“I’m sorry. I’m protective of
my work. I want to know what you really think. How’s it read to you?”
“Are you sure?” She asks once she finishes chewing.
I take a deep breath. Do I really want to hear what she has to say? “Yes.” The waitress comes back to take our order and we both keep it simple with spaghetti and meatballs.
“The way it reads to me is you were sexually attracted to this girl for the summer. You went out of your way to have sex with her and you were successful and it was a lustful relationship and it ended there.”
“It wasn’t all sex,” I say, but truthfully, it was. It was one hell of a summer if I were being honest. But I’m not going to tell her that. Although it doesn’t seem to matter she was able to get that much from the lyrics themselves.
“I mean I think you may have actually used a line that talked about the sheets or between the sheets. If that’s the message you want to send, that’s fine. I just don’t know how you expect me to sing something like that with you.”
I think about what she said for a minute. It doesn’t really make sense for her to sing the song with me. I was thinking she would take a verse and change the words a little, make it something we could both have an attachment to. Now, I’m rethinking everything I’ve ever written.
“Well, I’m glad you think my work has no meaning,” I say a little harsher than I mean. “If you’ll excuse me.”
I go to the bathroom to wash my hands and gather my thoughts. I don’t want to snap at her again. It’s not her fault. I asked her for her real opinion. I’m just too sensitive about my work. When you put your whole self into something you don’t want someone criticizing it.
I need this though, I tell myself. I need someone to call me on my bullshit and I need someone to help me make my work better. Thomas knew what he was doing by getting Ada involved, I just needed to stop being a little bitch. Music was always my passion and if I was going to make it, I needed to get a thicker skin when it came to my work.
I am making a decision right now that I must do whatever I can to make her my partner. When I go back to the table, I need to be charming and convincing this is the right move for her.
Chapter Nine
Ada
I can’t believe he just snapped at me like that. Had I realized he was that sensitive about his work, maybe I would have taken a different approach. I should have realized he was going to take offense I just talked bad about his baby. What was I thinking? I feel like it would be the equivalent of someone talking about my students or my teaching curriculum.
I shove bread in my mouth and picture it going straight to my hips. If I’m going to let him see me naked I should probably eat kale and more kale only. That’s if he would even want to see me naked after my insane breakdown. And maybe I should just keep it business. It seems that I am swaying toward singing with him. What do they always say? Don’t mix business with pleasure.
The thought of him seeing more of me later excites and terrifies me, though. Can I really keep him away? My cheeks heat up at the memory. I don’t think he bought that I’m not a virgin. The confidence I pretended to have wasn’t convincing at all.
Now he’s been in the bathroom awhile and I wonder just how angry he is at me. The salads come out and despite my earlier thought about eating better, I ask for an extra ranch. I’m a stress eater, and nothing is better than healthy food drenched in unhealthy food.
He comes back to the table and sits grabbing his napkin and fluffing it before putting it in his lap. He picks up a knife and fork and starts to cut his salad. The whole thing seems so proper I can’t help but laugh.
Charlie is looking at me like I’m insane and with a good reason. “What’s so funny?”
“You, with your proper table manners. Did you go to etiquette classes?”
“I did, my mother made me go.” He says it with surprise that I hadn’t had any. Now I feel dumb for assuming he was just being pretentious.
I look down at my salad drenched in dressing and some of it has found its way onto the table. Compared to him I’m eating like an animal. I put my fork down and compose myself.
“So, I don’t really understand why you need me to sing with you. You can write your own songs and you’re a good-looking guy. That’s basically the criteria for a success story. Tell me where I come in. Why I’m needed.” I pick up my fork and try to stab a small bite so it will go in my mouth without making a scene.
“You think I’m good-looking?” He grins and my stomach flips around.
He is a very handsome man with his wicked green eyes and well maintained styled hair. Any woman would be lucky enough to be out with him, to have his mouth on theirs. To have his mouth on their body. Suddenly my body warms up and I feel an ache low in my stomach. I tell it to stop with its ridiculous urges and shove two cucumbers into my mouth.
“Stop being modest. You know that you are. I don’t attack just anyone on my couch. They have to at least be good looking for me to maul them.” I take a large bite of salad proud that my voice didn’t crack.
He laughs and winks at me while I chomp on my salad trying not to make a scene. “So, tell me. Why does Thomas think you two need me?”
“I’m not relatable because I’m rich. People will see me as someone with money, they’ll think I bought my way up the charts somehow. Thomas is having a hard time getting them to connect with me, and he thinks you will help with that. Honestly, I do too.”
“There have to be successful singers that were rich before they went into show business.” I try to think of an example and come up with nothing. “And I don’t think you are giving yourself credit. You are very likable.”