Life & Times of Rob Pattinson (Chapter Four - Thalia)
Now we're getting into individual encounters. The first is with Thalia, because I'm lazy and chose the easiest character to do first--mine! Haha. Okay, I want to say beforehand...anything that you think seems romantic IS NOT. Rob's fascination with all of the women is purely intrigue--he's never met anyone like any of them before. So in this chapter, if he stops to study Thalia or marvels at something about her, it is just because she is interesting to him. It will be the same for the other three girls too. I am NOT playing favourites with my own character!
The crap-ola lyrics in this chapter are, once again, lyrics I wrote for a local band. The lyrics suck, I know, but I didn't feel like writing new ones, so nyeeh.
And besides all that...enjoy!
“When are you getting back to town?” Rob pressed his mobile closer to his ear as he walked to his car, waiting for an answer. He’d overslept because of last night’s late homecoming and for that reason didn’t get off set until mid-afternoon, which caused him to miss a lunch-date with a good friend of his who was leaving for Montana in about…ten minutes. He felt horrible.
“Three weeks,” the somber voice on the other end told him.
He popped his car door open, but paused, “Oh. That long? I am so sorry-I suck.”
“It’s all right,” the voice assured him, “You can make it up to me when I get back.”
“Uh oh,” he smiled, sliding into the driver’s seat and sliding his key into the ignition, “Now, what does that mean?” She always seemed to come up with the most creative ways of getting back at him when he screwed up. Ways that weren’t really vengeful, but definitely a teasing sort of retaliation. Dress shopping. Chick-flick marathon. And his least favourite: Thai food.
“Thai food.” He groaned as she spoke the words, though he’d been expecting them, “And dancing afterward.” He started to protest, but she cut him off, “Three weeks, Rob-and I won’t even get to see you before I leave.” Damn, damn, damn. She was too good at guilt-tripping him. Not that it was necessary, because he folded to pretty much anything she wanted anyway. She was the closest thing he had to a best friend, and his loyalties ran deep. If she’d asked him to go to Montana with her, he probably would have asked for leave from his movie right then and there. In his head, a voice told him it wasn’t just friendship driving him to such loyalty, but he wouldn’t acknowledge this. He couldn’t afford to read into things like that-couldn’t afford to risk ruining things between one of the few true friends he actually had. Maybe, if stronger friendships formed with the women from last night, he would permit himself to examine those feelings. But not yet. No, he couldn’t do that yet.
“Fine,” he sighed, pulling out on the street and starting his usual downtime, aimless drive. “But you have to wear that blue dress you hate-because it looks stunning on you, no matter what you say-and you aren’t allowed to yell at me if I step on your feet.”
“Am I allowed to hit you?”
“Not unless I break your toe.”
She pretended to sigh in reluctance at this, “Fine,” she grumbled, “I suppose that’s fair.” Then she laughed, but stopped short, “Oh, my plane is boarding. I’ll call you when I get to my hotel, okay? Bye, beautiful boy.”
“All right, then-bye, gorgeous girl.” He flipped his mobile shut and sighed, turning a corner and searching for a shoppe that would serve as an adequate distraction for a while, until something else came up. Maybe he would call one of the women. Maybe he would call a different friend or two. Maybe he would make plans to do some extra PR work. The decision was made for him twenty minutes later, as he sat by the window of a little coffee shoppe, when his mobile began to chime the tune of Duran Duran’s “Falling Down.”
“Hullo?” He answered with a bored sigh-how was it possible to be so bored in Los Angeles?
“Huh, hey I was wrong,” a female voice answered, though she seemed to be speaking to herself. “It is his real number.” Then, to him, she said, “Pattinson? It’s Thalia…Azure? From Antrim?”
“Oh?” He sat up a little straighter, “Hey, Thalia-I was actually thinking about calling later.”
“Yeah? About what?”
“Hadn’t gotten that far yet.”
“Ah,” she laughed lightly, seeming less hard and indifferent than she had in person. Talk about your phone personalities. “Well, listen-I know this is a long shot, but are you busy right now?”
“Right now?” He looked down at his empty coffee cup and the shredded napkin that encircled it. He tilted his head thoughtfully, “Not too terribly-why do you ask?”
