Beyond the Song

by Carol Selick

  I almost said I can’t wait to tell Eric, but caught myself. This was the news I needed to get back on track with my music. Even so, I still couldn’t wait to tell him. The truth was, success was sweeter when you had someone to share it with.

  33

  MIDDLE OF THE ROAD

  I’m in the center of my life, a life that isn’t yet defined.

  There’s a fork in the road, and it’s really messing up my mind.

  Not too young, not too old, not too shy, not too bold,

  I’m in the middle of the road.

  It was March 14th, exactly one month since Eric took me to Rouche’s for our Valentine’s date. I walked into Bruce’s office for my usual Thursday night appointment and made a beeline for the couch. Bruce stopped me before I had the chance to lie down.

  “You’ve reached another level of therapy, Carol. It’s time to leave the couch.”

  It happened so quickly, I didn’t know what to say. I took a seat in the chair facing him, but then looked away and stared out the window at the brick walls and fire escapes. I was putting up my own walls to protect myself from Bruce’s penetrating gaze.

  “How do you feel about not lying on the couch?” Bruce asked.

  “I don’t know. I guess surprised and a little uncomfortable.”

  “That’s understandable. It’s been a while since we sat face to face.”

  “Does this mean I’m doing better?”

  “How do you think you’re doing?”

  This was the part of therapy that was maddening when Bruce wouldn’t give me a direct answer and turned my question into a question. “I think I’m doing better. I haven’t had a panic attack in a while and I can eat in restaurants.”

  “That’s because you’ve worked hard to examine and release unconscious fears and emotions that you were carrying around from childhood.”

  “Does that mean I’m done?” A sense of fear came over me. True, since I’d met Eric, I’d stopped fantasizing about Bruce and accepted that my feelings for him could be a textbook case of patient-therapist transference. But not seeing him still seemed unimaginable. Bruce was my rock, my anchor, my dock, my grounding. I could fall in love, venture out of my safe harbor, dive into tumultuous relationships, but always, somehow, find my way back to shore, to my safe haven—to him.

  “The goal of therapy is to leave, but I believe there are still some issues that need addressing.”

  “Like Eric?”

  “Since you did your recording, Eric is all you talk about.”

  “Why are you questioning my feelings for him?” Can’t he just be happy for me? Is he jealous?

  “I’m not questioning your feelings, I’m questioning how quickly you fell for someone you know very little about.”

  “Well, at least I know his last name: Eric Portman. That’s a start!” I said to break the tension. We both started laughing. “I know that sounds funny, but the mystery is part of the attraction.”

  “What else do you know about him? Has he told you about any of his past relationships?”

  “No details and I don’t want to know!”

  “Why not?”

  I didn’t want to tell Bruce the real answer. I was afraid to hear about his ex-girlfriends because of my insecurities. Eric had told me that our relationship was different and I desperately wanted to believe him.

  “I don’t know. I guess I want to discover Eric on my own without any preconceived ideas.”

  “The best predictor of the future is the past.”

  “I don’t want to put Eric under a microscope. We all have a past. I want to focus on the present.”

  “Touché! What’s happening with your music?”

  “Actually, I have an appointment with Rose at a publisher’s tomorrow. They’re gonna listen to our song.”

  I hated to admit it, but some of Bruce’s observations about my relationship with Eric were right. When I got home, I decided not to see Eric that night, so I could get ready for my music appointment the next day. I was feeling a little scared as I dialed his number.

  “Hi, darling. I’m just finishing practicing. I can be over in about an hour,” Eric said.

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Tomorrow’s my appointment with Sky Publishers and I think I need some time to myself tonight to get ready. Do you mind?”

  “No, but what’s the big deal?”

  “To me, it’s a big deal. I just wanna make sure I get a good night’s sleep. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night, I promise.”

  “Okay, baby, but I could make you feel nice and relaxed tonight.”

  “It’s tempting, but I better not.”

  “I guess I’ll see you after my gig tomorrow night? It might be kinda late.”

