by Erin Watt
Four hours. That’s a while. Wonder what she’s doing now? “Any bad press I should know about?”
“Nope. It’s all quiet in Oakville.” Big D smiles to himself over that witticism.
“Good,” I grunt. As I pull out a bottle of Powerade, I pause and turn back to Big D. “Hey, good morning. Thanks for coming.”
He sets down his paper and subjects me to a long appraisal. “Ty said something about how you were changing. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”
I force myself not to shuffle my feet like a five-year-old caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Is that your way of telling me I was an asshole before today?”
“Nah. Just that you’ve had so much sun shining in your life that sometimes it blinded you.”
“So I was an asshole before today?” I nudge the refrigerator door shut with my shoulder.
Big D laughs. “We’re all assholes, Oak. Call Jim before his head explodes.”
I take the phone, my drink and a banana out to the deck and call Jim.
“How’s the recording going? When can I hear some music?” he asks.
“I thought I sent—” I pause midbite when I remember that no, I hadn’t sent Jim a thing. I sent the first recording to Vaughn. Vaughn, who made me wait ten minutes before spitting out the word good. I swear she only has one adjective in her whole damn vocabulary. I’m going to work on that.
She needs to learn things like hot and ripped and awesome. All of which she should apply to me. When I see her again, we’re going to start those lessons. Right after she explains why in the hell she kissed Luke. In the process of kicking everyone out, I came to the conclusion that she was so drunk she probably thought Luke was me. We’re about the same height. Same color hair. In her drunken state, she got us confused.
Once she realized she’d had her mouth pressed against the dickface, she’d thrown up. The only correct response after recognizing that you’ve kissed a loser.
“You sent me nothing. Or if you did, it didn’t come through. Resend it.”
“No.”
“No, what?”
“No, I’m not sending you anything. Not until King and I are done with the album. Or at least half of it.” I don’t want anyone listening to the songs right now. Criticism might derail me at this point. There are only two people I care about hearing my music and it’s King and Vaughn. In fact, she should come to the studio today and listen to me live. I’d like to see her tell me that song is good to my face.
“You always send me your music,” Jim reminds me. “I’m your manager. You send me your music. I tell you if it works and then both of us make enough money that the Saudis are calling us for loans.”
“All of that is going to happen,” I assure him, mostly because I want to hang up and call Vaughn. “But it’ll happen in my own time. Gotta run, Jim. Text me if you need anything.”
Meaning, don’t call because I’m not answering.
I dial Claudia next because I don’t want any distractions when I go into the studio. I’m going to lay down some righteous tracks between now and whenever King is tired of me, and the last thing I want to do is deal with Claudia and her little plots. Besides, Vaughn and I have this figured out.
“Claud, hey, it’s Oak.”
“I’m so glad you called! I’ve got interview opportunities for you from GQ, People, USA TODAY and ET. The rumors about you working with King, along with your new relationship, are generating real, positive interest. Which one do you want? I think you should bring Vaughn, not to have her answer any questions, mind you, but her presence should be noted. Maybe we’ll even have a picture of you with her. She can sit on the piano bench. You’ll be on the floor with your arm raised around her bottom. That’s tender, yet not too provocative.”
I eat the rest of my banana as she chirps in my ear. While Claudia talks about the clothes we’ll wear in this fantasy photo shoot she’s cooked up, I return inside to hunt down my personal phone so I can call Vaughn. I locate it on my nightstand.
I need to shower before meeting King in the studio. Wait, do I even know what time we’re meeting? I check my messages and see that he texted this morning that he’d be available around two. I text back the thumbs-up emoji and then pull up Vaughn’s contact.
“I can’t do any of those, Claud. I’m recording. Maybe after.”
“But what about Vaughn?”
“I got that covered.”
And I hang up before she can tell me all the ways that I’m screwing up. I’ve heard that stars like me are supposed to have a bunch of yes-people. Where did I go wrong?
I throw my business phone on the bed and call Vaughn.
“Hey,” she says, her voice all tentative and wary. No doubt she’s feeling embarrassed about last night, mistaking Luke for me and all.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Like death.”
I muffle a laugh. “You should’ve stuck around. Big D knows all the best hangover cures.”
“He mentioned something about a hairy dog, but that made me want to barf again.”
“You still in bed?”
“No. I’ve managed to haul myself downstairs to the living room sofa so I can pretend like I actually got up like a normal person.”
“Normalcy is overrated, baby. If I send a car around will you come to the studio today?”
I hear a deep sigh. ”Is that what Claudia wants?” she asks.
The banana in my stomach curdles. Haven’t we gotten beyond that? It ticks me off that she’s still making decisions based on what she thinks Claudia wants or what’s good for my image.
I open my mouth to tell her that, no, that’s what I want, when a wave of insecurity swamps me. If I say no and she turns me down, that’ll feel like shit. And I want to see her today. I want her to hear me play. I want her to kiss me, Oakley Ford, without the cameras, without the booze, without anything. Just her and me.
“Yeah. Claudia.”
It isn’t a full-on lie. Just a small one. Infinitesimal, really.