There was a clanking sound, which Rob assumed was her putting glasses away at the bar. “Well, one of the bands from last night called me this morning and hired me to write a song for them. Trouble is, they need it by tomorrow night and I’m not sure of how well I’m really doing with the lyrics so far. Normally, in these instances, I’d ask Dreyton, but he’s in New York helping a friend with an off-Broadway musical and I don’t really know any other songwriters. So basically,” she sighed, “What I’m saying is, could you help me out?”
Rob glanced down at his watch. 1430. As long as he didn’t stay for longer than nine hours, he wouldn’t have to worry about getting little sleep and waking up late. And he wanted to see Thalia again, and help her out if he could. He was in a bit of a writing slump himself-“Break” had just been revised a tiny bit from the original version he wrote during his last year of secondary school-but he was sure he could at least give her constructive criticism. She must have mistook his silence, because she added, “Feel free to say no. I know you’re busy, and I can probably get this done with or without you. It was just a thought.”
“Oh, no,” he said quickly, “No, I want to. Are you at the bar?”
The clanking sound stopped, “I don’t live at the bar, Pattinson; I’m at my apartment. But I could meet you at Antrim, if you’re more comfortable-“
He shook his head, though he knew she couldn’t see this action. “No, I can come to your place. I’m sorry-I tend to assume things, and I tend to be wrong in my assumptions.” He slipped his jacket back over his long, wiry arms and stood, “Do you want me to go home for my guitar?”
“My brother is Dreyton Azure,” she replied in monotone, as if his question was ridiculous. “Our guitars have their own bedroom. And, god help me, I wish I was joking.”
“Point taken,” Rob laughed. He was already halfway to his car, keys jingling in his hand. “How do I get to your place?”
“Do you have GPS on your phone?” He affirmed this. “Okay, I’ll just message you the address.” She did then, and they rang off. Rob flipped his phone over the study the directions that appeared for him, and slipped into his car. He hadn’t been living in L.A. for too long, and some of the streets were still unfamiliar-Thalia lived in some upper-middle-class suburb he’d never heard of, and it took him almost a half hour to find it, though it was only about ten minutes away from where he’d started out. Suffice it to say, when he finally found her front door and knocked, he was a little aggravated. This aggravation melted away, however, when the door swung open to reveal an unfamiliar version of a woman who, in herself, was still unfamiliar. This wasn’t the dark and defensive Thalia from Antrim-not this girl wearing a white, cotton camisole over faded blue jeans, striped hair falling in natural waves to her shoulders, wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. For a moment, Rob wondered if he was meeting the Yin twin to Thalia’s yang. Then she opened her mouth.
“You get lost?”
He rolled his eyes and stepped past her as she moved aside, inviting him in. Her apartment was large and open, free of clutter, but still cozy and inviting. The walls were white, as were the curtains and most of the furniture-it was a very innocent, bright place and not at all what Rob had been expecting. As if sensing his reaction, Thalia insisted, “It’s all Dreyton-he’s very into brightness.”
“But you aren’t.” It wasn’t a question.
“No, not at all, but,” she looked around, head tilted, “I actually kind of like the apartment the way it is. It’s easier to think like this; easier to get inspired.” She gestured for him to sit on the plush, paper-white wraparound sofa.
He settled in with a laugh, “Ah, were that the case, you wouldn’t need me here.”
She raised an eyebrow at him, then smirked a little. It wasn’t a smile, but it was something. “Good point.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, to the kitchen just beyond the living room, “You want anything to drink before we get started? I haven’t been shopping this month, so all we really have is coffee, but it’s the gourmet kind.”
He thought about this for a moment-white room. Everything completely pure and clean and sparkling. Coffee was dark and he had a tendency to get distracted and uncoordinated when he was working on music, so it probably wasn’t the best choice of drinks. Still, he smiled and nodded in encouragement, and Thalia disappeared into the kitchen. She came back a few minutes later with a cup in each hand, setting them on the glass coffee table before disappearing again. This time, she returned with a cherry wood acoustic guitar and a short keyboard-she handed the first to him and then settled in on the couch, laying the second instrument across her knees. She reached toward the coffee table and picked up a notebook, flipping it open and then sighing, as if to acknowledge the beginning of work.