  “That’s okay. Love you! Wish me luck!”

  I thought Eric would be a lot cooler with me not seeing him for one night. Turned out, Eric was a Taurus, not a mysterious Scorpio. I knew Tauruses could be stubborn and set in their ways. Maybe that should’ve been a red flag because I’d already gotten my heart broken by two Tauruses. Michael, my first love, had left me for another woman and so had Joshua.

  On the other hand, maybe Eric was protesting so much because he loved me more than I ever realized. I tried putting him out of my mind, as I searched my bedroom closet for the perfect outfit to wear for my big meeting.

  Instead of sleeping better, I woke up in the middle of the night from a terrible nightmare. I dreamt I was in the basement of my parents’ house, but I was much older. I’d found a cardboard box with a photo album inside. In it were yellowed newspaper clippings. One read: “Carol Marks, songwriter, makes her mark tonight at the Bitter End.” Above it was a headshot taken of me from one of those walk-in studios on Eighth Avenue. At the bottom of the box was a black rectangular case with a microphone in it. The mic had red lipstick stains.

  The next scene was me, middle-aged, in an elementary school classroom, sitting at a piano in front of the room wearing a tweed skirt, white blouse, sensible shoes, and wire-rimmed glasses.

  I woke up in a panic. Wire-rimmed glasses and penny loafers? My dream felt like a Twilight Zone episode, showing me what life could be like twenty years from now if I didn’t take those risks, go on that audition, practice that song, meet those people who want only the best, get to the front of the line, use my energy to get to the top before my dreams faded like the freckles on my face.

  Squinting in the mirror, I was relieved to see my twenty-two-year-old self staring back, bleary-eyed. The dream was a warning. I was being pulled in both directions and I needed to make the right choices. I fumbled for the pad and pen on the nightstand that Rose had advised me to keep by the bed. “Some of my best song ideas come to me when I’m half awake. It’s like the songs are being channeled through me,” she’d told me.

  I paused a moment, pen in hand, took a deep breath, and quickly started writing.

  I’m in the middle of the road, wonderin’ which way to go.

  I’ve learned a lot, but there’s still so much I don’t know.

  Standing on the white line, waiting for the light to turn green,

  Leaving my old fears behind.

  I’m at the point of no return, I’ve got to decide where to go.

  I’m in the middle of the road.

  34

  MUSIC BIZ

  I keep tellin’ ya, I think it’s gonna work out fine.

  I know it’s gonna work out fine.

  It’s got to work, to work out fine.

  I woke up with a start. Eleven thirty? How did that happen? The lyrics I’d scribbled in the middle of the night were lying on the nightstand. Middle of the Road—not bad, I thought as I read them over. I wanted to show them to Rose, but not today. Today was all about one song—“Let Me Bring Out the Animal in You.” If it went well at Sky Publishers, that would be m
y go-ahead sign. I’d be on the path to becoming a real songwriter, not just a wannabe. And maybe my dad would get off my back and not make me get my teaching degree!

  I was too nervous to eat much. Breakfast was never my thing, anyway. I made myself my usual cup of Taster’s Choice and put a Pop-Tart in the toaster. Katie wouldn’t approve, but I’d run out of granola bars. Besides, I needed the sugar rush this morning.

  I picked out the same lucky outfit I’d worn to my first voice lesson: knee-length denim skirt, black tights, boots, ribbed beige sweater, Dylan cap. I felt confident until I looked down at my nails. What a mess! The polish was chipped and uneven. I’d forgotten to paint them, but now it was too late. Even though I couldn’t afford professional manicures, I’d always taken pride in the way my hands looked. Maybe it was a Gemini thing since Gemini ruled hands. I grabbed a bottle of pink nail polish and stuck it in the pocket of my pea coat thinking I could touch up my nails in the cab ride to our meeting.

  I rushed down the stairs and was already at the curb before I realized I’d forgotten the extra lyric sheets Rose wanted me to bring. I turned around and ran back up the stairs. My face was starting to flush. Bummer! This is starting out really bad, I thought.

