by T L Dasha
His laugh filled the receiver. “Come over. You know the address,”
He hung up, and I sat there in my leather seats, staring at the screen of my phone. Why did I do that?
I guess there’s no turning back now.
I pulled up to Garza con Gandules. It was closed for the night, as I had figured. I went around back to Brad’s door. It was slightly ajar, a dim light seeping from the crack.
I approached quietly and nudged the door open. I was immediately bombarded with the scent of Latin spices. Brad’s voice carried down the hall, loud enough to be heard a few rooms over from the kitchen as he sang an old country song with playful notes. I stepped through the open door, and inched toward the kitchen.
Fresh cilantro and garlic tickled my nose. I could hear the sound of sizzling meats and sautéing vegetables. God it all smelled so good. My stomach grumbled in approval.
Then I heard a woman’s voice. I stopped in my tracks, making sure I was nowhere near the kitchen’s line of sight. “Ah, no sweetie! You don’t put cheese on that.”
“What? Why? Cheese makes everything better.” Brad retorted with a whimper.
“It’s a complete butchering of the dish. Do you want to impress this ‘friend’ of yours, or are you going to go rogue on me?” Her tone carried the gentle but stern chastising that only a mother could master.
“Fine, I’ll do it your way.” He groaned.
“You mean you’ll do it the right way.” She chuckled. “So when am I going to meet this ‘friend’?”
“I uh- I mean, it’s not-“ Brad stumbled over every tremoring word. “N-not tonight, Mami. Next time.”
A smile covered my face. He wanted to impress me so much so that he even got his mom to help him, huh? Adorable.
I turned on my heel, and slipped back out quietly, so he wouldn’t know I had overheard. I moved my car to the front end of the building, then waited a few extra moments before I rang the doorbell. In about thirty seconds, Brad pulled open the door.
“Jay Jay. Fancy meeting you here.” Brad smiled a confident smile. Completely cool and collected. He was dressed in his usual jeans with a fitted white v-neck, and his tattoos peaked out from beneath his sleeve.
“It smells like heaven in here.” I blurted out, entirely too distracted by the smell and my crashing blood sugar to remember to be professional.
“I was just making a quick snack. You can have some if you want.”
A quick snack, huh? Well, I certainly wasn’t going to refuse. “Yes, please.”
Brad laughed as he stepped aside to let me in. The room was dark, save the feint candlelight that illuminated a table in the center of the room. The table cloth was a simple red and white plaid. The chairs were more like plastic lawn chairs than dining room furniture. And as I sat down beside that single flickering flame, I couldn’t imagine any restaurant, any meal, or any moment feeling more special than this did.
“Do you always eat your snacks by candlelight?” I ran a hand through my hair as a nervous tick. Brad placed a bowl of some manner of rice concoction in front of me. The steam was fragrant with onions, garlic, cumin, cilantro, and a host of inviting flavors tempted my tongue.
“Don’t you?” He sat across from me, his grin illuminated by the fire. “There’s nothing wrong with taking yourself on a romantic date sometimes. This is Arroz con Gandules. It’s a traditional Puerto Rican dish, and the house specialty.”
His eyes darted to the side. He paused for a few moments as though to mull over his words. “We usually only make it for special occasions. It took a lot of work, so you better fucking like it.”
I snorted. “What’s the occasion?”
“Well we finished the album, didn’t we? What’s more special than that?” He reached over to ruffle my hair.
Of course. Work. Duh. “Well, then shouldn’t we be toasting some wine?”
“I don’t know if this place is quite that fancy.” He laughed as he took his first bite. He seemed impossibly pleased as he swallowed. He should be. It tasted incredible. “I’ve got Tecate, though.”
Brad got up to grab us each a beer. He used the back of a lighter to pop off the tops of each bottle, then poured them into a pair of chilled glasses. The perfect pour. Minimal head. He would have made a fine bartender. “You can crash here again if you want. Since I know you’re a lightweight and all.”