“Okay, so the band that hired me is called Sober On Sundays-they were the ones playing when Delaney poured half a glass of beer over the edge of the balcony, remember?-and they’re an all-girl alt-rock band, originally from Monterey. They want a song about breaking up with a guy that you really love, but know he’s not right for you in the long run, and so on and so forth.” She rolled her eyes in clear abhorrence of this cliché. He didn’t blame her. “Unfortunately, I’ve never had a break-up like that, so I’m not sure if I’ve even got the right emotion to the words. Add that to the fact that writer’s block has decided to glue itself to be like my own personal bodyguard, and I am completely useless.” She stabbed the notebook furiously with a pen and growled quietly.
Rob had to press his lips together to keep from laughing. Not at her words, but by the fact that she was saying them. This was the first time he’d heard her speak so much, and also the first time he’d ever seen true emotion in her face, and hear it in her voice. So she’s not a robot, he noted silently, knowing that saying these words aloud would probably cost him a few teeth and a perfectly angular jaw. “I’m sure you’re doing fine-what have you got so far?”
She sighed through her nose and clicked her keyboard on, then tapped a few keys. It was a simple sound-slow and incomplex, and Rob could tell that she wasn’t an overly-skilled pianist-but it sounded nice enough. Like a lullaby. Then she started singing, and Rob had to admit, he was a little surprised. He hadn’t been expecting her to be tone-deaf-after all, he’d heard her sing part of the jingle last night, and it wasn’t bad-but he wasn’t expecting her to actually be good. Her voice had a slight husk to it, similar to his, and she kept a steady pitch without a lot of tricky vocal tricks, and he found that he had to force himself to focus on her lyrics.
“What would you say,” she hummed quietly, “If I said I’m leaving today? I know it’s without warning, but it’s what I’ve got to do. What would you say if I said this is the way it has to be? I know I owe you more than that, but you’ve got to think this through.” Her fingers stuttered over a key before picking up their regular pace. She didn’t even react. Her brother had taught her to be a true musician. “I’m sorry-I know it don’t make much sense. I won’t blame you if you want to chalk it up to circumstance. But I’ve got to go, and you’ve got to know: It’s really for the best I say goodbye.”
Her hands moved a moment longer before stilling against the instrument. “So, um,” she started as Rob stared at her blankly for a long moment. He didn’t even realize he’d wandered off-he’d become so focused in studying her as she sang. Her crystalline eyes shone under fluttering eyelashes, her eyebrows pulled together in deep concentration, her spine straightened and her alabaster cheeks turned an endearing shade of pale pink. She was staring back at him now, expectantly, “That’s all I’ve got so far.”
Huh? Oh! He blinked, finally pulling himself from his stupor. “Right-very good.”
She scoffed, not believing him, but didn’t comment. Instead, she told him, “I’ve only got the first verse. I have no idea about the chorus or second verse or bridge or anything. And I know the music needs a ton of work. I just,” she pulled a hand through her hair, tossing the striped locks so they hung at awkward angles, “I really need the money, so I took the job without even thinking about my writing problems lately.”
He looked around, confused. This apartment was fantastic. It was very large, located in a good neighbourhood, and filled with things Rob doubted even he could afford. “You need money? Isn’t your brother one of the highest paid songwriters in L.A. right now?”
She steeled her gaze on him, eyes serious and strong. “I intend to earn everything I have-I don’t ever want to give anyone a reason to say ‘you owe me; you couldn’t have done it without me.’” She blinked and that stunning emotion was gone, and she tugged her notebook over to the cushion between her body and his so he could see the sloppily-printed lyrics and simple chord indications scribbled in above them.
Very quietly, Rob told her, “I understand that,” and then leaned over to study the lyrics, not forcing her to elaborate any further on her self-sufficiency. He cleared his throat and got back to business, tuning the guitar before plucking a few strings. “All right-I think the first verse is good as is. You may not think so,” he said in a rush when she scowled at him, “But it is going to sound like Shakespeare next to those Silverstein lyrics they were singing last night.
