Coming Altered: Welcome to Carson, Book Four

by Renee Harless

  The concept has been floating in his head for weeks, small riffs ricocheting back and forth within his memory, but nothing has stuck. Not until early this morning as he tossed and turned in his New York flat and the melody and harmony had him sitting straight up in bed searching for his guitar and a notebook. An hour later, Harlan had laid down a rough version of what he felt may be his best song yet; a song about finding love hidden beneath heavy chords and powerful vocals.

  “Thanks. Yeah, let’s go ahead and add it, but if I change my mind I’ll let you know,” he replies as he stands up with guitar case in his hand and shuts off the lights in the studio.

  As he walks through the door separating the two rooms, the producer turns to face Harlan as his eyebrows reach up to the middle of his forehead.

  “Change your mind? That song is gold. A new rock anthem. That song deserves to be heard.”

  Harlan rubs a hand along the back of his sweat covered neck, the moisture collecting between his fingers. He still has a hard time accepting compliments and criticism regarding his music, but he appreciates the producer’s words.

  “Thanks. Yeah, go ahead and keep it there. I’m headed out. See ya.”

  “See ya,” the dark-skinned man retorts as he turns back towards the mixing board and replays Harlan’s latest song, nodding his head to the beat.

  Stepping out into the dusky evening sky, Harlan grabs his sunglasses from the collar of his shirt and quickly sets them on the bridge of his nose in the hopes of disguising himself. As a few women glance his way as they pass he regrets not wearing his ball cap. Incognito is the name of the game as far as Harlan is concerned.

  With a flick of his wrist a cab stops before him and Harlan directs the driver towards his flat as he slides in, dragging his guitar case with him – his prized possession, a custom carbon fiber Gretsch Black Penguin. No one got close to this guitar without Harlan’s permission and that included taxi drivers.

  Back at his flat, Harlan carries his guitar to its designated stand in the far corner. As always, he strokes the fine, slick body of the base and slides his hand up the slim neck in a sensual caress. Harlan treats his guitar like he treats his women – with a gentle and caring hand until the possession becomes too much and he has to let loose with an explosion of need – and in the guitar’s case, that means he goes wild with a fast-fingered tune.

  Stepping back, Harlan glances around his open space, nothing extraordinary, just a bed, couch, and kitchen; a space to call his own when he needs a place to sleep. It beat the hotel rooms some of the other guys frequent.

  Something unfamiliar pulls at him, the urge to get out – get away. An idea firmly planted, Harlan jumps into the shower to wash away the sweat and grime from playing in the studio for the past fourteen hours.

  Standing in front of his mirror he contemplates shaving, his five o’clock shadow ever present on his face, but decides against it.

  One more thing to hide behind, he thinks to himself.

  With little care Harlan stalks to the dresser full of clean clothes thanks to a service he hired since he had little time to perform tasks such as those. He tugs on a pair of black jeans over a snug pair of boxer briefs. A deep red Henley t-shirt follows, then Harlan snags his favorite boots and places them on his sock covered feet.

  Satisfied with his look, he runs a hand through his still damp hair before grabbing his wallet and keys and making his way out the door. Just as he’s about to step over the threshold he halts, reaches across the wall to where a stand holds his ball cap. The faded black material fits snuggly on his head and Harlan nods to himself as he shuts his door and makes his way out of the building to hail a cab.

  “Where to?” the older man requests as he turns around to look at Harlan.

  “Um…,” Harlan begins, but then comes up empty. “I don’t know. I just needed to get out.”

  “If it’s alright with you, I know a place where you can get away from whatever it is that is bothering you. No one will disturb you there.”

  Harlan immediately starts nodding his head in agreement.

  “That sounds great. Lead on.”

  As the taxi begins moving Harlan feels the invisible weight on his chest begin to lessen. He stares out the window, content with watching the scenery. The ride takes much longer than he anticipated, mostly due to New York Fashion Week taking place and shutting down what seems like half of the city. Heck, someone has a runway set up in the middle of Time Square. But the ride is quiet, the driver seeming to realize that Harlan isn’t up for much conversation.

