Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
I put on some sweats, found a pen, and took a seat on my bed with the notebook. Then I read over the scene I’d been working on before dinner. I’d planned to add to it, but instead, I ended up staring at a blank page as my thoughts drifted to Malcolm.
It amazed me that we’d clicked so easily. As soon as I met him and we started tag-team embellishing that lie about needing to get to a fictitious grandma’s party, he’d felt like an old friend.
But this was clearly more than a friend connection, since our sexual chemistry was also off the charts. That had been every bit as unexpected as the rest of it.
Malcolm was complex and fascinating and unlike anyone I’d ever met. I was dying to know more about him, and I briefly considered searching for him online and reading some articles. Ultimately though, I decided against it. They’d list random facts, like how many awards he’d won, but they wouldn’t tell me what I really wanted to know.
Who was Malcolm Sterling, deep down? What did he dream about? What got him excited? What had made his creative energy dry up for almost three years?
Why did he sit at the piano at three o’clock in the morning, playing the saddest songs I’d ever heard?
The more I thought about that, the more I started to worry about him. Maybe Ginny would come over and spend the night. I hoped she would, because I hated the thought of him all alone in that enormous suite, grappling with the part of himself which had given life to that dark, haunting music.
I tried to think of an excuse to message him—something that wouldn’t make me seem needy, since I’d only left him an hour ago. Finally, I sent a text that said: I just discovered the surprise you left in my pants.
As soon as I read back over that, I followed it up with: The embroidery on the label, I mean. That sounded pretty wackadoodle out of context.
After reading the last two messages, I sent a third: This is Daniel, by the way.
And a fourth: It was a good surprise. I wasn’t texting you to complain. Also, hi. How are you?
I read all of that again after I hit send and sighed. He was going to think I’d gone home, immediately gotten smashed, and began drunk-texting.
A minute later, he replied: I’m glad you liked that. It occurred to me after the fact that you might actually find it incredibly odd. And I’m doing okay. What are you up to?
I wrote: I’m staring at a blank page. Was hoping to write more tonight, but it doesn’t seem to be happening. What are you doing?
Malcolm’s next message said: I’m lying in the middle of the living room floor, staring at the ceiling.
I dialed his number, and he answered right away with, “Don’t worry, this isn’t an ‘I’ve fallen and I can’t get up’ type of situation. I’m not quite that old.”
“I know that. But are you okay in general?”
“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. Is Ginny coming over tonight?”
“No. Her contractor is supposed to be at her house first thing tomorrow morning, so she needed to be there to let him in.”
“Why are you staring at the ceiling?”
“I started to hear a song,” he said, “but it slipped through my fingers before I could grasp it. I was waiting and hoping it’d come back.”
“What happened to composition being about math? This sounds much more freeform than that.”
“If I’m working on a big project, like an entire film score, it does involve math. I sit down and establish a set of guidelines and repeated elements, and then I make sure everything fits and makes sense within that framework.
“At other times, songs just come to me. I can actually hear the melody, sometimes even the lyrics. It feels like a gift from the universe when that happens. But they’re really ephemeral. It’s like waking up in the middle of a dream, then feeling it slip away before you can recall what was happening.”
“Tell me what you remember about this one.”
“The chorus went something like…” He thought about it for a few moments before singing, “For just a moment I, could see forever and, I thought that you and I…” He sighed. “That’s not right. I’ve lost the melody.”
“You have a beautiful voice, Malcolm. I’m surprised you’re not a performer.”
“I can’t stand getting up and singing in front of people. It’s much better behind the scenes, writing songs for others to perform.”
“That’s too bad, because you’d be amazing at it, between the songs you write, and your voice, and the way you play the piano—” Oops. I wasn’t supposed to mention that last part.
“Oh, so that’s why you’re checking up on me. You heard me last night, right? So, now you’re worried, because the songs were so dark.”