Time changes suck.
The realization hit me when I was lying wide eyed, staring up at my ceiling, city lights making their way through the window in an eerie fashion in cohesion with the morning sun.
I’d been dreaming. Honestly, it had been a nice dream for me, while I’d been asleep, that is. Once I awoke, it wasn’t so nice. But I suppose it would be hard to get off a plane like I had and not spend the night dreaming of odd situations and colourful penguins tied into true memories all in one.
The dream had been about my first flight home from the UK after my first abroad tour. We’d been so tired and homesick, which had only lead to hysterical laughter and questionable conversations that had got on the nerves of other passengers. They especially hadn’t like William with his camera, heading up and down the halls while making odd noises or recording us while we told ridiculous stories.
However the memory had been bastardized by my “vivid” subconscious, which decided Billy Idol, Adam Sandler, two talking multicolour penguins and a marriage counsellor were needed to make the memory dream worthy.
My subconscious really needed to mature, what the dream actually needed was Drew Barrymore. Just saying.
Giving an unamused laugh in the back of my throat at my wandering thoughts, I scrapped my hands over my face, staring straight up at the plain white ceiling. For a moment I wished I’d have thought to paint the ceiling, get someone to do like a mural to the greatest musicians and bands or something. I hated looking at the plain white ceiling when I was at home; I did it so much on the road.
But I’d never really spent all that much time in this apartment, so it kind of felt like I was on the road anyhow.
This time I gave a sigh at my thoughts.
Deciding that I could get out of bed and have no guilt at saying I stayed home in bed all night, I flipped the comforter off and stretched my legs over the edge of the bed.
After a long moment of staring blankly at the wall, I forced my weary muscles into action, leaning over to snatch up the cell phone I’d thrown last night. Giving a loud yawn, I pulled my hair out of the elastic it had slept in while searching through the phone. Only the one missed call from Nick, though there were three from Mark.
Talk about needy, the slimy man called me more than my boyfriend.
Giving a snort at the thought, I wandered over to the window, pushing open the curtains that I’d closed when I’d left for the tour. With a frown I realized that an unknown number had called me. That was odd. My number wasn’t common knowledge, for obvious reasons.
For a moment I pondered it, but gave up. People always found a way to figure out my number. I just didn’t answer the ones I didn’t recognize.
Leaving the cell on the bedside table, I didn’t bother with pants, just wandering back the way I’d come the night before, letting out another yawn as I ran both hands over my face. Turning my eyes forward on my path, I decided coffee was most definitely needed. However when the bend appeared at the end of the hall, I hesitated naturally. It wasn’t much, just a subconscious reaction. But it was enough.
Was it bad that I still expected a straight hallway in front of me?
Okay, coffee was long overdue, I decided, pursing my lips.
Skirting around the dining table that I think I could count the amount of times I’d sat at on my hand, I made my way into the kitchen. Still thinking about the table, I went through the cupboards, finding the grinds before heading to the coffee maker.
We hadn’t even had a dining table at the last apartment, though there was ample room, I thought back years before while watching the coffee seep into the pot. We’d always just ate at the island on the bar stools or sprawled out on the couches in the living room, listening to music or watching television. We’d never eat in bed though, ever. We’d slept in the kitchen more than we’d brought food into that room, and we weren’t always drunk.
Half of me wanted to smirk at the thought, but the other part was just feeling a hollow clenching in my chest.
Hm… when did it start feeling hollow?
Knowing that if there was any milk in the fridge, I wouldn’t want to drink it anyways after all the time, I just grabbed a mug from the cupboard, trying to forget about my previous thoughts. As I waited for the coffee to finally finish as I waited impatiently, plagued with my own mind, I glanced down to the mug and found its inside coated with dust.
Crinkling my nose at the sight, I contemplated washing it. But all too soon remembered that I wouldn’t even have soap for the job, and instead used the end of my all too big tee to wipe out the inside.
When I was able to pour it, I took a gulp right away. However it only served in me cursing loudly and snatching the mug away from my face, the liquid lapping over the edges and scalding my fingers as well.
Deciding on a safer route, meaning I blew lightly on the surface of the darkly rich drink, I wandered back out of the kitchen, back into the dining room to the right and around the table. Strolling in front of the long rectangular window, I stared out, taking a small – and very cautious – sip from the coffee.
I had a clear view from the window straight out over the vibrant city and onto the East River.
At the view, I felt my whole body halt.
I should be ecstatic. I had a loft in New York City, I was a good musician, I could see the East River, I had a loving boyfriend who didn’t question my questionable acts, I had millions of devoted fans all over the world, I was worth millions, I had a record contract. I should be fucking happy.
But I wasn’t… I just felt hollow, staring out emptily onto a city I was supposed to love.
The sensation that spanned from my stomach all the way to my chest was far from familiar.
I never got to this listless point. Even right after The Spares had ended and Seth had left, I hadn’t felt void like this. I’d been angry, I’d been hurt, I’d been hateful, I’d been suffering, I’d been vengeful, I’d been self-destructing; all of which I’d poured into my album – not that I’d ever admit it. But I hadn’t been empty.
Shaking my head at the thought, I broke the span, looking down at the coffee as I swirled it around the mug.
It was just a passing thing was my decision to explain that worrying feeling. I was still feeling off from the tour. It had been a hard tour; I think we’d broken records of the most shows in a certain period of time once. No one would be surprised if I’d have demanded six months in recluse after it. So they wouldn’t be surprised to see a tired worn down musician at this point, and I could probably milk that until I shook the feeling.
