5. Effie
FIVE
EFFIE
Effie couldn’t sleep. Not after the day she’d had. She lay in her bed, soft silky pajama shorts and camisole tank top ghosting over her skin, as she watched the moon from her open window. Without light pollution, the stars blanketed the inky black sky.
The serendipity of it all was not lost on her. Before, when they first met, it had been the same way. She didn’t doubt or worry that the man was thirteen years older than her. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, the then forty-two-year-old grunge musician, half-brother to her producer best friend.
When he first stepped on that exec’s mega-yacht, clad in all black in a sea of floral patterns and pastel stripes, her heart had inexplicably skipped a beat. She needed to know this man and she had walked right up to him to introduce herself. Not that they needed introductions. His crooked smile seemed to say exactly that.
It was an ill-fated affair with her tortured muse, but she wouldn’t be the woman she was today if it weren’t for him. That much she knew down to her bones.
Effie still couldn’t quite believe she was on Brett’s property. Sleeping a short walk away from him. The temptation to sneak back into the main house and into his bedroom to curl her body around his rushed through her veins like a waterfall. But she didn’t dare. Because the last time she gave him her love, she lost him. And it nearly destroyed her. Her work had saved her.
Yes, they shared that kiss today. They intended to work on an album, a departure from her usual style, but she couldn't risk her twisted heart getting entangled with him again.
Because what would happen if she did?
She sighed and swung her legs over the side of her bed. Grabbing her notebook, she jotted down the words twisted heart . Perfectly paired with her twisted life.
Could she do it? Work with Brett Blue and keep things professional?
Effie knew she could. She’d done it so many times over the years, shutting down her heart and body as her mind cranked out hit after hit with different collaborators, band mates, and producers. Not that her team permitted her to date anyone publicly over the years.
Of course, there were the calculated “public relations romances,” curated for the media to catch her on paparazzi walks, holding hands, having dinner, and canoodling in booths with men in her same echelon. All the arrangements were mutually beneficial, with some men becoming close friends. But heaven forbid her team allowed her to be with someone she was actually attracted to, or—worst of all—allowed her to date a woman.
It didn’t bother her, really, because it was all part of the celebrity of the damn thing. She could never be a normal partner to a normal person.
It didn’t bother her, that is, until Brett Blue. Not long after the yacht party, Effie was inviting him into the studio and they were aligning their schedules for clandestine rendezvous around the world.
She groaned and lowered her head into her hands as the cool night air swirled through the window. The chill made her nipples stiffen underneath her tiny top. That was all years ago. Before Brett fled from her. Before he hid himself away like a hermit.
But the idea of doing something totally different for her next album excited her. In truth, that was why she couldn’t sleep tonight. Because her brain was whirring with thoughts and ideas, snippets and melodies.
Effie picked up her phone and clicked into her voice memos. She pressed record.
“The first full day at Nightowl Studios. Brett challenged me to do something different for this next album, something wholly for myself. And to do it with him. It’s the middle of the night and my mind won’t shut up. I’m thinking… this one is going to be surprising and intimate, a deeply introspective and nostalgic album. Analyzing my experiences with fame, my personal growth through the last couple of years, and the ever-evolving nature of celebrity and my relationships.”
She sat for a couple of seconds, thinking a little more, and then hit stop.
Tomorrow would be a new day. Tomorrow her head would be clear, and she could start, really start, the work.
As she lay back onto her bed, she flipped the pillow to the cool side and drifted off to sleep with the plucky, whimsical melody Brett had gifted her floating through her dreams.
Over the next week, Effie didn’t have any contact with the outside world. She woke early, pulled on her bike shorts or ripped denim shorts and an oversized sweatshirt. Tiptoeing barefoot downstairs, she’d start a fresh pot of coffee, and every couple of days a new bouquet of daisies would appear. Not once did she ask Brett about the flowers or the kiss they shared, but it hovered like a specter between them.
For twelve hours every day, she worked, picking her guitar, or sitting at the piano, swaying as her fingers danced over the keys and found new bars of music. Then she’d hunch over her notebook, scribbling phrases and verses, making notes on the musical composition.
