Jude’s Song Page 3

  Jude nods slightly. “Yep. Have you ever had it before?”

  “I can’t say I have. I’ve tried lots of stuff, but fondue is not on my list.”

  Jude’s face lights up. “Tell me … how adventurous are you feeling tonight? This could be fun. I guess the only questions to be answered are: are you open to new experiences and how much do you trust me?”

  I smile shrewdly at Jude. “I’m game if you are.”

  At first, he smiles broadly, but his grin starts to fade as he studies me. “Why do I get the feeling we’re talking about more than just bread cubes and queso here?”

  “Probably because we are,” I answer, dodging the question. “I guess I can be just as mysterious. How adventurous are you feeling and how much do you trust me?”

  “I don’t know, Sirena. I’m always of two minds whenever you are near. Part of me wants to run and escape and pretend we’ve never met and the other part wants to stay and learn everything there is to know about you so we never have to part ways.”

  Instinctively, I react. “Serena? Did you forget my name? I’m Tasha. I thought you knew me better than that.”

  “I know who you are, Tasha. I cannot forget. I did not say Serena. I said Sirena, as in the one who lures me with your songs.”

  Jude’s simple explanation takes my breath away. I am silent for a moment as I struggle to find the right words. “Honestly, I’m not really sure how to respond. It’s a little insulting, yet strangely poetic at the same time.

  Jude looks chagrined as he replies, “I apologize. I meant it as no insult. It’s honestly how I feel. Do I trust you?” he asks with a shrug. “I suppose I do — as much as I trust anyone. Aidan trusts you and as nearly as I can tell, he’s got good instincts. I don’t understand why you are throwing this chance of a lifetime back in his face. Then again, I suppose I don’t have to understand that to trust you.”

  I sigh deeply and shake my hair out around my shoulders in frustration, barely resisting the urge to resort to my childhood habit of chewing on the ends of of it when I’m frustrated or nervous. “I don’t know what to tell you. We may never see eye to eye on this because you don’t walk in my shoes.” I can’t keep the anger and disappointment out of my voice.

  Jude reaches across the table and puts his hand over my wrist as he looks into my eyes with an earnest, somber expression and says, “Si, that is true — but remember you are not walking in my shoes either.”

  I take a moment to gulp the strawberry lemonade the waitress surreptitiously placed in front of us a few moments after she took our order. I was so caught up in figuring out the ramifications of the conversation between us, I didn’t even hear what he told her we’d be having. It was all mixed in with the whole “trust me” discussion. I’m about to ask Jude how he knew how much I loved strawberries, but then I remember he doesn’t miss much. I pick up my glass and hold it up in salute as I comment, “You know what? It’s kind of a pain, but I like guys who are cute and have brains.”

  Jude flushes a dusky shade of red. “I don’t know if you should call me the brainy type. I just haul equipment for a living.”

  “Right … but you’re a man with a plan, and there’s a lot to be said for that.” I set my glass back down on the table and stare at him intently as I ask again, “How adventurous are you?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JUDE

  IT WAS A SIMPLE QUESTION. Even as I answer it, I can’t shake my feelings of regret — especially after Tasha’s lips slide up into a smirking smile.

  “Are you sure about that? I have to warn you; I can be pretty tough. Some people say I’m a little like a drill sergeant. I guess it comes from all the time I spent on the pageant circuit. In some ways, I’m more like my mom than I’d like to admit — but I’ll try to take it easy on you.”

  “Wait a second,” I protest. “You didn’t say what I agreed to — you only asked me how adventurous I was feeling. You’re not entering me into a beauty contest or anything, are you?”

  She seems to be turning the idea over in her head, but eventually she appears to dismiss it. “No, I don’t think it would be a good idea. It would be counterproductive because you’re so shy. If you were younger, I think it might’ve been a good idea to help you overcome your stage fright; but pageants are one of those things you have to start early. As my mom always tells people, it’s a lifestyle. It’s a weird life, but she’s right. If you haven’t been involved in them since you were a kid, it’s hard to break into them.” Tasha stops for a moment and chuckles softly as she adds, “Who am I kidding? They’re weird — no matter what age you are.”