I took the glass and gave his a clink before I took a sip. “I’m only going to take you up on that offer to make sure you show up on time for work tomorrow for once.”
“On second thought, I take that back.”
“Ha!”
Brad sat across from me and downed half his glass. For someone who wasn’t even twenty-one yet, he seemed much more experienced with liquor than I was. His eyes crawled back to me and he smiled. “Is that why you came all the way out here? You wanted to celebrate?”
“No, I was just in the area.” I focused on my glass. It’s not like I was doing anything wrong by helping out Baek with some simple errands, but I somehow felt oddly guilty. I didn’t want to tell Brad I was jumping through hoops to buy him favors. He didn’t need to know that, and it made me feel cheap. “I’ve got a friend out here I wanted to visit.” I continued to avoid eye contact, in hopes that I wouldn’t give myself away.
“Oh, I see. A girlfriend.” Brad sat back in his seat.
“N-no, nothing like that.” In hindsight, I probably should have just played along with that guess. But the thought of Brad thinking I was in a relationship with someone else was somehow worse. “Just a family friend. I just had to run them some things.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d say Brad looked a little disappointed. “Right, that makes sense.” He finished his glass, and got up to rummage through the cooler. “Want another?”
“Sure.”
We stayed up late that night. Later than it already was, somehow. One beer, two, then three- We never ran out of things to talk about. Even more so once we were both a little lubricated and chatty. But it all felt so comfortable.
This was such a confusing relationship still. He was a client. He was a friend. He was a confidante. He made me self-conscious and the most comfortable I’d ever been around another person all at the same time. He would feel like a cliché love song if not for the fact that he was… a guy. My hormones didn’t understand reason anymore.
Heh. Maybe unrequited love and heartbreak is what I need to write good songs.
Is that what this is?
… Of course that’s what this is...
I curled up on Brad’s air mattress that night and tried to push the thought from my mind, as I have so many times before. We had work to do. If nothing else, I could use these stupid feelings to give him my all in the studio. They were a tool for success, not a ball and chain. I smiled softly to myself and drifted off into sleep.
###
With the backing of KRAW radio, they had successfully given away a full house worth of tickets to the premiere of Brad Garza’s ‘Watching Broken Clocks.’ There weren’t any big name celebrities on board yet, and I wasn’t able to get the television coverage that I wanted to, but this is stage one. He has to prove himself before I can expect the world to be groveling at our feet.
On the day of the show, I paced back and forth in Brad’s dressing room as he was being primped and primed in make-up. This would be his first real performance in front of a real crowd. If he choked here, it would be over. And I knew how strong the chances of him choking were.
But I had a full recording of the album on standby. Worst case, he would just have to lip sync. He’d be fine. I’m going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine. I ran a hand through my hair and paced some more. How long does makeup take, anyway? His face is perfect. This is silly.
“Worried?” Brad’s voice shot through my ears, ripping my attention to the door. His stubble was perfectly trimmed, and his complexion was fortified so it could stand up to the glaring lights without blowing out in pictures. The dark hair at
op his head was combed up and slightly to the side, in an attractive and modern ‘longer-on-top’ cut. I couldn’t have ever imagined he could look more flawless, but here he was- a star that no one could possibly resist falling in love with.
No one...
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Brad was in my face now, waving me out of my daze. I cleared my throat and looked away, placing a balled fist over my mouth to partially hide the hints of red in my cheeks.
“Not if you go out there looking like that.” I spoke under my breath, not wanting him to entirely hear me. “Are you worried?”
Brad’s eyes drifted to the side. He chuckled a forced chuckle. “I uh… it can’t be worse than my audition. Probably.”
Very confidence inspiring… My own worry wasn’t helping. He had been passing every test lately. How different could this be? I forced myself to get a handle on my emotions for half a minute, and patted Brad sternly on the shoulder. I can’t keep letting him rattle me like this.
