A Beautiful Melody Page 7

  As per usual, I sit here and watch the men, as women fawn over them. I find it highly amusing, that you can take a sweaty, smelly guy, put a guitar in his hands, and women just line up, flinging their panties at them. The only one who doesn’t seem to fall for it is Theo, but he’s off talking to somebody else about something or other – he doesn’t tend to waste his time with me.

  I sit and sip from my bottle of beer, smiling and exchanging platitudes occasionally when someone comes up to me, but mostly I’m in my head, thinking about the contrast of the Bailey brothers. It’s as if they’re the yin and yang symbol.

  To look at them, at first they seem like polar opposites. One light haired and light eyed, while the other is dark featured. But when they stand next to each other you can easily see the family resemblance, they have the same shaped face, the same jawline, the same Roman nose, the same full mouth…

  Absentmindedly, I touch my own lips, drawing my fingertips lightly across them. Deep in thought, I drown out the noise of the room, not realising that I’m staring at Marcus and his chosen floozy for the night.

  “I wonder what number that is,” Theo says from beside me. I didn’t even notice him sit down.

  “What?”

  “The girl. I wonder if he keeps score.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe,” I shrug, shifting slightly in my seat, not really feeling comfortable with this line of conversation.

  “Maybe you should let her know how it feels,” he suggests, leaning in, his voice low in my ear.

  “How what feels?” I murmur, now purposely watching Marcus and his current girl.

  “To be used and passed over by my brother,” he states.

  I flinch away from him, turning my head quickly in his direction, my brow creases slightly as I meet his intense glare.

  “Go and tell her. Save her from the humiliation that made you run.”

  Without any forethought from me, my hand flies out and slaps him in the face. The loud clap of my palm against his skin causes quite a few curious glances from those around us.

  Wincing slightly, he nods his head and has the audacity to be grinning.

  “How dare you,” I growl accusingly, my blood boiling to the surface, heating my skin from the inside.

  “I’m only speaking the truth,” he states calmly, as he pushes up through his strong thighs to standing. “He flirts with you now. But you know it’s all a game right? He’s just stringing you along, the same way he always did.” Without giving me the chance to respond, he turns and walks away. Leaving me staring after him with my mouth slightly agape.

  As he disappears through the crowd, I can’t help but think on his words and wonder what number I really was, and what number he’s up to now. The idea makes me feel cheap, and I wish I could turn the clock back and never go to that party. At least then, my self-respect would still be intact and I wouldn’t have to put up with jibes from Theo.

  ***

  It’s not long before we get called to go out and clear up our gear. We don’t have roadies or anything, so we can’t just play and then party the night away. We have to sort all of our own equipment out and get it home.

  Normally, we help Theo load up his van and then he takes all the gear back to the studio at his place. After which, we all head off to blow off some steam after the excess energy we seem to have from playing a great show. Sometimes Theo comes back to meet us, but most of the time he just stays home. He’s not really the partying type.

  By the time the equipment is loaded, I’m not into partying again either. I just want to go home.

  “What do you mean you want to go home? Don’t leave Nomes, we want you to come with us,” Erica whines. You’d think she and Amy were actually a part of the band, they hang around so much. Although, it’s not like they have much to do with me – they’re here primarily for the men. I really think they’re hoping we make it big so they can tag along. I’ve got news for them though, there’s no way the guys are going to take girls with them if we start travelling.

  Amy joins in the begging, and since I somehow got roped in to sharing a cab home with them, I’m about to open my mouth to agree, just to save on cab fare. But of all people, Theo rescues me.

  “I’ll give you a ride if you want,” he offers.

  “Are you going to be a dick the whole drive home?” I ask, still a little on guard after our earlier exchange.

  “No. I’ll be sure to be on my best behaviour,” he assures me, as I climb into the passenger seat of the van. Preparing myself for what I expect to be a fairly quiet drive home.