Turning away from the window while blowing a deep breath out of my lips, the course I’d intended on taking put the living room straight past the kitchen. The bright red sofa set I’d bought when I moved was a mirror image to what it had looked like in the store, bright and comfy.
However it was the boxes that had not even had a finger touch them in the past four years were sitting in tact, piling up and shoved into the corner of what should have been a welcoming room. With the comfortable couches, white walls, big windows, glass coffee table and boxes; it was the place I visited least in the apartment.
Nodding at the sight, I spun back in the opposite direction.
All the sudden my walk was much more businesslike than it had been before, with my strolling with half a bleary mind to the coffee maker. Hell, I bet I could have beaten all those television lawyers with that walk. Well, I could have… had I been wearing pants.
Coffee still gripped in one hand, I used the other to quickly pick up my cell phone, finding the name quickly.
“Hello?”
The voice was still husky with sleep, a shade deeper than normal and I smiled at the sound, sitting back on my bed. “Did I wake you up?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Nick replied simply. When I didn’t reply right away, he gave a short laugh on the other end of the phone, something squeaking in the background. “Why do I feel as if there’s going to be no apology coming soon?”
“Because there’s not,” I replied in a sugary tone, “Are you doing anything?”
Giving another laugh on the other end, there was a second squeak before he spoke again. “Yeah, I was sleeping.”
“You can sleep when you’re dead,” I advised him. However when the words that I’d just uttered sunk in, I let out a tiny gasp. Almost immediately I wanted to clasp a hand over my throat, but I knew it wouldn’t help any. “Take Me Out,” said I quickly, hoping to cover up the seconds hesitation.
Thankfully, he either didn’t hear the gasp and silence, or he just chose not to comment. “Take you out where?” he yawned.
“Not literally, it’s Franz Ferdinand.”
Now Nick’s voice just came out bewildered, “What?”
“The band,” I informed him slowly.
“Did you sleep at all last night?” he questioned, that concerned tone slipping back into his voice. “Sorry to say, babe, but you sound drunk.”
I laughed at the words, but they didn’t feel all that amused as I fell back on the bed. “If I was drunk I’d be singing Do You Want To and trashing an art exhibit, gotta get your facts straight. But I am serious.”
“About going out or the art exhibit?”
That caused me to pause, and I pursed my lips thoughtfully. “Both,” I replied, “But not to the exhibit right now.”
His voice was finally coming back to its regular tone as I successfully woke him up, and I could just imagine the way his always soft brown eyes would be a little bit hazy still. “Where do you want to go?”
“Call up your band,” I ordered, “We’re doing our first session and you guys can play me your demos in person this time in the basement studio.”
There was a moment of silence before he spoke. “Keely,” Nick sighed.
“What?” returned I bewildered.
“Nothing,” he muttered. After another beat of quiet, he spoke again, his voice the familiar animated one instead of the downtrodden one from the moments before. “You think you can get the studio, just like that?”
I gave an incredulous snort. “Of course I can,” I replied, “Meet me there in about two and a half hours. Sound good?”
“Yeah, I’ll bring the guys.”
Saying the habitual I love you in goodbye, I hung up, holding the phone over my head as I continued lying back.
First things first; I needed a studio.
Although I really didn’t want to talk to him, I was going to have to suck it up and give Mark a call. I needed a studio; desperately. I wanted work. I wanted music. I needed it.
Scowling a little, I went about the business of finding his number. I didn’t know why I even kept him as my manager, to be honest. Yeah, he was good, but he was also an ass and would sell me out without a seconds thought. Look at the interview last night, talking through that had almost caused a mental break down for me. But for Mark? He was happy as hell, knowing that it was genius publicity move.
“Now, why are you gracing me with a phone call this morning?”
Gritting my teeth at just that silky voice, I hauled in a calming breath. “I need my studio,” I told him stoically.
There was a pause, but he didn’t make a snide comment about it. “When do you need it?”
“Two hours from now.”
Now he gave a laugh, making the frown in my face deepen. “Sweetheart, the studio is already going to be booked. Wait for tomorrow.”
Instantly my jaw clenched at the name he’d called me, and it took all I had to ignore it instead of snapping at him and hanging up the phone. “No, Mark,” I answered, my voice sounding composed but there was a strong current resentment racing through it. “This is me, get me my studio. I’ll be there in two hours.”
Now I didn’t resist the temptation to hang up, and I threw the phone as far away from me as I could on the bed, making it skip along the pillows. Letting out a shaky breath, I ran my hands over my face, trying to calm myself.
Talk about pulling out the worst of me. No one could make me as nasty, egotistical and snide as Mark could. Well, that wasn’t that true. I knew a person that could do it even better, and he didn’t even mean to do half the time. Actually, I didn’t know the person. I didn’t know him at all anymore.
Cursing at myself loudly, I pushed up from the bed.
What was wrong with me? I’d managed to almost erase them – him from my mind over the past year, getting lost in music and Nick, but now it seemed like I couldn’t push them from my consciousness.
Bending over, I gripped my hair tightly and tugged, trying to keep my mind from wandering farther into that dangerous territory.
I couldn’t go back to that. I refused to.
Live Through This, I thought, half my mind thinking to the album by Hole and the other just using it as advice.
