Heart Shaped Spotlight

by Haley Travis

  I must have looked absolutely gobsmacked, as Dave flopped onto the couch, laughing. "Her people contacted me this morning. The price is more than fair, so I suggest you take it."

  I nodded, taking another big swig of coffee.

  “Aren't you excited?"

  "I am, I'm just a little… Stunned."

  Dave sighed heavily. "You're wondering again whether you should let someone else sing a song you wrote for Trisha."

  "Listen, dude, we've spoken about the mind-reading . Knock it off."

  He chuckled. He was sort of the big brother I'd never had, and was one of the very few people who could laugh in my face and tell me when I was being a dork.

  "You’ve sold plenty of other love songs. It won't make the song any less special if it’s shared with a different audience. Plus, she doesn't want to pretend that she wrote it. You could have full public writing credit. Her team will even promote you on social media as soon as the single drops."

  "Wow," I said. "That's unusual."

  He shrugged. "I think she's had a bit of a slump after that whole messy public break up a few months ago."

  I stared at him blankly, and he rolled his eyes. "Of course you don't know anything about it. She was dating a slightly younger guy, he cheated on her, total drama, and somehow he tried to make her look like the asshole."

  "Once again, this is why online gossip is the fucking worst,” I chuckled.

  "I agree with you completely. But her people seem to think that having her do a song from a hot young new songwriter will make her look incredibly sweet."

  "Hey, I'm fine with it. If you think it's a good idea, start the wheels in motion."

  "Awesome," he said, clapping me on the shoulder before he stood up. He glanced around the room, then flashed me a sharp look.

  "I know, my writing process is not visually appealing. Deal with it." His take charge attitude turned me into a snarky teenager sometimes, but it amused both of us.

  "You do you,” Dave shrugged. “I hope you're not too burnt out to crank out some more songs for this album."

  "I haven't one hundred percent decided on it, but I've already started writing, yeah." I didn't tell him that some nights I wrote instead of sleeping. But since he came into my room most mornings seeing piles of notes everywhere, he probably knew.

  "Rest up a bit today," he said. "I know I sent you that interview list, but you don't really care, do you?"

  I shrugged. "I care, I just don't know the details of any of these shows. Whatever you think is the best fit, I'll do them."

  "Excellent. I'll call you in a bit."

  The second Dave left, my eyes fell to the notes that had been scribbled around four in the morning. My hand automatically reached up to touch my necklace. As my thumb swirled around the back of the little leather pouch, I knew what Lora was going to say to me in three days. She was the only person who knew what it contained.

  Chapter Five ~ Trisha

  * We Don’t Say Wallflower *

  How does a girl go back to her regular life when her teenage boyfriend just announced his undying love for her on national TV?

  The streetcar.

  As I rolled into work, my body automatically assumed my office demeanor. Emotion, especially anxiety, had to be put aside to do my job. Setting my coffee on my desk, my butt had barely hit the chair before two people came into my cluttered space, needing help with their computers.

  Hum 103.1 in Toronto might have had a stellar lineup of shows and guests, but it was run on a shoestring budget sometimes, and that meant equipment didn’t always get updated on a reasonable schedule.

  As usual, the first hour of the day was spent running around the entire building, fixing problems, and explaining for the millionth time what was possible and what was impossible with the current state of our systems and gear.

  Sometimes I could just do the work, and sometimes people who thought they were being helpful wanted to suggest terribly wrong ways to fix it. There was nothing more dangerous in this world than a person who knew just enough technical words to repeat them, without having a clue what they actually meant.

  But some people were simply frustrated by the delay in their workflow, and I did everything in my power to help them quickly, explain shortcuts, and make their lives easier.

  There were a few older people who needed to hear things a few times, in a few different ways, but now I knew the secret. I would walk them through the process, then make them do it while I stood behind them. Then we’d write down the steps together, including as many personal references as possible.

  I had actual procedural documentation that included the line, “While it’s booting up, pretend it’s a burrito in a microwave and time it for two minutes.” Taking the scariness out of tech was a little talent I tried to cultivate for my coworkers. Leaving them laughing was a daily personal goal.

  By noon, I needed to treat myself to a walk in the park and a slice of butter chicken pizza. By two, I finally caught up on the daily bits and pieces, and could concentrate on my real work. The station wanted to increase its online presence by streaming video of the most important interviews and shows. They even made a couple of sets in what used to be our warehouse storage room.

  Thankfully, I was given an actual budget and enough time to set it up at a reasonable pace. We were ready to do a test next week to make sure that everything ran smoothly. We’d start doing recordings and posting them on our site later, but the live stream had a few extra little things to iron out before I could completely trust it.

