour around that, but they know that’s not going to happen. They’re ok releasing the album next year if we can have some new material now.”

  “But without Luke…”

  Casey shakes his head. “I don’t know, Callie. I honestly don’t. I mean, I’ve got some ideas, but…”

  “Maybe I can help.”

  “What?”

  I cringe. I don’t even know what I’m saying. It’s that darn instinct again. “I mean, I’ve never written a song before, but I write a ton of poetry. Is it a lot different?”

  I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. Especially, after our blow up earlier over their teasing, but his skepticism is all over his face. It hurts, but I can’t really blame him. It would be like a med student offering to do open-heart surgery on the President.

  “Well, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer, it’s just, I mean, it’s not that easy. There’s a lot of politics to songwriting. The band, the Label, legal stuff…”

  “Ok, so we don’t write for Night Shifts Black. We just write to have something to do while we hang out and try to find you some inspiration.”

  His face changes. “Really? You’d do that?”

  I shrug. “Of course. I mean, it’s not like I do anything else with my writing. No one’s ever even read it.”

  He seems shocked by that. “Wait, what? You’ve never shared your stuff?”

  I shrug again. “I never really thought about it. I write because it’s part of me, but I could never actually be a real writer.”

  “Why?”

  His question is almost funny to me.

  “Why? I don’t know, because that’s not realistic. You don’t just get to ‘be a writer’ because you like to write.”

  I can tell he’s confused, and I’m starting to get irritated. Of course he doesn’t understand. He’s a superstar. He got his dream and lives in a world where he can do whatever he wants because of who he is. That’s not reality for the rest of us.

  “Don’t get mad, I’m just not understanding what you’re saying,” he defends, and I hadn’t realized my thoughts were so transparent. “You like to write, so write. Why do you have to put labels and expectations on it?”

  I swallow. It’s an excellent point. I’m not sure how to counter it.

  “Show me something,” he says, not giving me the chance to continue the debate.

  “What?”

  “I want to see something you’ve written. I saw you come with a bag yesterday. You have to have something in there.”

  “Oh, you know writers so well?”

  He laughs. “I am a writer.”

  He jumps up and disappears down the hall, returning a few seconds later with his own bag. “I kept my stuff in the office,” he explains. He fishes through the main section and pulls out a notebook. “I do all my serious stuff on the computer, but carry this for any spurts of unexpected inspiration.”

  I swallow. I do the same thing.

  He hands the book to me, and I accept it with a shocked sense of reverence. Am I really holding a portal into the mind of a world-class musician and celebrity? I can’t believe he’s willing to show me this, and I realize how much he must trust me. I doubt this happens often.

  I start paging through the priceless notes, gazing at line after line of words and scribbles. I don’t recognize a lot of them and assume it’s some kind of musical shorthand.

  “I know. It’s kind of a mess. I hear the music in my head but it’s hard to get it down exactly right without my guitar or piano, so I just make notes to myself for later.”

  “I thought you played drums.”

  He laughs. “I do. I also play guitar, keyboard, and violin. Well, with any skill, anyway. I dabble in a bunch of others, but those are my main ones.”

  “Then you probably sing, too,” I muse. Actually, he probably rescues puppies and climbs mountains and discovers new atomic elements also, but we can save that for another conversation.

  He shrugs. “Yeah, a little. We back Luke up at the live shows.”

  “What’s this one?” I ask, turning the page so he can see.

  “Oh, that’s actually the rough outline for ‘Fourth Chair.’”

  “Wait, I think I know that one! It’s about an orchestra or something.”

  He snickers. “It’s about realizing your dreams don’t always match reality and accepting what is. That the world owes you nothing and will kick you in the face if you live like you think it does.”

  I nod, impressed, and trace over the sloppy letters, numbers, and drawings on the page.

  “You�
�re nothing but a fourth chair, baby. Forget the lights, your day ain’t coming. Roses are red but they’re not for you, just remember they die for the first chair too.”

  I grin, and glance up at him with a new admiration. “I thought Luke was the lyric king.”

  He returns it and seems almost shy. “He is. I just happen to have the orchestra background,” he jokes.