With a groan I let go of my grip on my hair, shoving myself up from the bed and heading over to the closet. I was barely able to open the closet door, the piano I’d had put inside the room half blocking the small room. The clothes I’d brought on tour with me would be arriving later tonight, so for now I’d have to deal with whatever I still had leftover.
It was a good thing I wasn’t too picky when it came to clothes. What I came up with was a pair of jeans shorts that were fraying at the bottom which I slipped on immediately, hoping that since fall was just starting, I’d be able to get away with it. And with a pair of high top sneakers, a Weezer tee and a baggy grey hoodie I was ready to go. I just decided to ignore the fact my clothes were giving off that strong stale scent that came with being locked in a closet for about two years.
Dragging my hair up into a messy pony tail, I let my bangs fall over my eyes messily as I snatched up my bag I’d dropped the night before.
For a moment I paused, staring down at the black guitar case that had been beside it, thinking about the maple acoustic locked inside of it. My fingers itched to grab it and bring it with me, but I just stuffed my hand inside my short’s pocket. This was their album, I was their producer. I didn’t want to write songs with them, I’d help them with their songs, but that was completely different from being a co-writer.
So without letting my eyes wander to the living room that had all those boxes piled up, I shoved out of the door. As an afterthought, I dug into my bag, finding the apartment keys down at the bottom. However when I raised my eyes to the thick wooden door, something else caught my attention.
Frowning slightly, I gripped the sheet of paper, tugging on it just strongly enough to break the pull the tape had on the wood.
‘Bitch, we know you’re home. Much to talk about, just so you’re warned, I wanted it to be fair. Not all about it as about you though. And since you’re home, we now expect to take up at least ninety percent of your time. We’re having dinner tonight, Jay is cooking up some culinary amazing thing that is equal to the best scream aloud orgasm you’ve ever had. And you’d know a lot about that, wouldn’t you? We expect you at seven tonight, on the dot. So aim to be here at six forty five.
Love you, bitch.
- Toby.
The note managed to get a loud laugh at me as I rolled my eyes, stuffing the note into my bag and sending a quick look to the door across the apartment where Jay and Toby lived.
For a moment I almost walked over there and let myself in. If Jay was home I’d be sure to get an amazing breakfast from the head chef himself, and even if I was left with Toby I’d at least get a good bowl of Lucky Charms or something.
But then I reminded myself that Toby would probably already be at the office at the advertisement firm he worked for, and since it was Sunday morning Jay would have worked late last night. I didn’t want to cut his sleep short, as much as I’d love to see either of them.
So I settled on making a mental note to tell Nick I had plans for the evening if he wanted to go out and invite him to dinner. Those two were always up for guests.
With the thought of dinner with my favorite couple that night and a record studio I needed to get to sooner or later, I headed towards the elevator and out of the building.
That horribly empty feeling I’d been plagued with lessened when I stepped into the forever busy city, yet at the same time it worsened. This was one of my favorite cities in the world; I loved that you could see absolutely anything on these streets if you bothered to look. And if it wasn’t there on first glance, you could be sure that it’d be there on the second. There was a heavy cloud of cigarette smoke on the air that awakened an old urge in the pit of my stomach that I shoved away automatically.
However with all the people walking together, laughing, holding hands or simply just talking to each other it, it reminded me of something else. I wasn’t with anyone, I was completely alone. The moment the thought occurred to me, I had to remind myself I wasn’t alone. I had friends spreading far and wide across the entire world; I had Jay and Toby right across the hallway, even if none of them were as close to me as certain memories would ever be. And, of course, I had Nick.
But at the moment, I couldn’t deny that deep feeling that sunk from my chest down to my stomach. I felt lonely, utterly and completely alone.
Even with that suffocating sensation, it was still better than the hollow one.
“Now I’ve made my bed, I’ll lie in it,” I reminded myself, muttering the lyrics as I continued down the road.
It was odd that even though I knew the next lyrics, they didn’t bother me. The just seemed right, even when comparing it to my life. “I’ve made my bed, I’ll die in it. I’ve made my bed, I’ll cry in it. I’ve made my bed, I’ll lie in it.”
I got some wide eyed stares making my way to the coffee shop I habited while in the city, even signed a few autographs. However, there was one great thing about having lived in the same place for a long period of time, well with the long gaps for touring in between. It was the fact that people started to get used to you. And you just became part of the everyday life there; people realized that you were just a person.
It was like that cramped apartment Will and I had lived in for those two years. I’d just started making a name for myself, same for Will; so people came to term with it the same as we did. And once I’d moved into Seth’s, people were already used to me spending time there along with Seth.
And then there were always those people that didn’t believe that I was actually me.
That was always a fun conversation. Convincing people that yes, I really was Keely Staub.
Half of the time I pretended I wasn’t.
At my favorite coffee shop, it was the same person that had served me almost every day for the past four years that I’d come here. He waved and said a warm hello before making my coffee without asking what I took in it, though I did put in that I’d like a bagel before I paid for my breakfast.
It was a cutesy coffee shop, a bit of a hole in the wall though. There were bookshelves along all the walls, comfy armchairs with round tables, the windows were a bit dark, the walls were wood panelling along with the counter and there was always a record playing on the wall. There was a picture on the wall of me, holding a cup of coffee and smirking at the camera. It had been taken only weeks after I moved into my new apartment.
Waiting at the counter for my bagel to finish toasting, I glanced down to the stack of magazines, mostly political or music ones.
Absently I began to flip through them, though I didn’t really care to read them, it wasn’t what I’d call my cup of tea to read gossip about people I knew quite well now. However one cover had me pausing.