“Now,” he began strumming the same tune on the guitar, then added a few chords and quickened the pace just a little. “On the second verse, it should go backward-tell the reason for leaving. Like…” his brow furrowed in thought for a moment before he tried, “Don’t misconstrue-I’m still in love with you. Everything I said was true, and it prob’ly always will be.” He licked his lips and looked up at Thalia, who was watching him, nodding encouragingly. Not wanting to let her down-wow, when was the last time he’d worried about letting a singular person down?-he quickly wrote another line in his head. “Don’t misunderstand-I’m dying to take your hand and play through this a better way, but I can’t afford the subtlety.” He kept strumming the pre-chorus loop, but turned his head to face Thalia, waiting.
Finally, she pursed her lips thoughtfully, “Hm… I think my verse was better.”
Out of all the things he’d been expecting, that wasn’t one of them, and Rob faltered on the guitar strings as silent laughter shook his body. He stilled himself before the guffaws could actually sound, and forced a straight and offended face. “I didn’t come here to be insulted! If that’s how you’re going to be, maybe I should leave!” And then she did it again-that thing these four women seemed to do so well…she stared at him. No emotion painted her face, nothing twinkled behind her eyes. It was just plain indifference. For once, he had people that weren’t desperate to please him; people that wouldn’t lie to him to protect his fragile feelings. So, silently, he added, “Or maybe not.”
She rolled her eyes and nudged him with her elbow-their first physical contact. “You’re a terrible bluffer.” He had to tighten his lips to keep from gasping. He was an actor, acting was what he did, yet she’d been able to see through his façade and know he wasn’t genuine about leaving. Before he could comment, she’d picked up her notebook and was adding his lyrics under hers. “Okay, how about, for the pre-chorus…” She gestured for him to start playing again, and he did. “I’m sorry-I know it’s unexpected; tearing down this whole damn world that we’ve constructed. But you’ve got to see, it’s not just for me: It’s really for the best I say goodbye.” Rob nodded and Thalia wrote, then they read the lyrics together and began editing. Adding, subtracting. Vocal math. A search for the perfect equation. This + this = heartfelt. This * this = cheesy.
Of course, the conversation shifted slowly, fading from the task at hand to random topics as they got to know each other. Before either of them realized, two hours had gone by and they’d stretched out on the couch and inhaled a pot and a half of coffee, instruments forgotten on the floor. They talked about their first-ever celebrity crushes-John Cusack and Katherine Hepburn, respectively. They talked about their favourite musicians-“Ani DiFranco,” was Thalia’s quick and definitive choice, while Rob had to think for a while before stating simply, “I don’t have one.” They also talked about the other women from Antrim.
“I really like Louise,” Thalia told him as she returned from the kitchen yet again, two cups of coffee in hand and a plate of odd-looking pastries balanced across them. “I actually called her this morning and caught her before she had to go to class-she’s really interesting, once she stops being so shy.”
“I never doubted that,” Rob insisted sincerely. He picked up one of the pastries from the plate and pinched it between his fingers, examining it closely, “What is this?”
She took one and popped it into her mouth, “Mung pastry-try it.” He did, taking a small bite. All at once, a dry, sweet taste coated his tongue and almost melted before he could swallow it. It was delicious, and he took another bite to finish it off, asking Thalia what “mung pastry” was. “Exactly how it sounds,” she said casually, eating another, “A pastry filled with mashed mung beans.” His expression must have read something of horror, because she laughed and the sound was almost as melodic as her singing, “It’s a sweet bean paste-it’s nothing weird.”
He wrinkled his nose at her, but took another pastry nonetheless. He settled back against the pillow cushions and sighed, “So…Lindsay seems very cool.”
Thalia nodded in agreement. “Yeah, and that Delaney-she’s something else.”
“That’s putting it modestly.”
“I like her.”
“Me too.”
--
1945. How was it possible that he’d spent four hours at Thalia’s apartment? It had barely felt like one. He’d been having such a good time, getting to know her, laughing with her, writing with her. He’d been surprised when she’d announced it was “almost seven-thirty” and she “had to get her ass to work.” He’d been reluctant to leave her company and the comfort of her black-hole of an overstuffed couch, and judging by the way she dragged herself up at a snail’s pace, so was she.
“Thanks for helping out,” she’d said at the front door as he walked toward his car. “I’ll try to get the chorus finished tomorrow and then it’ll be done.”
