7. Effie
SEVEN
EFFIE
Brett Blue always had that effect on her. The indescribable ability to turn her into a mewling animal, desperate to please, eager to be pleasured. Pliable to the whims of their desires.
Maybe it was the sudden thunderstorm that rolled in, electric, across the lake. Or the sultry vibes of listening to vinyl and drinking bourbon out of teacups while lounging in leather chairs. Maybe it was just the pull that had always existed between Effie and Brett.
Whatever it was, the energy between them shifted to something heady and potent.
That night, after they cleaned up, Brett didn’t even ask if she wanted to stay with him. Together, well after midnight, he led them through the woods, tiptoeing barefoot over the wet path under a starry sky while holding hands. He led them through the main house and into his bedroom, all dark wooden, modern furniture that seemed more suited to Nightowl’s decor than the airy cabin. But somehow it worked. It was like the two sides of Brett’s coin: dark and troubled versus delicate and melodic.
In silence, they stripped down naked together for the first time in years and slipped into his dark blue linen sheets. Despite the humidity that still lingered from the storm, their bodies molded to each other and within seconds, they were both fast asleep.
After that night, the days in Nightowl Studios passed in an intoxicating pattern of feverish songwriting and frenzied touches. Once more, they gave each other blanket permission to explore and play between moments of scribbled poetry and inspired chords.
Somehow, every song they recorded could be about nothing in particular and yet every word felt clearly branded with the years of their secret relationship, their separation, and this…whatever they were now.
Effie avoided thinking about it. She didn’t want to question what was happening. It jolted her out of the haze she’d been in: the reason Shay had sent her to northern Michigan in the first place.
But she couldn’t bring herself to tell her producer about their fling as she paced back and forth in the studio’s kitchen with Shay on a call on her laptop.
“It’s… I don’t know, the energy is kinetic, frenetic. The songs are just flowing, Shay. You were so right to suggest Nightowl. Brett has been a surprisingly capable collaborator?—”
“I heard that,” Brett called.
Shay snorted. He could hear their entire side of the conversation, but with her earbuds in, Brett couldn’t hear a word he said. “I’m not surprised in the least. You two always had…something special.”
The words gave Effie pause. She turned to face the camera head-on and narrowed her eyes at Shay. “What does that mean?”
“Oh, please, Ef, I’m gay as hell, but I’m not blind. Or stupid. One might argue that gay helps in this situation,” he mumbled, distracting himself. “What I mean is, you’re fucking glowing. You’re more productive in one month than you have been since before the sweetbitter tour. Your hair is curly, you’re not wearing makeup… I know a look of love when I see it.”
Effie looked quickly over her shoulder as if Brett’s proximity to the screen meant he could hear Shay despite her earbuds. “Excuse me?”
“Okay, I can see you seriously think I’m delusional. Ef, I know you two have been hooking up for years.” His smug little expression made her want to punch him, even from hundreds of miles away.
She frowned and moved so that her face was mere inches from the screen. “This is nether the time nor place for this conversation,” she whispered, desperate for Brett not to hear.
“Hey, love, I’m happy for you. Fucking elated. You wrote some of your best music when you two were sneaking around in Santorini, when you won those Grammys, and I know you didn’t eat that metric ton of beluga caviar and champagne in your room all by yourself. You really think I don’t know who gave you that incredible ring?”
With each word, Effie’s eyes got wider. She tucked her hands out of sight, hiding the opal. Apparently Shay knew about fucking everything .
“And Brett’s a good guy. A great guy. You’re an amazing woman. All I want is for you two to live happily ever after. And recording a dope album while you’re at it is just the cherry on top.”
“We will need to continue this,” she hissed and mimed a circle with her fingers, “at a later time,” she finished as Brett crossed into the kitchen, making a beeline for the charcuterie board she’d put together.
Shay just cackled on the other side of the video call and without even a goodbye, Effie slammed the computer shut.
“What did he have to say?” Brett asked, popping a grape into his mouth. As the skin burst between his teeth, Effie’s pulse surged, blood rushing in her ears.
