AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Time passed by as the skies began to darken, the sun heading south sooner or later, and then the moonlight replaced the sun. As I locked the door, I realized I had half a chance of getting to The Church on time. That was only fitting, considering that they needed me for the full sound.
Originally one of three singers, I picked up guitar because it was decided we needed one. I knew I was good, which was a defensible opinion, but I wanted to make myself indispensable.
My front outpaced my confidence, especially then. I’d heard too many stories of members being fired or bands breaking up for stupid reasons, and I was looking to secure my future. I wasn’t sure what else I could do if music didn’t pan out.
The Church, a companion facility of The Sanctuary, had been our practice space from the beginning of our tenure. It was so named for its vaulted roof and astounding acoustics.
“Right on time,” Thom said, checking an invisible watch.
“I always do my best.”
“That’s all any of us can do.”
I looked at Pauline, my breath catching in my chest. She was wearing the dress again. The one from our first gig together. My hard-on was almost instant. I could only be happy that my pants were relaxed, and it wasn’t super obvious.
Due to my unconscious response betraying an unspoken desire, my emotions felt mixed to say the least. Her mule-like personality clashed with her talent and delicious figure, ending in a ball of confusion I had yet to untangle.
“Does anybody have any new songs?” Thom asked, inclusive as usual.
My confidence dropped like a brick as soon as the sheets were out. Pauline seemed to be in much the same position. Only she held four songs’ worth of score.
“Are those hand-written?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah, I had some time last night and figured I would take a walk around a bit.”
“Some time?”
“Three or four hours after dinner. I guess I just got inspired.”
“And you notated four full songs.”
“Five, actually,” she said, unsticking another set from the bottom.
“Five,” I repeated, my brain reeling.
“Wow, eight songs all at once,” Thom said, ever the optimist.
I tried to agree with his sunny outlook but could only focus on how I’d been outdone. Not only had she written more than me, it was in a much shorter time, and it was by hand no less. She’d beaten me, not that I was about to admit it.
“Which should we do first?” Adam asked, trying to start shit.
“Coin toss?” Hank suggested.
“Great idea,” Thom agreed.
“All in favor of a coin toss?” Jim proposed.
All hands went up, making the vote unanimous. Thom pulled his lucky silver dollar and stood between us like a referee.
“Call it.”
“Heads,” Pauline said as he flipped.
“Tails.”
A drop and a turn and the verdict was in. Pauline’s first song was first, then mine, and then so on, down the piles until the end. Accepting the dictates of destiny, there was no good way to claim unfairness. The method was based entirely on random chance.
I got my guitar on and hoped for the best. Like my sheets, Pauline had put the chord letters along the top of the notation. At first, I thought it was a joke on me, being the only guitarist, but it didn’t seem likely. If anything, she was following my own set up, which I couldn’t complain about without looking like an asshole.
Forty seconds— that was all it took. Forty fucking seconds of a five-minute song and I couldn’t take it anymore. It was all just too devastatingly perfect.
Pauline wasn’t only beautiful; she was brilliant as well. And she was better at pretty much everything I’d prided myself on, with the possible exception of singing, which I’d never heard her do.
Going by my luck up to that point, though, she probably sounded like Sarah Brightman, rendering me completely redundant, especially in terms of our new direction, which was my idea. Irony sharp enough to draw blood thrust me from the practice room, my guitar dropping to the floor on my way out.
Thom called through the ether, but I didn’t turn. My mind was set on the general direction of moving away. It was a dick move, but it was what came naturally. I figured it was always better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.
The drive home was lonely, an almost silent ride. The only sound emitting from inside the car was through the radio. Yet, listening to this voice, I didn’t know what to feel.
Was I supposed to be happy that I could at least listen to the radio driving home or was I was supposed to be offended because it seemed like the radio programmers were lowkey indirectly mocking me— most especially when Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain” came on?
One of the most underrated basslines in music history drove the point home, through the kitchen and out the back door.
