25. Bea
25
BEA
I t takes three days for her to pick up my calls, and more than two weeks for Octavia to finally come over and meet me before work to try a new song. When she walked through the door, she acted like nothing had ever happened. I almost insisted that we talk through things, but then I decided I’d let her lead this part. It’s not my wound.
“You know, some people can go weeks or even months without having a new song idea,” she says.
“People can, I guess,” I say. “But not me.”
“So you’re saying your whole life. . .”
“I’ve had songs rolling around in my head.”
“What did you do with them?”
I take three steps and kick a box in the corner.
“Wait,” she says. “Are all of those. . .” Her eyebrows rise.
“Mom and Dad have a few more boxes in the attic. A lot of them aren’t very good.”
She tries to bend over and lift the lid.
“Focus.” I shove the box with my foot, sliding it under the edge of the piano. “I said I had a new song. ”
“Right, but I want to see what those look like.”
“They’re crap compared to the song I just wrote, I promise.”
She drops her hands on her hips. “I will sing this song with you if you agree to let me rummage around in that box for half an hour.”
“Ten minutes.”
She arches one eyebrow. “Half an hour, or I walk.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. Half an hour.”
She beams, and it’s totally worth it. We’re just finishing the initial run through when Jake breezes through the door. It’s strange, because he’s supposed to be filming. But even stranger than Jake being where he shouldn’t is Jake bringing a friend.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
“Adam Forrest, this is my sister, Bea, and this is their lead vocal, Octavia Rothschild.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Adam says, extending his hand.
“Wait, Adam Forrest, as in the producer?” Octavia looks like someone just slapped her. Her eyes are round and her good cheek is bright red. I wonder whether the burned side doesn’t flush as well. It makes sense, I suppose.
“The very same,” Adam says. “We had to come to the City for a scene in Central Park, and this joker convinced me I had to meet you.”
“Me?” I ask.
“Both of you,” he says. “He’s pretty persuasive when he wants to be.”
I stand. “Why did you need to meet us?”
Adam shoots a pretty crusty look at Jake. “You didn’t tell them?”
“Tell us? ”
“You do a better job at all that,” Jake says.
Adam looks ready to spit nails. “Look, he says you’re talented songwriters and musicians, and he wants you to do the music for the movie. On top of that, he wants us to push our production company a little—we have an affiliated record label.”
I blink.
Octavia exhales in a large whoosh.
“Just sing your song,” Jake says.
“Which one?”
He scowls.
“It’s way better on a stage,” I excuse. “It’s not the same in the middle of a living room.”
“Make do,” Jake says, widening his eyes and mouthing something I can’t quite get.
“Fine,” I say. “Whatever.”
I whip the sheet music out, but Octavia’s looking at me like I’m speaking Swahili. “Right here?” she hisses. “I haven’t even warmed up.”
I shrug and start to play. I’m banking on her training kicking in to override her shock and dismay.
It works, mostly. She misses the first cue, but that’s fine. I do a little doodle and swing back around. She catches it this time, and we’re off. All in all, the dynamics and showmanship can’t compare, but it sounds alright.
“Do you have anything else?”
“We just tried a new song for the first time today,” I say.
Octavia’s shaking her head. “I’ve sung it exactly one time. You have whole sections with no lyrics yet.”
“What about those two you wrote the week before the contest?” Jake tosses his head at the box.
I sigh. “Fine. We could do those. ”
In the end, Adam Forrest is very persistent. We perform at least a dozen songs for him before he plops down on the couch, staring at his hands. “He wasn’t kidding.”
“About what?” I ask.
“The face. The songs. The voice.” He shakes his head. “Exactly like you said.”
Jake shrugs. “I don’t exaggerate that stuff.”
“He exaggerates everything else,” Adam says. “So I’m sure you can excuse my incredulity.”
“Not everything,” Jake mutters.
“Look.” Adam stands up suddenly. “You two need to come do what you just did for me, but for the label. I can get you a meeting tomorrow.”
“ Tomorrow ?” I ask. “I have work tomorrow.”
“So do I,” Octavia says.
Adam stares at us.
Jake’s shaking his head vigorously behind him, like he’s suffering from some kind of seizure.
“I can call in sick?” Octavia asks.
“I guess I can too.”
“Good. So you’ll be in Hollywood, at the studio tomorrow at two.”
“They can just fly back with us,” Jake says.
“How fun for us,” Adam says.
And just like that, we’re hopping a ride on the studio’s jet to California. Octavia insists on hauling two-thirds of the stupid box with us, even though I told her most of the songs are junk. She sorts them into two piles on the flight over.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“This pile is the ones that need to be reworked.” It’s got half a dozen sheets of paper in it .