  Before I knew it, it was five-thirty, and I got a text that Carrie was waiting for me at reception. Quickly stopping to scrub my hands so that they didn't feel like cable residue, I grabbed my purse, locked my office, and went out to the lobby. Carrie was there, gossiping with our receptionist, Kim.

  "I just knew that he was going to win from the start,” Carrie gushed.

  Kim tilted her head back and forth, pondering. Her bright green shimmer eyeshadow flashed in the light of the artsy chandelier overhead. "I thought that at first, but then Jenna really brought it with that song about her brother."

  "Oh my God, I know," Carrie said, clutching her heart, bracelets jangling wildly. "That was an ugly cry night."

  "Right? But then Nate just kept doing the sweetest songs for his high school girlfriend. Nobody could beat that,” Kim said, rolling her eyes.

  The girls turned to me, laughing. “Trisha watched it for the first time last night," Carrie said. "What did you think?"

  I shrugged, pretending to check that my phone was in my purse to give my hands something to do. "It was pretty good. I liked that the show focused on the music instead of people just prancing around in sexy outfits."

  "Nate could wear a garbage bag and make it look like couture,” Kim laughed. Then she shot me a saucy look. “I bet you wish you were his Trisha.”

  My attempt at laughter may or may not have seemed natural.

  Carrie turned to me. "You sounded a little down last night. Brain scrambled, or whatever you said. So I'm dragging you out for a glass of wine. Or three."

  "Great idea, thanks," I said quickly. "Have a good night, Kim."

  She waved, flashing a dozen gold rings and bright green nails. As I passed her monitor, I saw that several browser windows were open with various gossip and fashion websites. Kim was already the office gossip, and she certainly didn't need more inspiration. She seemed to feel that actual work was beneath her, and had obviously gotten the job because her Uncle Gary was the station manager.

  Once we were three blocks away with a carafe of white wine between us, I took a deep breath and tried to settle down. "Take a few sips, then tell me what's up," Carrie said gently.

  The Pinot Grigio went down too smoothly, as I drained my half glass. "You must have needed that," she laughed. "Now, I don't mean to be nosy, but you know it's my job. What's going on?"

  I took a moment to look around the room. Somehow the cheap leather, old wood, and ancient stained glas
s in Duncan’s little pub always comforted me. "Before I sent you that text, I was just having the usual amount of angst,” I began, tucking my long hair behind my ears.

  "Well, I know it wasn't the photo of Fluffmatron that made you worse," she said.

  "You really do need a proper name for that kitten,” I giggled.

  She shrugged, running a hand through her short, tousled blonde hair. "I can't decide. But don't change the subject. What happened next?" She poured me another half glass, which I also drank immediately.

  "I watched that show," I said slowly, already feeling the fabulous mellowing effects from my favorite grape-based concoction.

  "It was amazing, right?" She grinned. "Next cycle you'll have to watch it from the beginning."

  I shook my head, my bangs falling too far into my eyes. "No, I think I saw all I needed to see with that one."

  "Oh, honey… Did it freak you out that he was singing to a Trisha? Did it make you all melancholy that you don't have a boyfriend to sing to you?" Carrie looked genuinely concerned. She was very empathetic. We’d spent many evenings over this cheap wooden table discussing her lousy dates, her boyfriends, and my desire to find one someday.

  I stopped my fingers from drumming on the tabletop. "Carrie, we've been close friends for long enough that I can trust you completely, right?"

  I examined her eyes as she nodded seriously. "What's wrong?" she asked.

  "I can't…" I trailed off. I didn't know how to say it. No, I couldn't say it. I couldn't let anyone know. I didn't know what Nate would do if he found me, but it would probably end up being public, and there was no way in hell I wanted to deal with that. I was a private person, and that would never change.

  I just wanted him. Needed him. Even for a few minutes, to know that he was all right. That he was happy.

  Carrie’s head tilted to the side as she stared at me. "Trisha, you're twenty-five, aren't you?"

  I nodded. Dammit .

  "Holy shit," she whispered under her breath. "It really was you. Nate was singing for you, wasn't he?" Her eyes narrowed. “Wait. He said her name started with an R.”

  “It’s… He tried to get the yearbook guy to believe that the O didn’t count, so that O’Reilly could be next to Roberts on the page and we could be together.”

  Carrie’s mouth fell open as she breathed, “Holy shit.”

  I felt my teeth sinking into my bottom lip and stopped them before I drew blood. "Please don't tell anyone," I begged. "It was a long time ago, and when he doesn't find me, he'll let it go."

  "Don't you want to see him again? Don't you want to see if you guys still have that spark?” She was bouncing in her seat, her fists tapping on the table.

  I shook my head quickly. "That's the problem. He had all of the sparks. He's larger than life. His energy overtakes every room he walks into. I'm just the quiet little nerd who hides in the corner."