He’d nodded, fiddling with his keys. “Call me and let me know how it goes over with the band.”
“I will,” she’d promised, and he believed her. If he’d learned anything in those four hours, it was this: Thalia Azure didn’t have many reasons to lie.
The crap-ola lyrics in this chapter are, once again, lyrics I wrote for a local band. The lyrics suck, I know, but I didn't feel like writing new ones, so nyeeh.
And besides all that...enjoy!
“When are you getting back to town?” Rob pressed his mobile closer to his ear as he walked to his car, waiting for an answer. He’d overslept because of last night’s late homecoming and for that reason didn’t get off set until mid-afternoon, which caused him to miss a lunch-date with a good friend of his who was leaving for Montana in about…ten minutes. He felt horrible.
“Three weeks,” the somber voice on the other end told him.
He popped his car door open, but paused, “Oh. That long? I am so sorry-I suck.”
“It’s all right,” the voice assured him, “You can make it up to me when I get back.”
“Uh oh,” he smiled, sliding into the driver’s seat and sliding his key into the ignition, “Now, what does that mean?” She always seemed to come up with the most creative ways of getting back at him when he screwed up. Ways that weren’t really vengeful, but definitely a teasing sort of retaliation. Dress shopping. Chick-flick marathon. And his least favourite: Thai food.
“Thai food.” He groaned as she spoke the words, though he’d been expecting them, “And dancing afterward.” He started to protest, but she cut him off, “Three weeks, Rob-and I won’t even get to see you before I leave.” Damn, damn, damn. She was too good at guilt-tripping him. Not that it was necessary, because he folded to pretty much anything she wanted anyway. She was the closest thing he had to a best friend, and his loyalties ran deep. If she’d asked him to go to Montana with her, he probably would have asked for leave from his movie right then and there. In his head, a voice told him it wasn’t just friendship driving him to such loyalty, but he wouldn’t acknowledge this. He couldn’t afford to read into things like that-couldn’t afford to risk ruining things between one of the few true friends he actually had. Maybe, if stronger friendships formed with the women from last night, he would permit himself to examine those feelings. But not yet. No, he couldn’t do that yet.
“Fine,” he sighed, pulling out on the street and starting his usual downtime, aimless drive. “But you have to wear that blue dress you hate-because it looks stunning on you, no matter what you say-and you aren’t allowed to yell at me if I step on your feet.”
“Am I allowed to hit you?”
“Not unless I break your toe.”
She pretended to sigh in reluctance at this, “Fine,” she grumbled, “I suppose that’s fair.” Then she laughed, but stopped short, “Oh, my plane is boarding. I’ll call you when I get to my hotel, okay? Bye, beautiful boy.”
“All right, then-bye, gorgeous girl.” He flipped his mobile shut and sighed, turning a corner and searching for a shoppe that would serve as an adequate distraction for a while, until something else came up. Maybe he would call one of the women. Maybe he would call a different friend or two. Maybe he would make plans to do some extra PR work. The decision was made for him twenty minutes later, as he sat by the window of a little coffee shoppe, when his mobile began to chime the tune of Duran Duran’s “Falling Down.”
“Hullo?” He answered with a bored sigh-how was it possible to be so bored in Los Angeles?
“Huh, hey I was wrong,” a female voice answered, though she seemed to be speaking to herself. “It is his real number.” Then, to him, she said, “Pattinson? It’s Thalia…Azure? From Antrim?”
“Oh?” He sat up a little straighter, “Hey, Thalia-I was actually thinking about calling later.”
“Yeah? About what?”
“Hadn’t gotten that far yet.”
“Ah,” she laughed lightly, seeming less hard and indifferent than she had in person. Talk about your phone personalities. “Well, listen-I know this is a long shot, but are you busy right now?”
“Right now?” He looked down at his empty coffee cup and the shredded napkin that encircled it. He tilted his head thoughtfully, “Not too terribly-why do you ask?”
There was a clanking sound, which Rob assumed was her putting glasses away at the bar. “Well, one of the bands from last night called me this morning and hired me to write a song for them. Trouble is, they need it by tomorrow night and I’m not sure of how well I’m really doing with the lyrics so far. Normally, in these instances, I’d ask Dreyton, but he’s in New York helping a friend with an off-Broadway musical and I don’t really know any other songwriters. So basically,” she sighed, “What I’m saying is, could you help me out?”