  After a while, I’m tired of the awkward silence. This is just too quiet.

  “So I’ve been wondering - how did you come up with the name of the band?” I ask, realising that I’ve never enquired about it.

  He laughs for a moment, the sound surprising me. I truly thought he’d just grunt and ignore me. So I find myself smiling as well.

  “You know that meme that went around Facebook years ago where you search a random article on Wikipedia, and that’s your band name? We did that,” he tells me, without taking his eyes off the road.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep. One hundred percent.”

  “What would have happened if the random article was titled ‘Dogs balls’ or something? Would you have named your band that?” I ask, smiling at the craziness of it.

  Chuckling again, he answers, “I don’t know. The first name we got is Matiari. It sounded cool, so we went with it.”

  “And what does Matiari mean?”

  “It’s a place in Pakistan or something. Wikipedia claims that it’s well known for its academics, religious scholars and poets. They also produce some sort of hat and a weird sounding dressing.”

  “Dressing? Like a salad dressing?”

  “I have no idea,” he laughs. “That’s just what the article says.”

  “Well. I like it. It’s a good name.”

  “Yeah. I think so too,” he says, shifting down a gear as he takes the exit ramp off the freeway, heading towards the suburb of Hurstville where I live. “Address?” he asks me.

  “Oh,” I rattle of my street name and number to him, impressed when he drives there effortlessly without the need of directions from me.

  “Thanks for the lift,” I say, as I unclip my seatbelt when he pulls up out the front of my apartment building. “You don’t need help unloading this stuff do you?” I ask, thumbing over my shoulder to the back of the van, knowing that it’s full of the band’s equipment.

  “No, I’ll be fine. I’ve done it a hundred times before. It’s no issue,” he tells me, clearing his throat slightly and looking ahead. I can tell he wants me to go, but I just have one more thing to say.

  “Listen Theo. About before – ” I start.

  “I’m sorry, ok? I shouldn’t have done that. It was really low of me and you didn’t deserve it,” he admits.

  He looks over to me and we lock eyes for a moment, there’s something that flashes in his eyes, some sort of emotion that I can’t read.

  Breaking the stare, he clears his throat. “Listen, I need you to come around to the studio so I can take your photo to add to the website – now that you’re an official member of the band and all, I’ll need to add your bio.”

  “Ok. When do you need me?” I ask him calmly, although inwardly, I’m doing cartwheels. Just having him recognise me as an official member feels like I’ve overcome a great obstacle.

  “Tomorrow?” he suggests quickly.

  “Alright. I’ll see you then,” I nod, shutting the car door and stepping away from his van.

  Before I turn to leave him, the electric window rolls down and he tilts his head down to see me properly.

  “I’d walk you up, but I can’t risk leaving the gear on the street. I’ll wait until you flick your lights on.” With that said, he clicks the button on the centre console and the window goes up, the reflection of the street lights on the car’s window tinting making it impossible for me to see inside. />
  “Um, ok,” I say, even though I’m pretty sure he can’t hear me.

  I twist on my heel and make my way up the front steps to my apartment building. It’s not long before the lift arrives to transport me to the fourth floor where my place is. When I get inside, I leave things dark and go over to the window to look down at the street. Parked at the curb, I can see Theo’s van still idling as he waits for my lights to turn on.

  Biting my lip in contemplation, I wonder if I leave the lights off – will he come inside to check on me? Do I want him to come inside and check on me?

  I continue to stare down at the car as I replay the car trip with him over in my mind. This is the first time he’s actually been kind to me in anyway. What could have possibly changed in such a short amount of time? Maybe slapping him, actually knocked some sense into him? Geez, if I’d known that, I would have slapped him on the first day.

  Suddenly the driver’s side door opens and I gasp in surprise, realising I’ve been standing here and watching him in the dark for quite a while. I know, I just hit level ‘stalker’ on the ‘creepy meter’.