  In his mind, last night’s dream continues to haunt him. He has always felt complete, fulfilled, with music, but the dream has him questioning everything. The dream hadn’t been clips of visions or memories; instead the dream was a mirage of senses, feelings, emotions, a presence. The hum of the car mixed with the internal beat of his heart gave them perfect background music to the feelings rushing through his body.

  As the car glides to a stop Harlan looks up at a very nondescript building covered in the shadows of the trees lining the streets. He realizes that if he tried to seek out this place on his own he very well would have missed it.

  Noticing the lack of sign hanging above the door Harlan pauses after he opens the cab door.

  “Don’t worry, son. It’s there. It’s the local’s secret.”

  Glancing back at the building Harlan takes a deep breath and stands to his full six foot three height.

  At least I’m big enough to take on anyone that tries to jump me, he thinks to himself.

  As he timidly opens the door he is immediately assaulted by the smell of smoke, stale beer, and wood. Normally, the overwhelming smell would be too much for Harlan’s senses, but he finds that the combination isn’t that unpleasant.

  Scanning the room, he finds most people casually drinking and chatting. A television hangs in the corner playing a baseball game drawing some of the other patron’s attention. A group of younger guys around his age come in through the door and scoot past him, heading towards the bar.

  Harlan watches as a waitress fills a few beers and drops them off at a few tables before heading back into the kitchen. One of the older customer’s closest to him notices his perch at the entrance. Not wanting to draw more attention to himself Harlan pulls the brim of his hat down lower, covering his eyes, and saunters towards the bar.

  Harlan places himself in the back corner under the television, hoping the shadow of the device cloaks his body in darkness. The waitress must have realized she had a new client because she immediately rushes from the kitchen and asks him what he’d like to drink.

  “Just a Bud, Ma’am.”

  The poor woman blushes slightly as she hands him his beer and then with eyes cast down moves back into the kitchen.

  Harlan takes a healthy sip of the cold brew, the foamy liquid gliding easily down his throat before placing the bottle back on the table. Strangely the room goes quiet around him. Unsure of the reason, Harlan examines the room and finds the crowd still talking, the television above him still playing, and the small jukebox across the way still lit up.

  Strange.

  Before Harlan can question his hearing loss an inflection begins to play deep within his body. Every beat of his heart, breath of air, blink of his eyes, synchronize a tune that only he can hear. The same melody from his dream. But instead of being in his mind he can feel the melody skim across his skin, each beat a tap on the surface, resonating in each nerve.

  Harlan feels the strength of a presence surround him and his breath quickens. The feeling so similar to what he had felt in the early morning light prompting his need to create music. But unlike then, his desire isn’t in music. No, he’s possessed by a passionate desire to seek the parallel of his soul.

  Scanning the room once more his eyes skim past a booth tucked in the opposite corner, but circle back when his heart immediately picks up on a stronger beat. Something flutters in his stomach, a feel akin to butterflies that he hadn’t felt since his f
irst kiss at the young age of eleven. He can’t make out much of the figure in the corner except that it’s a female wearing red high-heeled shoes. She, like him, has a ball cap pulled down far onto her face masking her features, but from beneath the brim he notices a few small strands of blond hair that gleam under the dim light above the table.

  Interesting.

  As if his body recognizes her, all sensations halt except for the steadfast beat of his heart. From the corner of his eye he watches as the waitress exits the kitchen with a tray up on her shoulder bearing a red basket of fries covered in cheese.

  “Miss,” his gravelly voice commands. “Are those for the table in the corner?”

  The woman hesitates, obviously trying to decide if his intentions towards the other lone female in the room are admirable or not.

  After trying to search his eyes she smiles slightly and says, “Yes, they are.”

  “I want another beer,” an antagonized man at the other end of the bar hollers.

  The woman before him sighs heavily and Harlan simply takes the basket off the tray.