Rob glanced down at his watch. 1430. As long as he didn’t stay for longer than nine hours, he wouldn’t have to worry about getting little sleep and waking up late. And he wanted to see Thalia again, and help her out if he could. He was in a bit of a writing slump himself-“Break” had just been revised a tiny bit from the original version he wrote during his last year of secondary school-but he was sure he could at least give her constructive criticism. She must have mistook his silence, because she added, “Feel free to say no. I know you’re busy, and I can probably get this done with or without you. It was just a thought.”
“Oh, no,” he said quickly, “No, I want to. Are you at the bar?”
The clanking sound stopped, “I don’t live at the bar, Pattinson; I’m at my apartment. But I could meet you at Antrim, if you’re more comfortable-“
He shook his head, though he knew she couldn’t see this action. “No, I can come to your place. I’m sorry-I tend to assume things, and I tend to be wrong in my assumptions.” He slipped his jacket back over his long, wiry arms and stood, “Do you want me to go home for my guitar?”
“My brother is Dreyton Azure,” she replied in monotone, as if his question was ridiculous. “Our guitars have their own bedroom. And, god help me, I wish I was joking.”
“Point taken,” Rob laughed. He was already halfway to his car, keys jingling in his hand. “How do I get to your place?”
“Do you have GPS on your phone?” He affirmed this. “Okay, I’ll just message you the address.” She did then, and they rang off. Rob flipped his phone over the study the directions that appeared for him, and slipped into his car. He hadn’t been living in L.A. for too long, and some of the streets were still unfamiliar-Thalia lived in some upper-middle-class suburb he’d never heard of, and it took him almost a half hour to find it, though it was only about ten minutes away from where he’d started out. Suffice it to say, when he finally found her front door and knocked, he was a little aggravated. This aggravation melted away, however, when the door swung open to reveal an unfamiliar version of a woman who, in herself, was still unfamiliar. This wasn’t the dark and defensive Thalia from Antrim-not this girl wearing a white, cotton camisole over faded blue jeans, striped hair falling in natural waves to her shoulders, wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. For a moment, Rob wondered if he was meeting the Yin twin to Thalia’s yang. Then she opened her mouth.
“You get lost?”
He rolled his eyes and stepped past her as she moved aside, inviting him in. Her apartment was large and open, free of clutter, but still cozy and inviting. The walls were white, as were the curtains and most of the furniture-it was a very innocent, bright place and not at all what Rob had been expecting. As if sensing his reaction, Thalia insisted, “It’s all Dreyton-he’s very into brightness.”
“But you aren’t.” It wasn’t a question.
“No, not at all, but,” she looked around, head tilted, “I actually kind of like the apartment the way it is. It’s easier to think like this; easier to get inspired.” She gestured for him to sit on the plush, paper-white wraparound sofa.
He settled in with a laugh, “Ah, were that the case, you wouldn’t need me here.”
She raised an eyebrow at him, then smirked a little. It wasn’t a smile, but it was something. “Good point.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, to the kitchen just beyond the living room, “You want anything to drink before we get started? I haven’t been shopping this month, so all we really have is coffee, but it’s the gourmet kind.”
He thought about this for a moment-white room. Everything completely pure and clean and sparkling. Coffee was dark and he had a tendency to get distracted and uncoordinated when he was working on music, so it probably wasn’t the best choice of drinks. Still, he smiled and nodded in encouragement, and Thalia disappeared into the kitchen. She came back a few minutes later with a cup in each hand, setting them on the glass coffee table before disappearing again. This time, she returned with a cherry wood acoustic guitar and a short keyboard-she handed the first to him and then settled in on the couch, laying the second instrument across her knees. She reached toward the coffee table and picked up a notebook, flipping it open and then sighing, as if to acknowledge the beginning of work.