After all these years, seeing myself on a magazine shouldn’t shock me or cause me pause. But it always did.
It was an old photo of The Spares that the magazine must have bought the rights for. I believed the photo had been taken pre The Great Rock n’ Roll Swindle, or at least taken during that time period.
We were all still so young. All of our hair getting too long, but I refused to look too closely at any of them in case I got caught up in the moment. I just took in the photo all at once, staring down. In the middle I was standing flush against Seth, he had his head tilted down, whispering something in my ear while I had a laugh gracing my face and he had his hand slipped in the back pocket of my jeans, keeping me in place. William was standing on my side of the photo, his hands thrown up in the air for no apparent reason. Then there was Jake, to Seth’s side of the photo, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, and looking a little awkwardly at the camera.
I knew for a fact that the magazine that we’d done that photo shoot for had shot down the photo, going for a more serious one instead. But apparently since The Spares were never going to take another photo together, anyone someone could get their hands on was good enough. Across the photo was a headline sprawled in bold letters: “The Lives and Loves of The Spares.”
Flipping the magazine out of my sight and continuing down the pile, I gave a snort. It had been years since we broke up and there were still cover stories concerning that band. You’d think something more exciting would have taken over so they weren’t just showing some broken up band.
“Bagel for you,” the man behind the counter gained my attention.
With a forced smile, I let the pile drop back down in order, and took the plate that held the bagel and grabbing my coffee mug before grabbing a table in the corner.
It was my favorite place, just out of sight of the people who were passing by but I could look out to the city.
Managing to waste enough time drinking coffee and reading a book I’d gotten off the shelf – it was the Kurt Cobain biography, Heavier Than Heaven – I finally left, though I got a coffee to go and began my trek to System Music Studios.
Half the reason I’d gotten that apartment was the proximity to what had been my new recording studio at the time, I liked being able to walk if I wanted. Although in the winter I was still more than likely to take a cab; New York got cold.
Blowing in through the doors, I found the place already alive and jumping, people rushing about, artist loitering, some chatting and others arguing. It really wasn’t anything different from any other studio I’d ever stepped foot in. I returned all the hellos and welcome homes sent my way, continuing to sip my coffee and make my way to the familiar studio that had been just a storage place before I’d gotten here.
With a glance around, I almost gave a bitter laugh, staring at the people. It was odd to think that at just twenty six years old, I was still one of the youngest artists in this place, and I think I was the youngest producer.
“Keely!” a booming voice called.
For a moment I closed my eyes, but didn’t stop walking. “Hey Robert.”
The only reason I was pulled up short was because the man used his enormous hand to clap me on the shoulder, forcing my eyes to dart in his direction.
Robert looked like something straight out of The Sopranos. His hair was slicked back, stature shorter than mine, he was almost as wide as he was tall, pasty skin and he even had sweat pants on. Despite the fact that his appearance didn’t give off the whole “Multi-millionaire record producer, owner and maker of a fashion line and about a billion other things to make himself full of pompous self-importance” the man really was a genius. Owner of the record company and business guru, he really was someone anyone with a brain would suck up to.
Sadly I don’t think I have a brain most of the time.
He was just an older, heavier version of Mark.
“It’s good to have you home,” he told me, his voice loud and carrying. It made me suspicious to the fact he was doing it for everyone else’s benefit opposed to mine.
Calmly I stared him dead in the eye, sipping my coffee, and responding with a flat, “Really?”
His beady eyes flashed and for a moment I wondered if I’d be paying for it later, but couldn’t really find it in myself to be scared or even care for that matter. That hollow feeling was back in my chest.
Without continuing the conversation on my part, I started up my walk again, heading to the stairs. The elevator didn’t even go downstairs.
However Robert began to walk at my side.
“So when can we expect a new album out of you?” he asked in amiable voice, nudging my side with his elbow.
My jaw tightened. He might have used a friendly tone, but I could hear the threatening tone underneath it. He wanted an album out of me soon, and not just one I produced. I was worth more money to him as an artist, and we both knew it. I’d been slacking – at least in his opinion – with no albums in the past two years. Apparently with the way I’d always put out albums, the usual way bands put out records didn’t apply to me.
Or maybe I was imagining it all.
“Whenever I write something worth a memory,” I replied, not even bothering to fake it.
With those words, I sent him a short wave before disappearing down the dark staircase that led to my customary studio. Every album I’d recorded or produced since the band broke up had been recorded in this basement.
Maybe the label wasn’t the best, the people not the sort I’d prefer to surround myself with, but in the basement I was given all the artistic freedom I could dream of.
Although I’d had to throw around the weight of my name to get the freedom.
Thinking about using any success I’d had to get what I wanted made me feel nauseous. I’d never wanted to do that. It made me feel more than a bit cheap. But if it was for the music, there was no doubt I’d do it again.
Getting into the basement, I let out a relieved sigh, dropping my bag to the ground.
Here was my temple.
At least now it was, there were multiple places I’d loved much more, but I didn’t go around there anymore.
It had a scent of mold holding the air captive, the walls were brick and the lighting shitty at the best. But it had everything I’d ever asked for. State of the art recording equipment – though I could remember the old decrepit board that had been down here first with more emotion – beautiful instruments and even a bar fridge stuck in the corner, though it wasn’t likely for there to be actual food in it.
With still a half an hour before Fly Way showed up, I headed out of the control room into the actual studio, running my hands over the instruments. There was nothing for me to set up now, I had no plan for the band to record anything just yet.