  “I guess. But apparently, you weren’t very good,” I tease, and he grins.

  “At organized accompaniment? No. Not at all. My parents withdrew me from orchestra after a couple years, but I’m pretty sure the conductor didn’t give them a choice. No matter how good you are, you eventually have to fall in line. I guess I just didn’t always agree with the musical decisions of Strauss and Mozart.”

  I laugh, totally believing that. “So you switched to drums and became a rocker.”

  “Well, it wasn’t that easy of a transition, believe me, but ultimately, yes. My parents were not on board. I can assure you of that. I was kid number seven, so according to the plan I was supposed to be a concert violinist.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Really? Then who was supposed to be the drummer in a disgustingly successful rock band?”

  He grins and shrugs.

  “Ok, your turn,” he commands, taking his book back.

  I suck in my breath. I’d expected the request, just not so soon.

  “What? I showed you mine.”

  “I know but…”

  “Callie.”

  I grunt in exasperation. “Fine. Give me a minute.”

  I get up from the couch and move to the guest room. Casey’s right. I do carry a notebook with me. Just like he does. Just like him, the complete works are on my computer, but I feel naked without my little notepad to capture my thoughts whenever, wherever, whatever they are.

  I grab the worn book from my bag and stare at the cover, suddenly paralyzed. Am I really going to do this? Expose myself so openly to a relative stranger? Can I even choose not to at this point? He just risked a lot more than I am by showing me his own music diary.

  And if I’m truly honest with myself, I opened myself up to Casey Barrett long before this moment. If I don’t dive in and take a risk at this point, then there is no point. Maybe I’m just a fourth chair, but I’m nothing if I don’t accept that. Casey’s song hits home a lot harder than it ever had when I’d heard it on the radio. I finally get it.

  I steel myself and clasp the notebook tightly to my chest. I’m going to do this. I have to do this. I move from the room with a resolved look on my face.

  “Ok, but you have to promise not to laugh…” I call as I move down the hall.

  I stop abruptly when I see Luke seated next to Casey.

  “Promise not to laugh at what?”

  I swallow, completely frozen.

  “Um, nothing…” I mutter, spinning back around.

  “Callie!” Casey calls. “Where are you going? It’s fine! Come back!”

  I freeze again, having no idea what to do. I’m shocked that I was prepared to open my soul to Casey whom I’ve known for a day, and yet, stalled by Luke who’s been the center of my life for weeks. I can’t possibly open up to both of them together, can I? No, absolutely not. Being ridiculed by one is bad enough. Maybe that’s it. I can take Casey’s rejection, but not Luke’s. No, that’s not it either. I care a lot about what Casey thinks. Too much.

  I lean against the wall out of sight and can hear them speaking in low voices.

  “She was going to show me some of her stuff.”

  “Yeah, she writes poetry. I see you got the bible out. You let her see it?”

  “I was hoping if I showed her, she’d open up.”

  “I bet it’s good.”

  “I bet it is, too.”

  “Guess I’m not her favorite anymore. She never wanted to show me anything.”

  I draw in a deep breath and push away from the wall.

  “Sorry, guys! Just realized I had grabbed the wrong book. Got it now,” I lie, and cover the distance to the couch. “You’re back,” I add to Luke.

  He gives me one of his real smiles, and I relax a bit. “You know me. Just have to pout for a while, then I’m good. So Casey says you’re finally going to let us see some of this mysterious poetry. Gotta say I’m jealous that I couldn’t get a look after a month, and this loser got in after a day, but whatever. Let’s see it.”

  I swallow and open the book, suddenly regretting everything about this moment. I should have at least told them I’d show them some of the finished versions later. The polished and pretty ones on my computer. These sketches are mainly nothing but stream of consciousness thoughts. Word vomit on the days I was feeling particularly depressed or inspired.

  “I told Casey this is my private book. Ideas mainly. I clean them up and do the actual writing on my computer.”

  Neither of them seems fazed by that, and I realize I’m starting to sound like a diva with all my hesitating. I’m not showing them the next classic novel here, just some rough musings of an introspective drifter.