  “I’ll handle this and you take care of him, alright? It’s no trouble,” he says with a smile he has been told could melt the panties off of the Queen.

  As expected the waitress blushes heavily before casting her eyes down once more and turning away.

  Harlan grabs the neck of his beer and turns around with the intentions of dropping off the junk food and heading home. Unfortunately, his plans are thwarted when he gets closer and finds himself completely captivated by the beauty before him.

  The woman had sat up in her chair while he had been grabbing the fries and he can now make out the high cheek bones on her flawlessly pale skin. Still shadowed by the brim of her hat he can’t make out her eye color, but the doe eyed shape is recognizable. Her supple mouth hangs open slightly and her chest moves rapidly beneath what looks like a black silk shirt that hangs loosely on her body.

  His steps falter when their eyes meet and he relies solely on muscle memory to right himself because he is completely entranced by the siren before him. Harlan doesn’t even have the chance to ask himself why she would be in a bar like this one. Perhaps she’s escaping something just like him. Harlan doesn’t even care. Something brought them to this moment and as the rhythm pulsing inside and around him intensifies he must question if it is pure luck or fate working her best hand that they’ve met in this moment.

  As he reaches the table he drops the basket in the center of the table and presses his fists firmly on the sticky table edge. Bowing his head, he breaks their eye contact and their melody instantly stops. The noise of the bar and crowd flush his senses and Harlan finds himself needing to fight back the feeling of drowning. As his breathing slows and his consciousness seeps back to its normalcy Harlan continues to feel her eyes boring into the side of his head exploring, questioning.

  Harlan turns his attention back to her, their eyes meeting once more. Her deep chocolate irises, hidden by shadows, almost glow in the dim light. He wants to speak, needs to speak, but he feels his throat closing up, suffocating him.

  Harlan licks his lips, the warm metal of his tongue ring pressing against his full bottom lip, and tries to speak again.

  His deep and raspy voice greets his ears as he exposes, “Damn, you are exquisite.”

  Harlan watches as the enchantress before him swallows a large gulp down her throat at his words. She blinks forcibly a few times, as if trying to bring herself back to the moment.

  She opens her mouth to speak and follows his guidance as her pink tongue extends out to moisten her pouty lips. The woman swallows once more before trying to speak again.

  “Thank you,” she says in a soothing and confident voice.

  Harlan’s chest tightens and he’s almost afraid that he’s having a heart attack as she speaks. But as he continues to stare into her eyes he senses something he hasn’t felt before – clarity.

  At that very moment Harlan finds himself changed, altered, transformed. In one split second, he’s met the reason for his existence and she’s packaged up in silk and lace.

  In an unprecedented move, Harlan slides into the bench opposite her with no protest and extends his hand in greeting, “Hi, I’m Ha…Theo. Theodore, actually.”

  She doesn’t stare at his hand or question his possible slip up, instead she sits straighter in her chair and extends her hand to meet his, “Hi, Theo. I’m Cassidy.”

  When their hands meet, everything Harlan expected comes to fruition.

  Yep, he is done for. Completely done for.

  HEO.

  Cassidy swirls the name around in her mind, letting it fester and take shape until the man before her becomes synonymous with the title. Unfortunately, she has a hard time matching the two. The rugged and dark man before her looks nothing like a Theo, but she can do nothing to question him as she sits paralyzed by his stare, their hands still joined.

  She isn’t quite sure how she was able to speak her own name a moment ago, but damn if his returning smile isn’t the best thing she’s seen in her whole life. The man before her is completely captivating.

  He missed his calling as a model, she thinks to herself.

  “Thanks, I could say the same about you,” he replies with a sexy smirk sliding across his lips.

  Apparently, she hadn’t kept her thought to herself.

  Finally extracting his hand from her grasp, Cassidy immediately feels an emptiness against her palm, not just physically, but a sense of peacefulness drifting away.

  “So, Cassidy,” his deep drawl begins. “Are you from here?” he asks as he reaches forward and snags one of her beloved fries.

