Page 1 of The Music in Me

Chapter One

“Thirteen dates in April. Regional tour with...No, no, hell no. Not those lunatics. We need an opener who actually sounds like I Kramer... Oh c’mon, Johnson, call me back when you’ve actually got a good deal for me. Till then, get lost.”

The phone slamming down on its receiver causes me to startle. I release an annoyed sigh and glare over at my manager for disturbing me. It was already hard enough for me to concentrate with this massive headache. The sound of slamming phones was the last thing I needed.

“Did you have to hang up on him like that? I’m trying to have a good reputation in the industry, you know?” I muttered, abandoning the handwritten song lyrics arranged in chaotic piles across an antique wooden table in the corner of the smoke-infested office. I dropped heavily into a leather armchair in front of Leon Richard’s desk and silently winced. This headache was a killer.

“Sorry,” Leon murmured back, though his voice betrayed his sentiment. “I’m just sick of these scumbag bookers and promoters trying to squeeze you into this bullshit folk-punk genre, or whatever. You play rock and roll music. That’s it. It’s simple. You don’t need to be playing with these assholes who haven’t showered in three years.” Leaning back in his leather chair and wiping a hand through the grizzle of his salt-and-pepper beard, Leon sighed and glanced over at me. “You alright?”

“Fine,” I mumbled. “Headache. Least of my problems, really.”

Leon leaned forward and turned his chair to face me. “Hey,” he said, catching my eyes. My light blue gaze connects with his dark brown one. “We’re gonna be fine, alright? Everyone gets uninspired now and then. It’s how art works. Sometimes you gotta let the well fill up a little before you can make another masterpiece.”

“Yeah, well, if my well doesn’t fill up soon, I’ll lose my record deal. I won’t have an album to deliver and... I don’t even want to finish that sentence.” I leaned my forehead against my hand and reached for the water bottle sitting on the desk across from me. “I’ve tried over and over again, Leon. Nothing’s coming. It’s like... like I’m just dried up. I’m fucking stuck.”

“And this wouldn’t have anything to do with…?”

“Don’t,” I warned him. He and I had a special relationship that went beyond client and manager. I was young when I got into the music business, and he’s always taken care of me. We’ve been together long enough that I considered him family. And just like family, he didn’t mind poking in my business when he wanted to.

“It’s been three months, Kira. The whole world has moved on from that ugliness. You should do the same.”

“I have moved on,” I growled at him. “You’re the one who keeps bringing him up.”

“I haven’t said his name in months, and I only bring him up now because you’ve never had this problem before.”

I held back a sigh. Three months ago, I learned that Anthony, my boyfriend of two years, was cheating on me. That was painful and heartbreaking. The fact that I learned about it from the front page of a gossip magazine was humiliating and traumatic. It was hard enough that I now had to grieve a relationship I thought was perfect, but I also had to endure public scrutiny. Every move I made was analyzed and debated. Even now, I could feel every eye on me as I got ready to release my next album.

I knew everyone wanted to hear me talk about my relationship. They wanted to hear my pain and grief. They wanted to know if I was over it or still heartbroken. I wished I had answers to all those questions. The truth was that I felt numb to it all.

“This has nothing to do with Anthony.” I sighed again and restlessly got to my feet. “Let me know if there’s an update on the opener for the tour. I’m going to stare at a blank piece of paper for another three hours.”

“Maybe you need some solitude to help promote the creative juices, huh?”

“This is about that cabin again, isn’t it?”

Leon grabbed his cell phone from the edge of the desk and quickly scrolled through a few photos before holding the phone out for me to take. “Look at this and tell me it isn’t perfect for a getaway trip.”

I glanced down at the illuminated phone screen and nodded vaguely. The photo of the cabin made it look like a postcard. I knew it had been in Leon’s family for some time, and he’d gotten it a few years ago. Maybe Leon was right. Maybe a change of scenery would help me out.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, pushing the phone back into his hands. I slid my sunglasses down to my face and shoved my hands in my pockets as I made my way toward the office door. “See you in a bit.”

The rest of the afternoon faded away into a blur of half-completed lyric sheets, strumming endless melodies on my guitar and staring out the balcony of my studio into the lifeless hot streets of downtown Florida. I knew I was in trouble if I didn’t write an album in the next month, but somehow, the high stakes failed to inspire any creativity in me. Days and weeks had gone by without even an iota of creative production on my end. I would play and play my guitar for hours, and nothing would form. Nothing would stick.

I was officially burned out.

It was absolutely the worst possible time to burn out, but I took the realization in stride as I doubled down on my efforts every single day to make something of substance. Like Leon had said, I knew it wasn’t possible to force creativity, but goddamn, could I use a miracle about now.

As the afternoon drifted into evening, I finally put my guitar down and ordered takeout for dinner. While I waited for my dinner to be delivered, I stood by my window and had a glass of wine, watching the occasional person meander by.

“Written a hit single yet?” a voice called out behind me.

“What do I get if I say yes?” I retorted, recognizing Leon’s voice as I turned around and leaned against the wrought-iron fire escape.

“A cookie,” he muttered humorlessly, folding his thick, muscular arms across his chest.

“Well, in that case...” I took my last sip of wine and grinned. “Tell me a little bit more about this cabin. I’ve been thinking about it and... I don’t know. Sounds fun.”

“It’s nothing too fancy. Just a little property that’s been passed down through my family over the years. Three bedrooms, beautiful views. Nothing for miles around you. That doesn’t sound scary to a born-and-raised city girl like you?” he asked as he sat on my worn leather couch beside a collection of amplifiers.

---