Page 11 of The Heartstrings of Harry
He took a tremulous breath. “Whoever the listener needs it to be. That’s what songs are all about.”
I felt the blood burning in my veins, I felt the anxious turning of my stomach, I felt the booming of my heart like a hammer striking steel.
“Hammer,” I said with so much self-assurance, there could be no other word to fit the lyric. “You’re the hammer of my heart.”
Dean inhaled sharply.
He blinked quickly, and I could almost see the lyrics flashing before his bright, brilliant eyes.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, yes, yes.”
Then, without a word of warning, he clasped my bearded face in his hands and planted a kiss on my lips.
It lasted all of two seconds before we both pulled away.
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
Then suddenly he bounced off the bed and scrambled for a pen, flicking through the sheets of music he’d scrawled on and scattered across his nearby desk. “That’s it. That’s it! Harry, you’re a genius!”
I didn’t know what to say, how to react, other than to mutter, “I’d better get back to that poker game now.”
I stood, leaving Dean to scribble down his music and lyrics.
Eighteen months later, the song “Hammer of my Heart” went to number one on the charts.
* * *
“Harry? Earth to Harry! Are you alright? You don’t have narcolepsy or anything, do you?”
The voice came from Madeline as she sat beside me at the poker table, shaking my forearm.
“Huh? Sorry. No, I don’t have narcolepsy.” I pulled myself away from my memories of that night with Dean and focused on the cards spread in my hand. “It’s my turn, right?”
“We’re waiting,” said Norm, drumming his fingers on the table. “Jesus, Harry. Sometimes you take longer to play your hand than I take to do a piss.” He turned to Madeline, having forgotten there was a lady at the table. “Excuse my French.”
“I don’t think ‘piss’ is French,” Madeline smirked. “And please don’t worry about offending me. It takes a lot to ruffle my feathers.” She turned to me. “And now that you seem to have landed safely from whatever planet you were on, shall we return to our game of poker?”
“Yes. Absolutely.” I blinked at my hand, trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do with my cards, not that I really cared anymore.
I shuffled and reshuffled the hand I’d been dealt.
I squinted, deep in thought.
I arched one eyebrow.
Andy frowned at me. “Jesus, Harry. Not only has your poker facenotimproved after all these years, it’s actually gotten worse.”
Madeline chuckled. “Now, now, Andy. I think it’s a cute face. If not a little clueless.”
I glared at her, pretending to be insulted. “You think I’m clueless?”
She gulped down her beer then said, “Oh Harry, I’m a math teacher. Poker’s my jam… and I’m about to wipe the floor with you, doll.”
* * *
Madeline did in fact wipe the floor with me that night. In fact, she used Andy and Norm to mop up the rest of the cash too, taking all the winnings for herself.