“What’s that one?” I point at the stack of almost a hundred pages.
“These are my favorites.”
I roll my eyes. “Very funny.”
“I’m not kidding.” She sighs so heavily that it makes her hair blow back on her head. “You are now my favorite artist.”
“Well, we’re a package deal, girlfriend, so pat yourself on the back.” I’m not going to lie to myself though. Hearing that from her feels pretty good. “Besides. You can’t tell whether they’re good by looking at them.”
“Most people couldn’t,” she says. “But I can.”
When I finish rolling my eyes, twenty minutes later, I start thinking about what’s about to happen. “Do you really think we’ll get an album?” I whisper. “Because that’s wild.”
“You should be thinking about what kind of people you’d be willing to work with,” Jake says.
“Why would we work with anyone else?” I ask.
“Your sound is balanced, clear, and well articulated,” Adam says. “But it’s not full enough. They’ll bring in a bass, a drummer, and probably a guitar to supplement the piano, at least, if you insist on keeping it?”
I nod vigorously. “I can strum a banjo, but if we nix the piano, I’m out.”
“Keyboard, probably,” Adam says.
I shake my head. “Piano.”
“We’ll talk about it,” he says, which is not very promising. Isn’t that what people say when they intend to totally ignore you?
I text Easton the second we land. Things were so hectic with the last-minute packing that I didn’t even tell him I was leaving. JUST LANDED IN L.A. JAKE GOT US A MEETING WITH A RECORD LABEL—HE WANTS TO USE OUR SONG FOR HIS MOVIE.
THAT’S AMAZING, Easton texts back right away. GOOD LUCK.
MEETING IS TOMORROW, I say, BUT WE ARE EXCITED.
Jake offers to put us up at his L.A. apartment, which he assures me is way nicer than ours, but Octavia and I both refuse. “We’ll share a hotel room,” Octavia says. “We have some work to do in case they want to hear more than just a song or two.”
“Where are you going to find a hotel with a piano?” Jake asks.
“Does your apartment have a piano?”
He shakes his head.
We have to call nineteen places, but we finally find one that has a piano in a conference room they say we can use as late as we’d like. And we do. We don’t go to bed until almost two-thirty in the morning.
“At least I feel more prepared,” Octavia says.
“Do you think we’re only getting this meeting because of Jake?” The idea makes me a little uncomfortable.
“We got the last meeting because of him,” she says. “The one where that Adam guy made us play a dozen things. We’re getting this meeting because the last one went well. If you’d just been some kind of mediocre scribbler, he’d have told Jake to shove it.”
I guess so. “That makes me feel a little better.”
I’ve brushed my teeth and climbed into bed—lights are out—when Octavia whispers. “You would already have an album if it weren’t for me.”
It’s the first time she’s talked about it .
“Not a good one,” I say. “I wrote those songs for you.”
“Yeah, but there are other singers,” she says. “Loads and loads of them. Talented ones.”
“There are,” I say. “And there are loads and loads of songwriters, too. You think I’m special, so why can’t I think the same thing about you?”
She doesn’t ask anything else, but I know she’s still thinking it. That she’s the liability. That she’s the weak link.
I know, because I’ve felt like that most of my life.
The next morning, Jake calls me three times while I’m in the shower. I finally answer, my hair dripping all over the bathroom counter and my phone. “What?”
“The meeting got moved,” he says. “They want you here by nine-thirty.”
“Shoot.”
“With Orange County traffic, you need to leave in the next fifteen minutes. Can you do that?”
My hair’s not even close to dry, and my makeup looks. . .amateur in the extreme, but we step into a cab fourteen minutes after I hang up. We make the meeting with two minutes to spare. Jake’s waiting, tapping his foot like a husband waiting for the kids to be ready for Sunday morning church. “You’re here.”
“Why the change?” I’m panting.
“They want you to record some things first, like a sound test.” Jake’s smiling, but it’s forced. Why’s it forced?
“This was Adam’s idea,” Octavia says.
Jake’s flinch is so infinitesimal that if I didn’t know him extremely well, I might have missed it. “He thinks it’s a good idea to sell them on the songs first. ”
“Fine,” she says. “Let’s do it.”
The process of recording an album in an actual studio is almost surreal. It’s rough, and we’re not really doing all the things, but the way they put it down—I’m amazed.
“What if we increased that.” I point at the stabilizer. “And toned this down.” I point at the compression aspect. “Just a hair.”
“You have a real knack for that,” the guy who was showing me what the different knobs and buttons do says. “Have you done this before?”
I shake my head. “Don’t laugh, but I have a PreSonus Audiobox.”
