All of Me by Tiffany Patterson

Chapter 10

Lena

After lunch, I wasn’t quite ready to go back to the house again. The thought of staring at another blank page, with Bessie sitting in my lap silent because I couldn’t think of a single new chord to play, was too damned daunting.

Instead, I wandered the streets of downtown Harlington. The city turned out to be larger than I expected. About fifteen minutes into my exploration, I spotted a store that displayed a range of musical instruments in the window.

I felt drawn to it. The charming sound of bells sounded above my head when I pushed through the door.

“Good afternoon,” a man with a warm smile and rosy cheeks greeted me as I entered.

“Hello, are you the owner of this place?” I asked, glancing around at the guitars on the wall, the various keyboards on the left side wall, drum set in the corner, sets of speakers to my right, and so much more. While the instruments and equipment filled much of the store's space, it didn’t feel overwhelmingly cluttered.

“Sure am,” the man answered, sticking out his hand. “Name’s Bradley. Been the owner of this place for the past twenty-five years.”

“Hence the name.” I pointed toward the window behind me, indicating the name Bradley’s Musical Mayhem painted on it.

“You’re a smart cookie.” He laughed at his joke.

I smiled. “Mind if I have a look around?”

“Not at all,” he said, holding out his hand. A phone, somewhere in the store, rang. “You let me know if there’s anything I can help you find.” He hurried off to answer the call.

I took my time inspecting the displayed instruments. One of the rock guitars he had hanging up on the wall caught my attention. It was a sparkly pink and purple shade. Yet, I didn’t consider getting it.

I was more of an acoustic girl.

My problem wasn’t the guitar or any equipment. The problem was my damn brain. The more I thought about it, the more my heart lurched in my chest. My emotions threatened to peak, and I was horrified to discover my vision blurred from watery eyes.

The truth was, I felt betrayed. Not by the media or my stupid ex or anyone else. But by my mind. I’d relied on my creativity for a career, to matter in this world, and now I couldn’t do the one thing I always thought I was destined to do on this Earth.

That hurt so much more than my break up with a man I’d been with for nine years.

“Did you find anything you might be interested in?”

I wiped my eyes, surprised by Bradley’s sudden reappearance. In all likelihood, it probably wasn’t sudden. I’d gotten lost in another world.

“You’ve got a lot of really great stuff here,” I said after clearing my throat.

“Sure do. I take frequent trips to Nashville to scope out the best instruments at some retailers up there.” He paused, but after a while, snapped his fingers. “I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me when you first walked in. But it is you. You’re Lena Clarkson.”

His pale blue eyes sparkled, and I didn’t have the heart to lie to him.

I gave him a tight smile. “I think you’re one of the first people to recognize me.”

He shook his head. “Nah. Us folks here in Harlington like to mind our business. Most of us, anyway. Say, can I get your autograph?”

My stomach twisted, and I bit the inside of my cheek.

“Um, sure, but I do have one condition.”

“What’s that?” he asked, looking like he’d won the lottery.

“Please don’t tell anyone I was here.”

To my surprise, his smile widened. “That’s not a problem at all.”

He hurried off after telling me he needed to grab something for me to sign. I felt a little relieved. Bradley seemed nice.

I continued to look around the store while I waited for him to come back. That was when I spotted a full-on production set on the left-side wall’s shelf. The bundle came complete with a small keyboard, microphone, speakers, and the rest of the equipment needed to produce music.

I reached out my hand and softly ran my fingers along the ivory keys of the keyboard.

“You’re not a producer. Leave that for the men who know what they’re doing.”

I yanked back my fingers when Nate’s words echoed in my mind.

“Stick to writing and performing. Those are your talents.”

I tried to swallow but couldn’t. Again, my vision started to blur.

“Interested in that set?”

Bradley’s voice behind me startled me, and I jumped before remembering where I was.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Bradley said. “Got this for you to sign.”

“Wow,” I whispered when I spotted the CD version of my latest album in his hands.

He chuckled. “I know. Who still purchases CDs anymore?”

“So that’s where all one of my CD sales went in the last few years,” I joked, still trying to shake off that moment I had looking at the producing equipment.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“No. I still sell CDs at concerts and festivals when I perform. Though, digital makes up a much larger chunk of sales these days.”

