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The cabin was more familiar now, and Kate took a seat in the armchair, any discomfort long vanished. Despite Ethan’s earlier teasing, Zig was in a good mood. It had been his suggestion they go back to the cabin, and now he opened the fridge, pulled out a beer, and after removing the cap, took a swig. He gestured first to Kate, who nodded, and then Ethan who shrugged.
“Sure, why not?” he said. “But just one. I’ve got a full day of writing tomorrow.”
After Zig delivered the beers, he took a seat next to Ethan on the sofa, Kate now seated in an armchair.
“You’ve moved past your song writing block?” Kate asked Ethan.
He gave her a sheepish look and shook his head. “The novel. I’m nearly finished with the first draft. I want to write while it’s clear in my head.”
She laughed. “Only you would skive off by writing a novel.”
“Wait, wait,” said Zig. “You’re experiencing a song writing block? Why didn’t you say, man?”
Ethan frowned. “Sorry. It just kind of happened. I have a lot on my mind and I thought it would go. That it wouldn’t be a big deal.”
Zig widened his eyes. “Wow. How many have you written?”
Ethan looked away. “A few.”
“Do the guys know?” asked Zig.
Ethan gave him a dark look. “No. And I intend to keep it that way.”
Zig gave him a sympathetic look, shaking his head. “Wow,” he said. “Just wow.”
“I was trying something new,” said Ethan tensely. “Trying for a different voice, a different style.”
Zig shook his head again. “They won’t like that. You know they want to keep that gravy train running.”
Ethan ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “I know. You’re right. That’s partly why I’m stuck. I mean I have a few ideas, but”—he shrugged—“they just don’t gel. Not really. Not for that sound.”
Zig cast a look in Kate’s direction before returning to study Ethan. “You have to do it, you know that, don’t you? You’re bound by a contract.”
“I know,” said Ethan, his tone a little sharp. “You think I don’t know that? That’s why I’m here.”
“No,” said Zig. “It seems like you’re here writing a novel. A novel for friggin’ sake. Why?”
Ethan raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Because. It’s something I have wanted to do for years.”
“Do it after this album. Finish this album, fulfill the contract, and then you are free. Why mess it up?”
“Look, Zig. If the words, the music aren’t there, they aren’t there. Simple as that.”
Zig shook his head again. “I get it, believe me, I do. But it’s not me you have to convince. Have you listened to other bands, you know, to get some inspiration? Some old classics.”
He leaned over the side of the sofa, where Kate noticed Ethan had about fifty LPs lined up against the wall and a pile of CDs beside them. He rifled through the LPs.
“You don’t have much here,” said Zig. “Looks like you left your good stuff behind in New York.”
Ethan laughed. “You mean what you consider good stuff. I beg to disagree.”
“You get my meaning. Most of this is Folk and Indie Rock with a bit of New World. That’s not going to help you much, is it?”
“Since it’s there to help me relax, I think it’s just right.” There was a bit of tension back in his voice.
It was only the sympathy she felt for Ethan that made her bring it up now, because she wasn’t even certain it was something she wanted to share. Ever. The strong fear of where it might drag her hung heavy even now. “I don’t know if this will help,” said Kate, “but the other night, I was thinking about the ‘House of Clouds’ poem and its relationship to the artwork. And…” She paused, looked down at her beer. She took a deep breath. “I thought of a kind of song.”
