If You Hear Me Read online

  If You Hear Me

  A Hollywood Muses Novel

  Jenn LeBlanc

  Copyright © 2017

  registered 2017

  * * *

  All rights reserved

  * * *

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner with love and respect.

  * * *

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  My Mickey’s WeHo Squad

  <3

  Contents

  1. Daniel

  Meli

  2. Daniel

  Meli

  3. Daniel

  Meli

  4. Daniel

  Meli

  5. Daniel

  Meli

  6. Daniel

  Meli

  7. Daniel

  Meli

  8. Daniel

  Meli

  9. Daniel

  Meli

  10. Daniel

  Meli

  11. Daniel

  Meli

  12. Daniel

  Meli

  13. Daniel

  Meli

  14. Daniel

  Meli

  15. Daniel

  Meli

  16. Daniel

  Meli

  17. Daniel

  Meli

  Thank you!

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Jenn LeBlanc

  Coming soon from Jenn LeBlanc w/a Jenn STevens

  Illustrated novels by Jenn LeBlanc

  Novels by Jenn LeBlanc

  About the Author

  One

  Daniel

  I close my eyes and concentrate on the feel of the keys against the pads of my fingers, the smooth, cool slide against the ridges of my fingerprints. The music rises from the case of my baby grand, the notes dancing across my closed eyelids like something from Fantasia.

  “Play The Little Mermaid!”

  Taking a deep breath, I stop and turn around to look at Tristan, who’s sprawled across my sofa. “That isn’t a song.”

  “Play one of the songs from The Little Mermaid!” he yells with a grin, not even bothering to open his eyes and look up at me.

  “You know, I happily take requests like that from Soso, but I’m not really inclined to take a request like that from you.”

  “Ruiner of nice things,” he grumbles.

  “Ruiner of— Are you serious right now?” I swivel on my piano bench to look at him.

  “Never. I’m never serious. You already know that. There is zero seriousness here.”

  “Yeah. Well. I was in the middle of a piece by Grieg when you yelled at me for Disney. You’re ridiculous.”

  “The Grieg was beautiful. Carry on.”

  “Asshole.”

  Tristan laughs and sits up as I walk to the fridge in my loft for a bottle of water.

  “Bring me one,” he says then leans back against the sofa, and I collapse next to him as the sun breaks the horizon. Well, not really. This is L.A., so all the sun really does is make itself known. My loft faces east and gets light before most of L.A., but it isn’t a dramatic showing like some places, it’s more of a slow burn.

  When Tristan bought this building, he took the best space because…well, obviously. You own a building, you get the pick of the spaces and rent whatever’s left. It’s a beautiful loft, even if cleaning is difficult because of the pseudo-industrial area and the street outside. It would help if I closed the windows, but I don’t usually because I love the sound of the city around me. I covered the floor-to-ceiling windows with massive georgette curtains so the breeze from the street makes them soar and it’s just…a really nice space for making music that reminds of another time and place.

  “So what’s new, man?” Tristan asks.

  “I’m up for solo pianist at the Thirty Under Thirty International Symposium. I should get it. There will be a massive performance this summer here in L.A.. They’re auditioning the best individual artists from around the world.”

  “You seem confident,” Tristan says, and I think about it, because do I have doubts? Of course I do—I always have doubts. But I know in my gut this is where I’m supposed to be. I’ve worked my whole life for it, and I also know, as objectively as possible, that it’s my time.

  “Shouldn’t I be? I know my competition, and they aren’t going to touch me for this audition.”

  “Who else are they auditioning?”

  “Soloists to accompany the orchestra, cello, violin, timpani, viola, flute—the basics. Piano, of course. Me.”

  “Of course. It’s weird because what you’re saying should sound cocky, but it really doesn’t when you say it.”

  “It’s all about how you say it. You have to say it with some conviction. I’m the best.”

  Tris puffs up his chest. “I’m the best.”

  “Work on it. The thing is you have to also be the best or it doesn’t work the same.”

  “Ah, yeah, there is that. It’s easy to have some conviction when you know for a fact what you’re saying is the truth.”

  “Or I’m just good at faking it.”

  He laughs. “You really are the best concert pianist under thirty in the world right now, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, of those who have been discovered? Sure. Are there some new prodigies who are going to kick my ass eventually? Yes. But for known quantity? I’m it. It’s me. This is mine. Unless someone fucks someone important—then I’m fucked.”

  “Ah, the wild card.”

  “Always. This is Hollywood, after all. There’s always a wild card.”

  “Good luck, man,” he says, and we tap water bottles. “Are they auditioning composers?”

  “What makes you ask that?” I ask, but I already know where he’s going with this. Straight to Camellia. For all the reasons I’m excited about this symposium…the fact that I could see her again is at the very top of my list. Camellia was my first, and only, love.

