41 Rhys
41
Rhys
I was going to meet with Owen at the club I worked at every night. But it was daytime, and it wasn’t open yet. When I got there, I waved. A woman walked over and smiled before giving me a kiss on the cheek. Her name was Alexa. She had long blond hair and legs that wouldn’t quit. Everything about her was long. I could easily look her in the eye. I remembered how with Ginger, I always had to bend down to do that. And I thought of the impression she made on me when I first saw her in front of the ticket machine, a year and a half ago or more. So short. So funny. So pissed… She reminded me of a child’s cartoon.
Alexa was the total opposite.
We sat down at a table, and Owen brought over a few beers while we started talking. At first, all I did was listen, getting the lay of the land. I still wasn’t sure this was a good idea. Why did I want anything else? I was happy with what I had, right? My job was perfect, simple, with no obligations and no goals. So what was I hoping for from this? Fame? I’d never been interested. Money? I had tons in savings, and I’d never even felt tempted to touch it. Personal satisfaction? Maybe. Feeling like I was doing something besides just getting drunk and wandering around.
“The lyrics are perfect!” Alexa beamed at her brother before resting a hand on her heart and looking at me. “So deep. Just… I just want to change the gender, obviously. I’d like to give it a run-through. I just need to get the harmony.”
Of course. I’d written it from a guy’s point of view.
“Sure, we can change that up.”
For the next half hour, I played the song several times while Alexa tried to match the lyrics with the music. She sang the chorus a couple of times, making her brother smile. He seemed to think it was going well for a first meeting. She could sing. Her voice was sweet but strong. Her version was more straightforward and sadder until it peaked, then the change was brusque, potent.
“Where can we meet to rehearse?”
“I don’t know. Here. Or my place. Wherever you like.”
Alexa nodded, and her brother got up to take a call. I took a sip of my beer, and she hummed the chorus again. She’d gotten it down fast. And she hadn’t argued or given me any headaches. I’d been worried about that when I took on the project. We looked at each other with satisfaction.
“I think it’s going to be brilliant,” she said.
“I hope so.” I rubbed my jaw. “As for rehearsal…”
“Just trust yourself.” She rested a hand on my arm. Not hesitantly, the way Ginger would. Just like that. Unafraid. “You’ve done amazing work, really. My brother tried this a few months ago with a guy he knew who worked in a different club, but between you and me, it was so horrible I just told him I can’t sing that. I’m not going to do something I’m not certain about. This song, though, these lyrics…it’s gorgeous. It’s exactly what we’ve been looking for forever.”
I liked that. I liked her, her voice, the way she said that.
“So when do you want to get started?”
“If it was up to me, I’d say tomorrow.” She withdrew her hand.
“How much longer are you staying here?”
“Just a few weeks, till the song’s done. Then I’ll go back to Los Angeles for the launch and the PR. My brother and I have tons of contacts there. Who knows? This could be the next big hit.”
I nodded, not knowing what to say.
Owen came back from his phone call with another round of beers and a smile on his face and settled down in his chair while his sister talked about plans, ideas for our project, and marketing. I became distracted at some point.
“Rhys, are you listening to me?”
“Sorry, what were you saying?”
“That I heard good things about an illustrator here in Byron Bay. His name’s Axel Nguyen. Everyone knows him. I’m certain he’s our guy. Go see him one of these days, tell him what we’re doing, and let him know he should get in touch with me when he’s done.” Owen took a card from his wallet and handed it to me.
“Sure. Perfect.”
“Great. Everything’s settled then.”
I returned home at midafternoon. The sun was shining bright in the pale-blue sky. The wind shook the vegetation on the road home. Then I saw it. A package on the top step. I grabbed it. It was from Ginger. I took a deep breath and set the keys down on the counter.
I took an apple from the fridge and walked out to the back porch, kicking off my shoes and sitting on the wood surface covered in sand from the beach, which the wind brought in every day. I took a couple of bites, looking at the box, wrapped in red-and-gold paper with a big bow, which was slightly damaged after all those weeks it took to reach its destination. I finished my apple, tried to calm my pulse, and opened the package slowly, imagining how Ginger would have folded the paper, cut the little pieces of tape, and placed them on the seams, concentrating (with wrinkles at the top of her little nose) then sighing with satisfaction.
It was a tiny old book. The Little Prince .
There was a note on the first page.
For Rhys, the boy I share my apartment on the moon with because “he was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world.”
I smiled and took a look. I found a list of dates on the back of the cover. It must have been all the times she’d reread it. The pages were full of underlines in different colors, notes in the margins, and goofy little drawings. I realized, surprised, that this was the copy Ginger had bought at that bookstore in Bloomsbury and told me she held on to like a treasure. I felt something warm pressing down on my chest as I read one of the notes she’d scribbled:
He fell in love with the flower and not with its roots, and in autumn, he didn’t know what to do.
I read it and read it again. I spent half the afternoon thinking it over, digesting the words, turning them over. Thinking about what happened when petals fell and only roots were left. Still worse, what if there were no roots, nothing at all to tie me to the earth?