  Then, I remember I actually did complete one of the verses in here. Well, kind of. It was on the bus ride from Shelteron that first time I made my way to the city. My battery had died on my laptop so I worked on it the old-fashioned way. Pen to paper. I never truly finished it, but it was the most complete of anything I had with me.

  They’re too far apart to read it together, so I hand the book to Casey first since he’s the reason I’m in this mess in the first place. I’m still not entirely convinced Luke even cares.

  I watch Casey’s face as he reads, suddenly horribly embarrassed by it all and re-regretting every second of this encounter. I never should have done this. I never should have let them in. They…

  “Holy shit,” he mutters, and my heart drops. He shakes his head and glances up at me briefly, then over at Luke. “Listen to this:

  “Mirror mirror, what do you see, when you look at me

  Mirror mirror, what are you thinking, I see those eyes staring

  Mirror mirror, what are you saying, it’s always something I believe

  Mirror mirror, you’re a liar, so why do you own me

  Hello hello greetings from the inside

  Hello hello framed in all your lies

  Hello hello how you love to see me cry

  Hello hello always so unkind

  Mirror mirror, why the tears, you made me

  Mirror mirror, who do you think you are

  I made you!

  Hello hello greetings from the inside

  Hello hello framed in all your lies

  Hello hello how you love to see me cry

  Hello hello it’s time to say goodbye”

  “What else do you have?” Casey asks, paging through the notebook with interest.

  “What? Nothing…”

  “What else? I want to see the rest.”

  I grab the book from him and shake my head. “There is no more. I mean, not here, not finished.”

  “It doesn’t have to be finished. Please, Callie?” he asks, and I sigh. “What’s the last thing you wrote?”

  I look away. “I don’t really write much anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess… Maybe there’s no point? Like I said, I’m not really a writer. Well, not a real one.”

  Casey almost seems annoyed. “Will you stop with that? That’s bull.”

  “It’s not! I just…I don’t know.”

  He softens. “Look, I don’t want to pressure you, I just really want to see it.”

  “But it’s not even finished!”

  “So what? I know how the process works.”

  “Dude, she says she doesn’t want to show you. Let it go,” Luke chimes in, and the spell breaks.

  I feel badly then. I don’t know why except that somehow I’ve betrayed Casey. His faith in me. I’m being everything I hate about Luke.

  “No, it’s fine. Sorry. Here,” I jump in. “But like I said,
don’t expect too much.”

  I hand him the book back, and he starts going through it again like I’ve just given him the secret to eternal life.

  “I think he likes it,” Luke teases, and I give him a look.

  “Hell yeah, I like it.”

  He skims over a few more pages, then lands back on my mirror poem.

  “Dude, where’s your guitar?” Casey asks, and Luke’s face falls. Casey only grunts. “Come on, man, not now.”

  Luke glares at him. “You know I don’t play anymore.”

  “Yeah, and I also know you don’t go anywhere without that piece of junk. Just get it for me and then you can sulk all you want.”

  Luke smirks. “It needs new strings. I haven’t touched it in forever.”

  “You think I care about that right now? I’m not gonna play a show in the lobby, I just want to try something. Come on! Don’t be a dick for once. Please!”

  It’s Luke’s turn to grunt as he rises from his seat and saunters off down the hall. I glance at Casey but see he’s pretty much forgotten about me at this point. I can see his mind working furiously on something, scanning the page over and over again. I decide not to interrupt, I’m not sure what to say anyway, and am relieved when Luke finally appears, an acoustic guitar in hand. Casey looks about to explode if he doesn’t get whatever this is, out.

  The instrument is a beaten mess, which surprises me. I’d expected a star of his caliber to require newer, flashier equipment, but apparently the instrument that “goes with him everywhere” has gone with him for many, many years to many, many places.

  Casey barely even acknowledges him as he rips the guitar from his hands and starts tuning. Luke doesn’t seem upset, however, and appears amused more than anything. I wonder if they’re simply accustomed to this kind of rabid exploration of an idea from each other.

  “Well, you kids have fun. I’m gonna go back to my room and lie down. Way too much excitement for one day.”