Chapter 16
REESE
TRACK: Nina June, “Rainbow Ashes”
I scratch a line through the words on my notebook.
I never knew days could roll by like thunder…
I never knew days could roll by like a thundering river.
It’s not great. But it’s a little better. I remind myself it doesn’t have to be perfect because this isn’t for anyone but me.
I pull down the mic, readjusting myself on the stool and Lenny on my lap. Rufus doesn’t even look up from his blanket in the corner, which, even though he’s a dog, has gone a long way to easing my nerves since we got here this morning. He loves me even if I suck.
Then I strum the chord and sing the line.
Not quite there, but it feels good. I try adjusting my hold on the syllables.
I never knew days could roll byyyy like a thundering riiiiiver.
I grin, making a note in my book before trying the whole song. It comes out clean and easy, and by the end, I’m slapping Lenny and Rufus is standing up and barking excitedly.
“Not bad, right?” I laugh at Rufus, admonishing him to calm down. Then I get up and stretch.
I’ve been here since nine this morning—and it’s been, frankly, amazing, though my voice is starting to get a little hoarse. I know I need a break.
I first showed up in the studio on Wednesday night.
Actually, I tried to show up Tuesday. But I left Lenny under the bed, and just sat parked out front on Riverfront.
I stared up at the building, my hands sweaty on the steering wheel.
Then I started my car up and peeled away.
I told myself I was too tired, it was too late.
I was too scared.
But Wednesday, Eli showed up at L’Aubergine.
He handed me a package in a paper bag, looking as nervous and excited as a boy handing a girl a valentine.
“What’s this?” I asked, too surprised not to take it. “A sandwich?”
Eli gave me a side-eye. “You work in a restaurant, Reese.”
He was right. It was too heavy for lunch, anyway.
“Open it.”
Todd had been walking by and was standing next to us with his hands on his hips, openly waiting as if this was his present.
“Todd, don’t you have a shift to get ready for?”
“Oh…right,” he said, looking deeply disappointed.
When I looked down at the prep tables, Rufus looked up, like he’d just discovered something interesting on the ceiling.
I jerked my head toward my office. “Come on.”
“Oh, uh, you don’t have to open it now.”
“But I want to.” I pulled Eli by the elbow inside.
But when I pulled the paper off the package, I frowned. It was a tape recorder. “Eli—what?” I laughed. “Where did you find this?”
“One of the artists in my building makes art out of old tapes. She smashes them up and glues the ribbon all over her canvasses. But she told me she got into playing them too.”
“Is she the one who dresses like Madonna?”
Eli had told me about all the artists in the Waterfront Block. He talked about them affectionately, like they were his kids.
“The same. There’s something in there too.”
I squinted through the little plastic window. There was a tape inside.
“I have to get back upstairs,” Eli said. “But play it when you have a minute. If you want.” He looked nervous. But then he’d leaned in and given me a peck on the cheek before disappearing. I reached my hand up as if I could still feel him there.
When I pulled the tape out, I saw Eli’s writing scrawled across the front of the tape.
YOU’RE ONE OF THEM NOW it said on the front, and on the back, (I SAVED A SPOT FOR YOU).
I stuck it back in the recorder and hit play.
It was a mix tape he’d made for me. All the singer-songwriters he knew I loved.
My heroes. Joni Mitchell. Billie Holiday.
Sinéad O’Connor. Adele. He knew I had all these albums already, both in vinyl and on my online streaming player.
But to have gone to the trouble to make me an old-fashioned mix tape?
My stupid heart felt like it was going to explode.
That was the night I forced myself to go upstairs to the studio. Not just the control room, but the live room, on the stool. I didn’t have to sing, but I had to bring Lenny.
Just in case.
But soon I found myself sitting at the mixing table, playing with the equipment, just for fun. Just because Joni and Billie and Sinéad and Adele wouldn’t have hesitated.
As I fiddled with the sliders and buttons, I wondered for the hundredth time where Eli had gotten a table like this on such short notice.
Even Simon would be impressed, I knew, if he’d have stumbled across it.
