Seth
“They loved it!” Phil said, barging into the studio. He walked over to where I sat. I looked up from the piano.
“Loved?” I asked, surprised, playing a chord. As promised by the label, Phil had shown up in Baltimore a few days after the call from Mark. He rented a studio in town so I wouldn’t be constrained to the limited time Andy could give me at the school studio.
“Yes, my friend. Loved.” He looked at my scattered papers and asked, “So what do we have here?”
“Well,” I hesitated. “It’s a little different, more intense than my other songs. I figured I could turn in my third demo with a bang.”
Phil nodded, approvingly. “Can I hear it?”
“Sure,” I said. I played what I had so far for the intro. It changed every time I played it, a couple notes here and there getting tweaked. It still didn’t sound completely right. The melody was a bit haunting, starting with piano at first and then picking up with electric guitar or bass to make it a little rough. I told this to Phil.
“We should get this going today. Do you have the lyrics?”
“Yeah, they’re not finished yet, though,” I said, handing him the sheet.
He scanned the words and raised his eyebrows at some parts.
“‘And It Hurts,’” he read. “Nice title.”
“Thanks,” I said.
He cleared his throat. “So who kicked your heart into the gutter?”
I gave him a look. “Which do you like better?” I played him two variations of the melody.
“The second one,” he said.
“I like the first one.” I grinned. Phil whacked me with the lyric sheet.
“I’ll get the bass guy in here to record.”
I nodded. “Let’s do this.” I played another chord loudly. Then I played the melody, finally getting it exactly how I wanted it.
After six tedious hours of recording and changing things, the last demo was done. It was different from my other songs, but Phil assured me different was good. I had to admit I felt it to be one of my better songs, with a lot of emotion in it.
“Hey, Seth!” Phil called out from the sound room, grabbing his jacket. “My wife and kids are in town—come join us for dinner. I’d love to introduce you to them.”
“Um,” I said, stalling. I had not expected a dinner invite, and didn’t really want to say yes.
“Oh, come on,” Phil said. “It’ll be fun. My wife has been pestering me to meet the artist who has been taking me away from her.” He rolled his eyes.
“Well, I guess,” I said.
Phil laughed. “It won’t be too painful. I promise.”
I pulled up to Phil’s house a few hours later. He was renting a white ranch with a small yard. Three yard gnomes arranged near the front porch stared creepily at me as I lifted my arm to knock on the door.
“Hi! Come on in—you must be Seth!” an older woman greeted me. She was really pretty, and I assumed she was Phil’s wife. She looked vaguely familiar, which I thought was odd.
“I’m Nora,” she said, smiling.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, shaking her hand. She led me into the living room where Phil was sitting, reading the newspaper. He looked like such a family man, with his receding hairline and reading glasses. He looked up when I walked in. “Hey, you made it!”
“Yeah,” I said, noticing a girl at the piano. She stared at me, and I stared back. She rolled her eyes and began playing. I smiled.
“Natalie, sweetie, not now. We are going to eat dinner,” Nora told her.
Natalie let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine.”
“Emma, dinner!” Nora called out. A girl no older than six came running in a little nightgown. When she saw me, she froze. “Who are you?”
“Emma,” Nora scolded. “Be polite.”
“I’m Seth,” I said, amused.
“He’s one of the artists I work with for my job,” Phil explained to her.
“Oh,” she said, walking past me through the swinging door.
Phil and Nora chuckled. “The table is this way.”
I nodded, following them in. Natalie followed behind me, her arms folded across her chest.
The food was, in one word, amazing. I wanted seconds of every dish: mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, chicken casserole, and corn on the cob. It felt like Christmas.
“This food is amazing,” I said, taking a third helping of the casserole.
Nora laughed. “Thank you!”
“Seriously, I haven’t had good food like this since I was fifteen, back when my mom cooked.”
“Oh, wow!” she said, surprised. “So Phil tells me you’ve been making good progress, that you finished your last demo today?”
I nodded, swallowing. “Yeah, it took me by surprise that we did finish.”
“How many songs will be on your album?”
“So far we have eight for sure going on. We might have more if they decide they like some of my older songs.”
She nodded. “Sounds great.”
Phil smiled, pointing his fork at his wife from across the table. “Nora used to record. She had a good three albums that sold.”
“Really?” I said, surprised. I looked at her again and realized why I recognized her. “You wouldn’t be Nora James by any chance?”
Nora’s face flushed. “Yeah, that was me.”
“No way,” I said, shaking my head and smiling. “My mom was a big fan. She loved that song…” I trailed off trying to remember. “‘Love Like Rain,’ I think?”
“Yeah,” she nodded, “that one was pretty popular.”
“I actually learned how to play it, so I could play it for her.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Aw, that’s sweet!” she said, looking at Phil.
“So you play piano?” Natalie asked me, only it came out more as an accusation.
“Yeah. I do,” I said in the same tone.
She nodded.