First off I wanted to hear all the demos I’d been sent in person. But maybe just as importantly I wanted to see how they worked together as a band in the studio, it was something that was bound to colour the album we were going to make. Today was just for playing, soon enough we’d start working on their songs and recording, but for now it was almost a meet and greet session even though I’d met them when I was eighteen and had known all of them quite closely since Nick and I had gotten close.
Standing in the middle of the studio, I didn’t realize how much time had passed by me until I heard the glass door behind me close.
Spinning around at the side, for a long second I just stood still. But a smile soon spread across my face, that hollow feeling in my chest fleeing almost instantly. Maybe just talking to him over the phone hadn’t been enough to make me feel better, but seeing him did the trick and my heart warmed across the room. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed him.
Nick was grinning at me standing in front of the door, though he didn’t say a word. He was wearing a baseball cap, the light brown hair he’d told me he’d gotten cut months ago spouting out from beneath, I couldn’t help but think the hat made him look rather dorky. But a very cute dorky with his clean shaven face, gentle dark brown eyes and that adorable grin.
It was I who filled in the space between us, and I quickly wrapped my arms around his waist, breathing in deeply at the closeness. We fit well together as always, our heights close though he was a shade taller.
Wrapping his arm around my shoulders, he leaned his head against my hair.
“I missed you,” he told me at a whisper.
Smiling, I turned my head, pressing a kiss against his cheek and feeling that warm sensation sink right down to the pit of my stomach. Things with Nick always felt… nice. “I’m not going to say I missed you more,” I replied, “Too fucking cutesy.”
A laugh burst from his lips, and he pulled away, letting me watch as his eyes crinkled with the emotion.
However I didn’t have a chance to inform him that I did in fact miss him too, because there was a loud rapping on the window that separated us from the control room and I let go of the embrace to step back and look at the intruder.
It was the man who took over the lead guitar while Nick took over the rhythm, his name Benjamin though he went by Ben. His light ginger hair was almost as long as mine where it cut off at his shoulders, and from the moment we had met the second time, he had that same red beard.
Raising my eyebrows, I asked, “What?”
He pressed a hand down on the intercom button, making my eyes narrow at him. “Don’t we have work to do?” Ben returned.
“Rule number one, don’t ever touch my board,” I said sternly, making a point to look at everyone. Nick first, then through the glass to Ben and behind him to Jackson who played the drums, Marcus who was on keyboard and Dan who played bass. Out of all of them of course I knew Nick the best, but I knew Ben quite well since he was Nick’s best friend, though they were the only two from the original band. The rest of them I’d hung around with, but I couldn’t quite call them friends.
With an innocent look, Nick pestered, “Even me?”
“Aw, sweetie, I’ll cut off your bloody hand,” I informed him, patting his cheek lightly. “But Ben’s right. We should get started.”
The rest of the band agreed, though I couldn’t hear their words, but I assumed so because they all turned about to take a seat at the couches that lined the back wall of the control room. I was about to join them, skirting past Nick but I paused when my hand touched the door handle.
“Hey Nick?” I said, turning around to find him standing a polite distance as he waited to follow me through the door. When his eyes rose to meet mine and softened, I smiled up at him and filled in the space between us, pressing my lips against his soft ones.
Pulling away, I told him simply, “I missed you too.”
With that I turned back around and joined the band in the control room.
After I talked to them about the idea I had for today, the band moved into the studio, going to their perspective instruments to run through the songs. Although since they hadn’t written them together or even talked about them, it seemed only half of the guys at a time knew the songs in order to play them.
However I didn’t mind, letting them learn the songs together as they fooled around and talked. Like I said, today was more about to see how they worked in the studio. I wasn’t commenting on their songs, though I had a worried feeling creeping up my spine as I listened to them. But when I watched them like a fly on the wall, I couldn’t help be pleased at what I saw as they fooled around and joked.
Watching as Nick laughed at something Jackson said then did this dance from the waist up, I felt a smile spread across my face as I looked at him.
Then Ben started to jokingly sing a song and I felt myself loose myself in a memory from a long time ago. Maybe it hadn’t been a song I’d call artistic brilliance, but it was something worth a memory apparently.
“Dude, what are you doing?” I laughed, watching William’s back.
Turning back to me, he smirked and responded with, “Wait for it.”
I rolled my eyes as Will turned back to the CD player. Angling my head slightly to the left, I shared a look with Seth who was wearing his stupid ‘nerd shirt’ as he called it, a pattern on it that made a false pocket with pencils and an eraser along with notebooks on his stomach. He was standing smack in between Will and I, his beloved beat up Stratocaster hooked over his shoulder.
“You know we were supposed to be running through the demos,” Seth called out, his deep voice making a shiver run up my spine at just the sound. I gripped the guitar tightly in my hands, hoping nothing would betray me.
“Get that stick out of your ass,” Will advised, not bothering to turn around.
Both Jake and I laughed loudly at his words, though Seth sent a scowl at Will’s back.
Looking towards the British boy who was sitting with his back against the grey brick wall at the base where my stool was placed, I shook my head. “Why do I feel like today is one of the days we’re not going to get any work done?”
Shaking his long blonde hair out of his eyes, Jake grinned broadly up at me. “Tell you what, Keel. We run through one song, I’ll buy you a beer tonight. We don’t, I expect a beer.”
