“Why? Is it that douche bag you dated last year who forgot to tell you he was married?”
“No. It’s Spencer.”
There was silence on the line. The only sound I heard was the sizzle of my eggs in the pan. I slid them from the pan to a plate just as my toast popped out of the toaster.
“Ah. Well, I hope you know what you’re doing. I know he’s charming, and of course, he has money. But he’s not relationship material.”
I put down the fork that had been on its way to my mouth. My stomach had a knot in it as my own reservations about getting romantically involved flared to life again. But I was still in control and determined to stay that way.
“Sacha, you’re my friend, and I know you said that because you care. But I’m asking you to let this one go. Spencer and I went out, yes. But we’re just friends. We’re working on a song together. That’s the end of it. I don’t care about his family squabbles. I’m not involved in any of that. So, I say this with love, please butt out. Okay?”
“Of course. I didn’t mean to upset you. You know I love you. It’s just that I don’t trust the guy. You can do what you want, but please keep it in mind.”
What the hell had Spencer done to deserve this reputation? He seemed pretty straightforward to me, but then, I hadn’t known him for too long.
Then there was the matter of him barging in to “rescue” me from the clutches of that bar owner at the gig. Then acting like I should be fawning over him about it. But that didn’t mean he was a bad guy, he simply misread the situation.
“I will. He’s been fine so far. We’ve been working on a song, like I said. He composed a song and asked me to write the lyrics. That’s all.”
“Well, it wasn’t really a date, then. Sort of a business meeting, maybe?”
The relief in her voice irritated me a bit. “You could say that.” If your business involves a few white-hot kisses.
The rest of the conversation revolved around her baby and the redecorating of her bedroom. I struggled to pay adequate attention as my mind was otherwise occupied.
We concluded the call on a friendly note, but I couldn’t shake a sense of disappointment. I shouldn’t have to defend the man I was dating, to anyone. What happened between Spencer and me was our business.
But it went deeper than that. I wondered if perhaps there was a kernel of truth in how Sacha described Spencer. Was it truly a family squabble or had his bad reputation been deserved?
I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.
* * *
Spencer
Late Sunday evening, I was putting my clothes away, and a shiny object fell from my shirt. It was Melanie’s bracelet, which I’d stuck in my pocket while we were working on the song. In our excitement, it had been forgotten.
I held it in my palm. It was silver, with two snake heads coming together to form a clasp. Their eyes were tiny rubies, and the backs of the snakes were etched in scales. It had an antique look about it, and I pictured her combing junk shops for unique finds and coming across this thing. It was delicate, beautiful, and fierce.
Just like the bracelet’s owner.
I’d walked around in a daze the entire day. I was tired but on a high from excitement—between working on the song and making out with Melanie, I was happier than I’d been in a long, long time. But something in the back of my mind kept bothering me, a voice that said, “Don’t let her go.”
I had no right to keep Melanie or anyone from doing what they wanted to do. If she felt she had to move back to Florida, who was I to stand in her way?
Was it selfish to want her to stay?
Was I falling for her, or was my attraction due to the challenge of dating a woman who could easily walk away from me?
Money changes things, like it or not. Most of the women I dated were bedazzled by the trappings of my wealth—the places I could take them, the pretty, shiny things I could bestow. I’d go along with it each time, hoping that if I made them happy, we might have a real relationship.
But what they wanted was my circumstances, not me. If we dated long enough, I’d take a chance and play my songs for them, hoping to convey through my music what I felt in my heart. But when the song ended, it would be over, forgotten. Then they’d be asking where we were going that night and who we were seeing next.
Melanie was the only woman who got it. She got me.
There had to be a way to make this work. I could easily fly to Florida to see her, but was that what she wanted?
To distract myself from disturbingly deep questions with no immediate answers, I decided to do some work. I opened my laptop to check my emails, scanning through the unimportant ones. I was reading a missive from a client when my phone dinged, announcing a text. It was Audrey, Gib’s sister. She rarely contacted me, so I opened it right away.
Check your emails. Invitation to my mom’s last-minute surprise party.
I switched over to my personal email account, and there was one from Audrey, describing the party she was putting on for her mother two weekends from now. How she was going to pull that off with her mother at the house was a mystery but not my concern. Yet another party at the Colebanks. I was inclined to skip it, but Angela, Audrey and Gibson’s mother, had always been kind to me.
Plus, wouldn’t it be great to take Melanie as my date? She’d probably go to be with her best friend, Sacha, anyway. I knew she and Gibson likely wouldn’t approve of Melanie dating me, not that it mattered.
I answered Audrey, simply saying I’d be there with a plus one. I didn’t say who that person would be.
I hit the button on my phone for Melanie’s number. It was probably early to be calling her again, but the truth was, I missed her already, and the party was a great excuse to call. My heart beat a little faster when I heard her voice.
“Hello, stranger.”
“Hey there. You probably think I’m a dweeb for calling so soon after our first date, but you left something here.”
