A Kind of Truth (16 page)

The guy was blessed with a deeper gift for music than I’d first realized. Hell, his first language
was
music. The more time I spent with him, I began to see that Will processed everything rhythmically. His brain seemed to turn words into notes and set a tempo according to his mood. A faraway look would come over him when he played piano or guitar. He could make himself skim the surface while he tried to explain the nuances of changing chords faster, but when he was allowed the freedom to drift creatively, he got lost in his work. I’d never been more in awe of anyone’s natural talent. He was a genius.

As much as I admired his skill behind a guitar or a piano, it paled in comparison to what I felt just being with him. Our first “date” was the beginning of something new and a little bewildering. At least to me. I wasn’t the type to become consumed with a guy. Or a girl, for that matter. Other than my high school years with Seth, I’d never really had one person I wanted to be with consistently. I’d had one-night stands or fuck buddies. Whatever was happening between Will and me was unprecedented. He was the first person I thought of when I woke up. And I was grateful most mornings I only had to glance over at the pillow next to me to find him. Don’t get me wrong, we still had our separate lives. Mine revolved around my band with a few hours thrown in at the bagel shop, and his were at school or with his internship in the theater district. But when we weren’t together we were in constant contact. We sent text or voice messages with mini recordings or bits of lyrics like we were lovesick students passing notes in class. It was a quirky way for two oddball artists to communicate.

I wasn’t sure what we were doing, but I couldn’t get enough. Crawling into his futon to spend hours exploring his body was all I wanted. I loved how his tentative touches gave way to ardent caresses, the way he moaned my name and clawed at my skin when he was about to fall apart. His fiery responsiveness was intoxicating. He looked at me with beguiling wonder when he floated to the surface as though I were a fucking god. And before I could say a word, he was on his knees sucking the life out of me. What he lacked in finesse, he made up in passion. Though truthfully he was a quick study. An incredibly sexy man with a voracious desire for sex. Will occasionally indicated he was ready to take the next step when our sweat-slick bodies moved as one and my dick inevitably nudged his hole. As tempting as it was to grab a condom and lube and bury myself inside him, a niggling fear in the back of my head held me back.

What would happen after he’d checked off every box on his list of firsts? Would we ride out this intense physical connection, part ways amicably, and possibly never see each other again? The thought made me uncharacteristically melancholy. I’d never been here before. And I didn’t understand it. He wasn’t my type. I usually went for guys, and girls for that matter, with an edgier side. Not sweet, vulnerable types with secrets. Yeah… I was catching on that there was definitely more to Will than he gave away.

So I chose not to worry and just enjoy. It was springtime in a magical city where anything could happen. Including Rand O’Malley falling for a cute, nerdy guy in glasses with an alter ego who wore eyeliner, lip gloss, and sometimes even fishnet hose upon request. Maybe I was acting out of character and maybe this wouldn’t last, but for now… it felt good.

If only I felt the same way about my band.

THE MUSIC
business moved in fits and starts. It wasn’t easy to build momentum and maintain it. Some of the shows we hoped would give us leeway to a bigger break hadn’t added up to much. I didn’t blame Mike. I understood there was a good deal of luck involved. We’d met with a few record labels and had a couple of kickass shows that, if nothing else, proved we could hold an audience’s attention. We expanded our online presence at Mike’s suggestion and tried to come up with innovative ways to promote our brand. We were a good band with a great bluesy sound who put on an entertaining show. But I was beginning to wonder if we were truly special. There were so many good acts on the scene. We had to find a way to differentiate ourselves without compromising our sound.

The weak link was Terry. He’d definitely improved and there was no doubt he tried. But you can’t fake natural ability, and the sorry fact was… he didn’t have it. He was a serviceable guitarist without any flash or pizzazz. It wasn’t his fault we hadn’t catapulted to instant fame, but my instinct told me he was part of the problem. He should have fit in with Cory, Tim, and I seamlessly. He had the same general style of dress and attitude, but he was aloof. And he still rubbed me the wrong way. Constantly. My mouth was too fucking big not to call him on stupid mistakes. I would have welcomed him telling me to shut the hell up and fight to play what he thought worked better. I hated the insolent sneers or vague nods that said “fuck you” louder than if he shouted it at the top of his lungs. He was a problem I didn’t have a ready solution for.

