Behind the Strings (3 page)

5

My mom had made the drive to Nashville for a visit the weekend after Logan had left. She arrived after work on Friday and we had made it more than halfway through dinner on Saturday before she brought up the subject of him. Much further than I had expected; usually she plays ten questions about my love life at the beginning of every visit. She even tiptoed around the actual picture, starting with how it must have been good to see him.

"It was," I said, taking a sip of my chardonnay. "You more than anyone know how bad it ended between us."

"You cried for weeks." She too took a sip of her wine before digging deeper. "So what did you guys talk about?"

I knew what she was getting at, but I replied with a generic, “Oh, you know, the usual.”

"I always thought that boy was the one for you."

"Mama, please. We've been over this. I don't want to cross that line with him."

"You know everyone back home is talking about that picture floating around.”

I slouched back in my chair. "Let them talk."

"Baby girl, I just want you to be happy. You know that, right?" She asked as she reached for my hand.

"I know, Mama, and I am, I promise."

It wasn't until we were back at my house that she brought up the subject again. She did a quick walk-through of the first floor before asking if I ever got lonely having this place all to myself.

"Not really, I like the peace and quiet." Her expression changed to a worried one as she sat on the couch beside me.

"I just don't want you to be afraid to let people in. Not all people are like your father, Cee-Cee. Not everyone leaves."

Mama was the only one I ever allowed to call me Cee-Cee. I hated nicknames. My boss suggested one when I first started working at
Behind the Strings.
She thought it might add a little allure having a pen name, but I quite liked seeing my name fully spelled out with each published post.

“Can we please stop talking about this?” I asked.

“I don’t want you to be
afraid that you’re going to end up like me.”

“Mama, don’t you ever say that. There are way worse things in this world that could ever happen to me then ending up a strong woman like you. But even so, I’m not afraid and I don’t have daddy issues. “

“Cee-Cee, you are twenty-four years old and you’ve never been in love. Never even really had a relationship. Don’t you tell me that has nothing to do with your daddy walking away from us.”

I leaned closer to her and reached for her hands. She smiled at me, but her eyes were hollow. They were glistening, but not the way they did when she first arrived here in Nashville happy to see her little girl. It was clear that she was worried about me and nothing in that moment was going to change her mind. We both just stood there smiling, holding on to each other as we often did during the times the front door would slam behind my father and his guitar on one of his extremely rare visits. I would grab my mother’s hands as tightly as I could until the sound of the tour bus had faded away. It didn’t matter if I was three, eight, or sixteen, it was always the same. She’d hide her pain behind her smile and I’d squeeze her hands in comfort.

“You don’t have to worry about me. My life is fine the way it is. I’m not lonely or sad or in need of a boyfriend. Now let’s forget about all of this crazy talk and find ourselves a movie to watch.”

Sighing in defeat, she made her way to the kitchen for popcorn as I settled on a thriller. When she sat back down we alternated hands in the popcorn bowl and sat in silence, enjoying each other’s company. Even as an adult, I still cherish the time I get to spend with my mama. Every now and then I’d steal a glimpse in her direction and wonder why she would ever think there was ever anything wrong with turning out to be like her. I had grown up wishing to be nothing less and as I sat there on the couch, my wish remained the same.

6

It had been almost three weeks since I'd seen Logan. Every couple of days I would get a text or call to keep me in the loop of his travels. The last one was 48 hours ago. It was a text, a simple one:

Stopping in Nashville this week on our way to Austin. Would love to see you.

I drummed my fingers against my iced coffee cup as I sat outside Soulful Grinds. The foot traffic was heavy as the coffee shop was holding a songwriter’s night that Friday. It would begin rather soon and I would’ve loved to go in to listen. Tonight, though, I had a very important meeting.

Logan said he’d meet me at 7:30. I glanced at my watch.
He's only five minutes late
, I thought to myself as the sun fell closer to the horizon. I chewed on my straw more intently with every minute that passed.

I tried to distract myself by organizing the notes I’d taken during my latest interview earlier that day. I'd spent the afternoon at a local radio station interviewing Layna Howard, the newest addition to Yellow Dog records. She had just wrapped up an opening gig on one of this summer’s biggest tours and I had a great angle about a woman in a man's world since she'd been the only one on the tour. After the interview, I was excited to have a ton of notes to get me started. I typed a few words and then deleted them. I did this a few times before a voice broke my rhythm.

"Hey Celia, can I get you anything to go with that coffee?" she asked, holding out a tray of baked goods.