She gasped. “My bracelet, right? Damn. I forgot all about it.”
“Don’t worry, it’s safe here. But there’s another reason I called. Well, two reasons.”
“Okay.”
Her tone was curious with a bit of skeptical thrown in.
“One, I wanted to invite you to be my plus one at a surprise party for my aunt. Another gala event at Colebank Manor.”
“Oh, you mean Sacha’s mother-in-law, right? Gibson’s mom? They didn’t say anything about that to me.”
“It’s a last-minute thing, I just got the invite now. The party is two weeks from yesterday.”
“Hmm. I don’t know. It sounds fun, and I’d love to see Sacha and Gib before I go. But I should be about ready to leave town by then. I have so much to do…”
“We can make it a bon voyage event for you too. A last blast before you leave town.”
The realization that she was serious about leaving hit me hard. We had so little time left.
“Maybe. I’ll see what I can do and let you know. What was the other thing you wanted to say?”
I hesitated. If I told her how I felt, it might backfire and scare her off. She’d told me more than once she didn’t want to get involved. But here we were. If there was even a tiny chance to keep things going with her, I had to take it.
“I miss you already. Is that crazy?”
The silence made my pulse race. Seconds ticked by, followed by a soft sigh of resignation from Melanie.
“A little. But you’re not alone. I miss you too.”
Now I didn’t know what to say, so I changed the subject.
“Did you work on the song yet?”
“Yeah, a little. I should have something ready in a day or two. Maybe we can meet for lunch so I can play it back for you?”
“Sounds great.”
We talked for a while longer. I’d asked her what she had to do before she left town, to see if I could help. She insisted on doing everything herself, not really divulging what her to-do list entailed. She seemed de
termined to handle everything on her own, even though she had to be aware I could give her the world at the snap of a finger.
It made me like her all the more. Was I falling for her?
How could I not?
* * *
Melanie
Tuesday night I stopped by Mackie’s place to get my gear. His mood was subdued, not his usual jokes and teasing. He’d been like a brother to me all these years, and it was sad to feel a distance between us.
I followed him to his basement, the darkened room still full of musical instruments and gear but no people. I was used to light and noise in this place, and now the silence was deafening. I had to say something to break the tension.
“Have you guys started looking for a singer yet?”
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Nope. I’ve checked out the online listings but nothing yet.” He paused and then shook his head. “You’re going to be tough to replace.”
He bent to pick up a microphone cord, wrapping it into a loop as he walked. I began gathering my stuff—sheet music, songbooks, a capo I’d forgotten. I wasn’t going to be playing professionally for a while—if ever—but I wasn’t giving up on music entirely. Playing my guitar might be my only escape in the near future.
“You’ll find someone. Maybe try a few open mic nights around town.”
He stopped and stared at me. He was a big, burly guy with a bald head, who looked like he could beat the crap out of anyone who got in his way. But I knew him to be one of the kindest, most affectionate people I knew. He was also blunt about giving his opinion when it was a serious subject.
“Mel, what the fuck is really going on? I know your mom’s not doing well, and your sister has umpteen kids. But is that all it is?”
I tossed the gear in my backpack. He may as well have punched me in the gut because my emotional reaction was the same. Stunned, followed by the beginnings of a panic attack.
I hadn’t had one of those in years. Sweat formed on my hairline, and my breath began to quicken. The urge to either start tearing stuff up or run out of the house and never come back was momentarily strong. I clenched my fists, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath, letting it out through my nostrils.
When I opened my eyes, Mackie was in front of me, his hands on my arms. The concern on his face was genuine, the fear in his eyes too real.
“Are you okay? I didn’t mean to—"
“No. I mean… I just can’t believe I’m really leaving.”
“Sit down.”
He gestured to the sofa. I sat, and he grabbed a bottle of water from the small refrigerator and handed it to me. I took a long, cooling gulp, my head finally clearing. Mackie sat quietly until I was ready to talk. I cleared my throat and let the words flow, let the avalanche of feelings tumble down.
“When I was eleven and my sister was nine, our father left. It was a blessing, in a way, because he was terribly abusive. Not in the usual way—he didn’t beat us up, he never drank or anything like that. But he verbally abused our mother. Sometimes he’d belittle her in subtle ways, criticizing everything she did. Other times he was harsh, yelling insults that made me cringe even when I didn’t understand exactly what the words meant. Mamma would argue, but he’d always win. Sometimes it became a shouting match, and he’d throw things around, intimidate us. He never beat any of us but the threat was always present, that maybe someday he’d cross the line.
“One minute he’d be sweet and complimentary and then viciously critical the next. As a result, by the time I reached middle school, I became withdrawn. I barely spoke to anyone and was painfully shy. Can you imagine that?”
Mackie smiled, like the sun breaking through the clouds. “Hard to believe after watching you work a crowd the way you do.”
