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I couldn’t wait until this week was over and I was off. Distance would be a good thing.
I stepped into the lobby and glanced up at the gold art deco ceiling, soaking in the history of the place, wondering about all the musicians and artists who had come and gone through these doors. The place held a lot of memories.
As I wandered through, I thought about all the interesting places I’d had the privilege to witness in my life. And where I was going next.
Not just professionally but personally.
I hadn’t considered, until recently, that I might be bi or pan. Was it the gender or the person I was attracted to? I thought back to previous women I’d hooked up with. There was physical attraction there, but that was it. Once the sex was over, I was ready to bolt. And sometimes, the sex wasn’t all that great. I wanted to feel something beyond basic lust, but I never did.
If I were being totally honest with myself, there had been men that I’d noticed in recent years. At parties, press junkets, on tour. But as I got older and years passed, it felt like I’d missed my opportunity. Like I was too old to explore my sexuality, or maybe I just didn’t have the courage. I don’t know.
Everything in my life, especially over the past four years, was focused on my career. As friends coupled up and had families of their own, I found myself an outsider.
Alone.
Then I lost my parents.
First, my mom died from cancer, and then my dad from heart disease. I still hadn’t closed their home in Montreal yet, the memories too fresh and painful.
And after my dad’s death, I questioned everything.
What was going to tether me as time wore on? What was going to fuel me outside of work? I hadn’t really thought about those things until I lost my folks, but now it was always on my mind.
I found solace in my songwriting. It wasn’t difficult to understand why. It was familiar, cathartic, and comforting.
And I also took comfort in my friends, most of whom I worked with.
But especially Brodie.
I’d never had a more stimulating partnership than working with him. We were years apart, but when it came to music, there was an understanding between us, an unspoken synergy. I’d even been tempted to tell him I was the songwriter he admired, but I didn’t.
Maybe someday.
And yeah, all this to say, I was spending way too much time reflecting.
More so this year when I was making my way through grief. But as the pain evolved, my body’s needs resurfaced. But I didn’t want a hookup. I wanted more.
And all those questions about my love life, or lack thereof, came rushing back.
I always recognized Brodie’s attraction. But now? Now, I couldn’t think about anything else.
Brodie had already ruined my concentration. Fuck, even my songwriting had changed. Everything became more intense. Like “Sideline,” my words conveyed all the stuff I was feeling inside but could never voice in real life.
Less hard-edged and more heartache.
Not that my heart was involved; that would be crazy…
I opened the door to the theater and slid inside as quietly as I could.
There was Brodie, standing under the spotlights in those painted-on jeans and a loose tank top, his tattooed arms bare. Turning his head over his shoulder, our eyes met.
Despite the distance between us, my breath caught.
Like the first time, like every time since. I didn’t recognize what it meant four years ago, but I sure as fuck noticed now.
The beautiful Brodie James.
Why would he want me when he could have anyone?