“Naturally,” he said, dipping his head.

I took the black marker and CD case he held out to me and quickly signed it before handing it back to him.

I turned again and paused on the production equipment. Nate’s reminder that I wasn't a producer flashed through my head once more.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Bradley asked, nodding at the set. “All you need to get her up and running is a computer or tablet. Very portable. You could have her set up within an hour or two.”

I glanced over my shoulder and smiled tightly.

“Oh, I’m sure someone at your level in the industry has all of this stuff in a home studio.”

“I don’t actually,” I admitted. “I’m just here visiting. Didn’t bring all of my equipment,” I lied.

While I had instruments, I’d never invested in a full-on production set. I’d always written, and when it came time to make the arrangements, I relied on outside producers. Never had I done production on my own.

“Well, that baby runs only about four hundred bucks.”

I reached out again for the keys, gliding my fingertips over them. My throat felt tight, and mentally I told myself to walk away. To stick to my strengths. But then Gabe’s advice to try something new appeared in my head.

“I’ll take it.”

The wrinkles around Bradley’s eyes deepened when his smile spread over his face. “You won’t regret it,” he assured.

“It probably won’t make a difference.” I shrugged.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Twenty minutes after entering Bradley’s Musical Mayhem, I walked out with a brand new production set.

It was an impetuous purchase more than anything. I didn’t have any new songs that needed arranging, so it was silly to try to produce anything.

Yet, I carefully placed the set in the passenger seat of my car anyway. Fear gripped me the entire drive back to the house.

* * *

“Ouch, shit,”I yelped when the microphone stand fell over, hitting me in the head.

I sat on the floor in the bedroom vacated by Rayven. I figured the room would be perfect to set up the equipment that I’d bought earlier. Unfortunately, that plan required that I move the bed to the far side of the room to set up a desk and chair, the microphone stand, my laptop, and the rest of the equipment I bought.

When I realized that I could use an extra desk, I purchased a new one along with a chair from a local furniture store.

Those wouldn’t arrive for a few days, so I sat on the floor, doing what I could. There were wires and cables around me, going from my laptop to the keyboard, the production box, and the speakers. All of which got caught under the microphone stand … hence, why it’d just fallen.

I had to read the directions three times on how to set everything up, and I still wasn’t sure I’d done it correctly. I felt out of my depth and like a fool for even thinking I should venture down this pathway.

“Wasted four hundred dollars,” I murmured, looking around at the empty boxes, equipment, and wires strewn all about.

My phone rang for the third time since I’d been home, and again, it was a number I didn’t know. My heart sank, and I thought about sending it to voicemail, but I went against my better judgment.

“Hello?”

“Lena, where the hell have you been?” my mother demanded as soon as she heard my voice.

I cringed, and a twinge of guilt moved through my chest.

“Hey, Ma. How are you?”

“Girl, don’t hey ma me. I asked you a question.”

My eyes circled the room. “I’ve been working,” I said before clearing my throat.

“Working? Where? We haven’t seen you doing any performances.”

More guilt surged.

“Is that Lena?” my father’s voice asked in the background.

Rolling my eyes, I braced myself.

“Lena Jade Clarkson, you had your mama sick as shit worried about you.”

“Don’t try to speak for me now, you old bastard,” my mother yelled from somewhere in the background. They’d switched phones. “I was the one worried while you were out fucking one of your whores!” she screamed.

Slowly, my eyelids closed, and I let out a deep sigh.

“Hey, Daddy,” I said, trying to ignore the argument happening between them. “I didn’t mean to worry either of you.”

“Hm, hm. Had Nate calling us every damn day wondering where you are. Glad you finally gave him your number.”

I pushed out a breath. “I gave it to him only for emergencies,” I mumbled. I didn’t need to guess to figure out that Nate had given my parents my phone number.

“Well, we’re glad he got ahold of you,” my father said. “So, did you finally come to your senses and go back to him?”

“Right. Like she needs to,” my mother called from the background. “That man is too good to you for you to leave him,” she continued.

I blew out a breath. “Daddy, could you put me on speakerphone, please? I want to talk to you and Ma at the same time.”

There were some rustling noises before my father finally said, “You’re on speaker.”

