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Ariel
"I don't think this is going to work out," I admit to Emily what has been bubbling inside me all day.
"Why do you say that?" Emily lifts a hand to block the sun from her eyes and presses back onto her elbow onto the beach towel.
We've finally made it to the beach. I close my eyes, tilt my head back, and let the rays of the sun warm my face. It's the first time I've felt I could breathe all day.
"You said Adam's song nearly brought you to tears." Emily tosses back my words at me. An admission I shared when we chatted during her lunch break. After chasing Adam out of the studio this morning, I spent two hours alone with his song. A song which Adam claims he's written for my use, but in the process has written an opus that is more about me than I care to admit.
He claims not to know me, yet every word in the song resonated. Spoke an inner truth that feels personal.
"You asked them to give you a different sound, and they have," Emily continues to point out all the reasons she thinks the week is going fine.
I have to remind her of the one reason it's not. "I wasn't looking for a new sound. That was a made-up excuse to get them out here. To find out if one of them could be a replacement for Manuel. A permanent replacement in the band."
"And now you have the best of both worlds."
"It's a double-edged nightmare," I whisper to myself and bite my tongue. I don't dare tell her that every time I'm alone with Adam, I will him to kiss me. I'll be old and gray if I hold out any hope of him taking charge and being bold. "I need to get laid." I twist and turn my attention to a group of shirtless guys flinging a frisbee a few yards away.
Emily's tongue peeks out, and she giggles. "You certainly got plenty of options for that here. Eeny meeny miny moe…" She points to each of the guys, working her fingers down the line.
Each of them is attractive in their own way—mid to late twenties, fit, and they have friends, which means they have some level of social graces.
"Do you think I need a different sound?" The unexpected question slips across my lips before I realize it.
Emily pushes up, her arms wrapping around her knees. She presses a cheek against the knee and ponders my query. "One of the many things I've always admired is how, no matter the song, you make it yours." She brushes the sand off her knee and blinks at me. "Do you remember when you sang "Freak Like Me" in Cleveland?"
A smile pulls on my face with the happy memory. It was ten years ago at our biggest concert to date. Our band was one of six opening acts at an event at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. We wanted to impress and only had twenty minutes of stage time. We knew going in that we'd be lucky to have ten fans in the audience who knew our songs, so we threw in the cover from Halestorm. Emily made the trip for moral support, and I never tire of hearing her version of the story.
"I rushed you the minute the song ended and screamed you needed to record that song. You owned that crowd. You had the entire hall rocking and singing with you."
A giggle escapes my lips. "That's because the song was already a hit, and everyone knew it. Everyone but you."
Emily waves a hand at me. "I don't care. You were the first one I heard sing it; therefore, it will always be your song. But you're missing the point, babe. Other groups did covers that night, but outside of the headliner the crowd never rocked like that. It's because they felt you. You connected with the song, and it became you."
I nod, completely understanding what she means. Our entire band is the same way. We only play the music we want, the ones we connect with. It's what makes us unique.
"With you, it's always about the music," Emily repeats the mantra I've spoken to her a hundred times.
I consider Adam's song. "It is a beautiful song," I let the admission slip.
"From a beautiful soul." Emily's gaze lowers to the sand. Her manicured toes dig in deep. "Do you know he's counseling girls in music? His sister is starting up a scholarship camp next summer."
I shake my head. "No. He's never mentioned it." After his family band disbanded last summer, his sister and brother both struck out on solo careers. I assumed Adam was taking a break and would soon follow in their footsteps.
Damn. We've been attached at the hip for days and now, I realize every conversation has been about either me or the music.
Not every minute. The one time he opened up about his past, I ended up in the arms of his brother.
"I think you intimidate him," Emily says, and I feel ten times worse. I'm familiar with my unapproachable reputation. There's so much nonsense I have to deal with as a woman in this industry. I embrace it most days. But it's just a smoke screen. One to keep the unwanted away.
Most people in the industry get it. Why doesn't he? I hide my disappointment with attitude. "Most men have a problem with strong women."
"You're right, but not Adam. You've told me about him and his sister, and she's kind of a big deal."
The frisbee floats near us, and I wish I could float away just as easily. "When did you become the head of the Adam fan club?"
"Guys like that don't come this way every day. Especially in your line of work."