  I hurried to Rose’s office, almost out of breath, dodging pedestrians along the way on Central Park West. As I approached Columbus Circle, totally stressed out, Eric suddenly popped into my head. Why didn’t I hear from him? I wondered. Why didn’t he call to wish me luck? Was he mad because we didn’t spend the night together? I pushed those negative thoughts to the back of my mind. This is no time to let a man get in the way, I told myself crossing Broadway. In the middle of the street, my nerves got the better of me and I could feel my legs wobbling. No, not today. I’ve come too far to have an anxiety attack. I took a deep breath and heard Bruce’s voice in my head, “You’re stronger than you think, Carol.”

  I flew into Rose’s office ten minutes late, looking disheveled.

  “Keep it together, girl!” Rose kindly said. She was wearing the same outfit she had worn the day I met her, right down to her alligator belt and brown high-heeled boots. Maybe that was her lucky outfit too.

  “Sorry I’m late. I overslept. I’ll have to polish my nails in the cab.” I looked down at my hands and made a face.

  “Music people don’t care about things like that! It’s all about the songs.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. But I still want to do my nails.”

  Rose gave me one of her looks. “You got the lyric sheets?”

  I nodded.

  “Come on, then,” she said, “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  In the cab to 34th and Madison, Rose turned to me and her little girl voice took on a motherly tone. “It’s positive that we got an appointment, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up, Carol. It’s not like the 1950s when singers needed songwriters. Back then, publishers would take anything me and my writing partners wrote.”

  “Yeah, it must’ve been so exciting!”

  “It was. I’m not saying it’s impossible to get a song published now. Just a lot harder.”

  I sunk back into my seat and let out a sigh. “You know, Rose, no matter what happens today, I’ll always be happy I met you. I can’t tell you how much it means that you chose me as your writing partner and you’re giving me a shot.”

  Rose reached over and touched my arm. “You’ve got it, girl,” she smiled. “We wrote a great song, and it’s gonna be a smash! If this publisher doesn’t like it, don’t worry. One monkey don’t stop no show.”

  We walked into the shiny, marble-floored lobby of 701 Madison Ave. at exactly 2:00. A stylishly dressed young woman at the desk in the lobby asked us who we were seeing. “We have a two o’clock at Sky Publishers,” Rose confidently informed her. The receptionist made a quick call. “Mr. Deutch is expecting you. Suite 3302,” she said and pointed to the elevator. Of course, she had a perfect manicure. I dug my hands deep into my coat pockets as we rode to the 33rd floor.

  “Remember Carol, it’s not about your damn nails!” Rose declared and we both burst out laughing. For me, it was a much-needed release.

  We sat without talking in a small waiting room stocked with Billboard and Rolling Stone magazines. I futzed with my hair a little, trying to smooth it down with my hands, and calm myself. Rose had told me we’d be meeting with the son of the original publisher.

  After a few minutes, a handsome, thirty-something guy wearing bell-bottom grey pants, not jeans, an electric blue tailored shirt, and a Peter Max paisley print tie came out to greet us.

  “Rose! It’s so good to see you!” he said, hugging her.

  “Wayne, this is my new writing partner, Carol Marks. Carol, this is Wayne Deutch.”

  “Nice to meet you, Carol. Rose is a living legend in the publishing world. My father thought very highly of her,” he said as we followed him back to his office. Wayne motioned us to a black leather couch, then sat behind a large modern desk that was strategically positioned in front of a whole wall of framed gold records. I couldn’t make out the title of the songs, but the sheer number was impressive.

  “What’ve you got for me?” Wayne asked.

  “‘Let Me Bring Out the Animal in You.’ This little girl came up with the title.” Rose loved telling people that. She handed him the demo tape and the lyrics.

  Rose had warned me not to say anything while the publisher was listening to our song. It sounded impressive, coming through the expensive stereo speakers. I worked at keeping a stone face and stared down at the black and white shag rug. Please, please like it! I prayed.