“Thank you,” I started. “For the record, I want to say that I am not back with Nate. Nor will I ever be. Too much happened in that relationship for me ever to go back to him.”

“Lena, girl, it was what? Just a little cheating?” My mother sounded like my saying I’d never get back with Nate was akin to me kicking her in the face.

“It was more than cheating,” I replied.

“What? A few fights, arguments? If your father and I broke up every time we argued, we’d be apart more than we are together.”

“That’s because you two can’t order lunch without arguing,” I mumbled.

“What’d you just say?” my father asked.

“Nothing.”

“You oughta be glad that’s all that went wrong,” my mother continued. “Most women would kill to have a man like Nate. Look at what he did for your career. You would’ve never gotten to where you are on your own.”

“Gee, thanks, Ma.”

“She’s telling the truth, Lena,” my father added. The only time these two got along was when they were both telling me in one way or another that I wasn’t jack shit without Nate.

“And now, we hear you’re having problems writing another album without him,” my father said.

“See what I mean?” my mother’s voice came through again. “You acted a fool and then ran off without him, and now you can’t do the one thing that makes you money.”

I glanced down at the production equipment that I’d just bought. It stared back at me, taunting me with the fact that I didn’t know what I was doing. I had access to some of the best producers in the world. People who produced hit after hit, and I had the biggest problem putting some freaking cables together.

“Lena?” my father called. “Are you still there?”

“Y-Yes, I’m here.” I wiped my eyes and stood up to exit the room, shutting the door behind me.

“Go on and tell her, Wesley,” my mother demanded.

I paused in the middle of the kitchen. “What is it?”

“Your Mama went and spent up all the monthly payment you sent us.”

My mother started arguing with my father about his comment, which, of course, he had to argue back. Between all of their yelling, I discerned that they spent the monthly check my accountant sends on new shoes and clothes for my mom, flower deliveries, and an expensive ass watch for one of my father’s mistresses.

I’m sure there were some details I missed but I didn’t have the energy to suss it all out.

“All right, I’ll call Geri and have him transfer some more money into your account. But this is it until next month,” I told them sternly.

“Look at you, being all stingy,” my father said. “Is it because you can’t write another album? If you got back with Nate—"

“I’m writing just fine.”

“You know this money thing is just temporary,” my father said. “I’m working with this new group. The Charlettes. Once I get them trained up and ready for the stage, Imma be back in the big time like I was when I was managing you. Your mama and I won’t have to depend on you for money anymore,” he commented. There was a softness in his voice as he explained his plan.

“Okay, Daddy. I believe you.”

My father always had another group, artist, or scheme waiting in the wings.

“Are you gonna call that accountant about the money?” he asked.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Now, right? As soon as we hang up.”

“No.” I shook my head. “It’s almost eight o’clock on the East Coast.” A fact my father knew since he was in New York City along with my accountant. “He’s out of the office for the day. I will call him in the morning.”

One of them sucked their teeth.

“You’re Lena Clarkson,” my mother said. “You can call that accountant any damn time you want, and he should drop everything for you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Not tonight, Ma. First thing in the morning.”

“You know it’s not a good look to have your parents out here broke and in poverty while you live it up on some reclusive island,” she said.

“An island?”

“Yeah, Nate told us all of your business,” my father said. “Said that’s where you’re hiding out from him and everybody else.”

The kitchen counter supported me as I leaned against it and pinched the bridge of my nose. I snorted at my mother, essentially saying I was living the high life while they were destitute. Sure, if destitute meant living in a million dollar condo in the heart of Manhattan, completely paid for, with all of their monthly expenses taken care of courtesy of me.

I’d made sure to take care of my parents and set up accounts for them and everything when I started making money. It was part of my father’s reasoning for agreeing to let me move from underneath his management to Nate’s when I turned twenty-one.

“That’s not true, Daddy.”

“Then where the hell are you?” he asked.

I swallowed. “I’ll give the accountant a call first thing tomorrow morning. I have to go.”

I hung up quickly, only able to remain on the phone with both of my parents for so long before I needed to scream. I set a reminder on my phone to call my accountant in the morning to have him transfer enough money to last my parents the rest of the month.

I thought about returning to the backroom to try and finish setting up the production set before a pounding on my front door startled me.