“Okay, so the band that hired me is called Sober On Sundays-they were the ones playing when Delaney poured half a glass of beer over the edge of the balcony, remember?-and they’re an all-girl alt-rock band, originally from Monterey. They want a song about breaking up with a guy that you really love, but know he’s not right for you in the long run, and so on and so forth.” She rolled her eyes in clear abhorrence of this cliché. He didn’t blame her. “Unfortunately, I’ve never had a break-up like that, so I’m not sure if I’ve even got the right emotion to the words. Add that to the fact that writer’s block has decided to glue itself to be like my own personal bodyguard, and I am completely useless.” She stabbed the notebook furiously with a pen and growled quietly.
Rob had to press his lips together to keep from laughing. Not at her words, but by the fact that she was saying them. This was the first time he’d heard her speak so much, and also the first time he’d ever seen true emotion in her face, and hear it in her voice. So she’s not a robot, he noted silently, knowing that saying these words aloud would probably cost him a few teeth and a perfectly angular jaw. “I’m sure you’re doing fine-what have you got so far?”
She sighed through her nose and clicked her keyboard on, then tapped a few keys. It was a simple sound-slow and incomplex, and Rob could tell that she wasn’t an overly-skilled pianist-but it sounded nice enough. Like a lullaby. Then she started singing, and Rob had to admit, he was a little surprised. He hadn’t been expecting her to be tone-deaf-after all, he’d heard her sing part of the jingle last night, and it wasn’t bad-but he wasn’t expecting her to actually be good. Her voice had a slight husk to it, similar to his, and she kept a steady pitch without a lot of tricky vocal tricks, and he found that he had to force himself to focus on her lyrics.
“What would you say,” she hummed quietly, “If I said I’m leaving today? I know it’s without warning, but it’s what I’ve got to do. What would you say if I said this is the way it has to be? I know I owe you more than that, but you’ve got to think this through.” Her fingers stuttered over a key before picking up their regular pace. She didn’t even react. Her brother had taught her to be a true musician. “I’m sorry-I know it don’t make much sense. I won’t blame you if you want to chalk it up to circumstance. But I’ve got to go, and you’ve got to know: It’s really for the best I say goodbye.”
Her hands moved a moment longer before stilling against the instrument. “So, um,” she started as Rob stared at her blankly for a long moment. He didn’t even realize he’d wandered off-he’d become so focused in studying her as she sang. Her crystalline eyes shone under fluttering eyelashes, her eyebrows pulled together in deep concentration, her spine straightened and her alabaster cheeks turned an endearing shade of pale pink. She was staring back at him now, expectantly, “That’s all I’ve got so far.”
Huh? Oh! He blinked, finally pulling himself from his stupor. “Right-very good.”
She scoffed, not believing him, but didn’t comment. Instead, she told him, “I’ve only got the first verse. I have no idea about the chorus or second verse or bridge or anything. And I know the music needs a ton of work. I just,” she pulled a hand through her hair, tossing the striped locks so they hung at awkward angles, “I really need the money, so I took the job without even thinking about my writing problems lately.”
He looked around, confused. This apartment was fantastic. It was very large, located in a good neighbourhood, and filled with things Rob doubted even he could afford. “You need money? Isn’t your brother one of the highest paid songwriters in L.A. right now?”
She steeled her gaze on him, eyes serious and strong. “I intend to earn everything I have-I don’t ever want to give anyone a reason to say ‘you owe me; you couldn’t have done it without me.’” She blinked and that stunning emotion was gone, and she tugged her notebook over to the cushion between her body and his so he could see the sloppily-printed lyrics and simple chord indications scribbled in above them.
Very quietly, Rob told her, “I understand that,” and then leaned over to study the lyrics, not forcing her to elaborate any further on her self-sufficiency. He cleared his throat and got back to business, tuning the guitar before plucking a few strings. “All right-I think the first verse is good as is. You may not think so,” he said in a rush when she scowled at him, “But it is going to sound like Shakespeare next to those Silverstein lyrics they were singing last night.
“Now,” he began strumming the same tune on the guitar, then added a few chords and quickened the pace just a little. “On the second verse, it should go backward-tell the reason for leaving. Like…” his brow furrowed in thought for a moment before he tried, “Don’t misconstrue-I’m still in love with you. Everything I said was true, and it prob’ly always will be.” He licked his lips and looked up at Thalia, who was watching him, nodding encouragingly. Not wanting to let her down-wow, when was the last time he’d worried about letting a singular person down?-he quickly wrote another line in his head. “Don’t misunderstand-I’m dying to take your hand and play through this a better way, but I can’t afford the subtlety.” He kept strumming the pre-chorus loop, but turned his head to face Thalia, waiting.
