Hammers, Strings, and Beautiful Things Read online

  “Nice try,” he said without giving me any eye contact.

  I couldn’t remember the last time Gramps was up past midnight. It was a crazy night if he was up past ten. But sure enough, there he sat, exchanging Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On” with Jim Croce’s “I’ve Got a Name” with a full glass of Johnnie Walker neat sitting on the end table.

  My heart pounded in my chest. Gramps was someone you didn’t want to disappoint, and the sixteen-year-old me thought I was so smart and slick not to get caught by Mom, Grandma, or Gramps, but here I was with a light literally shining on my face.

  “I, uh, I…”

  “Yeah, you better be stuttering. Care to share where you snuck off to?” He finally gave me eye contact, his brownish-gray, furrowed eyebrows directed sharply at me.

  Going down on Dana Bohlen, I answered in my head, and then the memory of my face in between her legs replayed, and God, I couldn’t get turned on again in front of my grandpa.

  “Just with friends,” I replied way too quickly to be believable.

  “And what kind of trouble were you and your friends up to?”

  Alcohol, weed, and orgasms.

  “Nothing. Just watching a movie.”

  He let out his loud, distinct cackle, and the memory of it pulled a smile from me. His laugh was contagious…except for when he laughed right before he lectured you. “You really think I’m dumb enough to believe my sixteen-year-old granddaughter when she sneaks back into the house on a beautiful summer night, that she just watched movies with her friends? Well, I’m not that dumb, but it’s entertaining that you think I am.”

  The man was a genius. An actual genius as a musician, a songwriter, a music producer, and as a father to his daughter and granddaughter. Joseph Bennett didn’t fuck around. I didn’t know why I always challenged him growing up when deep down, I knew the truth.

  “I had a wine cooler,” I lied, but I knew what he was looking to get out of me. I had a few wine coolers and several shots of really bad-tasting vodka, but I would rather have admitted I had a Mike’s Hard Lemonade instead of admitting that I gave Dana Bohlen an orgasm before she returned the favor. I was close with my grandpa, but not that close. Never that close.

  “Scandalous,” he said sarcastically. I was surprised by how much his strict Nashville upbringing was stripped from only two years of living in Southern California. “I always said if you’re going to drink, A: tell me, and B: stay put and do not drive. So, you broke two of those rules. Oh yeah, and you’re still grounded for getting brought home by that cop a month ago for pool hopping.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, you’re not. There’s no reason to lie to me, Blair. I trusted you. That’s why I always told you to be honest with me, and you won’t get in trouble. I don’t know why you disobeyed me when I thought we had a pretty fair agreement. You know, your grandma has gotten on my case for being this liberal with you, and now that you’ve proved me wrong multiple times in the last month, maybe I shouldn’t have these lenient rules. If you’re not going to respect them, then you don’t deserve to have them. It’s a privilege, not a right.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said again, though looking back on it, his words resonated as much as any authority figure’s words could resonate with a hormonal, broody teenager. I think it was because I knew that I was Gramps’s weakness, and maybe because we had such an abnormally close bond for a grandfather and granddaughter that I sometimes took advantage of that. It wasn’t until he was gone when I realized it.

  “One day, when you’re finally an adult, I’m going to be gone, and you’re going to remember all these stupid antics you’re up to now, and you’re going to regret them. You’re better than this. Don’t disappoint me. I didn’t raise my granddaughter to be disappointing. I raised her to be tough, independent, and most importantly, a loyal, honest, genuine person.”

  “I’ll be honest next time. I’m sorry.”

  “Good. Until next time, no phone, no computer, and I’ll finally get that security system installed, and guess what?”

  I gulped. Okay, this was getting pretty shitty. “What?”

  “I’ll be the only one who knows the code to turn it off.”

  Out came the contagious cackle as he spun around to set the Jim Croce album on the turntable.

