Page 3 of Rock Candy

Relaying their conversation, he said, “I asked her, ‘What are you doing?,’ and she says, ‘Come here,’ kind of turning my body to face her so she can stick two labels on my forehead. Mind you, the toothbrush is still hanging out of my mouth.” While he talked, he moved his hands, showing the sticking of the labels to his head and miming the existence of the handle in his mouth. “She points to the mirror over the sink and says, ‘look,’ so I turn to face my reflection so I see the labels, which read, ‘Say’ and ‘Yes.’ Confused, I turn back to her and she’s on the floor on one knee, holding the ring box.”

I can’t help but glow with them. The story is achingly cute and personal, and it just makes me want to know them forever.

Natalie shook her head. “It was a terrible thing to do. What if you had a plan? I could have ruined it.”

Carter laughed. “Babe, you are the plan. However. Whenever.”

Next to me Alice shifted in her seat, sitting upright. I looked at her and realized her focus had shifted away from her friends’ story, which she clearly must have heard a thousand times. Following her gaze, my eyes landed on a tall guy with long hair, a curvy dark-haired woman, and a guy with dirty-blond hair who was looking at his phone. Alice was staring so intently at them that I found myself asking, “Who’s that?”

“LSA Records,” she responded. LSA Records was one of the most successful recording companies in the US—and it had recently been through some major upset in ownership. I didn’t know the details. Maybe I should have, but I was never that interested in headlines or the business side of the music industry.

“Like those are the people who run the company?” I asked.

Alice nodded.

“Are they friends of yours?” I was really just wondering aloud.

She shook her head no. “Not really. See the guy on his phone?” I nodded. “He’s their in-house manager. There’s not a lot of room for other people’s clients to work with them.”

“That seems limiting.”

“Totally,” she said, suddenly standing and heading in their direction.

Instantly nervous, I looked at Natalie and Carter. “What’s she doing?”

Natalie answered, “Most likely solving the problem you just vocalized.” That was terrifying. I couldn’t imagine just jumping up and talking to people I didn’t really know, let alone assuming I could change how they functioned, and I hated the possibility that I inspired Alice to act. The longer she stayed talking, the more nervous I got. I needed air.

“Can you guys excuse me for a minute?” I said as calmly as I could to the lovebirds sitting across the booth from me. They answered affirmatively, but I didn’t really stay to listen. I pushed my way to the door of the bar and burst outside like the place was on fire and I was suffocating.

Pulling heavy swaths of fresh sea air into my lungs, I shoved my hands into my pockets and strolled toward the water. The people on the street were mostly in small groups heading in the opposite direction. The general mood was jovial, echoes of laughter and chatter still chasing me even though I’d escaped the bar crowd. I knew I was a weirdo. But if I could find silence for just a few minutes, I’d be fine.

So I walked until I reached the water, and then I kept walking until I was sitting on rocks surrounded by darkness and the crash of waves on the sand. It wouldn't take long for my nerves to settle. Maybe ten minutes. Boldness like Alice’s made me so uncomfortable. I hated to think of imposing on strangers. I couldn’t help it. So I sat on the rocks, breathing and gathering the strength to not only make my way back to the bar and what would most likely be a cold burger, but also to face the entire weekend of strangers expecting me to be bold like Alice.

I started to hum a song I was working on. My music always made everything feel still and calm. So far this song was just a riff, but it would grow. I repeated it about ten times, and then behind me a woman sang the tune I was repeating but with her words, “I feel the walls closing in again.”

I didn’t have words yet, but now, those were the ones I wanted. I turned to look at her. She was backlit by a streetlamp more far away than close, so it was hard to make out much more than her shape. I could tell by the sound of her voice that she was young. I guessed in her early twenties.

She didn’t approach me, but she said, “Hum it again.”

I don’t know why I did what she said, but I did. She sang with me. “I feel the walls closing in again.” Only she kept going. “It’s getting darker, and we might not win.”

And then as if she unraveled something in my brain, I sang, “I touch your hair and I kiss you now. Keeping tomorrow…”

“Keeping tomorrow,” she harmonized.

“Keeping tomorrow in the wind.”

We were silent for more than a beat.

Then she laughed and started moving toward me with her hand out. “Hi,” she said brightly. “I’m Eddy.”

The light shifted and I could see her. She was Eddy Meyer. Eddy fucking Meyer. Her very first release hit the billboard charts and she’d been doing it ever since.

I swallowed down my fear and stuck out my hand to shake hers, but I didn’t seem to get any words out.

“And you are?” she asked awkwardly, suddenly seeming a bit uncomfortable. My oddness was making her uncomfortable.

“Fuck, sorry. You’re Eddy Meyer.” I pointed at her, like an idiot. Then scrambling to attempt normal, I pointed at myself. “I’m Henry Davis. I’m a musician.”

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