Chapter Seven…
After a few curtain calls, we crashed hard with our bodies entwined. I loved the closeness and missed it when I opened my eyes to an empty space beside me. But I instantly knew I wasn’t alone, hearing a gentle strumming on a guitar in the not-too-far distance. The smell of coffee was my other hint. It smelled so good—nice to have someone else make it for you in your… your loft… your loft filled with secrets. Shit! I flew out of bed finally realizing that Nate had discovered my recording studio nook.
Grabbing a short, turquoise, silk robe, I slipped my arms into the sleeves, and tied it around my waist. Then I moved to my minimalistic kitchen all outfitted on one wall; fridge, stove, lower wheat-colored cabinetry and opaque white floating shelves above a smooth concrete countertop. An island housed lower matching cabinets along with a stainless steel sink set to the side in more concrete, and provided a place to eat—stools up to it. I rarely cooked, but needed a place to sit and eat my preferred takeout. My only appliance visible was a coffee machine which I poured java from into a big mug that was sitting and waiting to be topped. Already prepared to my liking, the mug had been filled with lots of cream—room temperature, my coffee stayed hot rather than being cooled off by cold cream—just how we both liked it. I enjoyed a few sips of the yummy, hot perfection before moving toward the sounds of a guitar—there was no reason to rush into my sectioned off area. I wasn’t sure I was ready to face the music, in more ways than one. It was certain that he would have questions for me, I just wasn’t sure how much to tell him. I would, of course, be honest but I would, also, omit a few things.
Step by step, I slowly moved toward a barrier that separated us, coffee in hand. Deep breath, I turned the corner to see Nate shirtless with one of my guitars in his lap, writing on blank sheet music spread out—I always had hundreds of sheets lying around. My heart nearly stopped beating as he looked up at me with a slight smile and one lifted eyebrow before removing a guitar pick from between his lips.
“Anything you want to tell me about, Evie… say… like about all of this recording equipment you have… and instruments? I’m guessing the café doesn’t pay that well.”
I was pretty proud of my little home studio. I hadn’t really put much effort into the rest of the space which was sparsely furnished—lacking personal touches like photos—with just basic necessities; a bed, a sofa and two chairs in case I ever decided to have anyone over. But for my pride and joy area, I had a moveable panel that acted as a soundproof wall and special mat flooring to keep sound from traveling to my neighbors below me. No one lived above me or to the other side of me, I had the perfect space to make my own recordings. Also, I had equipment that headphones allowed only me to hear; a small soundboard, a computer, speakers, and a full keyboard electronic piano. Three different acoustic guitars were the only other instruments I had.
“My family has money.” That was a true statement and he already knew that my family was into music. I just bypassed the how and the why… and the who. “And you? Looks like you know your way around writing music.” I gestured down to the musical notes and symbols he had dancing around the staves on a sheet directly in front of him on a wood boomerang-shaped coffee table.
“I’ve been known to write music from time to time… often…” Nate looked like he was struggling or deciding what he should tell me. “I have a studio back home…” I had a feeling where home was almost slipped from his lips. “So, my tattoo shop isn’t my main business.”
Wasn’t his main business? “As in, songwriting is or wanting to break into the music industry… singing… singer-songwriter?” He nodded as if he was waiting for me to maybe ask more questions, finish my string of inquiries, or maybe for something to click. “You write for you or others?”
“I write music that I hope others will want to sing.”
“The songs you sing at the café are yours, aren’t they? I didn’t recognize them… They’re great. You’re really good.” I kept rambling as he just sat looking at me, grinning.
“Yours haven’t been originals. Why not?” He reached out for his coffee mug.
I moved closer and took a seat on a matching overstuffed chair that matched the one he was sitting in. “I’m not sure what I write is good. I mostly write because I love it. But it’s more for fun… for my benefit… for me.”
“No one writes for themselves. They write to be heard. To express themselves openly. You sing your songs, right?” His eyes, so unique burned into me and I was only able to nod my head. “You’re not silent when you sing. You want to be heard and you should be—your voice is amazing.”
I smiled at him and then sucked in my bottom lip. “I write about silly things like fashion. I have books filled with words and phrases. I started making up poems but as I began to repeat words a few times in my composition…”
“…They became lyrics.”
“Yes. Lyrics that included silks, chiffons, wrinkles, flows… colors…” I stopped.
“It doesn’t matter what you write about. It means something to you.” He laughed. “One of my first songs was about peanut butter on celery and how good it tasted but how I hated the strings getting caught in my teeth. That’s a silly thing to write about, but for some reason I thought it was important enough to write down.”