“I don’t think that’s a fair bet for me,” I replied, arching my eyebrows.
“Punking out?” he taunted.
I narrowed my eyes down at him. I knew he was goading me into it, but since I was never one to back down I gave a shrug. “Deal,” I muttered, tapping my fist to his.
All of the sudden what Will was doing became clear as the song blasted out through the speakers we’d wired through the room.
Throwing the pick I was holding at his back, I shouted, “Are you serious?!”
Wincing when the pick made contact with the back of his head, Will turned around, rubbing his head. “You don’t remember that festival at England?”
I shook my head at him, but there was a smile on my face.
Of course I remembered.
It was on our first tour together, the first time the band had ever been to the UK and we were playing the festival circuit out there.
We’d gotten to a festival somewhere in Southern England a day early, and even though we were easily recognized by the kids that were there for the show, we’d headed out into the thick of the crowd to watch the acts; it had been pouring rain.
To make an attempt at hiding who we were I’d been wearing an ushanka hat, my reasons for that being it was the hat Kurt Cobain had worn so many times. Seth had worn a dark green beanie and those nerdy glasses. Will had put on baseball cap and Jake had just pulled up his hood.
And we’d gotten lost in the crowd, singing and screaming at the top of our lungs, refusing to leave our spots and getting pressed so closely to the rest of the crowd you’d think we would have had to go on a date first. It was time for the last act and we were waiting for the stage crew to finish up the set, the crowd impatiently waiting and entertaining themselves with music that the festival was playing until the next band.
As we waited, pressed against one another so tightly you could feel every contour of each other’s bodies, Teenage Dirtbag blasted through the speakers and all the sudden it felt like every single person in that hundred thousand person crowd was singing. With my arms up in the air, I jumped up and down to the chorus, shouting as loudly as I possibly could, my voice getting lost in the mix. And the boys were doing the same thing with me.
I laughed loudly at the memory as the singer started into the first verse, Will putting his hands in the air and swaying. Unable to deny the urge or even William any longer, I propped my guitar against the wall and stood up, beginning to shout the words much to the boys’ hilarity.
“Oh how she rocks, In Keds and tube socks. But she doesn’t know who I am,” I sang loudly, pointing straight at Seth who was laughing with that dimple in his cheek, “And she doesn’t give a damn about me.”
The moment the chorus started up, I started jumping up and down to the tempo, but I wasn’t alone. William was jumping too while Seth joined in on the guitar, and Jake pushed up from his sitting position. And we all sang the chorus together. “’Cause I’m just a teenage dirtbag, baby. Yeah, I’m just a teenage dirtbag, baby. Listen to Iron Maiden, baby, with me.”
We went through the rest of the song singing together and laughing loudly, I could feel the stitches in my sides but I kept shouting through it. Sometimes it was worth the pain, and I believed every moment with these boys was worth pain.
When it was getting towards the end of the song, Seth dropped his hands from his guitar and placed both hands on my cheeks, making my skin burn at the touch. For a moment I thought he was planning something else, but then he raised his voice to a high girlish pitch, making me laugh so hard there was no way I could get the words out. “I’ve got two tickets to Iron Maiden, baby. Come with me Friday, don’t say maybe. I’m just a teenage dirtbag, baby, like you.”
Dropping my head on his chest, my chest heaved with the laughter as I fought to breathe, the rest of the guys still singing. Finally I managed to somewhat control myself and joined back in at the tail end of the song, tipping my chin up and shaking my bangs out of my eyes.
As I smiled up at Seth, it felt like my face simply couldn’t contain the emotion, as if the smile was too big for my face. And Seth was smiling down, that dimple flashing in his cheek as he tucked my bangs behind me ear, making goosebumps run from his touch all the way down my spine.
When the song ended, I gripped his hand tightly in mine, but turned back around, searching for my blonde long haired friend. Finding Jake, I pointed a finger at him, proclaiming, “You owe me a beer!”
The only thing that dragged me out of the flashback was my cellphone blaring out of the pocket of my baggy hoodie.
Blinking, I ran a hand over my face, sighing heavily.
Not putting them out of my head very well, am I?
Looking up I found five sets of eyes on me, three confused, one frowning and the other looking concerned.
Finally it was the one with the worried expression that finally spoke up. It was Nick. “Are you going to answer that?” he questioned me.
“Yeah,” I muttered, feeling very far away from the moment as I dragged my phone out of my pocket. For a moment I just stared at the screen, it was an unknown number. The same one that had called me last night. I considered just silencing it, but I didn’t want to make anyone in the room – mostly Nick or Ben – suspicious of anything.
Swallowing, I hit answer on the phone and pressed it to my ear. Oh god, I hoped it wasn’t some freaky stalker. I had enough of those over the years. Or a death threat, I could handle them in writing, but it was worse when they were in person. “Hello?” I questioned cautiously over the line.
“So you finally answer, do you? Forgotten how to work the phone?”
My entire body froze at the sound of the raspy voice, it felt like a bucket of ice water had been tossed on my head. “Huh?” I replied stupidly.
Maureen Jones gave a laugh on the other line. “I had to call in a lot of favours to get this new phone number, I was worried you were never going to answer. I never thought it’d be this hard to talk to you.”
“Ms Jones –” I started.
Yet she interrupted me, correcting, “Maureen.”
“Maureen,” I conceded, looking down and away from the penetrating looks that were coming from every side at me. “What do you need to talk to me about?”
“It’d be better if I could talk to you in person.”