  “I thought pageants came with all sorts of perks like scholarships, cars, makeup, and other magical stuff?” When Tasha looks at me with a quizzical look of surprise, I hastily clarify, “At least that’s what my little sister always told my mom when she used to beg to be part of them.”

  “Your sister was in pageants?” Tasha asks. “I wonder if I competed against her.”

  “No, my mom was never able to get the money together — but Fernanda used to watch them on television all the time. That’s how she fell in love with fashion design and makeup.”

  “Yeah, I can see how it could happen. There’s lots of sparkle and glamour involved.” Her expression turns glum.

  “So, if you’re not planning to enter me into a beauty contest, what exactly did I agree to? What are you going to make me do?” I try not to sound like a high school freshman facing his first day of weightlifting class.

  “I’m going to help you,” she announces simply, as if that explains all.

  “Help me do what?”

  Tasha blows her hair out of her face in frustration. “I’m beginning to wonder if I jumped the gun on the conclusion about you being a smart hottie.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.” I take a drink of my Coke.

  “Think about it, Jude. What do I do every day?”

  “You sing like a goddess, Sirena. I told you that already.

  Tasha looks incredibly embarrassed. “I don’t know about the goddess part, but I do okay. Anyway, you want to be able to sing your songs for Aidan, right?”

  I sigh. “Yes, that’s my dream.”

  “Good, because I need some adventure this summer. I have a feeling the rest of it won't be so great.” She sighs wistfully. “So let me pay it forward for once and be the expert.”

  I adjust the oversized headset on my ears, then struggle not to curse in front of Tasha as the string pops when I pick up my guitar.

  Tasha sees my grimace as the broken string snaps back to bite me in the hand. “Oh, let me grab you some new strings. Aidan got a bunch of new ones in. They might be my favorite brand yet.”

  “I’d really rather you didn’t do that. Those strings aren’t mine to take. It’s not like I’m one of the musicians or anything.”

  She looks a little taken aback by my protest. “No, it’s totally okay. You should see how many manufacturers send Aidan free stuff all the time. He puts it in a big box for everyone to share. He even told the part-time guys who have other gigs to use the stuff on their other jobs. He doesn’t have time to try out all the random things people send him. If we all like something a lot, he’ll look into the company and see if it’s something he can endorse. He’s talked a lot of companies into giving instruments and equipment to schools and hospitals and stuff that way, so it works out for everybody. He would totally be okay with it.”

  “Okay, I guess if you’re sure. It’s not like I have a bunch of other options. I don’t have any guitar strings with me,” I admit with a frown.

  “Seriously, it’s cool with Aidan. Don’t sweat it.” She shrugs off her backpack and places it next to the table beside the soundboard. “I’ll be right back.”

  As soon as she leaves, I take a moment to soak in my surroundings. I can’t believe I’m standing in this room contemplating setting down some tracks using the same microphone Aidan O’Brien and Tasha Keeley routinely use. This is surreal
. Am I insane? I don’t know any more. No one has ever been able to talk me into so much, so quickly. I feel like I’m like a helpless marionette in her presence. I have no idea whether I’ll even be able to repeat my lyrics in public, and now she has me in the middle of a flippin’ recording studio — not just any recording studio either, but Aidan O’Brien’s recording studio.

  It’s not as if she’s been rude, or condescending. It’s actually been totally the opposite. For the first time in a long time, I’m enjoying music again. It’s a little like being at home. For several weeks, we never said a word to each other during our “helping sessions.” She would come and sit next to me as I played my guitar. Then she started riffing beside me. For a few days, we played covers of other people’s music. Eventually, I got brave and started playing a few chords of my own and improvising. She accepted my challenge with glee — matching me chord for chord — and soon without meaning to, we’d composed a song.

  A couple of weeks ago, she was humming along as we were playing the song. She turned to me as she remarked, “Jude, this song is amazing, but it needs some lyrics and a title. I feel a little silly calling it ‘Jude’s Song’. Don’t you think we should go with something a little catchier?”