Brett mostly watched and helped when she got stuck on a particular progression of chords. That’s where he shone: getting Effie to think outside of the pop-parameters she’d operated in for so many years.
Once it hit five o’clock, she’d mosey into the kitchen for a floral teacup of bourbon. Or sometimes, a mixed cocktail: her favorite, an Old Fashioned. She’d sip and write until her fingers ached and her chest burned and then they’d sit at the fire pit on the back patio and listen to the birds welcome in the twilight.
Just like they did tonight. Outdoor lights criss-crossed over the fire pit, bobbing in the breeze. Effie clutched her teacup as she lounged back in the big Adirondack chair.
“What are you thinking about?” Brett asked, his face lit up from the orange flames. His dark hair and beard shadowed like ink smudges in the purple twilight.
Effie sighed. “I don’t know. Nothing, everything. The songs, my life. My petty nightmares, the experience required.”
He tasted his drink. “You even speak in poetry, princess.”
Princess . He’d been calling her that all week. The only little remaining nod to their kiss on her first day and the phantom of their past relationship. If one could even call it that. Goosebumps trailed up her arms as she remembered all the times he called her that in bed. Princess .
“I always hated when the media called me a pop princess. They don’t so much anymore. It was so condescending, like I was just some little dress up doll there to entertain them. They never took me seriously. You’re the only person who could ever call me that, you know? I didn’t feel disrespected when you did. It felt like an honor.”
“Well, you really showed the media your true colors. Thirty-seven and still breaking records, winning awards, selling out arenas?” Brett shook his head. “And, Ef, these songs—they’re special. You’re only getting better at your craft. I’m seriously in awe when I watch you work.”
Her cheeks heated, and not from the fire between them. “You think?”
“Come on, I know. Shay’ll be blown away. Your parents, your label. When you head back to New York with an entire album ready to go, you’re going to shock them.”
Back to New York … She hadn’t thought about the city all week. Contradicting when she was younger and starry-eyed and dying to have her name splashed across massive, sparkling billboards in Times Square.
“You know,” she said, staring into the flames. “I don’t even miss the city. I can see why you love it out here. It’s quiet. Restorative.”
“It took some getting used to in the long term, but I was ready for the change. Keeping busy in those early days really helped me to push away the doubt that threatened to clog my brain. Shay still doesn’t get why I stay here full time. Whenever he’s here, he goes stir crazy. Two Bird wasn’t enough to help him blow off steam.”
“Two Bird,” Effie said, recalling the blue, chipping paint on the bar on Jewel’s Main Street. “Tell me about it.”
“We can go sometime, if you want. We don’t have to stay holed up here at Nightowl.” Brett sucked air through his teeth. “Your bodyguards can come too.” He nodded across the wooded lawn at the dark shadow stalking the edges of the property’s perimeter.
They’d been a quiet, solid presence over the last week should Effie’s location get leaked and rabid, unruly fans find their way to the tiny town on Lake Michigan’s shores.
“Would that be weird?” Effie wasn’t sure she was ready to be in public in this town.
“It could be, but I know the owner, James. She’s used to me and Shay, all of the musicians who rotate through Nightowl. But the Effie Bird might cause a stir she’s not ready to handle. She wouldn’t even bat an eye at you, though. Doesn’t care for clout and celebrity. Maybe a couple of high schoolers do, some tourists. Whatever you’re comfortable with, Ef.”
She nodded, thinking. “Well, I don’t hate being here with you.”
“Not stir crazy yet?”
“The opposite, actually. I feel safe and cared for here.”
Brett hummed, his gaze fixed on the trees. “It’s nice to have you here, too. You’re helping me remember exactly what I love about music. It’s the same way I used to feel around Phoenix, in the early years at least. My studio is massive, filled with toys, yet something has always been missing. I produce because it’s the only way I’ve been able to connect with music in the last couple of years?—”
“—and you’re great at it,” Effie said with a smile.