I nodded slowly, trying to drag myself out of the shell shocked phase I’d been stuck in. All the sudden I felt like I was eighteen again. “When and where would you like to meet?” I questioned, I didn’t even ponder refusing. I’d never refused the woman.
“About half an hour? I’ll buy you lunch.”
“Right now?” I asked, sending a furtive look to clock. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
Maureen sighed, “I really don’t have another time and I really need to speak to you, Keely.”
Maybe it was the fact she wasn’t ordering me around, although she’d lost the right to do that the moment I’d left UAE Records. Or maybe it was that she used my name, but I was instantly closing my eyes. “Okay,” I agreed, “Where?”
She told me the name of the restaurant where she wanted to meet, and I hung up quickly, I would barely make it in a half an hour with New York City traffic.
“Where are you going?” Nick questioned, now he was frowning as well. “That was Maureen Jones, UAE Records, discovered you, ex-manager Maureen Jones?”
Folding my lips in to my mouth, I nodded, standing up. “Yeah, that was Maureen,” I said quietly crossing the room and pressing a quick kiss to the cheek in goodbye. “She needs to talk to me about something, right now.”
“Did she say what it was about?”
At his question I just shook my head.
“Could it be about The Spares?” he asked now, his eyes shining brightly at the thought of the band.
At the mere mention of the band coming from someone else, I felt my heart twist in my chest painfully, that hollow feeling sinking in again. I should be better at dealing with this, but the sad fact was I wasn’t. And I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to talk of that band, those people without feeling like there was a knife in my chest along with one in my back.
Closing my eyes to receive the blow, I nodded slowly. “I guess it could be, I don’t know,” I replied. “I’m going to head out. I’m going to have dinner with Jay and Toby tonight, do you want to come?”
Almost instantly Nick shook his head in refusal, and I couldn’t blame him, sometimes those two were a bit too much even though I loved them. They had kind of scared Nick away more than once.
“What about tomorrow night?” he reasoned.
I shook my head in response. “I have a show tomorrow night, but we can meet up afterwards if you want to go out.”
“Sounds good,” he told me, smiling and squeezing me hand.
I forced a smile down at him, returning the pressure before pulling away and looking at the rest of the band who was still watching. I found myself squirming slightly underneath Ben’s gaze, but kept my back straight, he was still frowning at me.
“Learn all those songs you guys wrote,” I ordered. “We’ll run through them tomorrow and we can talk about them. We’re about to start this album, get ready for it.”
With those words in farewell, hoping they’d take them seriously, I walked out of the studio, snatching up my bag and hurrying up the steps. I ignored everything as I headed out of the building, hailing down a cab as soon as I was out the doors.
When I was sitting down in the back seat, the cab speeding off at my order, I realized what I was doing.
I’d been trying to push all of them out of my mind. There was no such thing as embracing my past, not yet, so it was better to just force myself to forget it. But here I was. I got a call from Maureen and I was running off to do whatever she asked of me, heading straight back into the den.
She’d been the one to bring me to New York. She’d been the one to have Seth produce my first album. She’d been the one who called up The Cavern Jets for a try out to be my back up band, letting me meet William for the first time even if that had fallen apart. She’d been the one who’d invited Jake to my record release party. She was the reason for the way almost everything had turned out in my life, without her there would be no Spares that’s for sure. And as grateful as I was to her for everything she’d done for me, I wanted to be as far away from her as possible.
However I was doing the exact opposite and meeting her for lunch.
Paying the taxi driver, I stepped out of the car and stared at the fancy restaurant that she’d told me to meet her at. And I seriously considered hailing down a different cab and heading straight back to my apartment.
Just get it over with, I ordered myself and took steps towards the front doors. Once you talk to her, you can finally just tell her you never want to see her again.
At the back of my head, a voice whispered that Maureen probably knew I never wanted to see her again. And that was why we’d never spoken in the past four years.
As I walked in the maître de glanced up from his position, his eyes widening in recognition at the sight of me. I sighed and walked forward as he gaped at me. “I’m here to meet a Maureen Jones,” I prompted.
“Oh, right,” he managed to get out, “I’ll – um. Follow me.”
Following him silently to the back of the restaurant, I side stepped him as he pulled to a stop in front of a table.
And I gulped when I saw the woman. She looked almost exactly the same as she might have during the time I’d been on her record label. Her dark skin glowing, large crafty dark eyes, her hair sleek and a neat business suit on with a pencil skirt and high heels.
“Keely,” she smiled as she stood up, “It’s nice to see you.”
It seemed as if she thought about stepping forward and pulling me into a hug, but thought better of it and instead just gestured down to the seat across from her. “Why don’t you sit down?”
“Do you have any idea what you’d like to drink?” the waiter asked as I pulled out the chair and sat down carefully.
Smiling across at me, Maureen then turned her head up to the man who was waiting at the edge of the table patiently. “Well, she’s old enough to have a glass of wine with me. So could you bring us a bottle of Château Cheval Blanc?”
Nodding quickly, the man took off in another direction.
“I hope the wine is okay with you,” Maureen told me, turning her direction back to me.
I gave shrug and put a smirk on my face. “I wouldn’t really know,” I replied honestly, “I was raised in a bus of rabid boy wolves. I’m more of a beer type of girl.”
That got a laugh out of the woman, and I was once again struck at how pretty a sound it was opposed to the woman’s raspy voice, just as I’d been when I’d been a kid. “Rabid wolves is a good way to describe them,” she chortled before meeting my eyes, “You look tired.”