He does laugh. “That’s a respectable hobby setup. The M7 condenser mic isn’t bad.”
“Really?”
He shrugs. “I mean, I think it’s better for people who are doing, like, podcasts, but you can learn the basics with it.”
But an hour and a half later, once we have some decent recordings, it’s time for us to clear out. After a rather awkward lunch with Adam, who doesn’t seem that pleased to still be dealing with this, we head over for the real meeting.
“I sent them the rough cuts.” Adam’s staring at his phone. “Stu loved it.”
“Really?” Jake’s nodding. “He’s the one who never likes anything.”
“But now they’re going to see my face,” Octavia says.
“I told them about it,” Jake says.
“Nothing quite prepares you, though, does it?” Adam’s grimacing.
I’m going to punch him.
“Stand down,” Jake hisses. “He’s on our side. ”
Even so, I can tell that this time, Octavia and I are both preparing ourselves for rejection. It hurt too bad last time, when I thought we had it in the bag. So when we meet Stu, Frances, and Eddy, I try not to get my hopes up too high.
“We really want something a little edgier for this movie,” Eddy says. “I know Stu and Frances just care about the marketability of the songs, but I have to find something that really fits the tone of the movie. I liked that first track, the beast one, but the others are too. . .” He waves his hand through the air. “Too frivolous. Too happy.”
“I think we can do a little edgier,” I say.
“Adding the guitar, drums, and bass will go a long way,” Adam says. “Remember that.”
“Do you know how to write their parts?” Frances asks. “Some pianists are. . .not the best at integrating other sounds.”
“I’m good at guitar,” Octavia says. “Played for more than ten years.”
That’s a surprise. “And I often wish I could add some drums and percussion,” I say. “I think we can do it.”
“Fine.” Stu leans closer. “I’ll talk to publicity and marketing, but I think we can work this angle.” He frowns, staring rather rudely. “Is that considered a disability?”
I’m ready to start swinging again, but Octavia looks remarkably unruffled. “The Social Security Blue Book lists significant burn injuries as an impairment, but I’m not eligible for benefits because the location of my burns does not preclude me from manual labor, for the most part, at least with reasonable accommodations.”
“Wait, what does that mean?” Frances asks.
“I have severe photosensitivity,” Octavia says, “for example, but sunblock and a hat could mitigate the impact.”
“Can you film a music video outside?”
“Of course,” Octavia says, “but depending on the length and sun intensity, I might need special makeup or regular reapplication of sunblock.”
Stu nods. “We can work with that.”
“I’d rather we not try to cover up her face,” I say. “It’s uniquely beautiful, and we do not want to change that.”
Octavia winces, but she doesn’t look angry. I realize what I’m seeing—she’s bracing herself for them to change their minds.
“I think we just have the one last stipulation,” Frances says. “There’s one investor who wants to meet you two and see you himself.”
Octavia’s lips compress.
“He was possibly the most excited about your song, but he would like to introduce himself. He’s put up quite a bit of capital through the Private Equity firm that’s sharing the costs with the studio, and we thought one small meeting wasn’t too much to ask.”
Octavia squares her shoulders.
I nod. “Sure. Is he here now?”
The three of them stand, and so does Adam. “We’ll invite him in.”
“Oh, wait,” Jake says. “Costuming had that question.”
“Costuming?” I frown. “Isn’t that a little premature?”
“They wanted you to give them some input on some jewelry. One of our sponsors is a pretty well-known jeweler, and we’ll be pushing their stuff in the music video and the movie.”
“Your job is so weird,” I say.
“Your job too, now.” Jake drops a box in front of me. “Both of you need to pick your favorite ring from the box. Once you have, I can take it to them and let them know.”
“Rings?” Octavia flips the lid up.
Eight diamond rings that look like engagement rings are lying flat on black velvet inside the heavy box.
“Geez. These look really expensive,” I say. “Who’s the jeweler?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jake says. “We’re not paid to care about that stuff.”
I lean forward to look closer.
“This one for sure.” Octavia picks the wide yellow gold band, made of a delicate filigree that almost looks like lace. The large oval diamond is almost nestled against it. The combination of flat gold, hammered finishes, and the delicate shape makes it look like something they might have worn in the early nineteen hundreds, at least, to me.
It suits her.
She has a classic, elegant beauty that reminds me of Katherine Hepburn or Elizabeth Taylor—if either of them was burned, I guess. Even her curls fall in soft waves, like the women back then.
I glance at the rings that are left.
One is a simple platinum band with a massive diamond. Tacky.
The next is probably the most boring ring I’ve ever seen. One big round stone, framed on either side by two smaller circles. Snooze.