“Oh uh,” she said, suddenly beyond flustered. “Just that he’s glad everything is going well. Can’t wait to hear the songs.”
“Damn right.” Brett sat down at the large, mid-century modern style table. “I'll finish mixing the first few by the end of the week, and we can send them off to whoever you want.”
Effie’s heart flipped. Sure, obviously, she intended to share the new music, but these songs ended up so vulnerable.
For the first time in years, she was nervous about sharing these tracks beyond the secluded studio.
“Okaaay,” she said, drawing out the second vowel before biting her lip.
“What?” Her hesitation caused Brett to look up from where he sat, assembling a goat cheese and hot pepper jelly sandwich.
God, he looked so freaking cute, with his glasses on from working all morning, and that serious, furrowed brow.
Their life, this fantasy life they had concocted in this waking dream, floated like a fleeting phantom before her eyes. She could see it… Them making music and love in the woods. Living far away from camera flashes and constant security needs.
It wouldn’t stay secret for long. Nightowl already had its own reputation to uphold, and soon the press would start to question Effie’s extended absence.
Her publicist had kept the gossip mags at bay for a first few weeks, releasing a statement that Effie was on a well-deserved vacation in an undisclosed, private location as she recuperated from her last tour. But, really, it wouldn’t be long before it leaked that Effie Bird was in northern Michigan recording music with Brett Blue.
He turned from his food, his forearms resting on the sides of one of the artfully mismatched dining chairs. “Effie. What are you thinking about?”
She sighed and turned her backside to the table, letting it hold her upright. “I’m just wondering how…if…this could be my life.”
He dropped his bearded chin into his palm and rubbed, like he always did when he was deep in thought.
“I mean,” she rushed to quantify the thought, “just, if that were even possible, what it would feel like.”
Brett ran his fingers back through his salt and pepper hair. “Do you think you could want that?”
Effie crossed her arms and avoided his gaze. “Sometimes.”
He clicked his tongue and stood, bracing her against the table with his brawny arms and warmth. “Princess, honey, this is your world. Your life. Anything you want, we can make happen.”
“It’s really not that easy, though, is it?” She tried not to pout, but she couldn't help it. Bottom lip thrust out, wide, wet eyes and all.
She didn’t really feel like a thirty-seven-year-old woman anymore. She felt like a child, despite years of hard work and therapy that she had undertaken to avoid that exact fate. Because celebrities often became frozen in time, perpetually stuck at the age they were when they became famous. And Effie sure as hell didn’t want to be sixteen forever.
“Do you think it was easy for me to step back from Hoax’s legacy?” Brett asked. “Do you have any idea how many production companies and labels and franchise options were courting me? That moment standing up on the stage, that fucking gilded award cradled in my hands, that was the goddamn pinnacle of my career—or so my agent said—and it literally meant fucking nothing because Phoenix wasn’t there to share it. None of my original bandmates were alive to see it. I was fucking done, honey.”
He bracketed her against the table, stepping forward so that his thigh rested right up against her. Involuntarily, she rolled her hips forward, chasing pressure. Brett chuckled as he grabbed onto her waist.
“I’m not saying you need to be done, like me,” he said. “And, frankly, I don’t think you’re done—especially not with the songs you’re making now. They’re brilliant, princess—but if you want peace …you can have it.” He licked his lips, as if weighing his next words carefully. “I can give you peace, Effie. If that’s what you want. If it’s what you need. It’s here for you. I’m here for you.”
“Thank you,” Effie whispered as she nuzzled along his neck, his beard scratching at her lips, before she landed on his own.
She tried to put as many words as she could into that kiss. The words she’d coded into her songs over the last couple of weeks, but was too afraid to say out loud. Open-mouthed and hungry, they made out against the desk until she inched her palms up the back of his shirt.
Brett groaned and broke away. “As much as I’m loving this, we should get some work done.”
“Will you take me to the beach later?” She’d been in Jewel nearly a month and hadn’t even been down to the water. Lost in the music and each other, they hadn’t made time for it.
“You want that?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “Maybe we could bring a bottle of wine.”
“ The wine?”