  That memory repeated itself in my head as I stared at his huge house from the driveway. I started crying and then punched the steering wheel as I imagined going inside to see Gramps in that chair, telling me he warped through heaven or wherever the hell he was just to kick my ass for doing coke and breaking up with my girlfriend.

  When I finally calmed down and wiped my eyes dry, I walked through the mudroom, and the security system dinged to let Mom know someone stepped into the house. Yes, Gramps was really serious about that security system. He got it the next week and kept his word about being the only one who knew the code. It wasn’t until his final days when he whispered the code to me. It was my birthday. Zero five two three. The whole time, it was my birthday, and after he told me in the hospital, that infamous bellow of a laugh seeped out of him.

  He got the last laugh, and I loved it and hated it at the same time.

  Walking through the mudroom into the kitchen, I froze when I saw that end table light on, the computer chair facing the bookshelf, and music softly pouring from the record player. I blinked a couple of times, wondering and hoping that this was all a dream, and Gramps was really alive again. Maybe something happened, and I traveled back in time to when I was sixteen and had a chance to take back all the crap my petulant antics put him through.

  The chair spun around, and I found Mom holding a whiskey neat in her hands as “The Way We Were” by Barbra Streisand played. My stomach twisted hearing the song and seeing my mother’s tearstained face and puffy red eyes. It was the song Gramps sang on the piano during Grandma’s funeral when I was eighteen. The vaulted, twenty-foot ceiling echoed the melody of the song in the house that doubled in size without him in it. Mom’s dark brown eyes looked up at me through the gloss of tears.

  “I broke up with Alanna,” I said, my voice shaking from processing the scene in front of me.

  “What? Honey? Why? Why did you do that?” she said through broken sniffles.

  I gave a shrug, and I guess since the cocaine had left my system, all those emotions I buried came out in a cry.

  “Oh, hon, let it out,” Mom said. She downed the remains of her whiskey, set the glass on the end table, then opened her arms up for me. I curled on her lap despite being a few inches taller than her. But she took all my weight after letting out a small grunt and tightened her arms around me as if I was a little kid again, rubbing my back as I buried my face in her shoulders. “It’s okay to cry. Just let it out.”

  “I really miss Gramps,” I blubbered when I pulled myself away from her shoulder, noticing the tears staining her gray T-shirt. “At first, I thought he was in the chair.”

  Mom wiped away my tears. “I’m sorry to disappoint, hon,” she said with a tiny smile. “Now, tell me why you broke up with Alanna.”

  “Because look at me. I’m a fucking mess. I’m leaving in two weeks. I need to be on my own.” I ran my hand over my damp face. “God! I can’t stop crying.”

  “How about we drink some whiskey and cry together? Let it all out.”

  “I don’t need whiskey to cry when you’re playing the world’s most depressing song ever. Seriously, why are you doing this to yourself?”

  “Because it’s a great song and reminds me of my parents. Also, I need a good cry.” She tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Gramps and Grandma might be gone, but we’ve still got each other. We’ll always have each other.”

  “I’m sorry I’m leaving you in two weeks.”

  “Honey, don’t apologize. You’re going on tour with Reagan Moore. I might be in my mid-forties, but even I know that she’s a big deal. I’ll be fine. Now, come on. Let’s have a glass together and maybe turn this off and listen to Jim Croce.
”

  That garnered a grin from me. “I love Jim Croce.”

  “Me too. It reminds me of my dad.”

  She kissed my temple, and after fixing us both a drink, she continued to hug me as if I was a little kid as opposed to a soon-to-be twenty-four-year-old, but I let her. After months of taking care of her and Gramps, I needed someone to scoop me up and hold me, and since I snipped Alanna free from doing that, I turned to my mom, my best friend, my rock, my everything.

  Chapter Two

  “Oh my God, my openers are here!” Reagan Moore exclaimed into her mic right as we took in the sight of the Las Vegas arena. In the midst of rows of folding chairs that made up the floor seats stood her enormous stage emerging from the concrete floor.