  “You know exactly what makes me ask that.”

  “Yeah I do, but why? Why would you ask that?” Because it’s taking everything in me to ignore it and keep my shit together, because if she doesn’t show up—I just feel like it’s now or never.

  “Because you refuse to look for her so I’m hopeful she’ll just…drop into your lap.”

  “You seem certain of my feelings for her,” I say but he just looks at me. “Yeah, okay, but she won’t. She’s hiding after the last time—”

  “The last time doesn’t count. I think she was in shock.”

  “Maybe, but she won’t even accept my friend request on Facebook.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Nîmes, as far as I know.”

  “You know.”

  “Yes. I know.” Of course I know. I twist my water bottle and start peeling the label off as I think about her. Ever since social media happened, I’ve done nothing but look for her. Well, a few other things—I’m not completely hopeless. But the first time I heard about Facebook, all I could think about was whether or not her parents would let her have a profile.

  “Maybe she thinks you aren’t looking for her.”

  The very thought of that pierces my heart, but I shake it off. “Of course she knows I’m looking. If she’s anywhere, she knows I’m looking. Except I’m not looking. I stopped looking, because what the fuck is the point? If she wanted me, she would ha
ve come to me by now. It’s been ten years since I lost her, five years since she walked away, and a year since her parents died. If they were the reason we were apart then…”

  “Maybe she doesn’t know you still want her.”

  “Okay, but how long do I wait for her to come to me then?”

  “Until you know either way whether she wants you. You’re the one who said you would wait forever. How’s it going to look if forever was only five years?”

  “She left. She pulled out of school and left. Okay, her parents took her, but you’d think if it was completely against her wishes, she would have…something, I don’t know, anything… And once I found her…once I went there and found her, I thought we would—”

  “You guys didn’t even have a conversation.”

  “Okay, no, we didn’t. But we were going to.”

  “You probably scared the shit out of her. I think there’s more going on than you know.”

  “But she doesn’t want to tell me. Maybe I should try to forget. I just keep thinking that if she felt any bit about me like I do for her, she wouldn’t be able to stay away from me.”

  “You’ll never get over her. I’ve listened to you talk about this girl for years now, and Daniel? You’re hopeless.”

  “I don’t need to get over her. You of all people know artists in pain produce better work.”

  “I feel like you’re trying to shift this conversation to me, and I’m not along for the ride. Just pump the brakes.”

  “I will not. You need to move on too,” I say and instantly regret it from the way his body just seems to dissolve.

  “I don’t…I can’t. It isn’t that easy.” His voice starts out raw, but then it starts building. “We didn’t just have earth-shattering awkward virgin sex. We were married. We had a life. We have a child. We had a home and a plan and a future, and now we have nothing. We don’t have anything anymore. None of it.”

  “I’m sorry. I know, and I shouldn’t have said anything. I would just really like to see you happy.”

  “My daughter…my Soso makes me happy. Fucking strangers makes me happy. There’s nothing else I need.”

  “But don’t you want—”

  “I want my wife, Daniel,” he says, his gaze holding into mine.

  That ends that conversation pretty easily just like it always does, so I shut up. We sit there as the room gets brighter. Tristan’s watching me, and I start shifting in discomfort. He knows I can’t keep secrets from him.

  “I lied,” I say. “I’m still looking.” He doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring at me, and my skin starts to crawl. “I gave her name to the search committee through the website,” I say finally.

  “Good,” he says then turns away.

  “I don’t know if she’s still writing. I don’t know anything beyond where she is. It’s like she locked it down and hid herself away after.”

  “Well, it’s time she came out—I mean, she’s the same age as you, right? Maybe she just needs an opportunity to get away from those memories. Obviously whatever happened with her family was intense. Maybe coming here will help. Maybe this is it.”

  I shrug. I’m not confident about this. If she left and gave up music, she won’t be qualified for this opportunity no matter how talented she is. But if they find her, it is a legitimate offer—if she’s still as talented as she was.

  “Hey,” he says. “It’s a start.”

  “Yeah. I’m going to bed.”

  “You’ve got nothing today?”

  “Nope. Nothing but some pillow time and Netflix. That’s my ultimate plan. Then more practice. If you hear me you’re welcome to come over, but don’t be requesting Disney unless you bring Soso with you.”

  “I might. I have to pick her up in a couple of hours.”

  “Do that then. I miss her little face.”

  “Okay, brunch?”

  “You bring it, I’ll eat it.”

  “Deal.”

  Tristan leaves, and I wander up the set of stairs to my loft bedroom and fall into the sheets. This is when those giant windows covered with sexy georgette can be a hassle. I cover my head with another pillow and force my eyes closed but I can still see her beautiful face—and I’ll be looking at it all day while I try to sleep. Camellia, with her dark skin and light eyes, the hues of gold and brown. The long fingers, the sharp nails that she trimmed like daggers because she thought it was funny. I’m not going to get any rest.

