Kingston and Ivanenko look at Copeland as though she hung the moon, each bringing the hand they’re holding to their mouth, and kissing the back of it. She beams at them in turn as though she did in fact hang the moon, just for them.
Copeland then turns back to me and stares me down, as though waiting for, or expecting, some kind of challenge. None is forthcoming, because, poignant though her words are, none of them were needed in order to tell the story she told.
That was the most major thing that struck me when I walked into the room to start the interview. The love emanating from the three of them—the sheer, raw, unadulterated chemistry buzzing between them in all directions—was so strong that if an emotion could manifest into solid matter it would have surely been a fourth person in their ‘throuple.’
Not that anyone is obliged to justify who and how they love, but I’d defy anyone who spends even the smallest amount of time with these three people to see their connection as anything other than love in its purest and most perfect form.”
“There’s more stuff about the album and tour and all that shit, but that’s the bulk of the most interesting stuff. Not that your album and tour aren’t interesting, but you know what I mean.” I did, and in this context, I didn’t give a fuck about those other things.
“Holy. Shit.”
“You got that right.” Deone grinned, and reached for the bottle of wine to pour us a top-up.
I was sure as hell going to need it.
Chapter 22
King
With everything out in the open, and the three of us living in unwedded bliss—fucking whenever, however, and as often as the mood took us—life was good. In fact, it was beyond good, it was fucking perfect.
Not only that, but with all the pent-up tension, jealousy, and rage of the previous few months suddenly lifted from our shoulders, hearts and minds; where creating together had been more painful than pulling teeth for a little while along the way, suddenly everything fell back into place, and making beautiful music together was as natural as breathing.
Where we’d struggled to write more than disparate parts of a few different songs in the preceding weeks, suddenly, without the weight of the uncertainty of our “status” hanging over our heads, the words and melodies flowed, like water breaching the banks of an overfilled dam.
We created more in a few days than we had in the previous months of fighting and frustration. Not only that, but studio time also inevitably led to sex, which was a pretty motivating factor. After we made sweet music—and sometimes before, and during—we’d make sweet love. Rinse. Repeat. We christened just about every surface in the room, and some more than once. And thus, the album Light and Shade was born.
In the end, of all the songs on the record, the eponymous Light and Shade was by far my favorite, as much for its musical perfection—and it really was perfect—as for the deeply personal and poignant meaning of the lyrics, and the way in which it came into being.
Whenever I heard the title, and the song itself, it always made me smile. And hard. I couldn’t hear that song, or even think about it without instantly sporting the boner from hell, which was no surprise, considering that creating it had been such an epically hot experience...
....Rome had been at the keys, plucking out a melody the way he often did, and Quincy was sprawled on top of it, notepad in hand, scribbling away, clearly deep in thought. Her eyebrows were knitted, and she was biting her bottom lip distractedly as she concentrated on whatever she was writing.
“Is there a storm brewing over there, Q?” She hadn’t looked up, or shown any other signs of having heard me. “Earth calling Quincy, come in, Quincy.” I put on a mock TV robot voice.
“Hmm... did you say something?” She’d blinked myopically as though she’d forgotten I was even there. “Sorry, I was deep in thought.”
“So I gathered. I shouldn’t have interrupted your flow. It’s just that you looked so goddamned cute, and I’ve spent the last hour trying to resist the urge to do this.” I’d reached out with my bow, and used the tip to lift her skirt a little.
“Aha, I thought so!”
“Hey, peeping Tom, mind your business.”
“What’s going on under your skirt is my business, is it not? Besides, you love me, and you want to fuck me, so...?”
“Okay, well, you got me there, that’s all true. I both love you, and want to fuck you, always. But right now, I also really want to finish getting these lyrics out of my head and onto the page, so can we stick a pin in it, please?”
“Can we stick a dick in it?” I’d laughed like a high-schooler. “Always, baby, you know that. Any time. Any place. Anywhere.”
“Oh my God, what was in your breakfast today? You know full well I said can we stick a pin. Lemme just do this, then I’m all yours.”
“And mine.” Rome had been watching everything from his seat at the piano—where he was still playing—keeping uncharacteristically silent throughout.
“And yours. Now for the love of God and all that is holy, can you both just let me write this fucking song? Please.”
I’d grinned, raising my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, as you were, but my boner and I will be over here, waiting and ever at your service when you’re ready.” I put the bow to the cello strings, and began playing along with Rome. Even without lyrics, the song was already sounding awesome, and given how excited Quincy was about whatever she was crafting, I couldn’t wait to hear the two together.
Half an hour later, she had finally looked up from her lyric book again. “Okay, I think I have something. I mean, it’s rough as all hell, but it’s a start, and I think it has good bones. We can work together to smooth out the creases, but yeah, I think it has legs.”
“Blah, blah, blah... Just sing the song. We’ll still love you afterward, regardless.”
Sometimes I both loved and hated Rome’s bluntness, but on this occasion he did have a point. She seemed ultra-nervous about sharing with us, which wasn’t her usual style.
She’d sat up on the piano, and crossed her legs. I failed to mention to her that she was giving us a view of what I’d verified earlier, which was that she was commando under her skirt. Sometimes honesty was overrated.
Her voice was soft and uncertain as she sang quietly.
No light without shade, no pleasure without pain
No hurt without fear, no love without you near
No highs without lows, we have a long way to go
But without your love I have nothing, no hope
* * *
I love the light and the shade, my love will never fade
I love the light and the shade, for me you were made
I love the light and the shade keeping me here
I love the light and the shade forever to be near
* * *
Light and shade are two halves of one whole
Two sides of the coin, they soothe my lonely soul
Take my love, keep it safe and warm
When I have light and shade I will always be home
“Jesus, Quin.” I was blown away.
“What he said.” Clearly Rome felt the same way. He’d even stopped messing with the piano for the first time since we’d entered the studio hours earlier.