'Til You're Mine

2015

When I return from Portland after Christmas, I'm hesitantly hopeful that my time in person with Alex is finally going to turn a corner– that the second he opens the door for me there will be something so obviously different between us. I don't want to admit that I want this, so I don't look the actual thought straight in the teeth; though I do spend extra time on my makeup, and wear a pair of especially nice high-waisted shorts and a nearly-bra-revealing white t-shirt. But when I ring Al's bell the morning after I get back, an unfamiliar pale, smiling man with a frizzy brown afro of curls answers the door.

"Hello," I say, unsure of myself.

He smiles wide. "You're Alexandra!"

"Yes."

"I'm James," he holds out his hand for me. "Sorry, come in!"

I have no idea what is going on, and this is not the reunion with Alex I was anticipating, but I follow him inside nonetheless. As soon as I'm inside, I see Alex in the kitchen, where he looks up from making tea and waves at me.

"All right?" he says cheerfully.

"Yeah," I say, waiting for some kind of explanation for who James is, or why he's here, but he doesn't offer one. Instead, he takes out another mug to make me a cup of tea as well.

"Good holiday?"

I look to James, who is only waiting patiently for his tea, so I just say, "Yeah, good thanks."

"James is just in from London," Alex says, handing each of us a mug. "A bunch of us are going to meet up at Chateau Marmont to catch up and have some drinks tonight, to welcome James back, you know? You should come."

"Yes, love, please," James says, sipping his tea. "I'd love to talk to you about your record."

I look at Alex, who finally says, "I thought you might want to meet James and see if he's someone we could pull in– I've worked with him on most of my music. "

We could pull in. On the one hand, it sounds like we're a team, in this together, and that makes me feel warm, but more than anything, I feel annoyed. This is my album, isn't it? I have the authority to push Alex out at any moment I want.

But then as I look at him in his plain white t-shirt, hair greasy and falling into his face, I know that I, A) wouldn't know where to begin in producing a record without him and, B) want to be around him as much as I possibly can.

"Sure," I say. "I'd love to get some new input."

So James comes into the studio with us for the day, listening to the handful of songs we've banged out so far. He makes a couple of suggestions immediately, fiddles around with some buttons, picks up a guitar, and seamlessly, he is making the music that much richer and polished. And I know, with trepidation mated to excitement, that James is going to stay as part of this team.

It's a lot for one day. There's a heavy disappointment, as well as a feeling of defeat that seems antithetical to my genuine respect for James and his talent, when I'm getting ready to leave Alex's around dinner.

"I can drive you to the bar," he offers, as I slip back into my shoes and grab my purse, heading for the door and my waiting car. "You don't have to go home first."

I need to figure out what I'm feeling right now, get my head on straight, and I don't know if those things will allow me to even go to the Chateau Marmont. Not to mention, this weird, heavy mood I'm in would make me terrible company at a party.