"I'm okay, thank you, Jordyn," I said. I loved how I was on a first-name basis with pretty much all the baristas. It made Nashville feel cozy and intimate, just like my hometown. It was one of the things I always loved about growing up in Hamden.

By twenty after eight I had sucked down the final drop through my now shriveled straw. I tossed the cup in the trash and headed across the street, playing back my mom's words about how not everyone was like my father. I shook my head, noting at that moment how maybe not everyone was, but musicians were musicians. Rock ‘n’ roll or country, it didn't matter; their hearts only had room for one thing, and that was music. It's something I learned at an early age and something I would firmly believe in until my last breath.

I did whatever I could to tune out my disappointed and denial of sadness. I dusted the living room twice, swept the cherry floors, and had just begun to do the dishes when a hard knock came from my front door. I put the dish down into the sink and dried my hands with a towel as I walked towards it.

Nothing but darkness filled the peephole. What the heck? My hand turned the knob and pulled it toward me. A sweaty and tired-looking Logan appeared on the other side of it.

"Good, you're still awake," he said as he invited himself in. "I'm sorry I'm late."

I didn't answer, or look up at him for that matter. I didn't want to be angry. I didn't want him to know it had affected me as much as it did, but I couldn't help it.

"It's fine," I lied.

"I am really sorry,” He repeated.

"Sounds familiar,” I mumbled under my breath.

That was my father's second-favorite phrase. His first being “
I'll make it up to you
.” Logan's dislike for my father was probably pretty close to my own, so things weren’t about to go over well once he realized I had made that comparison.

"What does?"

"Never mind," I said.

"I would’ve been on time, but we had some bus trouble.”

"I said it’s fine."

"Celia, I would never let you down." In my heart I think I wanted to believe him. I should have, but he could tell I didn’t. "I'm not your dad."

“I didn't even say anything like that.”

“You don't have to. I've seen that look enough times from you to know better.”

“What look?” I asked him.

“Disappointment. Don't put me in that category.”

“You have a cell phone, you know.” It was the only response I had, and it burst right out of me without thinking. “It isn’t that hard to pick it up, push a few buttons and let me know. Instead you left me waiting, sitting there all alone. Not calling is something my dad would do.” I swallowed hard as soon as I said that, immediately wishing I could pull those words back in. Logan’s face became flushed as he took a step away from me.

“No,” he said, “not calling because he was too drunk to remember is something your dad would do. guilty random body parts for endless girls at the end of every show instead of calling his daughter to say goodnight like he said he would is something your dad would do. Not being able to call you because the tour bus died along with my cell phone just outside of town, asking my band mates to wait with it so I could walk two miles here to make sure I could at least see you for a few minutes, that isn’t something your dad would do. But it
is
something I would do, something I just did because I care about you and you should damn well know that by now."

I'm pretty sure the words “royal bitch” were stamped on my forehead by the end of his declaration.

“Not everyone is like him, Celia. You’ve gotta believe that.”

"You sound like Mama," I said.

“Smart woman, she is, I knew I loved her for a reason.”

He reached over and pulled me into him. I gently wrapped my arms around his moist and sweaty skin.

“I'll never let you down. You should know that by now. You have to stop thinking that,” he said as he placed his lips on the same spot of my forehead as the last time I saw him.

“I’m working on it.”

I squeezed him a little tighter. We stood there in the foyer rocking back and forth in each other’s arms for some time before Logan had the idea to grab a drink downtown. He wanted to make up for missing dinner. I let him rinse off the obliterating August heat in my shower before we left. As if things in my life weren’t already blurred enough, a night out in Nashville was about to make it a whole lot more complicated.

7

The one thing I love the most about Nashville is that it doesn’t matter what time of day it is, music is always playing. But when the sun goes down, that’s when the city really comes alive. The neon lights of marquees glare at every corner with music coming out of every bar you pass. The undiscovered talent you get to see on a nightly basis is exhilarating.

Shotguns was Logan’s bar of choice when we arrived downtown. It was a dimly lit, mellow bar best known for its impressive collection of guitar picks that covered every tabletop. The owner had glued each one down himself. If you look at the table by the window, closest to the bar you may even see one from Logan Kent himself. He played there often on his rise to country music stardom. I knew that from his mother. When still living at home I used to eavesdrop on conversations between my mom and his so I could stay up to date on the happenings in his life. She used to tell my mom all the time that Shotguns pulled in their best business on the nights Logan played that stage.

