The Song in My Heart (14 page)

“Well, I’ve got a newsflash for you. People can fall in love a lot faster than in six weeks. And I do know you. Not as well yet as I intend to, but my heart knows you.”

“Oh, come on. That sounds like a line from the song we’re writing.”

Dess’s words and tone bruised Erika, and it took tremendous effort to keep her voice from shaking. “If you weren’t so afraid of everything, you might actually realize that I’m someone worth falling in love with.”

“Erika, I didn’t mean—”

“Why is it so hard for you?” Erika said, wanting to hurt Dess the same way Dess had hurt her. “Why is it so hard to follow your heart? To take a chance? To give in once in a while?”

Dess shook her head slowly, but she couldn’t look at Erika. Her voice was hard granite. “You don’t understand.”

“You’re right, I don’t. And you sure as hell aren’t going to explain it to me, are you?” Erika jumped up from the couch and stepped into her shoes. She couldn’t sit here anymore and stew in her hurt and anger without saying something she’d regret. Or before tears materialized. She would not give Dess the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

“I’ll be back,” she said over her shoulder, stalking out the door before Dess had a chance to reply.

* * *

Dess accepted Erika’s peace offering of dinner at Lola’s, a popular pizzeria on Xerxes Avenue that featured a menu of dozens of wood-fired pizzas to choose from, all served on a charming array of dinnerware that had clearly come from auctions or thrift shops. Dess went for the Hawaii Pie-O: house-cured bacon, fresh pineapple, mozzarella, provolone and serrano peppers. Erika chose the Forager: crimini, shitake and portabella mushrooms, taleggio, fontina, tarragon and truffle oil. They agreed to share a bottle of California cabernet.

They edged into conversation by talking neutrally about the tour, about music, about anything but the topic that had tossed them into such a tailspin.

“The time you played half-time at the Super Bowl,” Erika said as she sipped her wine, waiting for the food to arrive. Her eyes flashed with deep interest and admiration. “That must have been one of your career highlights?”

Dess smiled at the memory. It was eleven years ago. She’d been at the peak of her career, selling out concerts in a matter of hours. Everybody was demanding her time and attention—her fans, the record companies, concert promoters, television talk shows, Broadway show producers, companies wanting her to endorse their products. A Saudi prince, shortly after the Super Bowl concert, paid her three million dollars for a one-off private concert at his palace in Dubai. It was all so crazy as to be almost unreal. The time, she realized now, had flown by in a blur punctuated by exhaustion and an insanely arduous amount of obligation that had made it harder and harder to stay true to herself. She could hardly even remember what kind of person she’d been then or even whether she’d been happy.

“I guess it doesn’t get much bigger than playing before almost a hundred thousand people and all those viewers at home watching on television,” Dess agreed. “So yeah.” She shrugged, opting for the quick answer. “You could say it was a highlight.”

“I watched it on television. I was in high school,” Erika said dreamily. “I remember you looked so…so
hot
, but so sure of yourself and humble at the same time. I was so envious, so full of admiration. I thought, yeah, one day I want to do that. I sure as hell never thought I’d actually be sitting in a restaurant with you.” Erika lowered her voice. “Or that I’d kiss you.”

The timbre of Erika’s voice sent a surge of excitement through Dess’s veins.

“What was it like singing in front of that many people?” Erika asked.

Dess pressed her legs together. Her physical reaction to Erika continued to surprise and shock her. “About like you’d imagine. Scary as hell, but incredibly exhilarating too. There’s nothing better than the joyous energy of all those people coming together, and knowing you’re at the center of all those good feelings. But it’s a two-way street. As much as I’m giving them, they’re giving to me too.”

“How so?” Erika was leaning forward, as if to absorb Dess’s answer with every cell in her body.

“You already know what I’m talking about, just on a smaller scale. It’s an exchange, a sharing of the love of music, a mutual appreciation of the joy music gives. You see, it was not me they were worshipping up there, but the music. It always comes back to the music. Music is one of the most emotionally moving things people ever experience, and you’re sharing that moment with them. They’re remembering things and at the same time creating new memories. And it’s an honor to share that with them, to be that bridge between them and music.”