  Her stage definitely proved we were all about to embark on a world tour with how massive it was. It took up the whole width of the arena, extending three-fourths of the way up to the ceiling and at least a quarter of the length of the floor. Plus, behind Reagan Moore and her band was a giant LCD screen for computerized digital effects and to show the close-up of her face while she performed.

  This was the kind of stage every aspiring musician dreamed of performing on.

  She looked so little in comparison to it, and when she found us soaking in the stage for the first time, she carefully hopped off, which had to have been more than a six-foot drop, but she did it without a grunt. Reagan Moore’s head of wavy light blond hair bounced gracefully as she speed-walked over to us. Man, those magazine covers and billboards didn’t do her beauty justice. That glowing smile of hers pinned me to the floor, and I wasn’t sure if I was experiencing being starstruck or realizing that Reagan Moore had one of the most beautiful smiles I’d ever seen. Her face was free from makeup, her stud nose ring was in the same spot as my hooped one, and she wore a plain black V-neck and aqua track shorts, so the beauty was nothing but pure.

  She first pulled our manager, Corbin, in for a hug, and then as she hugged Miles, her dark blue eyes met mine. That was when my armpits started sweating. Her facial features were so delicate, and her eyes were so soft that I don’t think she had the ability to ever hurt anyone. I’d met her once about a year ago at a label party Gramps’s business partner hosted at his house, and I didn’t remember sweating. Even though back then we only exchanged pleasantries, somehow, I made it through that first conversation without armpit sweat.

  After greeting Miles and Corbin, she opened her arms for me and took me in as if I was a longtime friend. “It’s nice to see you again, Blair. How are you doing?”

  When she broke the hug, her stare held sympathy, and I almost missed it because I was too busy smelling her designer perfume. She smelled as beautiful as she looked.

  “Pretty good,” I responded, which was half true. At this particular moment, knowing that in four hours, the place would be packed with roughly thirteen thousand people and Miles and I would perform our first ever show in a sold-out arena, life was pretty good. Gramps would have wanted me to focus on this, not the crap outside, so I would push away my grief for him.

  Her hand landed on my shoulder. “I’m glad. And I just want to say that I’m so sorry to hear about your grandpa’s passing. I was fortunate enough to have met him a couple of times, and he was always so kind and funny.”

  “Thank you. Yeah, he was a pretty amazing guy.”

  “I’m glad you’re doing okay, though. I’m so excited to have you guys come on tour with me. I think you both are absolutely brilliant.”

  “And we feel the same way about you,” Miles said. “We can’t wait until we get on that stage.”

  “Well, I’m done sound checking, so she’s all yours now. Oh, and after your sound check, we’re having a feast. Come hungry. There will be champagne.”

  “You don’t need to ask us twice,” I said.

  “I’m gonna go shower up, but I’ll see you two in an hour!”

  * * *

  Reagan Moore wasn’t lying when she said they were having a feast. It made sense because she had to feed her opener, her band, her dancers, and all of her crew. And that meant about fifty people. Yes, fifty people, which made sense when I saw the fleet of buses that came with her. Reagan Moore came with a stage that took up practically half an arena floor, eight sleeper buses, four tractor trailers, and a whole army.

  Four long tables of every single kind of food I could imagine stretched across the entire wall. Sandwiches, fruit, vegetables, salads, and cases upon cases of water. Her manager, Finn, informed everyone to grab a flute of champagne for a toast. Her army separated into cliques, her dancers in full concert makeup and coifed hair circled around each other with small plates of food since they were about to endure an hour and a half of dancing. The stage crew in their black T-shirts loaded up on sandwiches after all the hauling and setting up they already did for the day.

