Falling Under (Falling 3)

All that happened a few days ago, and it’s been tense and difficult since then. The doctor was very clear that we couldn’t do anything until the pills had had time to get into her system, and waiting, waiting, waiting has been so hard, so impossible. We have to pull ourselves back from the edge, pull our heated fiery need back, reel in the messy drowning kisses before we get carried away and lose ourselves in each other and forget why we have to wait. We try to distract ourselves with studying for tests and finishing assignments, but it’s hard. We get lost in a delirious fervor, lose ourselves in the silence of my room, kisses stolen in her car, on my bike in a parking lot far from anywhere. A week of hungry looks, and ravenous hands, and roaming trembling bodies.

To distract ourselves, we study together, and we play music. We write songs, we learn covers, we learn how to play together, how to read each other musically, what we can do well and what we can’t. She’s teaching me to read music, which is easier than I thought it would be. And now, now finally we’re clear to do what we want.

We’re in her car, cruising through Friday late afternoon traffic, heading downtown. Kylie has a list of honky-tonks and bars she wants us to audition at. We’ve spent the last few days practicing some original tunes and a few covers. The first place is a dark sports bar off the strip. Kylie arranged the audition last week, so the manager is expecting us. He shakes our hands, introduces himself as Dan, and points at the stage. It’s a one-step-up platform in the corner of the bar, our backs to the windows facing the street. There’s a battered, scratched tan upright piano on one wall, and a couple of stools, mic stands. Kylie and I have no gear except my guitars and amp, so I haul my amp in and set it up, plug in my electric guitar, and settle on the stool while Kylie tinkers on the piano keys, testing its sound and tuning.

“That piano’s kind of a piece of shit,” Dan says. He’s a guy in his late thirties with a high-and-tight haircut, a muscular build, and a goatee. “Needs tuning. But it’ll work for an audition, I guess. Ready when ya’ll are.”

Kylie nods at me and I dig deep, nodding my head to count out the beat, and then I’m into the opening of the second song we did for the talent show. It’s a pretty killer intro solo, and when Kylie comes in with the piano and starts singing, it turns into something hypnotic. The manager is impressed, I can tell. We finish that song, and then I switch electric for acoustic, and Kylie brushes her hands across the keys as if to sweep away dust on the black and white, as if to brush away the old song to make way for the new. It’s a gesture of hers that I’ve noticed. It’s cute. I hit a muted chord three times, counting out the beat, and then Kylie comes in, playing a stripped-down version of Ed Sheeran’s “Kiss Me.” I’m the most nervous about this song. Our version of it relies most heavily on our harmony. I can play the guitar part easy enough, and Kylie’s piano is the real backbone of it musically, but hitting the right notes together at the right time…it’s hard, and I’m not super confident in my own singing. I quickly realized that when Kylie had claimed to be “decent” on the piano, she meant crazy f**king good. She does suck at guitar, though. She wasn’t exaggerating about that.

We get through the song okay, although I messed up the words in one spot.

“That was good. Real good,” Dan says. “I mean, that song in particular may not be right for the crowd we get, but ya’ll can jam, that’s for sure. Got anything a little more…country?”

I nod. “Yeah. How about ‘Cannery River’ by Green River Ordinance?”

We get a nod, and I switch guitars again. This was the trickiest song to arrange for a duet. Neither of us plays the fiddle, but I figured out a way to emulate one with my electric guitar taking the melody originally written for the violin. Kylie did the rest with a complex piece of piano composition. It sounds good, I think, but it’s up to this guy, not us.

We dive in, and I’m playing long, mournful, wailing notes, and Kylie is bent over her piano, fingers flying. The vocals are almost all me, which scares the f**k out of me. I feel my voice go shaky midway through, nerves threatening to screw me up. I close my eyes and focus on the guitar, focus on the words, suck it up and keep going.

We get a couple claps out of Dan. “That was f**king fantastic. You guys are in.” He points at me, grinning. “You almost lost it there for a second, didn’t you, pal?”

I nod. “Yeah, almost.”

He slaps his thigh and stands up from the bar stool. “Well, you pulled it off. Give me more of that, and some originals. How about three weeks from now? Thursday the twenty-first, 8 p.m. I can’t let you play past like nine-thirty unless you’re twenty-one. So give me a good performance, and we’ll see how it goes.” He squints at Kylie. “You look familiar. What’d you say your name was?”

“Kylie.”

“Kylie what?”

She obviously doesn’t want to reveal her last name, but she does. “Calloway.”

“Calloway. Shit, you’re Nell and Colt’s daughter, aren’t you?”

She sighs. “Yeah. But—”

Dan talks over her. “You were in before I knew that, so don’t think I’m hiring you because of that. Does he know you’re trying to gig?”

She shrugs. “Yeah.”

Dan nods. “Good. I’ll call Colt and talk to him. If he’s okay with it, I might let you play a bit later, in the busier bar hours. I’m not really supposed to, but since you’re Colt’s kid, I might let it slide.”

“I don’t want any special favors just because—”

Dan cuts in again. “Look, kid. This is a tough-as-fuck business. Getting any gigs at all is hard. If I were you, I’d take whatever leg up you can get. I respect that you want to do this on your own, but an in is an in. And believe me when I say that you’ll only make it so far on your parents’ name anyway. They can get you in to clubs and bars, but they can’t make the crowd like you. The crowd don’t give two shits who your folks are. All they want is good music to drink to.”

Kylie sighs, and nods. “That makes sense.”

Dan shrugs. “All right, then. See you on the twenty-first.” He hands Kylie a business card. “Give this to your dad.”

I pack up my guitars, and lug them and the amp outside and into Kylie’s car. We get in and Kylie starts the engine, then turns to me. “HOLY SHIT!” She grabs my arms and shakes me. “We’ve got our first gig, Oz!”