  I rush over to the closest light switch and slap my hand against it, my heart thudding loudly against my chest as I race around the apartment and hit the others too.

  When, I go back to the window to see if he’s still there, a huge sigh of relief bursts out of me as I spot his van pulling out into the street. I watch until I see his lights disappear around the corner, wondering if I’m ever going to figure that man out. One moment he seems to have nothing but contempt toward me, and the next he actually shows concern – how bloody confusing.

  Chapter 13

  Theo

  I think I’ve slept maybe an hour or two all night. My brain just won’t stop thinking. It’s thinking about this new direction our band is taking. It’s thinking about Naomi being around more often. On top of that, it’s writing new music.

  Every time I start to drift off, I get some sort of idea. So I get out of bed, jot it down or play the riff on my guitar to the recorder on my phone. I feel possessed, and I need to get it all out of me.

  Eventually, I quit sleep and head into the studio. I have an old upright acoustic piano in there that I salvaged from an estate sale I happened upon a few years ago. With great care, I restored it as best I could. Now, I keep it covered with a sheet when I’m not using it, both to protect it, and to stop the others from touching it. It’s something I like to keep for myself. I share everything else with them, but this. This is mine, and I feel like I work my best when I’m playing it.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, pencil jammed either behind my ear or between my teeth, but I’m working my way through a song. It’s all over the place right now, but there’s something great in there. I just have to find it.

  “Hello?” I hear from behind me. At first I kind of just grunt over my shoulder. I’m too immersed in my own world. But when I hear my name, I knit my brows closely together and spin on the padded bench toward the voice. It’s Naomi. I open my mouth in surprise and flinch when the pencil falls from between my teeth. Fumbling, I manage to catch it and place it on top of my papers. I completely forgot I told her to come here so I could take photos and update the website.

  “Oh shit. What time is it?” I splutter, gathering all my bits of paper and sliding them inside a book. I’m not ready to show anyone this song yet, so I’m scrambling to get myself together.

  “I have one just like that,” she notes, walking toward me and touching the keys lightly. Her mouth pulls up at the corner, and a wistful look passes over her face as she taps one key creating a gentle ping. “What are you working on?”

  “Um… nothing – yet. It will eventually be a song though,” I tell her, trying to laugh it off as I pick my notes up from the seat next to me and place them on top of the piano. Even though I don’t mean it this way, she takes it as an invitation to sit down. Her body brushes lightly against mine, and I move just enough to make a space between us. I don’t know why, I just need that gap there.

  “I heard a little bit of what you were playing. It was really nice.” She positions her fingers on the keys and starts to play the tune I’ve been working on. Hearing her play it seems strange since it’s only been coming from me so far, and it’s not finished yet.

  At first, I’m not sure how to react. Initially, I want to push her away and slam the cover down over the keys. But of course I don’t – give me a little credit. I’m not that much of a jackass.

  Why is that my first instinct? Well, because she’s playing my piano. The one that I don’t let anybody touch. On top of that, she’s just walked in and plucked the song from the air and without any need for practice, she’s playing it perfectly. I shouldn’t be shocked at this, but it’s a little disconcerting. Especially when I wasn’t ready to show anyone yet.

  I’m glad I don’t go with my instinct though, because she adds a little something to the ending that is the exact melody it was missing.

  “That’s it!” I gasp, quickly grabbing my note book to jot the notes down. “Play it again,” I tell her as my pencil hovers over the lined page.

  As she repeats the melody, my hand works furiously to fill in the notes. Standing up, I hold the notebook in front of me, pacing the floor back and forth as I run the tune through in my head. Grinning as I see the puzzle come together.

  “How did you –” I start to ask. But I stop myself, because I already know. It’s exactly what she’s always done.

  “Do you have any lyrics for it?” she asks. Spinning around to face me. It’s then that her eyes widen a little before her cheeks flush pink and she drops her gaze to the floor.