  I shrugged as nonchalantly as I could. “I don’t know, it kinda has a nice ring to it.” What I didn’t want to tell her was the fact that she liked my random improvising enough to consider it a real song means the world to me and made me even more motivated to compose worthwhile lyrics to match.

  Tasha opens the door to the recording studio and I’m so lost in my thoughts, I come close to hitting her with the guitar as I swing around in surprise.

  “Are you okay?” she asks as she ducks.

  “Yeah, I just got caught up in the craziness of this moment. How will I know you can’t hear me?”

  Tasha smiles smugly. “You won’t. That’s the beauty of this. I’ve covered all the indicator lights so you won’t be able to tell whether I’m listening or not. I’m working on scholarship applications for college, so my mind will be on other things. I may or may not take a few moments to listen in on your progress depending on how things are going for me.”

  She lays out all her paperwork on the table in front of her and cringes and continues her pep talk. “You’re a talented musician. I know you can do this. I don’t have to listen to you to know you have music coming from the depths of your soul. I can see it in every movement you make and hear it in every note you play. You have the heart of a musician. I don’t need to hear you to confirm that. However, if you want to share your gifts with the world, other people do. This is just one hurdle. Singing in front of people will get easier every time you do it — I promise.” Tasha takes the guitar from my suddenly stiff hands and starts to string it faster than anyone I’ve ever seen.

  “I could’ve done it. I am the equipment manager after all. This is what I do,” I remind her.

  “Not today. Today, you have a new dream,” she proclaims. After a few minutes, she finishes stringing my guitar and shoves me through the doorway to the sound booth. “Now go on … stop procrastinating. Tell me if the static level in your left ear creeps up and I’ll adjust it. Those are my favorite cans, but they have a weird glitch.”

  “That’s it? You’re going to push me out of the nest without even a kiss for good luck? Don’t you have any sympathy for the fact that I’m completely petrified?”

  Tasha raises an eyebrow at me. “Are you telling me all that’s standing between you and your turn in front of the microphone is a kiss?”

  I suck in a deep breath to fill my suddenly starving lungs. I’m quickly starting to understand the meaning of a no-win situation — talk about backing myself into a corner.

  I look around — although I’m not exactly sure why, since it’s clear we’re completely alone — and murmur, “Well, I don’t know if it’ll solve everything, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

  Tasha rolls up on the balls of her feet to stand on her tiptoes as she plants a brief kiss on my lips. “There. Now you can consider yourself fully armed and dangerous. Go conquer your demons. I’m right here if you need me.”

  With that advice, she gently pushes me into the recording booth and shuts the door. I’m left standing alone in the room with a microphone and two stools. A brief vision comes to me of the two of us recording songs together, and my heart beats faster. Almost as quickly as the thought crosses my mind, I laugh at myself because the idea of being in the same singing league as Tasha Keeley is just ludicrous. Still, it was a fun thought while it lasted.

  I dig my lucky pick from my pocket and sit down on one of the stools as I try to focus on breathing and collecting my thoughts. As I’m tuning my guitar, Tasha’s husky, smooth voice comes over my headphones. “Can you hear this okay?”

  I lean into the microphone and respond, “Loud and clear.”

  “You can cozy up to the mic if you want to, but Aidan has the settings tweaked so you can just sing naturally in this room and the mic will pick it up just fine. You can try to forget the mic is there if it makes you feel more comfortable.”

  “Sweet. Thanks.” I try to swallow the lump in my throat.

  “Jude, you can’t sing if you don’t breathe. If you can’t lay down a song during this session, there’ll be dozens of other chances this summer. Just try to have fun.”

  Instinctively, I take a deep breath and let it out. I know she’s right. On the other hand, she’s worked so hard with me that I’d like to blow her mind with my progress. I don’t want to look like a complete loser. When I stop to take a drink of water, I notice my hands are visibly shaking.