Tonight we had to squeeze our way through close to a hundred people, Logan shaking pretty much all of their hands on our way up to the bar. The live music hadn’t started yet, but from what I was told on the ride over, Shotguns had found themselves another pretty popular up-and-coming band by the name of Jackson’s Soul. The lead singer was one of Logan’s good friends here in Nashville.

“Your usual,” Logan said as he handed me my gin and tonic. “I’m right, aren’t I? It’s still your drink of choice?”

It’s a secret I’ll never tell my mama, but Logan and I had spent many high school nights while she was at work watching marathons of The Godfather and Rocky in my living room. He’d supply the tonic and coke and I’d scour through the liquor bottles in the kitchen cupboards to see what was full enough for her not to notice our sampling.

“You are correct. I’ve never wavered.”

Logan turned away once I grabbed my drink and raised his hand over his head. I followed his gaze to a door in the corner of the bar. A dark-haired guy was peeking out of it, waving back at Logan.

“Here, follow me,” he said.

He grabbed my hand and guided me through the crowd to the open door. From the looks of it, I had guessed this was what you would call the dressing room. A couple of guys sat on worn-out couches tuning their guitars. The dark-haired guy came over to Logan and did the whole half-hug, half-pat on the back thing guys do these days.

“It’s good to see you, man,” he said to Logan. “And who do we have here?”

“This is my friend Celia. Celia, I’d like you to meet my friend, Jesse Rockford. He’s a phenomenal songwriter. Helped me write a couple songs for my album.”

“Very nice to meet you,” Jesse said.

The thick stubble surrounding his smile almost hid a single dimple that appeared on his right cheek. I reached out my hand and looked intently into his deep-set blue eyes. He waved my hand away and leaned in to wrap his arms tightly around me, pulling me against his broad shoulders. I breathed in the smell of his cologne and prayed he couldn’t feel the intensity of my heartbeat.

When we pulled ourselves away from each other, the smile was still on his face. I felt myself blush as I realized I was beaming as well. Thankfully before anyone else noticed, we were interrupted by a knock at the door. In walked the manager, giving the band a five-minute heads up. It was almost time for me to see if Jackson’s Soul was as great as Logan was making them out to be.

About thirty minutes in, I was hooked. The band played mostly covers, but Jesse’s voice had a tone to it that any girl would want to be serenaded by for hours. The wisp of black hair that kept sweeping in front of his eyes made him even more intriguing than I already thought he was. I hadn’t noticed it in the dressing room, but a hint of light reflected off of his ear, revealing a single silver hoop. Dressed in black jeans and cowboy boots, he carried an air of mystery with him. I swore every now and then I would look up and find him staring right at me. He’d give a little wink and go back to picking his guitar. After a quick break Jesse started talking to the crowd, which now filled every inch of the bar.

“I’d like to slow things down just a little bit for a minute and give you a special treat tonight. I wrote a song a few months back with a good buddy of mine and thought maybe he’d like to come up here and play it with me.”

Logan looked up at Jesse and without hesitation he climbed up onto the stage. The noise level raised a few decibels once people realized who he was. A couple of stools were brought up for them and Logan traded his whiskey and coke for a guitar and leaned into the mic.

“It’s really an honor to be back here playing tonight, especially with this guy right here.” Logan placed his hand on Jesse’s shoulder.

As soon as the music started, the crowd began to simmer. My stomach churned as I looked at all of the faces around me. It was one thing to have watched Logan play in a stadium, but this moment right here, this intimate moment where it all began, with all of these people who believed in him before he may have even believed in himself…it was a feeling I couldn’t even comprehend. With every word sung on that stage, I grew more and more confident of the fact that I had made the right decision all those years ago. Logan was exactly where he belonged.

You taught me how to love you

Drive you crazy wild

Taught me how to turn you on

And how to make you smile

The song was beautifully written and both Jesse and Logan sang it with such emotion that when it was over there was slight hesitation before the crowd erupted in applause. I smiled up at both of them as Logan stepped out of the spotlight and joined me back in the front.

I was on my third gin and tonic by the time Jackson’s Soul finished their final set, but the night was still young. I could barely keep up with Jesse and Logan as we meandered from bar to bar, but I sure as hell did my best to try. Most of the night disappeared from my mind after I downed my second shot of whiskey. Vaguely I remember Jesse leading me into a cab. A little more clearly I remember throwing up right outside my driveway and feeling my way through the dark of my house to get to my bed. What I didn’t remember, though, is why when I woke up that morning I rolled over to find that I hadn’t gone to bed alone.