her smile. I could write a song about it.
“You don’t suck at this,” she says. “And I’m kind of a fucked-up mess myself.”
“Not like I am.” I glance at the picture of her mom on the wall. “Sorry. I shouldn’t presume to know how you feel.” I laugh. “I’m apologizing a lot today. Can I buy you a pizza and we’ll call it even? No strings, no expectations. Just two co-workers going to dinner.”
“Co-workers?” She looks at the couch. “You had your hands on my boobs, Crew. I think we’ve moved past co-workers.”
“Yeah.” I chuckle. “I think we moved past that a long time ago.”
She palms her keys. “Let’s get that pizza and let this sink in for a while. We’ll concentrate on the music. Get the last few songs written. The rest—whatever it is—can wait.”
Hearing that, it’s like a weight has been lifted. I grin when she picks up her notebook on the way out. We’re a lot alike. I think about someone else who was a lot like me. But before guilt consumes me, I recall what Mom said. Abby would want me to be happy. I know she would.
I wonder what Bria would think of some of my earlier music. The songs I sang when I was in Naked Whale. Would I be betraying Abby if I showed some of the stuff to Bria?
I’m not sure I could do it. It’s too private. We’re nowhere near there yet.
“There’s a great place down the block,” Bria says. “Their pizza is to die for. Garlic crust, loaded with veggies. Sooooo good.”
I look up and down the dilapidated street. “You sure you don’t want to go somewhere else?”
She gives me a biting glance. “You mean someplace nicer.”
“I was thinking someplace safer.”
“You think stores don’t get robbed on the Upper West Side?”
“I’m sure they do, but not when I’m walking by them.”
“You really don’t get out much, do you?”
“I get out,” I say defensively.
“Crew, this is my neighborhood. That’s not changing anytime soon unless I win the lottery or RA hits the top of the charts.”
I let out a big sigh as we pass a few thug teens on the street, looking at Bria like she’s a piece of filet mignon. “I don’t have to like it.”
“You don’t, but I do, and that’s enough.”
We reach the establishment, which is not as bad as I imagined. I hold the door open for her. The proprietor greets her like they’re old friends.
“Hey, Tony,” she says. “I’ll have the usual.” She turns to me. “It’s fully loaded, you okay with that?”
“Sure, and a Budweiser.”
“Bud Light for me, please.”
“You kids take a seat. I’ll bring it to you.”
Bria leads us to a table in back. “I wrote a song about my brother.”
“I think they call that incest,” I joke.
She play-hits me on the arm. “Shut up. Do you want to see it? I’ve never sung it in public.”
“Definitely. I’d love to see anything you’ve written.”
She smiles. “Yeah—same.” She opens her notebook and leafs through the pages. It’s an early one. The title of it is ‘Big Blue Door.’ “I wrote this when I was fifteen, so don’t be too critical. It’s got a pop/country beat.” She hums the tune to put it in my head.
I read the lyrics.
If you run in will you come out
It’s the thought I think about
Every time you walk out that big blue door
That big blue door
(chorus)
That big blue door is where we live
Where we fight, where we forgive
That big blue door is where I go, the only place that I call home
Will you come through I wonder each day, or like her will you go away
I read the rest of it, captivated by her words. “Wow, that’s powerful. Has he seen it?”
“He’s the only one who has until now.”
My eyes snap to hers. “Seriously?”
She crosses her chest. “True.”
“I’m honored.”
Tony comes over with our beers and a basket of bread. “Writing songs again, eh? I can’t wait to tell everyone I served you pizza when you become famous. Hey, maybe you could give me a shout-out to drum up business.”
“Sure,” Bria says.
He saunters away, whistling.
Bria takes a drink. “I showed you mine, now you show me yours.”
I mentally go through a dozen songs in my head, not coming up with a single one I want her to see. I pull my notebook protectively into my lap. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about work tonight.”
Her face falls. “Okay, but I’m not sure we’ve ever talked about anything else. How about