  “Hey, Jude,” Tasha says, interrupting my mini-panic attack. “Am I finally going to get to hear you sing Jude’s Song?”

  I laugh. “Umm… That would be a no. I’m nowhere close to finished writing, let alone being ready to show anybody. What do you think I am, a miracle worker? Some of us have day jobs, you know.”

  She chokes back a snort of laughter. “Who exactly do you think sings at these concerts you set up? My throat is still sore from last night. I thought Aidan was never going to stop with the encores.”

  I nod. “Yeah, he was a little over-the-top. I think it’s because his niece Mindy was in the audience, and he wanted to show her and her friends a great time.”

  Tasha smiles. “It was so awesome he gave her a chance to come up on the big stage and sing with us. Her friends were totally impressed. I don’t think any of them knew she sings so well. I suspect she’s being bullied at school. I hope this stops some of that.”

  “She did a phenomenal job, you’d never know she doesn’t do this professionally.”

  “We could be singing your songs up there one day, but you gotta get through this first. The hardest step is always the first one.”

  “Okay, I can take a hint,” I answer reluctantly. “I don’t know if I can make any promises here, but I’ll give it my best shot.”

  “That’s all any of us do every day. I know it seems like there’s some special secret to it all, but it boils down to trying your best every day and hoping tomorrow is better than today.”

  “I don’t think there’ll be any doubt tomorrow will be better than today,” I joke quietly.

  “I’ll leave you to it then, because if I don’t get these scholarship applications filled out, I’m never going to be able to go to school.” Tasha turns her back and picks up a pen.

  Feeling lost for a moment, I decide to go back to an old favorite. First, I pick my way through He Stopped Loving Her Today by George Jones. I move on to Amarillo by Morning by George Strait and then begin to play Wichita Lineman. I love this song. When I was younger, I used to pretend my father was one of the linemen and his job explained why he wasn’t around for us.

  Before I start a second run through of the song, I change my position on the stool so my back is facing the window to the room where Tasha is sitting. I know this is futile and silly because all she has to do is turn on her acoustic fee
d to hear me, but for now it’s the best I can do to set up a barrier between us. I want so much to be able to do this, and it seems like the more I want this dream, the harder it is to achieve.

  It wasn’t always this way. I’m not sure exactly when it all started. I don’t remember, to be honest. As a little kid, I was outgoing — but then I hit school and something happened to my confidence. It was gradual at first. Nobody seemed to know what to do with me. I didn’t really fit anywhere. My Hispanic friends noticed I was white and my white friends started noticing I wasn’t like them. When I spoke Spanish, my white friends made fun of me. When I spoke English, my Latino friends got upset and called me a gringo. I started to get self-conscious about who I was.

  To make things worse, one of my friends — or someone I thought was a friend — discovered I liked instruments and singing. After that, Juan José became my tormentor-in-chief. In order to fit in, I started playing soccer and baseball. I pretended I didn’t even know how to sing. I just didn’t know my choice might have permanent repercussions.

  In an effort to calm my nerves, I take another huge gulp of my drink and carefully set my bottle of water down. Come on, Hernandez, you can do this. I repeat in my head as if it’s a mantra. I sneak a glance through the window over my shoulder. As she promised, Tasha is fully engrossed in her paperwork and appears to be completely oblivious to me.

  I begin to play Wichita Lineman again. At first, I softly hum the melody as I play. I play the bridge and start over again. Although Tasha’s been infinitely patient with me, I’m afraid of what will happen to us when she loses patience with my stupidity.

  Us — now that’s a loaded word if I’ve ever heard one. If I’m honest with myself, I don’t even know if there is an official ‘us’ to worry about. Tasha’s been so singularly focused on helping me work through my fears I haven’t had an opportunity to ask her out again. Still, I feel the need to go outside of my comfort zone and stretch my personal boundaries so I can impress her. The thought is so overwhelming I miss a chord. I haven’t done that since I learned how to play the guitar. Of course, I would make a stupid bonehead mistake like that while we’re in a recording studio. I have no way of knowing whether Tasha is listening or recording.