Phil added, “Natalie plays the piano. She’s been playing since she was five. She and her mom are working on her own songs now.”
I nodded, impressed. “That’s great.” Natalie looked at me from across the table, then looked away when I caught her staring at me.
“So, Seth, how about some cheesecake?” Nora asked.
I grinned. “I would love some.” I winked at Natalie, who was still staring at me.
After dessert, we gathered in the living room. Phil and Nora sat together on the couch, Emma on the floor, and Natalie sat at the piano. I walked over to the piano, and she looked up.
“Mind if I join you?” I asked her. She looked surprised and scooted over.
“So how old are you, Natalie?”
“Thirteen,” she answered, running her fingers across the keys.
I’d figured as much. “I started writing at that age.”
“So are you going to become famous?” she asked. She grabbed her sheet music off of the piano, away from my prying eyes.
I held back a smile. “Not sure. People could decide they hate my music and would rather be deaf than hear it.”
“That’s kind of dramatic,” she said.
“Yeah…” I said. “Maybe a little.”
“So are you going to play something for me?” I asked her.
She gave me an uneasy look. “I guess.”
“Cool! Let’s hear it,” I said, getting up and standing behind her. “Natalie is going to play for us,” I announced.
Phil and Nora looked up from their conversation. “All right!” Phil said. “She must like you, Seth. Natalie never plays for anybody.”
I turned my head to look at her. She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath, then glanced over her shoulder at me before starting to play. It was Schubert’s “Serenade,” a beautiful and complex song. Natalie nailed it, breezing through the difficult parts with ease.
We all clapped. “That was beautiful,” I said to her. She smiled her first smile of the night.
“It’s your turn now,” she said, getting up.
“What?” I said, shocked and now nervous.
“Yeah! It’s not fair,” she told me, a stern look on her face.
I sighed. “Fine.” I sat down and brushed my fingers against the keys, feeling where my hands needed to be. I began playing one of the softer new songs. The melody wasn’t very complex, so it didn’t sound like much without the singing.
“Sing for us!” Phil called out. I shook my head no and continued to play, adding more variations to make it interesting. When I finished I looked up at Natalie, who stared at me before saying, “I doubt people’s ears will bleed.”
She sat down next to me on the bench. “You think so?” I nudged her.
She nudged back but didn’t answer. I kept my hands on the piano, playing the melody for Nora’s song “Love Like Rain” quietly. It brought back so many memories of my mom—painting the kitchen, my surprise gift for her on her birthday, and watching her sway and dance alone to the song. I could still see it all.
Nora gave a little laugh and I looked up and grinned. I gestured to her with my head to come over. She got up and stood behind Natalie, and I played the song louder. She sang along and halfway through, Natalie joined in on the vocals. I was tempted to sing with them, but I didn’t. I just played the music. I looked over at Phil, who was smiling and tapping his hand on his knee.
It was strange for me to be in the midst of a happy family and actually enjoying myself. I didn’t feel as out of place as I thought I would. It was different, but I kind of liked it.
When the song was over, they all applauded and Nora and I gave a little bow. I looked back at the piano and thought of my mom, then looked at Nora.
“Nora,” I began, “would it be too much to ask if I could do a cover of this song? For the last song on my album?” I cleared my throat. “My mom loved this song and I would be honored if you’d let me, for her memory.”
Nora smiled. “Of course! That would be wonderful.”
She patted my shoulder. “Phil, you can take care of the permissions, can’t you?”
“Of course,” Phil said, surprised. He stood up. “This is going to be great. I’ll talk to the label tomorrow about it and see what it takes to get started on recording.”
“Thank you so much,” I said, sincerely grateful. I had wanted to include a song in memory of my mom. I had always thought it would be a version of the lullaby that she sang to me so much as a child, but Phil said that would be too different for my first album and maybe be better for my second one. I hoped they would approve this cover.
It was still unreal to me that all of this was happening. A year ago, I had been practicing for a spot in one of the most prestigious jazz ensembles in Boston. And now I was putting that behind me for a different type of career.
The day I’d left Shelby for Asheville, I got a call from an unknown number. When I answered, it was the ensemble telling me I was one of their top picks out of four. They wanted me to come in for an interview and told me I had a promising career ahead of me. I was shocked and confused and felt torn between two decisions I had never thought I’d have to make. Yet there I was, driving to Ashville to sign to a label. As the lady waited for me to speak on the other line, only one voice echoed in my mind.
This is your shot. If it doesn’t work out, you’ll always have your degree, your talent in jazz, and another chance at getting in an ensemble.”
So I turned down the interview and took my shot.
When I left Phil’s house an hour later, I thought of Amy and how things had been that last week I was in Shelby. Amy had been happy and supportive of the record deal and as much as I owed my success to her, I never really got the chance to tell her. If only I had told her the truth before she found out some other way, and if only I’d had the courage to say what I’d left unsaid, maybe things could have been different. It felt too late to fix any of it, all the damage, but deep down I hoped it wasn’t.