Brett raised his teacup to her in thanks. “That little melody I made was my first original creation in a long time. The first piece that I thought could become something. You took it and ran with it. I’m honored to help you—and you’re helping me, too.”
“Music is always there for us, Brett.” Effie twisted her cup on her knee.
He shook his head. “This feeling, this creative energy? I haven’t experienced it in years.”
“Not when producing music?” she asked.
“It’s different. Assistive. This is generative. An untamed buzzing in my soul.”
She nodded, knowing exactly when he meant. A gust of wind whirled through the trees, shaking the leaves, and blowing the flames crooked. Effie shivered, pulling her sweatshirt close and tucking her arms around her.
“Smells like rain,” Brett said, looking to the sky.
Not a second after he said it, a raindrop fell on the tip of Effie’s nose. “Oh, yep, just felt some.”
In the next instant, the dark clouds overhead opened up. Between peals of laughter, Brett covered the fire pit with the grate and Effie pulled open the nearest sliding door. They stepped inside the studio, still laughing. Effie’s bare feet slapped against the cool cement floor, and she curled her toes, suddenly chilled.
“I think it’s colder in here,” she said, shivering again.
Brett peered through the door, into the dark. "Looks like we're trapped," he said, as lightning flashed overhead.
“I don’t mind,” she mused. “It’s cozy here.”
Meandering through the studio, Effie stopped at Brett’s massive collection of vinyl: vintage first presses and recent releases from new artists alike. She bent down to read the titles, pointer finger sliding along each spine, and she whispered the names to herself.
“Blanket?” Brett asked, crouching down next to her, two folded, checkered cashmere blankets stacked in his hands.
“Oh god yes.” Effie took one—a creamy and light blue check—to wrap around her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said, but it wasn’t just the blanket warming her.
Brett’s proximity during the last week had only reinforced what she knew: she was inexorably drawn to the man, despite years of heartbreak and wondering what went wrong. He made her feel truly herself, like no one else could. Probably because she hired most of those people to help maintain her brand.
He cleared his throat, breaking the tension mounting between them. “We could pass the storm playing vinyl. What do you think?”
“Yes.” Effie grinned. Nothing sounded better, holed up in here, wrapped in this blanket and sipping bourbon from her teacup with Brett at her side. “But I don’t know where to start. Your collection is impressive.”
“Sit back, princess.” He gestured to one of the two Eames chairs arranged around the Crutchfield turntable and vintage bookshelf speakers.
Effie dropped into the chair, kicking her legs up onto the footrest. The leather cradled her like a cloud, cool against her legs. She pulled the cashmere blanket close as she watched Brett pick out a vinyl.
It all felt so normal, like a nightly ritual they’d done for the last eight years. But of course they hadn’t. She hadn’t seen him in years, which felt impossible now.
Brett pulled out The Blue Nile’s Hats and placed it on the player. He set the needle and then sat back in his own chair, the leather creaking comfortably as the rain pattered against the window.
“Hmm,” Effie mused, the synth-pop the perfect complement to the storm. “You were the one who introduced me to them.” He always surprised her with his eclectic taste in music.
Brett smiled, cradling his chin, and rubbing his fingers through his beard. “What are you thinking about?”
“Honestly?” Effie tucked her feet up underneath her, crossing her arms against her stomach.
“Always.” His dark eyes latched onto hers, sparkling in the soft light from the paper lamp standing in the corner.
“How did it end?” she asked, fighting the falling feeling that washed over her.
This single question was the ghost that floated between them. After their kiss, their chaste, special little kiss, one that seemed to say everything will be okay , Effie wanted an answer to the question she’d asked herself for years.
“Honestly…” he started, his eyes somehow hard and soft at the same time.
“Always,” she quipped back.
Brett laughed softly. “Honestly… It scared me. You scared me. I’d already lost so much by then. You offered relief from everything, a respite from the pain of losing Phoenix and my bandmates to addiction.. I…I got lucky that I wasn’t one of them, too. You didn’t need me bringing you down; I was barely clean then. Your star was still on the rise, princess, and it didn’t include me.”
