Page 12 of Rock Candy

I stopped listening to Alice not only because she was annoyingly right, but also because my eyes found Eddy. I didn’t expect her to be at this party. Sure, it was for VIPs, but a star of her caliber didn’t usually come to these kinds of networking events. Most celebrities let their people—the folks on the business side of the business—do the schmoozing. But here she was, standing with the same crowd she had been surrounded by in Martha’s Vineyard, Bruno, Ava, and Marcus of LSA Records. As if she could feel my eyes on her, she turned in my direction.

In a pleated plaid skirt, knee-high boots, and a black turtleneck sweater, she was casual, but also more dressed up than I'd ever seen her The outfit gave me some serious naughty schoolgirl vibes—instantly throwing open the can of worms that was the sweet torture of being anywhere near Eddy. From across the room she gazed at me, her eyes smiling as she bit her lip. I pulled a deep breath in through my nose, letting the sight of her infect my being like the mad rush of a waterfall careening over a cliff.

My mind hummed,Eddy.

Just as I had that first night in the bar, she tilted her head, silently asking,Hey you, wanna get out of here?

I nodded. Next to me Alice took another sip of her bubbly before she shrugged and said, “Well, I guess that’s how you landed your last job.”

We didn’t clearthe air between us or talk about my new life as meme extraordinaire. We just got to work on our song. It was strange. I wasn’t sure if it was her fault or mine, but it seemed like we both assumed that the one space where the intensity of our connection wasn’t hard to manage was our musical synergy. When it came to music we could just vibe, not as lovers or friends, but as devoted artists. It was a certain delicious kind of magic—like a cold Popsicle on a hot day or unbuckling your ski boots. Making music with Eddy was a soothing sugary high, like candy for my soul—rock candy.

We worked most of the night, lounging around her hotel suite like teenagers at a sleepover, lying on the floor, sitting cross-legged with our backs pressed to the end of the bed, stretched out sideways on the couch, knees draped over the armrest, eating overpriced M&M’s and pretzels from the minibar and drinking cute little bottles of liquor. We had no sense of time or hierarchy. We took turns playing Eddy’s guitar and revising lyrics we’d been sending back and forth.

Finally, in the wee hours, the ones she and I always seemed to visit, everything jelled and the song was done. We sat on either side of the king-sized bed and sang our way through it—the harmonies, the rhythm, the sentiment. It was a perfect song.

“That’s it,” I said, feeling elated but also a little melancholy that the process was over.

“Absolutely.” She smiled sweetly at me. “Don’t let this go to your head, but it might be one of the best I’ve ever written.”

I smirked. “You didn’t write it. We did.”

She put her guitar down and flopped back on the bed, laying her head on the pillow and rolling on her side so she was perpendicular to me, cross-legged on the opposite side of the bed. I shifted, lying down so we were face-to-face, with a solid three feet between us. She had her hands tucked under her cheek in prayer position and she looked both happy and tired.

“We did,” she said, and then her eyes grew sorrowful as she noted, “I feel like that means I’ll never get to sing it for an audience.”

“You can. I’ll give it to you. Free and clear.” I rolled over, then grabbed the hotel notepad and pen off the night table and scribbled,I, Henry Davis, being of sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath the song “Keeping Tomorrow” to Eddy Meyer to do with as she pleases, expecting no compensation in return.Satisfied with my legalese, I signed and dated the page and ripped it off the pad and handed it to her.

She took it and laughed before she returned to her position on the pillow to say, “I wasn’t worried about my rights to the song, Henry. I’ll happily give you every penny it ever makes. I was sad that no one would see us sing it together. It’s our song. I want to sing it with you.”

Oh.

Normally, when I considered singing onstage, my stomach gurgled like I’d eaten bad cheese, but lying down, looking into Eddy’s eyes, I thought it wouldn’t be so hard if I was looking at her.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe up there with you, singing our song wouldn’t be the same.”

“Really?” she said all breathy and immediately following the sound, she tucked her bottom lip under her front teeth, like I’d just promised her something sexy.

“Really.” I confirmed, also entirely too charged up by the idea. We stared at each other. She licked her pretty mouth and it shimmered in the light from the lamp behind me, begging me to kiss her. Starting to lose all gentlemanly control, I cleared my throat and sat up, flipping so my feet hit the floor with my back turned toward her.

“I should probably go,” I said.

The bed shook and I knew she’d sat up. “You don’t have to. You could just sleep here. If you wanted.”

“Nah,” I managed to squeak out. “I hate paying for a hotel room I don’t use.”

“You pay for your hotel room?”

I glanced over my shoulder in her direction. She had her arms crossed over her chest and her expression screamed defensive.

“It’s the principle?” I offered, phrasing the statement as a question because I was obviously lying.

She laughed in a way that was both a little disappointed and annoyed. “Understood.”

“Eddy…” I said her name as the beginning of a lament, but then I chose not to explain myself again. I had been perfectly clear where I stood the last time we spent the evening together.

She sighed, dropping her arms. “Sorry, don’t worry. I… I get it,” she stuttered. “We’re different. You like attachments. I don’t.”

I nodded. I was betting that it was so much more complicated than that, but if you wanted the story of Henry and Eddy in a nutshell, that was the situation.

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