“Yes, but people did worship
you
, Dess. I did. I saw it in others too. It wasn’t only the music, but the person delivering the music too. You must admit, the messenger can become bigger than the message.”

“Yes, but it’s ultimately the music—what’s coming out of that person’s mouth on stage—that speaks to them deeply enough to set off all those endorphins. If they’re enjoying that moment, that song, their energy needs a place to converge, and that’s on the person on stage. It’s like they’re transferring all that love to you, but you can’t forget where it comes from. You, the singer, are only the vehicle.”

“I agree with you, but I also think it’s more complicated than that. I think the connection the singer is making—the energy they’re bringing—influences the crowd too. Like if the performer is getting off on the music too or if they’re just going through the motions. Audiences can tell the difference, and they identify and appreciate the one who’s giving it a hundred percent.”

“Yes, that’s true. And that’s why you have to find a way to bring it each and every time you get up on stage, no matter what your mood is that day, what you’re feeling inside. You have to be consistent every time in giving them your best. You owe the audience that.”

Man, this felt so much better than arguing with Erika. She watched Erika mull over their conversation as their pizzas arrived. The aroma alone quickly put an end to any more thinking. Or talking.

“God, this smells so good,” Erika said as she sliced off a bite with a knife and fork and stuffed it in her mouth. “Oh my God, I think I’m having an orgasm.”

Dess nearly choked on her own bite. She did not need visions of Erika having an orgasm right now.

It wasn’t until the quiet and darkness of the drive back to the apartment that Dess thought back to Erika’s simple declaration earlier that she thought she was falling in love with her. She hadn’t wanted to consider that it was true, because she was too hellbent on rejecting the notion as being ridiculous. But was it? Love was about chemistry, not math. It was about feelings that welled up all on their own from a deep place where there was no sense of time, no excuses for why it couldn’t or shouldn’t happen. Love was about honesty between two souls before doubts, fears and rationalizations got in the way. Dess knew that, and yet she’d fallen into the trap of immediately throwing up obstacles. “We don’t even know each other,” she remembered telling Erika.
Well
, she thought as they pulled into the parking lot of Erika’s apartment building.
Perhaps it’s time to change that.

They greeted Maggie, and Erika moved to switch on the lights.

“No,” Dess said. “Not too many lights.”

“Okay.” Erika turned on only a stained glass lamp on the end table. “More wine?”

“Only if you’re having some.”

“Oh, I’m definitely having some.” She returned with two glasses and a bottle of merlot. She poured wine into each glass and sat down in an easy chair, opposite Dess this time. Dess didn’t blame her for not sitting closer. Didn’t blame her either for the slightly defensive posture she took now. Erika had earlier put her heart on the table, and Dess had all but stomped on it.

“About earlier,” Dess ventured, her throat suddenly parched. She took a sip of wine. “I’m sorry I jumped all over you. That I acted like your feelings weren’t valid. It was wrong of me.”

“Thank you for saying that. And I’m sorry too,” Erika said quietly. “I said some harsh things to you.”

“I think there’s a way to resolve this.”

“There is?”

Dess smiled to herself at Erika’s eagerness, and at the glint of hopeful flirtatiousness in her eyes.
She probably thinks I’m going to suggest more of that incredible kissing.
Dess’s eyes zeroed in on those full, soft lips, and she had to suppress the dizzying desire to launch herself into Erika’s lap. She wanted to kiss Erika. Had never stopped wanting to kiss Erika, she realized with growing acceptance. The thought of kissing Erika made her wet, made her heart gallop like a wild horse, and she could no longer deny the physical sensations that simply looking at Erika or remembering something about Erika, unleashed in her. Kissing, however, wasn’t going to advance their issues right now. Well, it would, she thought wickedly, but only in physical terms. There were other, more important things they needed to get out of the way first.

“I want us to know each other better,” Dess said evenly. “And you were right, I have been guarded with you. But I want to change that. Immediately.”

Chapter Twelve

Talking openly with Dess was much easier, so much more natural, than Erika had expected. Nothing held back her desire to be completely open, and not only because such honesty between them signaled that their relationship was deepening, but because it felt so right—like a lock clicking open.