  If he wasn’t so damn handsome she might very well smack his hand away from the starchy goodness.

  “I’m not. I’m from a small town.”

  Nodding his head in understanding he continues, “Here on business or pleasure?”

  “Business, you?”

  “Same,” he says as his gaze drifts across her features. “You look familiar.”

  Cassidy swallows a gulp hating the way her heart speeds up in nervousness at the thought that he recognizes her. For the first time in her life, she feels as if she hasn’t been sought out for her fame and fortune. As a worldwide name in the fashion industry, Cassidy struggles to keep herself far from those hoping to latch onto her fame. And as much as it would pain her, she will absolutely leave this gorgeous man slouched in the booth if he knows who she is.

  “Oh, I know. You look like one of the girls I went to high school with,” he confirms as he slaps a hand on the table startling her.

  “Hm… well, that most certainly wasn’t me. I’m pretty sure I would have remembered you,” Cassidy covers as she works to slow her breathing.

  The couple stares at each other for a moment before they break each other’s gaze; their fingers brushing against each other when reaching for the fry basket.

  “Sorry, I don’t mean to grab at your food,” Theo sheepishly responds.

  “Oh, please. Help yourself. I have all these butterflies in my stomach.”

  And apparently, no filter.

  “Do you now?”

  “I…ugh…I wasn’t expecting you,” Cassidy adds as a heat spreads across her pale cheeks, a true sign of her blushing. “This place here has been my escape, you know? Nobody talks to me, everyone just leaves me alone. I don’t have to think about work, or life, I can just relax into myself.”

  “What are you running from, sweetheart?” he asks and Cassidy heaves a heavy breath.

  Isn’t that a loaded question? What isn’t she running from? Work used to be her first love, but now it feels empty, stale. Her mother is hounding on her to meet someone, she wants grandbabies after all. And her love life is as stagnant as a pail of year old water. Cassidy craves the moments of clarity and solitude in her little escape in the city.

  “That there is a loaded question, Theo. This is the first time I’ve seen you in here. What brings you into this little wood
en paradise?”

  “I’m not really sure. The taxi driver suggested it when I said I needed to relax. And his recommendation led me to this beautiful woman in a corner booth.”

  Cassidy tries to hide her smile by snagging her lower lip between her teeth.

  “Well, don’t you have a way with words?”

  She watches as his eyes cast down and he reaches for another cheese smothered fry. Before placing the food in his mouth, he murmurs softly, but it’s loud enough for Cassidy to hear him say, “You have no idea.”

  Cassidy breaks away from his pull and watches the man speaking animatedly at the table across from them.

  “It may seem rude, but one of my favorite things to do is to think up what someone else is saying, or what their story is. What do you think that guy over there is talking about?”

  Theo looks up and smiles brightly at her, his eyes twinkling in mirth.

  “I do the same thing.” Turning his attention to match her gaze he asks, “Are we talking about the guy that looks like he’s a member of ZZ Top?”

  Cassidy giggles at his assessment. She had thought the same thing when she saw his scraggly beard.

  “Well, I feel that maybe he’s angry that still, in this day and age, people think his band sang Low Rider.” Cassidy bursts out in laughter as Theo continues, “He’s discussing the differences between the War song and ZZ Top songs. Clearly the lack of beard should be a giveaway.”

  “Oh my gosh, that’s great. You’re too much.”

  “What about that man standing at the jukebox?” Theo inquires, clearly interested in playing the game.

  “Hm…” Cassidy begins as she scrutinizes the man’s features and stance as he leans over the dully lit music player that has visibly seen better days. She waits until his song choice is selected and then smiles broadly turning her attention back to Theo. “Based on his song choice alone, I’m going with that he used to be an epic guitar player, but suffers from a severe case of stage fright so his talent never left the confines of his bedroom. He’s spent years reliving his nightmare of being on stage and only finds comfort in strumming the strings on his air guitar. Instead of living it up like his idols, he’s stuck here working a ten hour-a-day job wishing he could turn back time.”