  I stand before her, suddenly realising that I’m only wearing my pyjama pants and no shirt. Letting out an unsteady chuckle, my hand floats up and scratches the back of my head, smoothing over my hair that feels as though it’s standing up on end like a porcupine on crack.

  “Um, I’ll just go and get a shirt,” I tell her, pointing towards the door that attaches to the house. “And maybe some actual clothes,” I frown.

  “I can come back another time if that works better for you,” she calls after me.

  “Uh, no. Today’s fine. I just lost track of time. Just um… the kitchen. Coffee,” I call out, rushing toward my bedroom. Hastily, I remove my pyjamas and pull on my jeans, grabbing a shirt from the floor and sniffing it for any offending odours. It’s fine. I smell myself. Shit. I stink. “Um. I need a shower,” I yell down the hall. “I’ll be five minutes.”

  I hear her yell ‘ok’ and make my way to the bathroom for the fastest shower and shave on the planet.

  Naomi

  Theo has one of those Nespresso coffee machines that take the pods, so all I have to do is fill the compartments with milk and water and I’m ready to go. But since he’s going to take a shower, I stop making coffee and start to wander around his living areas.

  It’s interesting being inside someone’s house. Especially someone who, until twelve hours ago, seemed to not to like me that much. It’s like you get this little window into who they are. Suddenly they become more of a person than a nemesis as you start to discover common ground – like the old piano for instance.

  I’ve had one just like that since I was about fifteen. I begged my parents to get it for me. They were really loath to, because they wanted me to focus more on the violin, and they felt the electric keyboard I had was sufficient. But after playing the old piano we had in one of the music rooms at school, I loved the sound, and wanted to be able to listen to it every day.

  Slowly, I walk around his lounge and dining room, picking up books and pictures, looking at each one in turn. Theo obviously cares a lot about his family, there are heaps of photos of him with his brother, their parents, grandparents, and a fair few photos and framed articles featuring the band and their music.

  Studying the photos on a bookshelf, one in particular catches my eye. It’s slightly obscured by other frames in front of it, but the pi
cture is unmistakably identical to the one I see on the wall at my parent’s house. “Oh my god,” I gasp, reaching out to pick up the small frame.

  I study the picture, remembering the day it was taken. I was a part of a school performance where we were exploring the use of classical instruments in modern music. There are five of us in the photo. I of course, played violin, Marcus played an electric guitar, Aramis was on keyboards, a girl named Christy, used the cello as a bass replacement, and some guy with red hair that I don’t remember, played drums.

  I remember we all practiced for that performance for a solid month. I think I still have the recording of the song somewhere at home. I touch the picture lightly, running my finger over my image as I smile at the blissful look on my face. Marcus has him arm draped over both mine and Christy’s shoulders, we both look like we’re about to break out into fits of giggles. We’re flanked either side by Aramis, who stands next to me with his arms crossed and his black lips pursed, and the red-headed dude, who’s trying to look cool next to Christy.

  Grinning, I move to place the photo back on the shelf. Although, I was so engrossed in the memory that I didn’t notice Theo had come back into the room.

  “What are you doing?” he asks suddenly, startling me so that I yelp, the photo frame falling from my hands and crashing onto the hardwood floor.

  “Oh my god! I’m so sorry. I was only looking because that’s me in that photo. Shit, I’ll buy you a new frame,” I babble, kneeling down to pick up the pieces at my feet. I retrieve the photo from the wreckage and pause as I notice writing on the back. It says ‘Classically Modern Concert. November 2007. Theo, Naomi, Marcus, Christy, Damien’. “What?” I question, flinching back as Theo snatches the picture from my hands.

  “Leave it. I’ll clean it,” he demands, collecting the broken pieces of the frame roughly, then trying to carefully pick up the broken glass. “God damn it,” he yells as he nicks his finger on a sharp edge. Immediately, he sticks it in his mouth, getting up and throwing everything he collected into the rubbish.