“Is an hour okay? I haven’t showered and I smell like someone spilled a case of beer over my head.”
“No problem. I’m sending a car over now since it’s going to be an hour in this traffic.”
“Okay, see you then, Oak.”
At least she’s calling me Oak. I’ll take it.
* * *
When you’re inspired, stuff happens in a nanosecond. While I’m waiting for Vaughn to show up, I jot down a bunch of lyrics. After nixing about a dozen of them, I shuffle the rest into something resembling a song and hand it off to King. I drum a few different beats on the desk while he considers the words.
“Yeah, I like this.” He hums a few chords. “Maybe faster over the bridge. Like—” He drops the notepad on the console and demonstrates.
I sing the first verse to his beat and it’s perfect. We grin at each other. Something is cooking here and it’s delicious. Working with King is everything I thought it would be. He makes me feel comfortable, even when he’s asking probing questions like when was the last time I was moved by a song, any song? He shares personal stories, ones about his own failures, and that courage prompts my own. King’s like a producer and therapist wrapped up in one genius mind.
My phone beeps and I lift a finger for King to hold on for a minute.
I’m here.
A jumble of words fight for dominance: yes, finally and thank God.
“Vaughn’s here,” I tell King. “Mind if we take five?”
“Nope. I’ll go out back and pretend I’m trying to stop smoking.”
We slap each other’s hands and I go to let Vaughn into the studio.
“You came,” I say.
Her face is a bit pale, but she still looks beautiful. I’m star
ting to love the fact that she doesn’t wear makeup. Everything about her is natural and honest and so frickin’ awesome. As I pull her inside, I’m fighting the urge to kiss her.
Inside the studio, a water bottle is waiting for her on a side table, and I bribed a blanket off one of the studio assistants upstairs. It’s kept cool in the studio because of the instruments and the equipment. She might get cold since she lives in tank tops.
“I didn’t see any cameras outside,” she says as we reach the studio door.
I push it open for her and then lead her over to the chair I set up for her. “Yeah, about that. I might have lied.” I gesture for her to sit, and she collapses into the chair. “Claudia didn’t say you needed to come.”
A furrow creases her forehead. “Then why am I here?”
I pull up a stool and pick up my Les Paul guitar, settling the body across my thighs. “I thought you might want to hear the music I’m doing with King.”
“Huh.”
There it is again. The big sigh.
I set down the guitar and stand up, irritation crawling across my neck. This is a big deal and not only doesn’t she appreciate the gesture, I don’t think she has a clue what it means. I rub a finger across my forehead. How do I explain this to her without coming across like a giant douche?
“So generally when artists are making music, it’s just them and other musicians and the producers.”
She winces. “So this is a big thing?”
Pride makes me shrug carelessly. “Not so big.”
“I’m screwing up everything, aren’t I?” Her gaze darts toward the door, as if she’d like to be anywhere but here.
“Am I keeping you from something?” I can’t keep the chilliness out of my tone.
“No. I’m just...hungover. I drank too much last night.” She gives me a wan, unhappy smile.
Her lack of enthusiasm, her obvious desire to flee, is like a punch to the gut. “That all you regret from last night?” I say harshly.
“I guess. I mean, I’m sorry I drank so much and passed out in your bed.” She’s studiously avoiding my eyes.
“You’re sorry for passing out in my bed,” I repeat. “That’s what you regret? Drinking too much and passing out in my bed? What about fucking Luke?”
“I slept with Luke?” She leaps to her feet, horrified. “How—”
“No, I meant Luke. You kissed Luke.”
Guilt flashes across her face. “Oh. That. I was hoping you wouldn’t mention that.” She visibly swallows. “It wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had.”
Not the best idea? I nearly shout. Talk about an understatement.
“Then why’d you do it?” I ask tersely.
“Because I was drunk. And because I felt crappy and awful after all that stuff W said to me. And because Luke was there.”
Pain arrows through me. I’d convinced myself that she’d mistaken Luke for me, but apparently that’s not what happened at all. She’d known she was kissing someone who wasn’t me...and that realization is crushing in a way I hadn’t expected.
I stare at her in disbelief. “So you would’ve made out with anyone? Is that what you’re saying? Didn’t matter who it was as long as they had lips and a tongue?”
Vaughn cringes. “No, that’s not it. I was...drunk,” she says again, sounding defeated. “I was drunk and upset and I wanted you and couldn’t find you, and Luke was suddenly there and he was flirting with me and...” She trails off.
One of her jumbled sentences sticks out to me. “You wanted me?”
She bites her lip.
“You were looking for me?” I study her embarrassed face. “Because you...wanted me. What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” she mumbles. “It means nothing, okay?”
“Dammit, we both know that’s not true.” I jam my hand through my hair in frustration. “It does mean something. You were upset and you went looking for me. Because you want me, Vaughn. Just admit it.”