“The Domaine de la Romanée-Conti?”
“Yes, that one,” he laughed.
“It’s a date.” Effie flashed him a crooked smile before she settled on the couch with Stella, strumming the newest music that wouldn’t stop looping through her brain.
The afternoon passed with Brett squinting at the studio computer, noise-cancelling headphones and glasses firmly in place, as he clicked different segments, mixing the songs.
Effie moved between guitar and piano, jotting down her verses and bridges that seemed to flow straight from her brain to paper. There really was something special about Nightowl Studios and being away from her usual routine that opened up her creativity.
Or was it Brett? With each passing day, she was more certain of her feelings for him, ones that she had hidden away all those years ago when he left, but she never truly forgot. Everything he said about how scared he was, how his career had become too much, it all made sense.
Later, they walked through the woods to the beach armed with their bottle of wine and corkscrew. The trees split and suddenly there was a small, soft sand dune that sloped down to the water.
“Oh my god?” Effie gasped. “Now I regret that we didn’t come down here sooner. It’s like your own private beach.”
“It is my private beach,” Brett chuckled. “Public access is down there.” He waved a hand in the opposite direction, somewhere they couldn’t even see.
Effie didn’t stop. She walked straight to the water’s edge and kicked off her sandals. Her toes dipped into the cool, clear water. Gentle waves lapped up her ankles as she sunk into the mud. A smile crept up her face, a gentle ease settling into her soul.
Brett came up beside her and handed her the bottle. He folded up the corkscrew, slipping it back into his pocket. “Here, ladies first.”
“Always,” she said before swilling back a mouthful then passing it to Brett. “There’s something utterly absurd about drinking this straight from the bottle.”
“ Life is a little utterly absurd, isn’t it?” He stared, brow heavy, out across the water. He cleared his throat. “I’m scared that I’m too old for you, Effie.”
She turned to him, frowning. “Age was never a problem for me. I wasn’t worried. I’m not worried.”
Brett sighed and took a swig of wine. “I’m thirteen years older than you…what happens when I die? Before that: what happens when I’m old and can’t care for myself? And you’re still young?”
“Don’t be stupid, Brett,” she said, and he laughed. “I’m serious! First of all, you’re basically telling me you don’t want to be happy now because we’re going to die one day? That’s not how it works. And two… I want to be by your side through all of that growing old stuff, you know? We’re all gonna die, we’re all gonna get old. Remember that peace you were talking about? Honey, I’m telling you right now I’ve already lived too much life.” She paused, considering. “Oh yeah, I need to write that down. Hold on.”
Brett chuckled as she wiggled her notebook out of her pocket. She jotted down a couple words before turning back to him with a smile. “What were we talking about?”
He kissed the top of her nose. “How stupid I am. How good I am at talking myself out of what’s good for me.”
“And I’m good for you?” Effie slotted her body against his as the orange sun dipped closer to the horizon.
“Making music with you these last weeks is some of the happiest I’ve been in years. So, yes, it’s safe to say you’re very good for me, princess.”
Her heart fluttered, an overwhelming sense of contentment radiating from her center. They moved back up the beach to sit in the sand. Snuggled together, they finished their wine as the sun set. Faint classic rock music blew in with the changing wind and Effie sat up straight, clutching the empty bottle around the neck.
“What’s that?” she asked, trying to sniff out where it came from like an eager golden retriever.
Brett leaned back on his hands. “Must be from the patio at Two Bird. James and the locals like to blast all the good classic rock on Friday nights.”
“It is Friday night, isn’t it?” Effie gasped. “It’s easy to lose track of time up here.”
“Especially with your nose in your notebook for weeks.” Brett knocked his shoulder into hers.
“Let’s go.”
“To Two Bird?”
“Yeah, why not?”
Brett rubbed his chin. “Without your security?”
A thrill zipped through her. In truth, she hadn’t been out of their watchful eye very much in the last couple of years and they might be mad that they’d snuck off down the beach like this without telling them.