“Look, I’ll be in the audience. If anything goes wrong, just look at me. Pretend I’m the only one there, just like old times. You’ve got this.”
“Right. I’ve got this.” His expression was more serious than I had ever seen it. He reached out a hand and rested it lightly on my cheek, his eyes drilling into me with unflinching contact. “I’ll just look at you.”
My heartbeat picked up pace. His gaze drifted to my adam’s apple as I swallowed. A mocking smile crept onto his lips.
Then he stepped away without saying another word. He turned to exit the room, giving me one last wave as he headed to the stage. I watched the door close as he disappeared, then removed my glasses to clean them. Despite the fire under my skin, I was relieved to see they hadn’t visibly steamed. Though it felt like they should have.
He had no idea the effect he really had on people. On... me.
I had to remind myself that the charisma I was so drawn to was the same charisma that made him more than just another voice on the radio. His little smiles and vague flirting wasn’t personal. It was just the natural stage presence of a performer. I wouldn’t let my confused sexuality get in the way of his career. He needed my writing and my patience to make it to the top, and I’d hide these feelings forever if it meant I could help him succeed.
It sounded so noble in my head, but it felt so pathetic in my chest.
###
“Good morning, Los Angeles!” Greg Winner of KRaw radio stood on the stage, facing a packed house. Most of the crowd was composed of women everywhere from their early twenties to their late forties, alongside a few hapless boyfriends or husbands who got dragged along. This would be a good start for whittling down the perfect target audience.
“At KRaw radio, we always want our listeners to hear it from us first. Tonight, we’ve got a new voice for you guys, as he releases his debut album. Let’s welcome Brad Garza to the stage!”
I stood with my hands in my pockets in the back of the room, standing beside the sound mixer. The studio audience cheered, as prompted by a red neon sign beside the stage. People who won free tickets to a concert that’s airing live on the radio shouldn’t need much prompting to be excited, but it was all part of the experience. It made people feel like they were part of something official.
Brad waved to everyone, then he took his place in the spot light with Greg, “I’m stoked to be here, Greg.” He sounded confident. He didn’t seem to be shaking. If his blood was rushing to his face from panic and anxiety and embarrassment, the make-up was doing a fantastic job of hiding it. All’s well so far, so long as everyone kept to the script.
“So what’s your story? It says here you’re born and raised in Oxnard, but how does a farm kid from Oxnard end up in downtown Burbank singing Pop music?” Greg recited the first question with the casual perfection one might expect from a seasoned radio host.
“You might be surprised how much singing you do when you’re stuck spending your Saturday picking up rocks.” Somehow, Brad sounded just as natural. “We had the best acapella Mariachi band in Oxnard. I was the trumpet.” He mimicked the sound of a trumpet with… unexpected accuracy.
The audience laughed without having to be told. The interview shifted to performance, and Brad began his set with his audition song- which was also the first track on the disc. Young women whispered to their friends, and even the most disinterested boyfriend was trying to hide the smile on their face. Brad was effortlessly appealing. This was why I refused to give up on him. ALIVE needs a guy like Brad. So does America. So do I.
For my career, I mean. He’ll make my career if he can stay focused.
Greg’s voice interrupted my train of thought exactly when I needed something to. “That was electric!” The crowd clapped. “And that’s the first song on ‘Watching Broken Clocks’?”
“That’s right, Greg. That was the first song I ever wrote that didn’t feel like a total dumpster fire. So I figured it should be the first song the rest of the world gets to hear, too.” Brad seemed to be really getting into it now. He laughed easily, sang perfectly, and no one could take their eyes off him. Every now and again, he’d glance my way for a quick recharge of courage, but I don’t think he even needed it.
“I love it.” Greg continued the interview. “So speaking of the album, why ‘Watching Broken Clocks’? Where did that name come from?”
“Why, indeed.” Brad took on his usual Cheshire smile. “Have you ever been sitting at work, watching the clock, and no matter how long you stare at it, it never seems to get any closer to clock out time?”
