Page 37 of Night Songs

My stomach curdled. “So you think kissing me would be cheap?” I asked.

He frowned. “No. What I mean is, I like when there is an order to things. My whole life I’ve watched people live carelessly, and I don’t want to be like that.”

We heard a pop in the distance, and then a shower of blue sparks rained down over the buildings to the east, turning the water and our faces a deep blue. Another pop came, and this time it was red, and then the next was gold. I watched Micah’s awed expression change slightly with each shift in color.

He turned back to me. “I’ve never met anyone like you,” he said seriously. “It’s like discovering a member of my own species, when I thought they didn’t exist. That I was the only one.”

I took a shaky breath. “I feel that way, too.”

He reached out and held his palm to mine, then laced our fingers together. Again, I felt that charge between us. He moved closer, wrappinghis arms around my waist and pulling me toward his chest. Pressed against his body, it felt like my cells were regenerating, like more of myself was flowing into me.

“Do you feel that?” he asked.

I nodded, and before I could stop myself, I kissed him.

10lulabelle

1967

FOURTEEN YEARS LEFT

If I was a creature of the road, I was also a creature of the studio session.

I loved the manic late nights. The feverish collaboration. The worldless feel of it. We were only in that box, floating through space, separate from time and its demands.

Recording an album was me at my most primal. I didn’t have to pretend to be anything other than someone who received music all day from the heavens.

We’d start recording around nine a.m. Clayton liked to get an early start, much to the chagrin of the players who were still drunk from the night before. As long as they played well, he didn’t mind. They were the A team, a handful of musicians the labels used for all the high-profile sessions in Nashville.

I insisted Martha play on the record, and I saw their side-eye the first day. But that went away real quick when they heard her play. A lot of guitarists have a tang to their sound that can be too sour and bright. But Martha’s playing is like honey; the guitar kind of melts away and all you can hear are the notes ringing in their sweetest form.

Clayton would hand out the music, and everyone would study it and put in their two cents. I’d never been taught how to read music, and Claytonhad noticed early on. He said having a natural genius would only get me so far; I had to learn a few technical skills. Naturally, I balked at this, but eventually I came around.

When we were ready, I’d go in the corner by the door with a microphone. They’d turn the lights down and put on colored ones, in red or blue. The song would start, and the music would fill the room like a powerful perfume. It was so strong that it’d soak through my skin, marinating me like a chicken for hours. Around midday they wouldn’t need me anymore, and I’d walk out into the world, the music still buzzing in my meat.

The studio was on Music Row, where record-label offices lined the street on either side. I couldn’t go a few feet without being invited to a barbecue celebrating an album release. None of the big stars paid me any attention, but it was fun mingling with the backup singers and engineers and all the people that went into making a record. It was one big party, and it didn’t matter which label you were with. We were all making music and having a good time.

Then I’d head to Darlene’s to start my shift. I wasn’t getting paid much for the sessions, and I still had to make rent at Mom’s. Plus, I liked hanging around with the cowboys and listening to Darlene bitch about everyone. Hess still performed in our old slot, but Clayton forbade me from joining to rest my voice. It was hard not to jump onstage with her, but I loved watching her sing.

When I got off work at midnight, I’d head back to the studio with a brown paper bag of fried bologna sandwiches. They didn’t need me, but I couldn’t stay away. By that time, the room would be stuffy and warm from the steam rising off the musicians. They’d all be half drunk and excited to see me. Martha and Clayton were the only sober ones, keeping everyone on track and nailing the takes.

I’d stay until around two a.m., and then I’d get a ride home. First, I’d sneak into Hess’s room and give her a kiss. Then I’d tiptoe to the kitchen, inhale the plate Mom left me, and sit on the back porch smoking acigarette. I’d still be so high on music that I’d need a few hours to come down before my mind would quiet.

Sometimes I’d take long walks around the neighborhood, making larger and larger circles with Mom’s house at the center. Time dissolved and blurred in the middle of the night, but it didn’t feel any less valuable to me. It was still this precious time, wasted by so many, when I could experience more of what life had to offer.

By the time I was ready to sleep, it was time to get ready for the studio, and I’d launch back into it. For me, the album was recorded in one very long day.

After we finished the record, Clayton decided I needed fixing up.

We went to Harvey’s and bought bigger wigs, designer makeup, fancy clothes. He tried to hire some fussy stylist, but I wouldn’t let anyone but Phoebe dress me.

He took me to my first dentist. I had so many teeth that needed pulling they decided to start over and give me a whole new set made out of porcelain. Like a fancy toilet.

He took me to my first doctor with a medical degree. I was used to seeing the granny witch back in the holler, but I’d never been to an MD. He did a full examination from snout to tail, looking for all my creepy-crawlies. He gasped when he saw the birthmark on my chest. Said he’d never seen anything like it.

Turned out I was pretty healthy, considering I’d lived with total abandon my whole life. Afterward, Clayton asked to see my birthmark if I was comfortable, and I showed him the very top above my tits. He didn’t seem seduced by it or anything, but he was intrigued. He said we’d keep it in mind for wardrobe, and that was that.

He brought me to see a lady in her nice house across town. She looked how I imagined Hess’s mother: an elegant woman in pearls with a modest lilac dress and matching heels. She taught etiquette to the society girlsin Nashville, and I wondered if she’d trained Hess. It made me laugh to think of her practicing her curtsy and pretending to eat soup with the right spoon.