“Who is it?” I yelled out before cursing myself for doing so. If it were a serial killer, I’d just announced myself as home and ready to be killed.

Then I gathered my ridiculous thoughts and realized serial killers don’t typically knock on your door when trying to come and kill you.

Halfway between the kitchen and the front door, I realized who it was, which was why when I pulled the door open and saw an angry-faced Gabe staring back at me, I wasn’t too surprised.

“Where’s your phone?” he demanded as soon as he stepped inside.

“In the kitchen,” I replied. “Why?”

He didn’t answer as he charged past me on his way to the kitchen. I closed the door and followed behind him. He lifted my phone and stared for a second before pinning me with his gaze.

“It’s on. Which means it’s not broken or in need of a charge.”

I gestured toward the phone in his hands. “Obviously.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you respond to my texts and calls?” His voice was stiff, clogged with anger.

I planted my hands on my hips and glared at him. After getting off the phone with my parents, feeling like a complete idiot trying to put all that production stuff together, I’d had about all the emotional ups and downs I could take.

“Who are you talking to like that?” I snapped, snatching my phone from him.

“You,” he said, not backing down. “I sent you the first text this afternoon. I came this close to sending Micah out here to check on you. But then he told me that you’d had lunch with Jodi. So, at least one person spoke to you today.”

I blinked, jerking my head backward, shocked. It took me too long to recognize that it wasn’t just anger that he was emoting.

“You were concerned about me?”

He appeared as if I was the one to shock him with my question. But I was still a little too stunned to realize that he genuinely cared.

“Why else would I rush over here after all my work meetings today to make sure you were all right?”

Despite the anger still in his voice, I let out a small smile. My grin widened when I saw the brown bags he’d propped on the counter before he’d snatched my phone off of it.

“Is that food for me?”

His eyes were slits, but he looked from the bags back to me. “Not all of it.”

“What’d you get?”

He shook his head. “I’m not sharing until you tell me what the hell you were doing all day. What had you tied up so much that you couldn’t respond to a text message?”

“I had lunch with Jodi.”

His frown deepened. “Already knew that, as I said.” He moved closer, our fronts nearly brushing together. “Where the hell were you?” His voice was so deep that it was unsettling.

Then I made the mistake of looking directly into his eyes. My stomach rumbled at seeing how dark they’d become.

“I did something stupid,” I admitted.

“What?” he asked.

“I wasted four hundred dollars.” I shrugged. “Not a lot of money, but …” I trailed off. “Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. What’d you buy?”

The words tumbled from my mouth before I could stop them.

“I bought a production set. To produce my album for the first time.” I sighed. “It was a reckless decision. I was in the music store downtown and saw it, and I bought it, just like that.

“And I’ve spent the last few hours trying to put the damn thing together, but I suck at technology and all that stuff. It was dumb and stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Gabe took my hand into his, squeezing it. It was that motion that finally got me to stop rambling.

“I would try to get my money back, but Bradley was so nice. I’d hate to return it.”

“Why would you return it?”

“Did you hear what I just said? I can’t produce anything.” I tossed my hands in the air.

“Why? Because you’re having trouble assembling it?” he asked like it was no big deal. “Where is it?”

I pointed down the hall to the bedroom.

One moment I was pointing to the bedroom, the next, I followed Gabe as he charged down the hallway to said bedroom.

“This it?” He pointed at the mess on the floor.

I nodded and watched as he got down on the floor. He looked over the directions and began fiddling with the equipment, unplugging one of the cables before screwing it in somewhere else.

I stood there and watched as he read the instructions word for word and pieced it all together. Not one complaint fell from his lips, not a grumble was made if something didn’t work right. He simply would unplug it, re-read the directions, and work out whatever the issue was before moving on to the next part of the puzzle.

Not even twenty minutes later, he’d completely assembled my production set. It was on the floor, but at least it was all put together.

“Want to give it a try?” He gestured toward the set as he rose from the floor.

It looked intimidating. As much as I longed to play with the keys on the keyboard or sing into the microphone, I just stood there. The weight of my fears kept me where I was.

“We should probably eat,” I said and backed away. “The food is getting cold.” I spun on my heels and headed toward the kitchen.

Seconds later, Gabriel’s heavy footsteps sounded as he entered the kitchen. I lifted up on my tiptoes to grab a plate, and my hand was shaking so much that I nearly dropped it. From his position right behind me, Gabe reached up, steadying me.