Blinking at her straight forwardness – I’d forgotten about her blunt honesty – I was taken aback for a moment. “You don’t,” I replied just as honest, “You look wonderful.”
Maureen sent me a smile that showed off her brilliantly white teeth, and it made me feel a little sick at the pit of my stomach for ever leaving this woman. “Well, choose what you’d like for lunch, we’ll get caught up.”
Just as she’d suggested, we did get caught up.
It was odd that she could put me at such ease with just talking, letting my shoulders relax. And as it happened, I wondered if this would be what it’d feel like with the others from my past that I’d avoided for so long. But I dismissed that thought almost instantly. That reunion would be entirely different, I’d never felt betrayed by Maureen. She’d never broken my heart like the rest of them had.
We spoke about what was happening at UAE Records, the artists signed and new producer, I told her of some very good bands I’d seen preform live and she listened avidly, apparently respecting my opinion. We talked about the albums I’d made at System, and she praised them both, but told straight out she thought Last Goodbye was a very brave album to make for someone like me. She told me she was proud of what I’d done, and I found myself caught in between being happy with it and as scared as I’d been when Peter had told me the same thing.
When the meal was dwindling down and I had filled my stomach, I leaned my chin into my palm as she mentioned her daughter. “How is Mitchie?” I asked when she took a breath. “Still putting boy band posters on her walls?”
Maureen laughed, shaking her head. “Actually, she got over that phase, thank god. She’s been getting into rock lately and has about a thousand posters of you around her room.”
I gave an incredulous laugh, staring at the woman. “Are you serious?”
She nodded, taking a bite of the chicken off her plate.
Rubbing a hand over my eye, I grinned. “Does she remember that I used to play babysit her and I was the one who taught her to play her first song on the piano?”
“She thinks I’m lying to her when I tell her stories about then,” Maureen told me.
“That’s so weird,” I murmured.
Maureen smiled softly. “I think it’s nice, she’s finally listening to good music which is a plus for me. You’re actually her idol right now, and I think she chose a good one.”
“Well tell her to come see me,” I informed the woman, “I’ll give her some lessons in punk rock 101.”
This time the woman just shook her head lightly, although she agreed with my word, “She’d love that. But it’s going to have to wait a while, this is what I called you to talk about.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m taking a sabbatical,” Maureen notified me. “Mitchie and I are going to leave, get out of this world for a little while. I want her to have some portions of a normal life, not this one, surrounded by egotistical musicians that could probably float away on their own smug importance.”
That got a frown out of me. “For how long?”
“Definitely for three months, probably longer. I want to be a real mother to her, even if it’s for just a little while.”
I shook my head, and maybe it was her honesty rubbing off on me, but I didn’t even think about the words that came out of my mouth. “You’re a good mother. I mean, you were the closest thing I ever had to a mother and we weren’t even related.”
“You grew up well, you know that?” Maureen told me, her eyes shining.
I gave a half-hearted shrug. “Not really.”
“I know a lot of things have happened,” she started, “But I’m proud of the way you’ve handled everything. You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.”
Sending her a half smile, I just shook my head. “Now if I could only make a new album,” I joked, but the words sounded deeply in my gut. I quickly pushed the sensation to the back of my mind and instead questioned Maureen further. “So who are you putting in charge of the company until you’re back?”
“Do you remember Jordan?” She gave a loud laugh at the scowl that graced my face at the mention of the name. “I take it you do.”
I shook my head distastefully. “You’re going to come home to a bunch of teeny bopper sell out bands signed to your label.”
“He has a good business mind,” Maureen defended him.
This I could agree with and I found myself nodding. “That he does, though he doesn’t give a shit about the music.”
“You know, had you still been signed to the label, I would have put you in charge,” she said thoughtfully.
Snorting, I corrected, “You would have put Seth in charge.”
“No, he would have bankrupted me signing every single band he thought was good without thinking the business side through at all.”
“And I wouldn’t?” I replied, raising my eyebrows.
She smirked across the table. “You would have been too afraid of my reaction.”
I wanted to disagree, but she was right. It was Seth who had been the one to act like that, I’d never been as pure as him as much as I tried. He was the one who didn’t give a fuck about authority figures, I’d never been as brave as him.
My stomach felt queasy at the thoughts.
“So why did you call me?” I asked her, frowning. “Not that I’m mad at you or anything, it was actually surprisingly nice to have lunch. But you didn’t need to tell me, not like you need to tell people on your label.”
As if it was the most obvious thing in the world, she told me, “I thought you had the right know.”
And that was the reason Maureen Jones was different from everyone else in the music business.
I don’t think I’d ever respected a label owner as much as I did her. Sure, she did think about the business side of things, but she walked a great line of being for the music and keeping herself as a major label in this day and age. She was a fair woman, but she wasn’t an easy one. Someone like Robert could never compare to this woman.
When she told me she had to go home and pack for the trip, her flight left tomorrow, and finish some paperwork at the office, we stood up to say goodbye. This time she didn’t hesitate when she went to hug me, and I returned the pressure, feeling somewhere straight in between from being lost and found. It was an odd sensation.
“I’m sorry I left,” I whispered to her in a low voice.
Pulling away, she smiled at me. “Don’t worry, I know why you had to do it.”
“I appreciate everything you did for me.”
“I know,” she repeated before pulling away and walking away.
Leaving me standing there. More confused and conflicted than I’d felt in years.