“My producer is listening to this, so of course not. But I’ve heard there might be some people who don’t love their job as much as I do who have had that problem.” Greg chuckled.
“Of course, of course. Well, I think those people, who definitely aren’t you,” Brad gave him a wink, “will know what I mean when I say that’s what my whole career has felt like up until now. I must have sent out a legit 200 something mix tapes to agents, studios, random people on Venice Beach- literally anyone who would listen. Then I’d sit at my desktop, refreshing my inbox over and over and over again, just hoping one of those people would get back to me. I just wanted an answer, positive or negative, so I knew at least one person out there heard my song. Every time I woke up and there wasn’t at least a rejection waiting for me, I felt like I was waking up on Christmas without any presents. I was convinced I was staring at the clock that had broken at 4:59, and that last minute to freedom was never going to come.”
“Sure, it’s a tough industry.” Greg nodded along.
“It really is. But anyway, by about the eighth month of nothing, I got a phone call. That one, magic phone call that every artist in every discipline dreams of from the day they were born… I basically threw my desktop in the garbage that day.” More chuckles from the crowd. “In all seriousness, Watching Broken Clocks is the idea that, sometimes the reason we’re not getting the results we want is that we’re simply looking to the wrong source. When the reality is, the world we want is right there, right behind that clock that keeps showing us so much hopelessness, waiting for us to notice.”
That was… We hadn’t rehearsed anything like that. It was a completely candid response. He hadn’t even told me that’s what the album title meant.
It was the kind of genuine, heartfelt answer that couldn’t have been coached into him if I tried.
Brad finished out a couple more songs and a couple more interview questions, then he queued up for the finale. So far so good. Just one more. Bring it home.
He locked eyes with me as he began. “What I’m supposed to do next is sing you all the last song the album. It’s a good one. A fun, upbeat, banging good time. But if I did that, I’d be taking away all the mystery of how it ends.”
‘What I’m supposed to do?’ This doesn’t sound good. A sick feeling settled in my gut. What are you doing, Brad?
He continued. “Instead, I’m going to give you a little preview into something that I hope will br
ing us into the next chapter. This is a song my own manager hasn’t even heard yet.”
Whoa whoa whoa, WHAT ARE YOU DOING BRAD?!
“I call this little ditty, See Me.” The lights dimmed as Brad retrieved a guitar and a stool from the back of the stage. He placed it in the spot light. He sat down. And without a single person in the entire production crew on board, not a single, fucking soul in this room knowing what the hell he was going to do next, he started to play.
Brad wasn’t an accomplished guitarist, but he had no issue playing a simple, acoustic melody. It was gentle and exactly enough to enhance his voice as he began to sing.
~Far away~ He closed his eyes and smiled. ~Always hiding the things we need to say~
~If I could say it, I know we’d find a way
But I can’t get enough of this game we play~
His words were hitting me in the pit of my chest. His eyes met mine again, as though he was speaking to me directly. I swallowed, though I couldn’t say if it was due to the lyrics or my nerves.
~So if my silence means I can stay
I’ll keep hiding and lying to youuu~
He went onto an extended rhythm session. It was good. Catchy. Relatable. A perfect single. The audience danced like puppets under the control of his guitar strings.
Still, it was completely out of line. He could have told me about this. I’m supposed to be able to trust him, and he just goes rogue on me whenever the fuck he wants? What if they had hated it? What if it wasn’t any good? What if we never got another chance because he couldn’t stick to the goddamn script?
The lights went black on the last strum, and he ducked off stage to a clamor of applause.
The people loved it, but that’s not the point. The point was that this is a partnership, and he just completely blindsided me. I was livid. I pushed past the body guards and ran to Brad’s dressing room. There was no light shining from beneath the door, but I don’t know where else he could have gone.
I checked the handle anyway. It wasn’t locked.
“Brad?”