Spiral had an important gig at the beginning of April. The venue was slightly larger, and according to Mike, a bigwig from a Los Angeles-based label had committed to attend. Cory and Tim were excited. Terry gave a half grin to show his enthusiasm, and I walked out of the room to avoid raining on their parade and potentially launching for Terry’s throat.

“Hey! Where you going?” Tim called after me as I made my way down the narrow studio hallway toward the elevator.

“I need air. I’ll be back in a while.”

Tim followed me to the elevator. He stuck his hands in his pockets and observed me intently. The worried frown juxtaposed with his inked, toned biceps and worn jeans made me smile. He looked part badass drummer, part concerned parent. He stepped in the elevator with me, ignoring my wordless glare warning him to leave me alone. In deference to the three other people sharing the ride, I kept quiet until we reached the lobby.

“Timmy, leave me alone.”

“Not until you tell me why you aren’t jumping for freaking joy. This is big, Rand. Why aren’t you celebrating? If you tell me it’s because Terry bugs you, I’m gonna fucking kick your ass.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes for good measure as I moved toward the exit. “He definitely bugs me, but that isn’t it. I’ve been thinking—something isn’t working and I can’t put my finger on it. I want to say it’s Terry, but it’s something else. Something the Hollywood exec is going to notice. I’m more worried than excited because he isn’t going to give us pointers. He’ll write us off, and Spiral will be marked as a nice little band with a small club following but not necessarily destined for prime time.”

“Rand—”

“We need to think about how to create interest. A gimmick… or something. I know it’s not in our budget, but I’m wondering if we should go for it and hire a PR guru to help us with our image.” I sighed and leaned against the building’s brick façade and watched the late-afternoon passersby hurry to catch subways or buses home.

“It’s my turn to be brutally honest. Money is a major factor. I don’t think it’s wise to borrow, and we’re strapped as it is.”

“I know. I wish we knew someone who’d give us some advice we could trust. For free.”

“Let’s brainstorm. We can probably come up with something.” He squinted and twitched his nose as though deep in thought, then smacked my shoulder and gave me a bright smile. “Maybe we could give away a door prize to the first hundred people. Like a keychain.”

“A keychain?” I scoffed.

“What if we dressed differently or wore wigs or—”

“Hmm. Maybe….”

“Maybe wha—oh hi. How’s it going?” Tim waved as Holly and Leah rounded the corner.

“Good. Are you guys still practicing? We were gonna hang out for an hour or so before I have to get to school and Leah has to get to work,” Holly said, flipping her long, blonde hair over her shoulder.

I liked her. She was sweet, good-natured, and hopelessly infatuated with Cory. She was pleasant company, and I didn’t mind her hanging around the studio. I only wished she was better friends with Will than Leah. Leah made me… itchy. I didn’t get her. There’s no way a girl like her was interested in Terry. She was too hip for him. She was sharp, witty, and had a body like a—whatever.

I knew to tread lightly with Leah. She was a music blogger with a growing readership who followed new music artists in the city. She’d written Spiral up a few times and was definitely one of our biggest champions, but I didn’t trust her motivation. I think she liked Terry enough to have sex with him, but I sensed she was looking for something else. And when she gave me that lusty come-hither look, I knew exactly what she wanted.

This was definitely a first. Leah was hot. She was pretty with an edgy street style that combined a Goth look with something bohemian. I liked her long black hair and her gorgeous inked arms. She was the type of girl I usually ended up in bed with, even if it was for only one night. But her obvious flirtation hit a sour note with me, and not because I knew she was screwing my guitarist.

“We were just taking a quick break,” I said as I stepped aside.

I was weighing whether or not I should just head to campus when Tim filled the girls in on our PR conversation. I gave him a perturbed glare he pointedly ignored as he warmed to the topic. “What do you think about glow-in-the-dark wristbands or a flashy keychain?”

“What’s with you and the keychain? I’ll buy you a fucking keychain if you need one so bad. I’ll be back soon. See you guys.”

“Wait! Where are you going?” It was Tim’s turn to glower at me.

Leah set her hand on my elbow and tossed a bemused look between us. “Hang on a sec. The keychain idea isn’t a great one, Tim. Sorry. Wristbands are better but the idea shouldn’t be to give out souvenirs. It should be to get more people in the door. You need to spread the word. I can contact a few other bloggers I know and see about doing a series of stories about you guys before your Brooklyn show. That will help. One of my friends has done some freelance work for
Rolling Stone
too. Good contact to have.”

“Wow. That would be awesome. Do you do PR too?” Tim asked.