Effie looked down at her outfit. An oversized vintage Patti Smith t-shirt, black Levi cut-offs, and chunky designer slides didn’t exactly scream the world’s biggest popstar, Effie Bird . She shrugged. “Maybe I won’t get recognized like this. I’m not wearing make-up.”
He laughed, rubbing a rough thumb over her cheek. “Yes, you look different without your killer cat-eye—in a good, soft way. Even so, stunning.”
She considered. Her make-up was her mask of sorts, a physical indicator of when she was on as Effie Bird The Brand. Without it, she just was Effie Bird The Girl, another grumpy, sad, lonely millennial woman.
“Let’s go,” she said, jumping to her feet and throwing caution to the wind, for better or for worse.
They walked along the water, tracing the shore until they came around another dune and Jewel’s Main Street opened up to them. With one patio bar, an ice cream shack, a public beach, and a tiny two-lane road that hugged the coast, there wasn’t much to the downtown of this charming community. The stars sparkled in the sky as small waves crashed onto the shore and Effie had never seen anything so pretty. She really had missed the small-town life she’d grown up with, despite years chasing the lights of Manhattan.
Brett was right about the music. It streamed from Two Bird out over the sand where a couple groups had started up bonfires on the beach.
“Come on,” he said, his hand slotting into hers as he pulled her up the back stairs of the bar.
Her heart raced and her palm beaded with sweat. Maybe she wasn’t ready for this. Maybe she never would be. But how bad could it be? She’d faced down hunters with cell phones and mobs of pre-teen fans stalking her location. This bar crowd was mostly of Brett’s demographic, and they barely even looked at her as they called greetings to him one-by-one.
Brett pulled open the back door for her. “Pretty crowded,” he said, surveying the room.
Crowded seemed a little generous. Despite about twenty people scattered between the bar, booths that lined the perimeter, and a couple tables through the center, there were more open seating options than taken. His hand on her waist guided her to the bar stools, behind which lottery games flashed on a few screens in between baseball games. The youngest person in the entire bar was a brunette hand drying a mug with a towel.
“Stacy.” Brett nodded at the bartender as they took their seats.
Stacy froze mid-smile and mid-drying when her eyes landed on Effie. Effie knew that look: recognition. This girl clearly knew who Effie was. So much for being incognito.
“Umm,” Stacy said, her gaze widening.
“Well, Ef, I forgot Stacy usually works Friday nights,” Brett said, looking between the two.
Stacy jumped as if electrocuted and squeaked before leaning across the bar. “So you are Effie Bird?” she whispered conspiratorially, as if any of the other middle-aged folks sitting at the bar were paying attention.
“I am,” Effie said, relaxing slightly when it was clear no one else noticed or cared.
Tears gathered in the corners of Stacy’s eyes. “Oh my god.” She stomped around in a little circle. “I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing. I always thought about what it would be like to meet you and I never imagined it would be in Two Bird , with my unwashed hair, while I’m crying .
“It’s okay,” Effie said, used to all kinds of reactions from fans. A little tearing up was certainly on the normal side of responses.
Stacy turned away from them, took a deep breath, and squared her shoulders before turning around.
“I’m not smart,” she said. “I’ve never left Jewel and probably never will. But your music makes me feel seen, Effie. My favorite song is ‘Apology For The Memories.’ The sweetbitter tour film is my comfort movie. Your music makes me feel like it’s not stupid that I cry at the drop of a hat or that I fall in love too hard or that when my heart breaks, being wrecked for a week is okay. Your albums make me feel like when the rest of the world says I’m being a silly little girl, that my feelings are valid, too.”
Effie reached across the bar and when Stacy stared at her open palm, Effie nodded, urging the bartender to lace fingers with her.
“You know what, Stacy? That’s exactly why I make music. When my fans listen and support me, I know I’m not alone in those feelings either. You make me feel valid.” Effie squeezed the younger girl’s hand.
On their side of the bar, Brett squeezed her thigh, the warmth of his palm grounding her.
It wasn’t some line or fan service or something pandering. It was true what Effie had said. This right here was why she loved writing, recording, and performing music. It brought people together. And if one young girl felt seen in her best times, and especially her worst times, then all the rest of the bullshit became bearable.