Heart Shaped Spotlight

“For the next few days, I’m going to butt in. I don’t want you wasting time writing a love song about a cockroach, or something in another language. I think you might need some babysitting right now.”

“You’re right. Thank you.” My voice sounded lower, and hollow.

Over the next few hours we had the TV show approve my idea for the split album, four new songs sketched out to the point that Dave said they were good and marketable, and the next three songwriting rehearsals scheduled.

Productivity helped to get my mind off my misery for at least a few minutes at a time. I was able to take a full breath. My skin was too tight and my limbs were heavy, but breathing fully was a start.

Dave stood up, grabbing his phone from where it was plugged into the wall, and stuffing the charger in his jacket pocket as he checked his messages.

“I have to go, but the night shift is on the way up.”

My eyes were locked onto a piece of paper, trying to decipher a scribble I likely made in the middle of the night. “Hmm?” I wasn’t sure I heard him right.

He went to the door, and opened it to show Lora with her hand raised, about to knock. He grabbed the guitar case from her hand and brought it in. She pulled off the shoulder straps of her bass case, leaning it against the wall.

“Acoustic songwriting and arran

gements tonight,” she said, taking Dave’s spot on the couch.

“It sounds like there are four songs under construction here, plus the two he had already sent you guys," Dave said. "Once he has played you all six songs, and you've confirmed that they sound marketable to your ear, order dinner. If you two can get scratch tracks to the rest of the band tonight, that would be amazing."

I almost laughed that he was addressing Lora instead of me. It was pathetic that they thought I needed supervision. On the other hand, it was truly touching that I had people to lean on, and who would force their help on me without asking.

“Got it," she said. "I'll also send you a quick report after rehearsal tomorrow, once we have the songs arranged. Do Love Rockers have to approve the content?"

Dave’s sandy hair tilted back and forth for a second. "Legally, not exactly, but since we are running a bit behind, it would be courteous to send them a thorough update as quickly as possible. We don't want them to lose faith in the project, and we're already doing something weird by using two different bands."

"Okay," Lora said. "I'll make sure that we have fully arranged scratch tracks, a title, and I'll type up most of the lyrics, or at least the choruses. That should be enough to give them the flavor of each song, right?"

"Absolutely," Dave said.

"Does he need another coffee?" Lora asked Dave.

"Jesus Christ, I'm right here,” I snapped. Then I laughed. A big messy childish laugh that sent me into a coughing fit.

"There he is," Lora said, sliding her arm around me to hug me and smack me on the back while I choked.

"I'm out of reach for a few hours, but you can text me later tonight if you need to," Dave said. "Nate, you are a trooper to keep on working. Focus as much as you can, and Lora has the authorization to kick your ass as much as needed."

"Thanks, guys," I said, rolling my eyes. Then I turned to Dave. "Seriously, thanks, man. I really appreciate you taking care of all of the details and legal crap."

"That's what a manager and best buddy is for," Dave grinned, grabbing his leather shoulder bag and slipping out.

We pulled out the guitars and got straight to work, singing and playing quietly so as not to disturb other guests. After we got two songs in relatively good working order, Lora raised her arms straight up in the air, stretching out her shoulders. Then she laughed. "I swear, you are the only guy on the planet whose eyes never land on my boobs."

"Not true. I helped you fix a necklace once, and they were right there."

"That's because they're everywhere," she giggled. We set the guitars down, and I went to get us a couple of glasses of water.

"How are you hanging in?" she asked softly.

Slumping back onto the couch, all I could do was sip my water then shrug. "If I think about it, it hurts to breathe," I whispered.

"Oh my God, you poor thing," she said, reaching out to squeeze my knee. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's not much to say. Apparently, I'm not the one for her."

Her finger tapped on my jeans until I turned to look at her. "Are you positive that's the problem?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.