Page 82 of Torch Songs

A song like that didn’t belong in a tiny apartment in Midtown where nobody could hear it but Tad and April. That song belonged to the world. Tad felt like it was his job to help Guthrie get it there.

When he came back from the bathroom, he’d wiped his face, and his eyes were no longer swollen, and he felt like he could talk without sobbing anymore. Guthrie was back on his stool, playing a different tune softly, and Tad’s thighs were still a little unsteady, so he sat and asked, “If I’m super nice to you, will you play me your other songs?”

Guthrie gave him a shy smile. “’Course. Hope it’s okay—I set my computer up to tape so I can send them to Seth. He, uh, toldme to send him anything I composed myself, ’cause he wants us all in on the album. Thought maybe he could choose from the songs I’ve got done.”

For once Tad wasn’t irritated to hear Seth Arnold’s name. Guthrie wasn’t playing for an old lover—he was playing for a bandmate, someone with powerful contacts who could maybe help Guthrie get work. And, Tad had to admit, for a friend who knew this side of Guthrie, the side that made music and poured his heart onto the stage better than Tad did, because Seth Arnold had made the same sacrifices and had the same river carving its way through his heart.

“Yeah,” he said. “Tell me how he likes them.” He managed a lopsided smile. “It could be I’m a little, uhm, biased. You know. About your songs.”

Guthrie bit his lip. “I’ll play that other one last, okay? So if you gotta cry, I can turn the recording off.”

Tad regarded him fondly. “I was crying because you love me, Guthrie. Although the song was absolutely lovely.”

Guthrie shrugged. “Just in case,” he said, nodding with sober intent. And then he launched into another song about punching the clock for The Man that made Tad laugh because it ended with the speaker walking out.

Have fun finding your life, Mr. Man. Have fun finding your money.

Have fun finding your business plan, or the phone number with your honey.

Good luck with those insurance forms, good luck with your contract history.

I know once you’ve seen the back of me, your whole office is a big fat mystery.

I’ve got bigger hopes than this shithole, and someday you’ll know it’s true

I’ve always had a bigger soul, with more to do than you.

Guthrie gave a cheeky grin at the end of that one, and then leaned forward to take a swig from the bottle of water on the table.

“You know where this one came from,” he told Tad, and then launched into a song about hearing music through a cold black river of stars.

Tad shuddered, hearing the loneliness and isolation of that song, and then, in the guitar riff, he felt the hope.

“God,” he whispered when Guthrie was done with it. “You… you captured that night so well.”

Guthrie’s next smile was a little self-deprecating, and then he hit a comic riff on the guitar, something plucky and country and western that reminded Tad of a song about squirrels, before he launched into the ballad of Lennon and McCartney.

Or Johnny Law and McMoron.

Or Imagine Using the Cat Box and Stop Climbing my Drapes Around.

Or Giving Cats up for Lent and Gonna Eat me Some Cat Stew.

The song went on, highlighting the joys of kitten ownership to date, and finally ended with a moment of contemplation.

But oh, look at them when they’re sleeping,

Oh, look at their little beans.

Look at their claws creeping

As they hunt our toes in their dreams….

Lenny get the mouse and Mac get the knife

Everyone in the house is now afraid for his life

Baby you should run ’cause they’re back on the prowl

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