  Meli

  When I landed in L.A., I had no idea what to expect. I’d lived in Nîmes since my parents pulled me out of the conservatory and took me home ten years ago, and I hadn’t traveled much since. I went to some retreats and understudied with some incredible composers but nothing in the realm of the conservatory I’d attended when I was young. It had been an amazing opportunity—but being with Daniel had destroyed my future. My beautiful golden boy with the tan skin and the summer-blond hair. But I can’t think about that right now, because he’s nothing but a distraction to me.

  I grab my bags and head out of my condo near Sunset for a job audition. I head down toward Santa Monica to get a little food to eat before I need to be there. As much as I’m looking forward to the tryouts for the symposium, I’m just as excited about getting this part-time gig because I need something to keep my fingers busy and my brain distracted and refreshed for the hard stuff.

  Frankly, I’m surprised I was invited to try out for this. I really didn’t think anyone in orchestral music still knew who I was. It may be a small community, but I’ve functioned so far below the radar for so long that I just never expected anything. I wasn’t even sure I still had these dreams until I landed here and felt the possibility buzzing through the most chaotic airport I’d seen in a very long time.

  Forgetting my dreams went beyond being in France though. I tried to keep my name as small as possible in that particular world simply because I didn’t want to run into Daniel, and that world…it’s so very small. I know he’s looked for me since the last time I ran into him in Paris. He found me when I was interning with the Paris Symphony, and I left him—and that dream—waiting after a promise of more. He’s tried to get answers from me ever since but I haven’t even acknowledged him. His requests have been coming fewer and further between, and I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that. As much as I want to see him again, I’m equally frightened of explaining what really happened.

  He’s made it clear that he’ll keep looking for me, and I don’t even know how many times he’s come close to finding me before I’ve ghosted. It made the pursuit of my dreams incredibly difficult, but that’s all about to change. I’m not going to run this time. I no longer have anything to fear except the past, and as terrifying as facing that is for me, it’s something I’ve managed to live with every day since I was fifteen. I can go on doing it.

  I want this. My parents are dead. They can no longer stop me. I’m taking this chance, I’m going to make this happen…I hope. That I’ve been asked to come to L.A. to audition in person for this particular position is a major step. The committee wouldn’t want me here if they weren’t serious about me, and the fact that Paris didn’t tell them I was unreliable is a sign. I have to keep reminding myself of that, because every door I walk through gives me pause, makes me want to turn and run. Because I know that every door I walk through in this industry is one door closer to Daniel. There’s no way he won’t find me here.

  I can’t possibly still love him, can I? I’ll see him and realize our childhood crush was only that and it’s time for the both of us to move on. It’ll be good for us. I’m certain of it. Except…the last time I saw him it felt no less powerful, and that’s what frightened me. He looked like the same boy I knew at fifteen if a little taller and more gangly. I need to keep telling myself it’ll be different because I want this opportunity like I’ve never wanted anything in my life.

  Well…maybe not quite as much as I wanted my Isabeau, but that’s not something I can consider. There are some things, lik
e death, that can’t be changed. I need to keep moving forward, because every time I pause I think of her, remembering her, it tears my heart open and one of these days the damage will be so great I’ll never recover. I feel like I’m at the edge of insanity and barely holding on, and seeing Daniel…I’m just not sure how this will go. As much as I yearn for the closeness we once had, the truth of it all eventually worms its way in and I’m just…left with nothing but the pain of it all.

  I’ve been scared for entirely too long. When I was told my parents were killed I thought I’d lost everything, except the fear that had lived with me. But then reality started to seep in and I thought about everything I’d been through and the plans they’d set out for me…I realized them dying had actually given me the exact opposite. When they’d died, I was given everything. I had every door reopened, every possibility given back to me. It took a long time for me to process that. Then one day I simply packed up all of their things and put them in storage. I tried to reclaim what had once been mine. My talent for composition, that I could see music, that I could hear it and feel it and translate it directly to the page with full orchestral synchrony. I could even taste it—this need to compose was so powerful for me.

  Now, finally, an opportunity comes along that refuses to let me stay in France like some sort of hobbit. So here I am. Eating lunch in L.A. and wondering when I’ll run into him. This may be a big city, but we tend to find each other. This afternoon I’m trying out to DJ at a bar in WeHo, something I don’t need to do, but I love to do. I love writing music but I also like recreating music, taking what exists and putting it together in new, exciting ways. Composing is really at the very core of who I am; if I’m breathing I’m composing. DJing gives me a break from that because my whole brain has to concentrate on this completely different type of creation.