“You moved beyond the irritation of celery.” I took a drink of my coffee. “Your songs have emotion. A story. The one you sang about a crack in time after losing love… raw, heart-wrenching emotion. It seemed so real. I could feel your loss…”
I needed to shut up. We were supposed to keep things light and there I was taking apart his song that obviously came from his past—something neither of us had spoken about.
“Draw from your own life’s experiences or borrow from life going on around you…”
I wasn’t sure if I had the emotional part down, having never experiencing a great loss of any kind. Never even a broken heart. Maybe once Nate left me, the sad love songs would come. I had already written down a few of my feelings about distrust and cheating during our brief separation. But I figured more would surely come when the summer season came to an end as they were swirling in my head as he sat across from me—anticipating the makings of a song:
End of summer
Sun slipping away
Dead leaves signaling loss
Never to return
New leaves but never the same
Never the same
Nate’s words were starting to register, I hoped that he didn’t realize that I had totally zoned out on him. “It’s always a different process… silly can work too… fashion even…” He had my full attention with his next words. “You could have a hit with your Ugly Kelly Green Shoes…” Oh my God, he was looking through my journals. “…Fashion sells look at These Boots Are Made for Walkin’ written by Lee Hazlewood and made number one in 1966 by Nancy Sinatra.” He had a point and then he had off the chart incredible skills as he moved from his chair in the direction of mine.
“I see you wearing green shoes and nothing else.” He was on his knees in front of me untying my robe. “They may be ugly shoes to you, but I see nothing but beauty if it is on you.” I swear his words sounded like lyrics. I lost track of a few lines as his lips gently traced down my neck, over my collarbones, and toyed with my breasts. All in a teasing manner—light and sexy, but not enough—I had thoughts of pushing him quickly down to where I hoped he was heading. Being patient, I enjoyed his soft words along with his lips touching every goose bump that had plagued my body. “So rare… so soft…” I never understood another syllable uttered. His nibbles to the inside of my thighs once he placed my legs, wide over the arms of the chair had me floating and I swear I heard music play as he hit all of the right notes.
Down from my own cloud, I quietly, without words, slipped from my chair onto the floor and had Nate soaring with my mouth wrapped around him. Unwilling to finish between my lips, he pulled me up his body after rolling protection down his massive erection. Happy to fulfill his wishes, I placed him at my entrance and slid down his length, taking all of him deep. “Oh, so good,” we said in perfect harmony and our song began. Up and down, noises were vocalized by both of us. Panting, moaning… I rode him fast and slow and then he rolled us and conducted the perfect measured strokes that struck chords and had me singing his name like an opera star. I was pretty sure that none of my soundproofing worked—my voice surely reverberated “yes, yes, yes, oh yes, Nate” throughout the whole building.
How did you follow up a performance like that—I wasn’t sure—but Nate decided we needed to quickly shower and get outside to experience our surroundings. I didn’t realize that it would entail us filming ourselves all over the city with his phone on a selfie-stick. Little segments of us captured between having margaritas and snacks at various places which served as down time, only to be used to refuel us for more movie making. It was kind of fun, I have to admit. Especially, when he had me in control of the camera while he did a variety of movements that ranged from happy to sad and every emotion in between. Acting could be a career option for him, but not for me. I had a really hard time being in front of the camera alone. I’m pretty sure he didn’t get what he wanted out of me—though he never complained—but kept right on lightly pushing and filming me.
The result of our day together weeks ago finally came to life when Nate surprised me one day with his genius engineering of a video complete with his original music. Our own music video. It was amazing to watch it. Then came another part that I didn’t see coming. “Only thing missing is your voice.”
I looked at Nate like he was speaking in a foreign tongue. “Why me? It’s your song. You should sing on it. I don’t even know the words… do you have words to go with it?” He just smiled at first. “You’re up to something… I’m not sure what. Since we met you have baffled me and you always have me teetering on the edge of my own comfort zone.”
He laughed at me. “I want to try writing a song together that says us—what sums us up as a whole and separate. We can make it a duet if you don’t want to solo.” I studied his face, waiting for a smirk or something—anything that told me he was serious or just testing me.
How could we add us up to be any total? Sure individually we had traits, even some connecting ones. But we were only a summer fling—exclusive once cleared up—with an ending date. Then his request… suggestion had me thinking that maybe the video was meant to be a parting gift—memories of us. Suddenly, I sucked in my lip and started looking around the room as single tears began to roll down my cheeks, one after the other.
“Evie…” his voice was soft as he moved me closer to him and swiped his thumbs across my cheeks, lightly cradling my face so it was tilted up, looking into his icy blues. “…I hope those are happy tears.”
I shook my head, lowered my eyes, backed out of his hold, grabbed my bag, and fled—thankful that we had been at his place and I could run off.