Finally, she pursed her lips thoughtfully, “Hm… I think my verse was better.”
Out of all the things he’d been expecting, that wasn’t one of them, and Rob faltered on the guitar strings as silent laughter shook his body. He stilled himself before the guffaws could actually sound, and forced a straight and offended face. “I didn’t come here to be insulted! If that’s how you’re going to be, maybe I should leave!” And then she did it again-that thing these four women seemed to do so well…she stared at him. No emotion painted her face, nothing twinkled behind her eyes. It was just plain indifference. For once, he had people that weren’t desperate to please him; people that wouldn’t lie to him to protect his fragile feelings. So, silently, he added, “Or maybe not.”
She rolled her eyes and nudged him with her elbow-their first physical contact. “You’re a terrible bluffer.” He had to tighten his lips to keep from gasping. He was an actor, acting was what he did, yet she’d been able to see through his façade and know he wasn’t genuine about leaving. Before he could comment, she’d picked up her notebook and was adding his lyrics under hers. “Okay, how about, for the pre-chorus…” She gestured for him to start playing again, and he did. “I’m sorry-I know it’s unexpected; tearing down this whole damn world that we’ve constructed. But you’ve got to see, it’s not just for me: It’s really for the best I say goodbye.” Rob nodded and Thalia wrote, then they read the lyrics together and began editing. Adding, subtracting. Vocal math. A search for the perfect equation. This + this = heartfelt. This * this = cheesy.
Of course, the conversation shifted slowly, fading from the task at hand to random topics as they got to know each other. Before either of them realized, two hours had gone by and they’d stretched out on the couch and inhaled a pot and a half of coffee, instruments forgotten on the floor. They talked about their first-ever celebrity crushes-John Cusack and Katherine Hepburn, respectively. They talked about their favourite musicians-“Ani DiFranco,” was Thalia’s quick and definitive choice, while Rob had to think for a while before stating simply, “I don’t have one.” They also talked about the other women from Antrim.
“I really like Louise,” Thalia told him as she returned from the kitchen yet again, two cups of coffee in hand and a plate of odd-looking pastries balanced across them. “I actually called her this morning and caught her before she had to go to class-she’s really interesting, once she stops being so shy.”
“I never doubted that,” Rob insisted sincerely. He picked up one of the pastries from the plate and pinched it between his fingers, examining it closely, “What is this?”
She took one and popped it into her mouth, “Mung pastry-try it.” He did, taking a small bite. All at once, a dry, sweet taste coated his tongue and almost melted before he could swallow it. It was delicious, and he took another bite to finish it off, asking Thalia what “mung pastry” was. “Exactly how it sounds,” she said casually, eating another, “A pastry filled with mashed mung beans.” His expression must have read something of horror, because she laughed and the sound was almost as melodic as her singing, “It’s a sweet bean paste-it’s nothing weird.”
He wrinkled his nose at her, but took another pastry nonetheless. He settled back against the pillow cushions and sighed, “So…Lindsay seems very cool.”
Thalia nodded in agreement. “Yeah, and that Delaney-she’s something else.”
“That’s putting it modestly.”
“I like her.”
“Me too.”
--
1945. How was it possible that he’d spent four hours at Thalia’s apartment? It had barely felt like one. He’d been having such a good time, getting to know her, laughing with her, writing with her. He’d been surprised when she’d announced it was “almost seven-thirty” and she “had to get her ass to work.” He’d been reluctant to leave her company and the comfort of her black-hole of an overstuffed couch, and judging by the way she dragged herself up at a snail’s pace, so was she.
“Thanks for helping out,” she’d said at the front door as he walked toward his car. “I’ll try to get the chorus finished tomorrow and then it’ll be done.”
He’d nodded, fiddling with his keys. “Call me and let me know how it goes over with the band.”
“I will,” she’d promised, and he believed her. If he’d learned anything in those four hours, it was this: Thalia Azure didn’t have many reasons to lie.