All in all, it’s just a comfortable home suitable for one person. He says he would have gathered a condo or a loft or something, but privacy and proximity to the film studios dictated this location, and this was the smallest place he could find with the requisite privacy and security needs. And as he’d mentioned before, he doesn’t own it.
He makes us omelets and bacon, and as promised, the omelet is the best I’ve ever had. We sit outside and eat in the shade, drink coffee, and talk. It feels…adult, to me. Just sitting, eating, and talking.
I couldn’t even tell you what we talked about, the whole morning. An endless array of things. The wandering conversation of two people utterly at ease with each other. There’s no hurry, no drive to do or go or anything. Just be with each other.
By the time we consider rousing from the backyard, it’s nearly lunchtime.
“You want to go somewhere? Tour of LA? I could show you the studios where I’m working, currently, and I’m sure we’d run into some people you’d recognize. There’s usually someone around.”
I shrug. “Meh. Maybe later.” I glance over my shoulder at the back of the garage. “I kinda want to play around in your studio.”
He grins and stands up. “That studio is the whole reason I chose this place, and believe it or not, I’ve never actually used it. I mean, I’ve gone in there a few times and dinked around, but I’ve never…” His grin fades a little. “I haven’t used it properly.”
I take his hand and stand up with him. “Well, now’s as good a time as any, right?”
The studio is small and cozy. There’s a couch in the recording booth, along with a stool underneath the microphone. I take the ukulele and play with the tuning while Westley chooses a guitar from the rack; he selects an acoustic, dark brown with lighter brown streaks in it. When he plucks a few strings to test the tuning, it’s clear from the rich tone that it’s an expensive custom guitar.
“What do you want to play?” he asks.
I shrug. “I dunno. You pick.”
“Hold on.” He goes into the mixing booth, perches on the edge of the chair at the mixing board. “Give me a little run real quick.”
I strum and sing a run up the scale and back down, and Wes fiddles with the settings or whatever goes on in the mixing booth. Seemingly satisfied, he returns to the couch and sits down with me, settles his guitar back on his knees. He strums the strings idly a few times, gaze into middle distance, and then his fingers begin picking a melody.
“I need this old train to break down…”
He can’t know about this song. Can’t.
I play along, and my voice rises to find the harmony. I close my eyes and sing with Wes, let the music wash over me, let it roll me along.
Let it roll me under. Push back the memories that try to rise up from the melody.
When the last chord fades, my eyes remain closed and I’m breathing slowly, working to keep my emotions under wraps.
“Jo?” Wes, concerned.
I shake my head. Clear my throat. “I, um. When I was twelve, I was, um, really sick. Like in Cheyenne, but all the time. You’re seeing me go through the process of cancer but without the super happy fun times of chemotherapy and radiation.” I idly pluck a little tune while I think, while I talk. “There was this kid in the ward with me. Jeremy—Jeremy Allanson. A couple years older than me, and I had a major crush on him. My first crush, actually. And he, um, he played Jack Johnson literally all the time. We’d get our infusion chairs pulled really close together so we could share his earbuds and we’d play album after album. But, ‘Breakdown’ was his favorite.” I swallow hard. “He was the one who got me into the ukulele. Taught me the first couple chords. ‘Breakdown’ was his, like, anthem.”
Wes wipes his face with one hand. “Jeez, Jo, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories. I just thought—it’s a happy song, and a thoughtful song, and I’ve always liked the meaning behind it.”
“It’s okay, you couldn’t have known.” I blink hard. “I played it at his funeral.”
He tweaks his A string tuning a smidge. “You pick.”
I smile. “Got one. Hopefully you don’t have any bad memories with this one.”
I start in on “Lucky” by Jason Mraz and Colbie Caillat. For a moment or two, he just stares at me, and I wonder if he’s maybe never heard it or something. And then, he laughs. Abruptly, and loudly.
“No.” He shakes his head, putting his face in his palm. “No!”
I stop playing. “You do.” I huff a laugh. “I literally picked this at random—it’s another one Jeremy and I used to play together a lot.”
He’s still laughing, face in his hands, guitar across his thigh, shoulders shaking. “Alessa and I…this was our song.”
“Shit. I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head. “It’s fine. Our breakup was hard, obviously. We didn’t want to, we liked each other, but we knew it was best for both of us. So it wasn’t, like, a heartbreak. I actually have a lot of great memories with this song. I just think it’s really freaking funny that you chose this song, of all songs, at random. Clearly, we have either really good or really bad luck with this game.” He picks up playing the song. “I actually haven’t heard it in a while.”
I eye him. “Are you sure?”
He smiles. “Absolutely. It’s a great song and it’s fun to play.” When I join the melody with my uke, his grin spreads. “Alessa doesn’t have a musical bone in her body, so we could never duet this song together. I’m actually really happy you picked this, because now I get to duet with you and make new and even better memories with this song.”
A pause.
“Is that weird?” he asks.
I shrug, shake my head. “No, not really. I get it.”
“I just don’t want you to think I’m, like, nostalgically reminiscing about Alessa or anything.”
My heart does a little flip flop, and I take a moment to really examine my feelings. “I mean, it’s okay if you are thinking about her, a little. You’re not with her, and you’re not getting back together with her, right?”
He shakes his head emphatically. “No, she’s with someone else, for one thing.” He smiles at me. “And so am I.”
“So you’re just fondly remembering part of the past. It’s not, like, longing for something you want back. It’s just…‘yeah, that was nice.’”
He nods. “Exactly.”
He gestures at me, and I start in on the melody; after a few measures of just me and my ukulele, Wes joins with his guitar, his lower notes complementing my ukulele’s higher voice. Another few measures of intro, and then Wes sings the first lines. It’s higher in his register, but not so much that he has to strain to hit the highest notes. His voice is smooth and rich, layered with lush tonality, and soulful. I know the song well enough that I can close my eyes and sink into it, play the chords and wait for my vocals.
I haven’t done a duet with anyone since Jeremy passed away, and it feels…painful, somehow. Like stretching a sore muscle. This was a song Jeremy and I used to do together, both of us on ukes. I can almost hear his voice, but instead it’s Westley. My soul responds. Rises to the moment, weaves itself into the music.