  Halfway through the song, Wayne stopped the tape recorder. I glanced at Rose, but I couldn’t read her. She was still staring straight ahead with a serious look on her face.

  After about a minute, that felt like an eternity, Wayne slowly smiled and said, “Hmmmm. It’s different,” he nodded, his eyes half-closed as if he were thinking, or maybe hearing it in his head. “I might have a movie that I could place it in. Let’s give it a try.”

  A movie? A movie! My song could be in a movie!

  I looked over at Rose again. She gave me a wink that said “We did it, girl!” To Wayne, she said, “Sounds good. But can we split the publishing?”

  “I don’t usually do that,” Wayne said. He waited a moment and stared down at his desk. I felt myself holding my breath. Then he looked up. “Why not?” he said. “For you, Rose, anything.”

  We all stood up and shook hands. I tried my best to keep from looking as giddy as I felt as Wayne escorted us out. “I’ll have my secretary draw up the papers as soon as possible,” he said. But what I heard was, “You did it! And you’re not going back to school anytime soon!”

  “This is great news!” Rose declared in the elevator. “Let’s go to Beefsteak Charlie’s and celebrate! It’s just around the corner from my office.”

  “Yeah!” I said. “Let’s celebrate!”

  Rose led me through the dimly lit dining room to a table in the back by the payphone. My eyes were still adjusting as I slid across the well-worn leather booth, and looked across at Rose. Her face was glowing. “This is where me and Charlie Singleton met every morning,” she said, talking fast. “This was our corner. We’d order a cheap glass of wine and write until about the middle of the afternoon, and then things would start hopping.”

  “That really must’ve been something. I wish I’d known you then,” I said.

  “Yeah, I wish you coulda been there. The biggest publishers would come by to hear our songs. We’d sing our songs to them without any instruments and they’d tell us to go make a demo. Just like that, we were selling our songs! Then Charlie would say, ‘You can order steak now.’ Once a publisher came in and bought six songs for $80 a song. We never cared about royalties back then. We just took the advances.”

  “Wow! That must’ve been amazing!”

  Rose g
ot a bit of a far-away look. “You know those two Elvis songs ‘I Beg of You’ and ‘Trying to Get to You’? We wrote them right here. Me and Charlie Singleton. We wrote a bunch of other hits in this booth, too. When we knew we had a good song, Charlie would roll a few pencils on the table back and forth until the publisher came up with a better offer. It worked every time!”

  Sitting in the spot where so much history was made, I felt so overwhelmed I didn’t know what to say. I sat there feeling the vibes, absorbing them, all the time wishing I’d known Rose back in the day. Before the red and blue patterned carpet had faded and the red leather booths were ripped. Before there were cigarette burns on the tables. When the music business was hopping—- taking chances on new talent, new sounds, new songs, and turning out hits from songwriters who kept court at the corner bar.

  “Yeah, it was a gas!” Rose leaned back in the booth and smiled at me. “But you know what, Carol? This is a gas, too. It’s your turn now. You’ve got the new sound.”

  “Let’s have a glass of wine!” I said, already feeling a little high.

  “What you say, girl. Today you and I have something to celebrate! It’s on me!”

  35

  JUST GONNA THINK ABOUT TODAY

  Nothing’s for certain, that’s for certain.

  World’s spinning fast some people say. That’s okay.

  I’m not gonna think about tomorrow, gonna keep on singing.

  Just gonna think about today.

  Some changes are subtle and you look forward to them, like the faint smell of spring in the air when flowers are promising to bloom. It was the last week in May and I was busy planting my own seeds. I was writing with Rose, taking voice lessons, working my day job, and seeing Bruce. At the end of the day, coming home to Eric in my bed was the icing on the cake. We’d lasted over three months, a relationship milestone for me. Eric still had his apartment, mostly to store his music equipment, but for all practical purposes, we were living together. It felt like we were putting down roots.