“You want me to admit it? Fine! I admit it! I like you, Oak. I like you and I’m tired of pretending and I can’t stop thinking about kissing you and—”
I don’t give her time to finish that thought. I grab her, instinct overriding rational thought. I grab her and kiss her like I wanted to last night. Like I’ve wanted to since...since she stared at me with stars in her eyes at the beach. No, before then. When ice cream dripped on her fingers and I had my first taste of her sweetness. Maybe even earlier, when she was tart and sassy.
I’ve wanted this kiss for so long that I drink from her lips as if she’s the only pool of water in the biggest desert on earth. And under my mouth, she melts. Her own lips part and she kisses me back.
And it’s everything I’d imagined. Better than fifty thousand people shouting your name. Better than a sold-out Madison Square Garden crowd singing your lyrics back at you. Better than the greatest song ever sung. Her arms twine around my neck and I lift her up, face level so I can kiss her longer, harder, deeper.
Her tongue slides into my mouth and someone moans. I think it might be me. But then it’s both of us, because my lower body starts grinding against her, and I know it feels as good to her as it does to me.
I want to kiss her forever. We should stay like this forever. Generations from now, they’ll find us in the rubble, two lovers who died kissing.
All too soon she pulls away and stares at me. Confusion mars her pretty face.
“Just wanted to remind you that I’m still here.” King’s voice filters through the million-dollar sound system.
“Oh, my God.” Vaughn turns redder than my mom’s famous lipstick. Confusion switches to mortification. She slaps her hand over her mouth and runs out of the room.
I stand there like a stupid dumbass because I’m too stunned by my response to move. Is that what kissing is supposed to feel like? Holy hell. And if so, why did she run off?
I jerk myself into action and follow her, but she’s already darted into a bathroom and locked the door.
“Vaughn, baby. Come out.” I hear the faucet turn on. I jiggle the knob a little. “Are you sick?”
“Go away. Go away and make your music. That’s what this is all about anyway.”
I turn to see if there’s anyone around who can help me interpret what just happened, but I’m alone and my girl has locked herself in the bathroom. Probably for the best. I’d rather no one else witness this humiliating exchange.
I make my way back to the control room, shaking my head the whole way.
King doesn’t say a word as I collapse into a chair.
“What?” I ask after a prolonged silence.
“Nothing, man.” King grins. “I should’ve come here sooner. Had no idea I’d be getting a show and an album in one deal.”
I scowl. “Maybe I’ll find a different producer.”
If possible, his smile grows bigger. “Nope. I’m not leaving now. There’s fire and magic in the air. Perfect music-making conditions.”
I merely grunt as I pull out my Bic to scratch out the first line of how my head’s so messed up that I’m starting to think the sky is green.
King peers over my shoulder. “She’s changing you.” I don’t acknowledge him and write the next line about how I’m feeling like my heart’s a junkyard, filled with spare, discarded parts. “The best ones do.”
He slides over to fiddle with a panel, but I feel the heat of his eyes.
“Got something to add?” I mutter.
Over his outstretched arm, he says, “The good ones put your character to the flame and burn away all the rest of the shit until you come out a better you. She’s one of the good ones.”
“How do you know?” I challenge, chin out, glower on my face.
King gives me a mysterious smile. “You just do.”
29
HER
Top 5 reasons why fans should expect a new Ford album ASAP! Click now!
5. It’s been two years since the last tour and album. Fans are dying for something new. Oakley Ford has always treated his fans right.
4. Oakley Ford and King have been spotted together at several public benefits, and yesterday the two were seen ducking into the famed Hollow Oak recording studio. Sharp-eyed Ford fans posted this picture on the FordNews insta feed.
3. It’s also been two years since ShOak was a thing. New girl definitely means new music, right?
2. He’s growing up. Oakley will be twenty soon and that means he’s leaving his teen years behind. He will want to show us all how his grown-up music sounds.
1. Surprise albums are all the rage. Beyoncé! Kanye! Frank Ocean! Releasing an album with no lead up is a huge power move and one that would fit the new, grown-up Oakley.
I’m acting like a six-year-old. I mean, who locks themselves in a bathroom to avoid talking to someone? Me, that’s who. Vaughn Bennett, a mess of a girl, the kind of screwed-up person who kisses two boys in the span of one day.
Jeez. When did my love life get so exciting?
Except...only one of those kisses had actually excited me. Only one of those kisses made my heart soar and my toes curl.
Oakley’s kiss.
The other kiss was a mistake before it even happened. I thought Luke was kind of sleazy from the moment I met him, but the stupid alcohol made me forget that last night. And then he was flirting with me and saying how cool I was, and when he kissed me I didn’t stop it because I thought it would make me feel good.
It didn’t. Kissing only feels good for me when I like someone. I felt nothing when Luke’s lips were on mine. But Oak’s lips? My whole body vibrated in response, and that totally freaks me out.
I bury my head in both hands and groan into my palms, hoping the running water muffles the frazzled sound. I’ve never been more confused in my life. I can’t seem to focus on any one thought—my brain is a huge jumble of them. Thoughts about Oakley. About that amazing kiss. About the fact that I took the year off to work but instead accepted a job that gives me way too much time to think about stuff I don’t want to think about.