THIRTY-THREE
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DANTE
My hands gripped the edges of the music stand as I stared at the microphone. Headphones covered my ears, muffling the outside world but amplifying the erratic sound of my own breathing. A quick glance through the window showed Phil in his usual place at the mixing console, a frown hardening his features. Behind him, Roger stood with crossed arms, his gaze locked on me as he grew more and more frustrated by our lack of progress.
The two men had met for the first time that morning. Neither had seemed impressed by the introduction and they spoke only when necessary. I’d ignored the thinly veiled animosity between them. Whatever their problem with each other was, I had my own issues to deal with.
Bile rose in my throat and I grabbed a nearby water bottle. The cool liquid did little to alleviate the acidic sting. Acid was bad for my voice. So was lying.
Lies are too easy to spot.
I’d said those words to Sean once. I hadn’t realised how true they were until now, when I was attempting to make betrayal sound like truth.
“Do it again.” Roger’s voice resounded in the headphones and I looked up to see him with one hand on the console. “And this time try to sound like you mean it.”
My gaze dropped to the sheet of rewritten lyrics. It had taken the better part of a week to alter three songs. Roger had been right about one thing. I hadn’t recognised the depth of the masculine imagery I’d layered into the original words. Changing them involved more than the simple switching of descriptors or pronouns. Women didn’t look, move or act the same as men, they didn’t love the same way men loved. One wasn’t better or worse than the other, but I’d experienced both and they were… different.
I’d retreated to the recording studio to work each day, unable to face my patch of sunlight on the patio. The thought of ravaging my own creativity in the same place I’d given birth to it was more than I could bear. Each night, after the work was done, I’d escaped into Sean’s arms, drowning in his kisses and wallowing in the husky sweetness of his sighs.
As the days passed, the disconnect between my daytime work and my night time passions became more and more difficult to ignore. In many ways, my life had always suffered from this sort of compartmentalisation. Acceptable emotions versus unacceptable. Public facade versus private self. Reality versus fantasy. I’d managed to exist somewhere between the two, never quite fitting into either. At times, I’d seemed like two different people sharing a single body.
Coming to the retreat had upset the delicate balance of that life. I’d learned to be honest with myself here. To understand my thoughts and behaviours in ways I’d never felt free to contemplate before. The person I’d spent so many years tearing apart had healed here and become whole.
Now, as I reread the words fear had composed, I recognised them for the bullshit they were. I would never be able to sing these lyrics like I meant them. Because I didn’t mean them. I never would.
All this time, I’d worried about revealing my cowardice if the truth came out. But how many cowardly actions was I willing to take in order to prevent my own unmasking?
The future as it stood now loomed before me. Months of forcing Sean to sneak around behind people’s backs. Of not being able to touch him in public. Of going to events alone when all I wanted was to have him by my side. I would have to go on stage night after night and perform songs I’d personally butchered, all the while wishing I’d had the courage to release them as they were meant to be. Would I willingly do all that for the sake of a facade created by someone else? A facade I’d outgrown long ago, but continued to hide behind? What part of that wasn’t cowardly?
I shook my head as I heard the opening bars of the song play in my ears. “No. I won’t do it.” Wrenching the headphones off, I put them on their holder and headed for the door. “I’m not doing this,” I declared as I stormed into the control room.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Roger snapped.
“It means I’m not changing the lyrics. Not a single word.” My gaze held his as I said the words that had been too long in coming. “I’m going to finish the album the way it was meant to be, and you’ll release it as I give it to you, or not at all.” Movement out of the corner of my eye drew my attention to Phil, who attempted to smother a grin. “Sorry, Phil. I’ll need a few days to sort myself out before we start again.”
“Don’t mind me,” he said, holding his hands up. “I’ll be ready when you are.”
“Dante,” Roger snapped. “Can I have a word with you in private?”
With a curt nod, I left the studio and rounded the back of the main house. Bursting through a side gate, I walked out to the patio. Sunlight streamed down onto the tiles and I stepped into its warmth. My lungs expanded as I breathed in the freshness of the air.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Roger yelled as he came up behind me, face red and chest heaving with exasperation. “Of all the stupid ideas you’ve ever had, this one takes the cake. Do you have any idea what this is going to cost you?”
“Yeah, I do,” I said with a laugh, “and I don’t care. Stupid it may be, but this is something I need to do. I refuse to spend the rest of my life pretending to be something I’m not.”
His teeth ground together as he glared at me. “Your precious Grey put you up to this, I suppose. I know you’re sleeping together. You have all the grace of a wombat when you try to sneak about at night.”
“You’re damned right we’re together and that’s the way we’ll stay.” A wide smile spread across my face and I let it come. “I’m in love with him, Roger. I love him the way you loved Mum.”
His chin lifted, and he regarded me through narrowed eyes for a long time. Then, seeming to have come to a decision, he rolled his eyes. “There’s no help for it, I suppose. You’re a grown man now, fully capable of making your own mistakes, and too old to be clipped over the ear if I disagree, more’s the pity.”
“Clipped over the ear?” I repeated, appalled by his flippant phrasing. “Is that how you remember it?”
His chest puffed out and his hands fisted by his side. “I was hard on you, yes, but no harder than my own father was on me.”
I released a sad laugh. “Well, as long as the abuse is intergenerational, it must be okay.”
