Page 3 of Counterpoint and Harmony

Chapter Three

Altered tone:a note in a scale modified by an accidental, i.e. a sharp or flat

Charlie

A key scrapes in the lock, and I sit up straight on the couch, picking stray bits of popcorn off my T-shirt and putting them back in the bowl. It’s kind of a lost cause. I look like a complete slob. My hair is shaggy, my roots growing out, and I haven’t showered yet today, so it’s sticking up all over the place.

As the door opens, I sit up, revealing a few more pieces of popcorn in the crack between the cushions.

“Hey!” Lauren’s voice is cheerful and surprised. “I didn’t realize you’d be here. Since I saw all those articles, I kinda thought you’d be back in LA. Did you at least stay down there for Christmas?”

I shake my head, but she doesn’t see me as she drags her rolling suitcase inside then turns back for a duffle bag, her violin case, and a backpack.

“Wow. You’re not a light packer, are you?”

She laughs, but it dies when she faces me, her brows puckering with concern as she closes the door behind her. “Not when I’m gone for a month, no. Plus, I picked up some stuff on my cross-country trip, so I have a few extra things.”

“Oh, right. You went somewhere with Brendan? How was that?”

She gets a faraway look in her brown eyes, then looks down to fiddle with the keys in her hand, which causes her auburn hair to fall in a curtain blocking her face. When she looks up again, the look in her eyes is gone, and a fake smile has her mouth turning up. “It was good. I got to go ice skating in Rockefeller Center in New York, which was the whole point. So, y’know, the trip was a success.” She waves a hand airily and turns to toss her keys in the bowl on the table beside the door. “Anyway,” she continues, her face still turned away. “You didn’t answer my question. Did you go back to LA to spend Christmas with your family?”

“No. I didn’t.”

The crease between her brows is back, and she looks around like she’s thinking. “The pictures of you and Damian came out right after the wedding. I remember, because we were on the road, and I saw them in a tabloid at a gas station in the middle of nowhere.” She crosses her arms over her chest, her frown deepening as she looks me over. “And then a few days later I read something where you said you guys were just friends, which we both know isn’t true. Did you decide on that story together? Did you spend Christmas with his family, then? Please tell me that’s what you did.”

Swallowing, I shake my head. “No.” I clear my throat, forcing strength I don’t feel into my voice. “No. Damian found out about Charlotte James in the worst possible way. He …” I swallow again, forcing myself to continue. “He told me he needed time to think, but since he hasn’t returned any of my calls or texts since the wedding, I’m assuming that our relationship has ended.”

Lauren makes a sound of distress, but I continue, offering up information in a way so unlike me that my voice almost catches in my throat.

“I put out that we went as friends to protect Damian from media scrutiny and the inherent violations of his and his family’s privacy. The paparazzi were camped out here for a while after the story broke, but since I’ve done nothing of interest and all my statements and interviews are brokered through my PR firm, they haven’t bothered me for the last week or so.” I let a small half smile come to my face. “Plus, I kept an eye on them out the front window. Calling the police on them any time they so much as jaywalked or impeded traffic made staying even more unpleasant for them. The city gets crankier the more citations they have to give out.”

Lauren cracks a smile at that and sits down on the coffee table. “So you spent Christmas alone?” At my nod, her face crumples. “Charlie! Why didn’t you call me? You could’ve come spent Christmas with my family. It actually would’ve been a nice distraction.” She mutters the last sentence, but before I can dig into that, she smacks her hands on her legs and stands. “Never mind that. I’m sorry, though. It sounds like you had a really crappy break.”

“Yeah.” My voice is hoarse, and tears swim in my eyes. I quickly blink and dash them away, fighting back the urge to cry. I give Lauren a bright smile, my go-to cover for strong emotion. “But you’re back now, so that’s one on the positive side. And I got to hang out and do nothing for the last few weeks. It wasn’t all bad. No one bossing me around. No homework. Just me and the electric piano in my room. I actually got a lot of work done.”

I bite my lip to keep myself from talking more about what I worked on. Some of it was practicing things from my lessons last semester. More of it was playing those chord progressions. I also sketched out a few song ideas. I’ve always had songs written for me. The record label executives hooked me up with the biggest hit makers in the business, and they have their own production line of staff that they work with, beat makers, top liners, lyric writers. A whole crew of people writing the different pieces of the songs, putting them together for the optimal mix of hook and beat to keep people listening, keep radios playing, keep bodies moving.

That’s what it’s all about.

A few times over the years I’ve offered some suggestions for lyrics or melodies. But only one producer ever actually cared about my thoughts. For the most part, I was just the voice. Another cog in the machine. The one that brought their hard work to the masses. If I wouldn’t perform the songs, then they’d find another headliner to do it for them. If not me, then Katy Perry or Demi Lovato. Someone else. They’re the top of their industry, it’s not like it’s hard for them to find someone to perform their songs.

I think, though, that if I’m going to end up going back to California—which, after meeting with Dean Andersen yesterday, seems more than likely—I’ll have to look up that producer. They call him The Professor. Fitting after spending a semester in college.

“What’s that look?”

Lauren’s voice interrupts my train of thought. I give myself a little shake. “Nothing. Just thinking about what’s coming next.”

She cocks an eyebrow. “Thinking about classes starting on Monday? You’re still going back, right?”

I let out a breath, looking away from her. “Yeah, about that. I had a meeting with Dean Andersen yesterday. He made it clear that my presence here as a student is no longer welcome. I’ll actually be withdrawing on Monday.”

“Oh, Charlie.” Those two words, spoken softly, carry all the sympathy and commiseration a girl could wish for from a friend.

Blinking back the tears that once again threaten, I give Lauren my signature cover smile. “Yeah. It sucks. But it’s not exactly unexpected. Could you imagine how distracting having me in class would be? Now that everyone knows who I am, where I’ve been, what I’ve been doing?”And who I’ve been doing it withgoes unspoken, but hangs in the air between us.

Lauren’s serious eyes examine me, not fooled by my attempt at cheerful bluster. “What are you going to do?”

With a shrug, I slump back on the couch. “I’m not sure yet. My mom’s been nagging me daily to come back to California. I think at some point I’ll probably have to. But I don’t know. I’m not ready to face all that yet. Just doing the handful of interviews and reviewing the couple of press releases I’ve put out is more than I want to deal with.”

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