Page 61 of Rock Me

"Hardly. No, I moved to L.A. for a very specific reason."

"Let me guess. Celeb dog walking?"

I guffaw and almost spit out my food. I take a slow drink from the water glass before I continue. "No, I moved here to... don't laugh, I wanted to get a record deal."

"Playing the uke?"

"I said, don't laugh."

"Hey, Noémie, look at me. Does it look like I'm laughing?"

He touches my arm and it’s impossible not to look at him. He isn't laughing. If anything, he looks like he believes I’m being completely serious.

"Anyway, it was a pipe dream. I got laughed out of a few studios and agents’ offices and I realized how ridiculous I'd been. I mean, I came from a small town in Maine. I didn't know anything about the music industry, I didn't know what was and wasn’t selling or was popular. I just knew that I like playing my music and listening to it, and I thought, hey maybe there would be people out there who would too. It didn’t have to be hundreds of millions, but a few. And I would be okay with playing to those few."

I take a long breath and realize I'd just blurted out feelings I hadn't thought about in years. It sounds funny to hear me talk about dreams I'd had three or four years ago. A lifetime ago now.

"So, why did you stay?" he asks. Like he's reading my mind.

I just shrug, putting my fork down.

"I don't know. Because it's easier just to stay than go home a failure, I guess."

"Or is it because you still had a part of you that still dreamt?"

"I... huh. If you'd asked me six months ago, hell, six days ago, I would've told you, no, not a chance. but now... now that I've been playing again the last few days, I guess. I guess, yes, the dream never really went away."

"It shouldn't. You are going to be a superstar one day, Noémie. Mark my words. You can write it down and I will sign it for you, that I make that prediction. I mean, my signature will be a handprint cos, you know," he holds up his hand, and it hands limply.

I reach out and take it, holding it between mine. It's warm, almost hot. He has long, thin fingers, large knuckles and cleanly clipped fingernails. Artistic hand features. I turn it over and smooth my palm over his, running my fingertips over the lines, reading his fate. Then I bring it to my mouth and lay a kiss on his palm.

"Ah, the kiss of healing," he says and smiles at me.

"You're going to be okay."

He takes a deep breath. "How do you know?"

"The same way you know I'm going to be a musical star."

"No, I have evidence. I've heard you play."

"I have evidence as well. I see how strong you are. You complain like a little bitch. But you're strong. You're going to make it through this." I nod to emphasize my point.

"Thank you. The little bitch inside me is offended, but only because she wants you to be right."

"So, you know what my unfulfilled dream is? What's yours?"

"As of now, it's the same as yours."

"You want to be a uke star?"

"No, I want to see you become one. And I promise you, I'm going to do everything I can to make it happen."

"What can you do? Buy up all my albums?" I poke my tongue out at him.

"No, I won't need to, I'll be fighting everyone else off to get one."

I clutch my chest, like I’ve been hit by an arrow at his smooth line. "Just how many women's hearts have you broken with that silver tongue of yours?"