Effie swallowed another nip of bourbon, relishing how it burnt through her sadness. “Why did you make that decision alone? How did you run like that? You left me stranded.”
“That’s not what I wanted.” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head back and forth. “I wanted you to be happy, and I knew I couldn’t give it to you. I’m a coward, Ef. Always have been. Couldn’t stand up for my bandmates when they needed me to be strong, couldn’t resist temptation myself. I’ve got the tracks to prove it. I’m the last to prove it.”
Her heart broke for him, shattering into a million bloody pieces in her chest. “Stop it, Brett. That’s not how I see you. How long will you carry that burden?”
“For as long as I live, probably. It’s how I see myself and that’s the fucked up part. After years away and all the therapy, I still see only my mistakes. I know how to logic around it, how to accept it, but it doesn’t change what happened.”
“Am I one of them?” Effie whispered the question, not sure she wanted the answer. Nevertheless, she had to ask. “One of your mistakes?”
“Honestly… I regret every day that first time I kissed you.” He swallowed. “Because it meant I had to let you go.”
Her heart pounded in her chest, a caged bird begging for release. “God, Brett. How can I let you say things like that?”
“You could always shut me up if you wanted to.”
Fire flashed in his dark eyes as another blade of lightning cut across the sky. The deep timbre of thunder rumbled, rattling the very foundation of the studio. A fresh wave of rain beat against the glass.
“Do you want to?” Brett asked, reaching his hand between them, and interlacing their fingers.
Effie found his pulse in his wrist. It hammered against his thin skin, barely contained.
“Yes,” she breathed, relieved that she wasn’t the only one losing control here. “Yes, I want…”
But Effie couldn’t finish the sentence. Words failed to capture her true desires. It had been so many years since she first wanted Brett Blue, since they first locked eyes across the yacht party in Saint-Tropez. She couldn’t explain it, the strange kindred connection that she’d felt with him. It had haunted her every day since.
Despite how many times she tried putting that feeling into words, Effie would never stop. Right now, it boiled down to one word: want .
“I want,” she whispered again, a complete sentence.
Brett hummed and then swung his legs over the stool to stand. They held each other’s gaze as he took the two steps to stand beside her chair. She hadn’t moved, didn’t dare break the spell of the storm and the ambient 80s music coming from the speakers. Her fingers tensed on the teacup, afraid that if she didn’t hold on, the spell would shatter.
With one finger, Brett titled her chin upward. “What do you want, princess?” he asked, his voice deep and soothing and raw.
“I want you,” she said, her skin tingling with the awareness of his closeness. Of his warm, soft scent of clean clothes and his aftershave mixing with the petrichor of the rain, the wooden, vanillic, smell of the instruments and dusty vinyls, and the worn leather of her chair. Every part of her focused on the scene, keenly aware of time slipping away.
Another razor of lightning cut across the sky, lighting up the ridges of his face.
“Then get up, princess,” he said, a gentle command that Effie was more than eager to follow.
Leaving her drink on the side table, she stood, and Brett immediately pulled her closer, his arms encircling her waist. “I’ve thought about this for years, Ef. I’ve missed you. I’ve been watching your career in awe. So proud of what you’ve accomplished, the artist and person you’ve become. You couldn’t have done it with me by your side, I know that.”
Effie clicked her tongue in rebuttal.
“Let me finish,” he said. “I don’t regret leaving you, but I’m sorry that I did. And I’m so fucking thankful that you’re here right now.”
With a light tug, he brought them even closer. Her braless breasts, hidden by her sweatshirt, brushed against his chest and sparks tingled over her body, her bare legs prickling.
“You don’t understand, Brett,” she said, her voice thicker than she expected it to be. She laced her fingers into his beard, making sure that he paid attention to her next words. “I’m the woman I am today because of you.”
As one salty tear spilled over onto her cheek, Effie closed the infinitesimal space that remained between them, and their lips met as thunder echoed over the lake.