His had been a piece of shit, though he acted like it was his baby.
He once yelled at me for touching it without asking him, and when I’d yelled back he’d stormed out of the room.
The whole rest of the session he’d cut me off at practically every line of the song I was trying to get through, nitpicking each note I apparently didn’t hit.
But Simon wasn’t there that night. No one was there but me. And it was glorious.
I hadn’t been able to bring myself to sing on Wednesday. On Thursday, either; however, I did venture into the live room.
And last night, I’d sat down on the stool, and I told myself I wasn’t going to leave until I opened my mouth and sang.
Just a single song, that was all.
The thought of it sent nerves clattering through my stomach like sharp rocks.
But I’d brought liquid courage, dusting off a silver flask that came with a holster I used to strap to my thigh at music concerts in my twenties.
I refrained from slipping on the strap. But when I pulled it out of my purse and unscrewed the top I felt rebellious, like I had a piece of the younger, braver Reese with me.
The one who went to concerts with her girlfriends or sometimes even on her own. For the pure, unbridled love of music.
And I sang that song. Then I sang another.
Today, I don’t need the alcohol. I practically bounded out of bed to come down here.
I’m itching to keep going, to try out the lines in the new song I started writing last night when I got home.
But I don’t want to wreck my newfound voice.
Also, I promised Michelle I’d join a call with her and the girls sometime this afternoon—they’re spending Christmas in London this year and taking my mom and dad with them.
Our older brother Pietro lives there, and neither Michelle nor I have seen him in over a year.
I know she’s going to angle to get me to come with them, even though I’ve told her I can’t leave L’Aubergine over the holidays.
So I head for the mixing room, where I left my stuff, and that’s when I hear my phone.
I grin. She’s so impatient.
But when I fish my phone out of my coat, it’s not Michelle.
It’s Eli.
For a moment, I consider not answering. Then I remember where I am, and that he built all this for me, and a shot of that bravery from before emboldens me to answer rather than send him to voicemail.
“Hey,” I say.
There’s a pause when I hesitate, not sure whether I should tell him I’m using the space.
But I want to tell him thank you again, just in case.
“Hey,” he says. “Listen, I’m sorry if it was weird to ask, I just thought since I don’t think either of us want to go to this O’Malley’s thing tonight you might want to do something else.
But if you want to say no that’s fine, I get it, I just need to know.
I need to be clear because I’m fucking killing myself over here, Reese. ”
I’m still trying to parse through his explosion of words. “Eli…what?”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Sorry, are you busy or something? I thought you didn’t work today—”
“No, it’s fine,” I say. I chew my lip, my pulse suddenly quickening.
Part of me wants to tell him where I am.
Why I feel like I’m beaming from the inside.
Instead I settle on, “I wanted to thank you, Eli. For the studio.” I’ve conquered at least a small part of the fear I thought would live in me for life, thanks to you.
But I don’t say that last part. Just, “It’s everything.
” The emotion of the truth clogs in my throat.
There’s a long pause where I hold my breath, wondering if I’ve gushed too hard. Panicking, almost. But Eli just says softly, “Of course Reese.”
There’s a long pause, then my stomach squeezes as I remember what he’d rambled on about at the beginning of this call.
He was nervous too.
“Oh?” My voice squeaks slightly.
“Yeah. On a real date, Reese. Not for show. I mean, not for the show. Just because…well shit, because I want to.”
My first thought is to politely decline and quickly hang up. It’s cowardly though, and the fact is, I’m not sure I want to. Because the glow I feel from being in the studio didn’t come just from the studio. It came because of the man on the phone.
He’s the one who gave me this gift. Nerves bounce around in my stomach, but something’s changed in me too. I can do brave things. I know I can.
“Okay.”
“No shit!” Eli says, sounding clearly relieved.
I bite my lip to hold back my laugh. “No shit.”
“Okay. Great.”
We make plans to meet at Bean There, the newer coffee shop in town that converts to a cozy music spot in the evenings.
And to my utter surprise, even after I hang up, in that space I could regret it, I don’t.
The idea of going on a real date with Eli feels…good.