“I’m trying to get more into it. I’m doing some basic social media content for a couple artists at a small label. It’s fun.”

“That’s really cool. Maybe you could help us out,” Tim gushed, giving me an enthusiastic look that clearly said all our problems were now solved. He was probably a little confused by my blank expression. I wasn’t so sure having Leah join us was a great idea. Even if it was for PR exposure.

“I’d love to. I actually mentioned it to Terry. I’m surprised he didn’t say anything.”

“Hmm. What would you need from us?” I asked.

“Human interest info. A couple of them may want to do interviews. Would you be okay with me e-mailing you questions?” She pulled her cell out of her gigantic black-fringed bag and shot a sexy sideways glance my way.

“Yeah, sure.” I gave her my e-mail address and thanked her again. “I gotta run. I’ll see you later.”

“Wait. I’ll come with you. I can ask a few questions while we walk and get the ball rolling, so to speak. Do you mind?”

“Uh… no, that’s fine.” Oh boy.

I braced myself for an uncomfortable twenty minutes or so. I was torn between wanting professional exposure and being wary of having her undivided attention. I wondered where I should head to shake her off. Ducking into a coffee shop might prolong the encounter rather than shorten it, so I walked toward Washington Square and hoped this wouldn’t be a completely awkward chat.

“Everyone’s going to want to know basics about Spiral. Where you’re from, what your interests are outside of music, who you’re dating, etcetera. Then they’ll want to get into the nitty-gritty of your sound. Who your influences are, how long you’ve been playing…. So, where shall we start?” Her tone was professional with a hint of humor. For whatever reason, it set me at ease.

“All right, then. We’re from Baltimore. Except for Terry. I don’t remember where he’s from—”

“Minneapolis.”

“Ah. Right. I guess you can fill in the blanks for him.”

She raised her eyebrows and gave me a look I couldn’t read without a roadmap. “Hmm. Tell me about Baltimore.”

By the time we reached the park, I’d talked my head off about myself, my interests, and the band’s direction with little prodding from Leah. She listened and occasionally asked to stop to take notes in her phone. Our arms brushed as we walked, and when we stopped, she stood very close. But on crowded city streets, it wasn’t a red flag. It was just New York.

As Washington Square came into view, I stopped at the corner and peered through the trees into the park.

“I need to stop here,” I said.

“No problem. One last question.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

Leah’s expression was carefully blank, like she was in reporter mode asking random questions that may be of interest to her readers, not necessarily her. My smile was slow, a lazy curve of the lips that morphed into a full grin. She was too obvious for her own good. Or mine, maybe.

“No, but I’m… seeing someone.”

“Is it serious?”

I didn’t know how to answer that one. And I suppose my hesitation spoke for me.

“I get it.” She returned my grin with something a little saucier and laid her hand on my arm. “I’m in the same boat. Catch you later. Oh wait! I’m going to need your cell number for further questions. I won’t have anyone call you directly. I can be the middle man, or girl, for you,” she said with a wink.

“Sure.” I gave her my number, distractedly wondering what I should do now that we’d reached the park. Will hadn’t returned my earlier text. I debated heading back to practice when I saw a familiar figure standing near a slick new-model Range Rover.

“Bye, Rand.” I looked down at Leah just as she leaned in to kiss the corner of my mouth. I was surprised by the gesture. But alarmed a second later when I glanced back at the Range Rover to see Will staring at me.

He was standing next to an elegantly dressed woman near the curb on Waverly Place. The late-afternoon sun hit the gigantic diamond on her left hand as she held open the SUV’s door. I didn’t know much about fashion, but having a friend who’d modeled with major couture houses in Europe gave me a basic knowledge. Enough to recognize that the Louis Vuitton bag, the huge dark sunglasses with the double
C
s on the sides, and the red-soled, fancy high heels were really expensive. Her dark brown, shoulder-length hair looked pretty against her bright pink sweater-coat. She looked sophisticated and worldly in a very New York way. And Will looked a lot like her. Was this his mom? She certainly didn’t look like she was the average parent visiting her kid in college. I rubbed my tatted arm when a chilly spring breeze whipped along the street. I was proud of the colorful Celtic designs on my biceps, interlaced with tongues of fire and mystic symbols. As an Irish American, they were meaningful to me. But I could tell this lady wasn’t going to be impressed. Nor was she going to like me, I mused. And at the moment, it didn’t look like the guy next to her did, either.