Slowly he guided my hand down to the counter until I released the plate.

“What’s the matter?” he asked as he leaned into my body.

Squeezing my eyes tightly closed, I inhaled deeply. The smell of his spicy cologne and his energy wrapped around me at the same time his arms did. He pulled me back against his chest.

“I haven’t eaten since lunch,” I said. “That’s all.” My voice was shaky, but I hoped he mistook the reasoning for his closeness.

“Do you always lie when you’re hungry?” he asked. “Or is it just to me?”

“I’m not.”

“You are. I can feel it in my gut.”

I pulled back and managed a smirk. “Maybe that’s your hunger.”

His eyebrow quirked.

“You’re going to need a desk for that equipment.” He motioned toward the hallway where my now makeshift studio was.

“I ordered a new one this afternoon.”

“Good.” He dropped his hands from my waist and took one of my hands in his. He brought my hand to his lips, kissing all four of my knuckles.

My insides quivered, and I sagged against the counter. That was the first time his lips made contact with any part of my body, and I craved more of it.

He lowered our still clasped hands and dipped his head so that he hovered just above mine. I held my breath waiting for the kiss. Everything I told Jodi earlier about not doing anything intimate with Gabriel Townsend flew out the window.

“You need to eat,” he said before stepping back, releasing my hand.

For the fiftieth time that day, I almost cried.

But he was right.

I needed food. We likely both did, and I needed to remember why not becoming intimate with this man, in particular, was high on my to-do list.

“You chose Chinese,” I said when I opened the bag. “It’s my favorite.”

“Good,” he said. “It’s not like you responded to my text message. So I had to decide by myself.”

I gasped when he smacked my backside. It wasn’t hard but enough to make it jiggle a little. I wasn’t a particularly well-endowed woman, but I had a little something going on back there. Something which Gabe must’ve enjoyed if the way his eyes sparkled and the mischievous grin that covered his face was an indicator.

“You go sit,” I said when he began taking out the cartons from the bag. “You brought the meal. The least I can do is plate it.”

I unpacked all of the food and brought our plates to the table along with drinks.

“You think you got enough?” I asked before setting his plate on the table in front of him.

“Wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a little of everything,” he said. “If you would’ve—"

“I know,” I said, cutting him off. “If I would’ve responded to your calls and text, blah blah, blah.” I laughed as I settled in the chair next to him.

He shrugged. “As long as you know. What are your plans for this weekend?”

“Same as every day. To write. Or try to write,” I mumbled.

“Change of plans,” he said. “I’ve got something planned for us on Saturday.”

“You have something planned already?” I asked. “What if I had made plans with someone else?”

His face darkened, and he slowly dropped his fork to the plate. “Who else do you know in Harlington besides Jodi?”

“No one.” I glanced away and shrugged.

“Exactly. And Jodi and Micah are going out of town this weekend. I knew you’d be free.”

“But I could’ve decided to go on a hike or something. Jodi says there are tons of trails around here.”

“You wouldn’t have gone by yourself, and since you didn’t ask me, I know you didn’t plan on doing any hiking. Though we can put that in the schedule if you want.”

“So, you’re essentially taking over my Saturday without even asking me.”

He shrugged. “Essentially. What’ve you got to lose? It’s one day. You can get back to your writing on Sunday. This is your muse speaking,” he joked before flicking at my chin with his pointer finger. “I’m doing my part to inspire you.”

I laughed at the amusement in his eyes. I continued to have all the doubt in the world on this muse thing. Especially seeing as I still hadn’t written a word and I was afraid even to touch my new production equipment. But the gleam in Gabe’s eyes made me want to know what he had in store for that weekend.

“Nope. You’ll find out on the day of,” he said when I tried to find out what he had planned. “Wipe that cute ass pout off your face and eat. Dinner’s getting cold.”

I glared at him but continued to eat. A million thoughts ran through my mind as to what we were going to do that weekend. Whatever it was, I hoped it helped with my writing.

Also, I had to remind myself that my spending time with Gabe was simply to help activate my creative side. Saturday wasn’t a date, not in the typical sense. I would have to think of it as an adventure—nothing more, nothing less.