Page 6 of Lyrics of Her

The layer of concern etched deep in her voice makes my throat tighten slightly. “Yeah, I grabbed a burger on the way home.” Another lie. She either doesn’t pick up on it, or she’s choosing her battles wisely. Either way, I’m relieved.

“What are you working on right now? A love song?”

“No, this one is definitely not a love song.” Pulling the phone away from my face, I pour the drink before swallowing a mouthful of liquor straight from the bottle. “It’s about a guy who smashes up his car. He kills the love of his life because he’s a drunken tool, and he’s destined to spend the rest of his life alone and miserable.” I screw the cap back on the bottle, placing it down on the coffee table in front of me.

“Sounds cheery.”

“I’ve been working on some darker stuff lately. A more solid rock sound.”

“I’m sure it’s brilliant.”

“It’s definitely not brilliant, not yet anyway. It needs a ton of work, but it’s getting close. I’ll send you over a rough cut as soon as I’m done.”

“I’d love that. Any news about the tour?”

“Actually, yeah. They’ve added a few more dates, so if Uncle Jim still wants tickets, I can probably arrange something for him.”

“Thank you. I’ll let him know.”

Tossing back another mouthful of whiskey, I wince as it settles in my stomach. “Okay, I better go. I’ve got work to do. Just thought I’d check in. I’ll see you this weekend.”

“Okay, but don’t bring anything with you. I’ll cook. That way you’ll stay a while, and we can talk. I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“Bye, baby.”

“Bye.”

I hang up, exhale slowly, and flop back into the enormous L-shaped couch that takes up most of my living room. The view beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows catches my eye, and I stare out at the twinkling city lights that stretch out for miles in every direction.

The view is what sold me on this place. It’s magnificent.

A text message appears on my phone.

Quinn: We’re at Leon’s. Swing by. We need to talk.

My head’s already a little cloudy from all the whiskey, or maybe it’s from something else, and maybe I’m not thinking clearly, or maybe I just don’t give a shit anymore.

Either way, I know for certain with the way I’m feeling and the way my headspace is already too crowded with thoughts of tomorrow and what that entails, I definitely won’t be getting any work done tonight.

I play it casual, but I’m not feeling at all creative, and if I spend too much time alone, my mind will start running in circles and I’ll write a whole load of rubbish that I’ll only end up deleting again in the morning.

So, I send back a quick reply.Be there in ten.

And then, despite my better judgment, I head for the door.

Reed

Leon’s is a dive bar situated at the end of a dark road in a sketchy neighborhood a few blocks over from the studio.

The businesses on this side of town are ramshackle, with broken windows and neon signs that flicker in the darkness, and groups of men linger around out the front of seedy strip clubs.

I push through the front door, and I’m instantly met with a thick haze of cigarette smoke that’s lying low over the tables.

There are a couple of men in business suits sitting at the bar, drowning their sorrows, and a group of college-aged guys and girls engrossed in a rowdy game of pool in the rear of the room.

Recognizing the back of Quinn’s head and then the others, sitting together at a booth about halfway down, I head in that direction.

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