  "But you've changed a lot, I’ll bet,” she said encouragingly, pouring us the last of the wine. "Even in the few years I've known you, you've been coming out of your shell a bit more. Maybe things would be different now."

  "No," I practically whispered. "Not different enough to work."

  "Oh, damn," she said slowly, "Did he dump you?"

  "No. My family moved away, then moved several more times really fast. My dad's job took him all over the place. And they were really strict, so I wasn't allowed to call or text him. We completely lost touch.”

  Carrie's hand fluttered over her heart as her eyes went wide. "Oh my God, that's so sad. Teenage sweethearts torn apart in the prime of their love."

  "Good grief, settle down," I muttered, rolling my eyes.

  "Seriously, he wrote all those songs for you. He obviously still has huge feelings."

  "He has feelings for eighteen-year-old me. There is no chance in hell that he would be interested in this present-day version."

  “Did you look for him?” she asked. “You’re a bit of a tech whiz.”

  I shook my head quickly. “I couldn’t. By the time I could have contacted him, it was way too late. I was positive he would have moved on, so I didn’t bother.”

  Carrie waved to the bartender to bring us another carafe. "I'm going to get you tipsy enough that you think this through with an open mind," she said. It was hard not to laugh when she took on her bossy tone.

  As an only child, I’d always wanted a big sister to help me navigate the hard issues since my mother was utterly useless. Carrie was only a year older, but was amazing at giving me the lowdown. She was the only good thing to come out of a book club I tried a few years ago. We ended up leaving because we couldn’t stand how pretentious the leader was, and went out for wine and real conversation instead.

  "Okay, here's what we've got," she said. "He obviously still wants you. He is obviously still ass over teakettle in love with you." My chin tilted up and down, out of my control. "Was he good to you?"

  My eyes met hers sadly. "When he realized how intense my shyness was, he actually wrote a paper for science class on the brain's response to anxiety, and how to mitigate the effects of fear and stress."

  Carrie nearly choked. "Holy shit – that is so adorable and nerdy and romantic."

  "I still use some of the tips and tricks," I laughed.

  "Okay, so he treats you well. He listens to you. I assume that things ran smoothly in the bedroom?"

  I blushed fiercely, as she laughed her head off. "We were both only eighteen. There was… A little kissing. That was it."

  I always tried not to think back to the time when Nate and I were together, yet it was the easiest memory to conjure because it was the most vivid. There was no way I could explain to her that the fire between us almost frightened me. That the times he kissed me were the only times I'd ever felt completely free. In control of my body, my mind.

  I was barely eighteen, so naïve and nervous. Our first few tentative kisses were so overwhelming that I wasn't quite sure I would survive them.

  The one time we actually curled up on his couch and made out was the single most intense experience of my life. It was the one time that my nervousness had disappeared. My body had taken over completely. Even though we didn't go farther than a little fondling over our clothes, I had been quivering from lust.

  I didn't even know that I possessed that emotion before him, and I honestly didn't think that I ever would again without him. Those few months we were together were the only time I ever thought that I’d be in a relationship.

  Guys seemed to avoid me because I was awkward around them. There was no way I could imagine being with a man if I couldn't guarantee he would stop if I asked him to, or understood if I needed to run to the other room to take a breath, or need to lie on my back on the floor if I got too overloaded.

  There was no way to explain that to anyone else without them thinking I was a complete freak. But Nate had always taken it in stride, knowing that it was just my way. He never once made me feel bad about being anxious.

  Staring into my wine glass, I swirled it just enough to create little waves. “We went for walks on the beach,” I said softly, barely realizing that I was speaking. “He’d find me a pretty stone every time. He went on about how stones held energy because they were so unfathomably old. He wanted our love to be that timeless.”

  "So, what was the problem then?" Carrie asked gently.

  "I held him back."

  "What do you mean?"

  My heavy sigh made the napkin on the table flutter. "He was super popular, the life of every party. Everyone knew him. He was already sort of famous before he got famous. There's no way that a guy like that should be tied to a wallflower."

  Carrie shot me a disgusted glance. "These days we don't say wallflower. How about timid chick?"

  "Shy broad."

  "Type-A anxiety laden female," Carrie giggled.

  "Whatever. I'm not good for him. Especially now. He's going to have to do interviews, and tour, and run all over the place. You saw the show’s hostess making ever
y excuse to touch him. He probably has women falling all over him."

  Carrie’s hand covered mine, squeezing gently. "Trisha, he wasn't singing to them."

  My breath seized in my chest for a second, as I fought back tears. "It's way too late," I finally muttered. "Every problem we'd ever had would be amplified by now. There's no way it could possibly work."

  "Love always finds a way," Carrie said, raising an eyebrow, then raising her glass. "Always."

  Chapter Six ~ Nate