Dess’s gaze was bold, unsettling in its scrutiny. “You’re incredibly talented, Erika. Talented enough to reach the very top echelon of the music business. But what I need to know is why you truly want it so badly.”

Erika had a stack of answers she spewed out whenever she was asked that question. “I want it because I have the talent and the ability.” “Because I’m willing to put in the work it requires.” “Because I want to give to others what music has given to me.” “Because I love music so much and I’m determined to be the best at anything I do.” “I want to share my gift with the world…blah, blah, blah.” It was all true, but she knew Dess was after something much deeper than that. Something nobody else knew about her. The truth.

Erika swallowed and drew a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be simple or quick or easy, but she wanted Dess to know the truth.

“My parents groomed me from a very young age for a career on the stage. But as a pianist. All their energy, any money that wasn’t needed for food or housing, went to my lessons. Piano consumed two hours every day, six days week. That’s how much I was supposed to practice. And that doesn’t count lessons three times a week, recitals, private performances.”

“Wow. That’s a lot for a kid.”

“Too much.” Erika took a sip of wine to keep her voice steady. “I began to resent it. Not because I was afraid of all the work or the pressure to perform, but because it wasn’t my choice. I never got a say.” Her voice began to shake, the intensity of her emotions surprising her after all these years. She hadn’t played a serious piece of music on the piano in at least five years, and she hadn’t seen her parents in more than seven.

“I’m sorry,” Dess whispered, and now Erika wished she were sitting beside Dess instead of across from her.

“The toughest was in high school. The kids.” Erika shook her head. “They were mean because I was different. I was the geeky kid who played piano in all her spare time. The kid the teachers all raved about as being so talented. And I was the weird kid who came from a home where English wasn’t spoken as a first language, where my parents kept to themselves and worked like dogs in their minimum-wage jobs to support my music.”

The school memories still stung—the vitriol from her peers, their scorn, their mockery. Teachers who were so awed of her talent that they treated her differently.

“At what point did you rebel?”

“College. I finally was able to escape my parents and their dreams that felt like a prison to me. I mostly stopped playing the piano, started singing. And my parents, well, they pretty much disowned me for that. Singing to them was as classless as being a whore—their words, not mine. And then when I told them I was gay, well…” Erika shook her head, unable to go on.

Dess held out her hand. Erika reached out and clasped it like a lifeline, let Dess gently tug her until she was sitting next to her.

“I’m so sorry,” Dess said in a voice thick and warm and comforting.

Still holding her hand, Erika confessed, “I wanted to sing because that’s who I am. And I want to be the best at what I do because that’s what my parents instilled in me. But I am doing this for
me
, Dess. For me.” Her voice caught, and Dess squeezed her hand. “It’s because I love to sing, and I am nothing without it.”

“You’re a very strong woman to have survived what you went through.”

Erika wiped a tear from her cheek and shook her head miserably. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“Will you tell me? Please?”

It was a big step to trust Dess. To tell her something only her therapist knew. “I don’t know if I can. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth.”

If Dess was stung, she didn’t show it. She glanced away, still holding Erika’s hand, and when her gaze returned, there were tears in her eyes.

“There are things, hard things,” Dess said, her voice quivering, “that you don’t know about me either.”

For a long time they didn’t speak in the near darkness. A clock ticked from the kitchen. Maggie occasionally sighed or snored from her place on the floor.

“When I got sick…” Dess’s voice, after such a long silence, startled Erika.

“Go on.”

“When I got sick six years ago, everything changed. And so fast. I wasn’t even sure the throat cancer was survivable at first. And then, once I realized the odds were in favor of beating it and that I was going to be okay, I began to realize the total devastation it had done to the rest of my life.”

“Your career? Because it destroyed your voice?”

“Yes, my voice. The radiation ended my professional singing career.”

“But you didn’t stay in the business at all. You walked away from it completely.” Erika was still dumbfounded by Dess’s complete rejection of her fame and her career, of the solid and successful reputation she’d built. She could have continued in so many ways—as a model or spokesperson for cancer survivors, as a music producer or even manager. Something, anything.