Then there’s a very sharp-looking one with a marquis diamond and slice-looking diamonds framing it on either side. Next to those are small squares. I feel like I could scratch myself seven ways from Sunday while wearing it. The dagger diamonds. That’s what I’d call that one.
There’s a very nice blue-center-stone ring with white cushion-cut diamonds on either side. It looks like something my new sister-in-law Elizabeth would choose.
But the last ring, the one kind of shoved over on the end, is by far the strangest. I pick it up. It has a massive champagne-colored diamond in the center, and it’s a large emerald shape. The prongs holding the golden stone are yellow gold, but next to it, pressed seamlessly against it on either side are two more diamonds cut in triangles, with the point dripping down on either side toward the finger. They’re both flawless to the naked eye.
“I like this one,” I say. “It’s stunning in its own, unique way.”
“Are you picking it because of the song?” Jake asks. “Or because you like it?”
“I think I like it because it fits the song—a song I wrote. A song I love. A song that speaks to who I am.” I shrug. “Does it matter? Won’t that make the marketing easier?”
“Actually,” Easton says, strolling through the door at the back of the room. “That diamond has a name. It’s called the Verona diamond.”
“The—what?”
“It’s rare, a flawless champagne diamond, and it’s brilliant—reflecting double the light that most diamonds would reflect. The second I saw it, I thought of you.”
I blink. “What are you doing here?”
“Me?” Easton bites his lip. “You haven’t guessed?”
“You’re the investor,” Octavia says.
He shrugs. “They didn’t need me, in fact. Jake brought me in just in case the other investors wanted to back out.”
“Because of my face,” Octavia says .
“No,” Jake says. “Because of their own idiocy.”
She sighs.
“But they didn’t,” Easton says. “I had to badger them into cutting me in on the deal. Peachtree complained and harangued, but finally, they took some of my money so I could be a part of things.”
“And so you could. . .” Jake snaps his mouth shut.
“So I could propose to the woman of my dreams,” Easton says. “I know we’ve barely known each other for more than two months.”
“Well, I knew you for a year and change before that,” I say.
“But next week is Thanksgiving, and our first date was in September,” Easton says. “Some people would say this is crazy.”
“Not me,” Octavia whispers. “I think it’s beautiful.”
It’s nice to know that she approves, at least, and clearly Jake does.
“What did she say?” a small muffled voice asks. “I can’t hear. Turn the screen.”
“What was that?” I ask.
“Dude, I said you had to be quiet,” Jake says. “You guys never keep your promises.” But when he swivels his phone around, Mom and Dad, Emerson and Elizabeth, Ardath, and even Killian are all on a zoom. They wave.
When I squint, I realize Grandma and Grandpa Fansee are also there, and so is Barbara. They’re absurd.
“What did she say?” Seren asks again. “Can you guys speak up?”
“Did you send out an invite to your whole email list?” I ask. “Did everyone know?”
“I told you California was a bad idea,” Elizabeth says. “You should have just done it here.”
“Can you all shut up long enough for me to ask her properly?” Easton drops down on one knee. “You’re already holding the ring, but I knew the moment we met that you were just as unique—no, more unique than that Verona diamond. It’s perfect for you, just like you’re perfect for me. Please, please, say you’ll marry me. Because the other rings, they’ll take back as returns, but that one, well. It cost a bundle, and I’m stuck with it even if you say no.”
“Is that really true?” I glance at Jake’s phone.
Elizabeth’s shaking her head.
“A marriage founded on lies isn’t a good one.” I frown.
“Fine,” Easton says. “But clearly you like that one best, so just put it on.”
“No.” I step toward him and pull him to his feet. “I like you the best.” I smile. “The ring’s just frosting on an already amazing cake.”
“Except the frosting’s the best part,” Killian says. “The cake’s just an excuse to eat it.”
“Hush,” Seren says. “I can barely hear as it is.”
“Oh, she’s going to say yes,” Octavia says. “Just kiss her already.”
“How embarrassing would it be if I said no?”
But Easton’s sliding the ring on my finger, and everyone’s cheering, and when he’s done, I look up at him and nod. “Yes, alright. I’ll marry you, Easton Moorland. But only because this ring is one of a kind.”
He kisses me then, and like everything else in our lives, it’s pretty darn special. Even with all the jeers, hoots, and hollers from my ridiculous family.
Actually, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
A moment later, when waiters come in with trays covered in strawberries and cream, I can’t help laughing. I suppose this is my life now—joy and laughter .
“Please tell me these are the twenty-dollar variety,” I whisper.
“Even if they aren’t,” Easton hisses. “You don’t have to worry anymore.” His smile is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.