  As Miles, Corbin, and I fixed our plates, my eyes fixed on Reagan Moore as she entered the room and eyed all the food in front of her. I couldn’t control myself from scanning her head to toe. Her blond hair with loose, natural waves cascaded down to breasts that were slightly revealed by the dip in her long-sleeved, sparkly black bodysuit that ended right at her bikini line. And if that revealing black bodysuit wasn’t enough to kick-start impure thoughts, she wore black knee-high boots to highlight the toned legs her bodysuit accentuated. The blue in her eyes popped even more from the dark dusting of her eye makeup. My lips parted as her beauty swept me up in a hazy cloud, and once I realized my mouth was open, I closed it and swallowed.

  And then without warning, she turned around and met my gaze, and that was when I realized Miles and Corbin weren’t beside me anymore.

  “You skipped out on the salad?” she asked and looked up at me with a teasing grin. I stood there, heat attacking my cheeks, forgetting what I even put on my plate despite the fact I was just at the food table thirty seconds before. “What?”

  She pointed to my plate, free from any sort of vegetable but loaded up with tiny sandwiches, fruit salad, and a nice handful of potato chips. “No salad. I caught you.”

  “Oh, yeah, I kinda hate vegetables.”

  “Seriously?” She acted as if I told her I hated ice cream, which was way more shocking than someone hating vegetables.

  “I mean, carrots are cool.”

  “Carrots are cool? I didn’t know a vegetable could be cool.”

  Who said vegetables were cool? God, how she repeated my lame comment made it seem as if she really thought I was lame. And I didn’t blame her. But the grin still firmly intact made me wonder if she found my dumb carrot comment endearing.

  “Yeah…I didn’t know that either until I said it,” I said shamefully.

  She laughed. “Wanna go join Miles and Corbin at the crew table?”

  We ate with a handful of guys from the crew, all built as if they could do some heavy lifting. I caught Miles eyeing one of the guys who had to be around our age: styled brown hair, a scruffy five o’clock shadow, with long, thick eyelashes and gray eyes. I knew exactly where his mind was.

  “Down, boy,” I whispered to Miles.

  He snapped his attention to me. “What?”

  “I see you drooling.”

  He wiped his mouth as his cheeks turned pink. “I’m not drooling.”

  But he was. He went back to eating his salad, but I still caught him ogling. When I moved to LA, Miles Estes was the first friend I made. We had first period history together, and I’d smelled the remnants of stale weed emanating from him, which I didn’t expect coming from this skinny kid with a kind, fresh face, rocking black skinny jeans and a gray sweater over a white collared shirt. He looked too straight edge. I asked him if he had some, and he told me to meet him under the football bleachers during lunch. That was how our friendship started. But then once we were comfortable enough to ask about each other’s dating life, I found out Miles was bi at the same time he found out I was a lesbian, and both of our eyes lit up as if we had just found our person. At fourteen, we didn’t know a
lot of people who were out, so knowing that we were queer really solidified our friendship.

  His eyes lit up with the bearded crew guy the same way they lit up when he found a gay friend.

  “Okay, maybe a little,” Miles admitted when he took a sip of water. “He has really nice eyelashes.”

  After we all ate, Reagan grabbed her champagne flute and stood on her chair. “Hey, guys! I’d like to make a toast,” she said over the chatter.

  But my gaze went straight to those sexy legs and black knee-high boots. She circled her attention around the room. “So, tonight is the big night,” she said, and everyone in the room “wooed” and clapped. “Ten months of planning this tour and working tirelessly to perfect every note, every dance move, every light, the stage, and it’s finally here, and I couldn’t be more grateful to have all of you by my side. This tour wouldn’t be possible without you. This show is sold out, over thirteen thousand people are going to be in that arena tonight. Take in all the sights and sounds. Live in the moment because we’re so lucky that this is what we do for a living. We’ll look back on these days when we’re older and wish we could relive all of this. We’ll remember the friendships we made on this tour, the smiles on the fans, the energy running through us. Don’t take this for granted. Enjoy every second of it. And to my wonderful opener.”