“Yeah, because I really love doing that. It’s a side of me that was repressed for many years. Anyway, we survived after he left, but Mamma never fully recovered. She was in and out of depression for years and finally got on meds when she could afford it. My sister was always in some sort of trouble, acting out or just being foolish. I left home when I turned eighteen, hoping to make a new life. My goal was to make enough money by being rich and famous, so I could take care of them.”
His brown eyes glistened a bit, full of empathy. He took my slender hand in his big, tattooed one.
“But that hasn’t happened yet, has it?”
I was silent for a moment, gathering my thoughts. I didn’t want his pity. I just wanted him to understand.
“No. It may never happen. And there comes a time when you can’t keep doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results. Maybe the universe is telling me I need a break, and helping someone else might be what ends up helping me.”
“I understand. I know you have to do what you think is right. But I hate to see you give up on your dream, Mel. You have so much potential. Playing with Sparker has been a blast, but it’s only the beginning for you.”
My voice faltered as I choked back the lump that had formed in my throat.
“Then why does it feel like the end?”
* * *
We hugged, and Mackie tried his best to cheer me up. He vowed to come visit me and bring Lori and their three kids, just to make it interesting. I knew it would never happen, but I loved him for trying.
That night, I sat down with my guitar to work on the song. I had two verses written, but they weren’t quite right. I was still feeling fragile after revisiting my unhappy past, and I hoped to use my emotional state to find the necessary angst the music seemed to require.
I placed my phone on the table, propped up so I could watch the video again. It was Spencer playing the song, which we had recorded Saturday night. I watched in fascination at the easy way his hands moved over the keys. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, so his forearms were visible. He wasn’t overly muscular but definitely toned. I’d had the chance to see much more of him that night, but we’d focused on the song instead.
He hadn’t committed the notes to sheet music yet, so I’d spent the past two days working out the chords on my guitar by ear. The first two verses of the lyrics weren’t half bad, but I’d gotten stuck. I was determined to finish tonight, so I had something to show him at lunch tomorrow.
After three run throughs of the song on my own, I’d barely eked out two more sentences. I was still stuck.
Maybe this calls for some brainstorming.
I glanced at my phone for the time. It was shortly after ten, still early. I tapped the button for Spencer’s phone and it dialed. When he answered, his deep baritone voice sent an unexpected shiver over my skin.
“Hey. I was just thinking about you.”
I put him on speaker and set the phone down.
“And I was thinking about you because I just watched the video for the fourteenth time. I’m working on the song, and I need your help.”
He chuckled, sounding relaxed. “Sure. How can I help?”
“I need you to listen as I sing my way through it, and let me know if it makes sense.”
“Sure. What have you got so far?”
“Well, the main emotions I felt while listening to the piece were longing, joy, and then loss. The first verse has to convey the passion the two lovers have for each other and how much they want to be together. Then anxiety builds to the bridge, culminating in the joy of their union, and how they must never part. But part they do, and the song ends in sadness, but with a ‘someday’ vibe, as though not all is lost. This way, it’s an entire story with the promise of a sequel.”
Nervous, I’d rambled my way through the explanation. Now I waited with held breath. He was quiet for a few seconds, but it seemed an eternity.
“That’s brilliant. How did you get all that from a song you’d never heard before?”
“Interpretation, I guess. A good song tells a story and leaves a lasting impression. Right?”
“That is true. So, sing me the song already.”
I strummed a chord on my guitar, the i
ntroduction to the song. It paled in comparison to his piano version, but it was simply a crutch to get the words of the song written.
“Bear with my rough guitar version. It’s easier to write lyrics when I play.”
“I’m all ears, love.”
His endearment made me smile. I strummed the introduction chords again and began to sing.
It must have been another lifetime
Must have been another world….
I faltered on the words a few times, but this was just a practice run, to see how they worked. I wasn’t focused on the nuances of my performance, only the words. I ended the song right before the bridge, which was where I’d gotten stuck.
The phone was silent for a few seconds, and I wondered if the call had dropped.
“Spencer?”
“I’m here. I’m trying to process what I heard. It’s…awesome. You’ve pulled me in, and I want to know what happens.”
“Great. That’s the idea.”
We switched over to video chat and tossed around some ideas. Spencer even went to his piano to show me how the changes would sound. In between, we flirted. He had a slightly sarcastic sense of humor, and I gave it right back to him. Even though the song was sad, we ended up laughing most of the time. My earlier anxiety had melted away.
Spencer, the one they had warned me about, was turning out to be quite fun.
When I glanced at the time on my phone again, nearly an hour had gone by. I knew he had to work in the morning, so I figured it was enough for one night.
“So, Mr. Colebank, lunch is on me tomorrow. I should have more of the song done by then.”
“That’s so kind of you, Ms. Parker. I can’t wait.”
“Bring your gym shoes. I’ll text you the time and address.”
“What? Are we working out?”
“Nope. You’ll see.”
We said goodnight and disconnected the call. Butterflies were dancing the macarena in my stomach at the thought of seeing him again. So annoying.
Not So Wrong: Love Grows series, Book Two Page 8