Night Shifts Black (25 page)

Now, Luke and I laugh.
“And that’s a hundred percent true,” I respond, totally proud of him.

They shake their
heads.

“What is happening to
the universe?” Sweeny mutters.

“I told you guys
you’ve always underestimated him. Not all drummers are idiots,” Luke jokes.

“Our Baby Casey is all
grown up, I guess,” Eli laughs.

I raise my eyebrows.
“Baby Casey?” I ask, and Luke nods with a smile.

“He was fifteen when
we started. He never really outgrew the name,” Luke explains.

Eli nods. “Yeah,
Sweeny and I are both 30, then there’s Little Luke who’s, what are you now,
27?”

Luke nods.

“Which leaves Baby
Casey at the bottom,” Sweeny confirms.

I laugh at the
nickname. The thought of Casey as “Baby” anything, especially after the way he
just took care of us this past week, is so ridiculous. I can’t help it.

“So how long have you
two been together?” Eli asks me. “It’s not like our boy to settle down.”

Luke and I exchange a
careful look, and I’m not sure what to say. I don’t know what Casey told their
manager, what the official story is. We didn’t think we’d need it so soon.

“Not long,” Luke says.
“But when you know you know, I guess. It was obvious to me before it was to
that idiot,” he adds, and the others grin.

I give him my own
grateful smile, which he returns with a slight wink.

“So what, you three
just shack up here together now?”

Luke shrugs. “Sorta.
Callie’s got her own place also. Casey’s just hanging out for a while. So how
did the tour finish up?” Luke asks quickly, changing the subject.

It works, and the
other two launch into more stories about people and lingo I don’t know. I start
to tune out, counting the seconds until Casey returns. Baby Casey. Even his
nicknames make me smile.

∞∞∞

Casey does return soon enough. We hear the
clatter of the door, and I rush to hold it as a porter maneuvers through the
opening with a cart containing two huge cases.

The guys pause their
tour conversation, and I can’t help but melt at the childlike joy on Casey’s
face as he tips the porter and thanks him. Maybe I do understand the nickname
after all. He stands motionless for a minute, as though he can’t decide where
to start. One case is clearly a guitar, the other’s just a large rectangular box
framed in steel.

Luke comes over and
slaps him on the back. “You want to set up the keyboard in the office or at the
table here?”

Casey glances around
the room.

“Here, probably. If we’re
going to be working together.”

Luke nods. “Makes
sense.” He bends down and opens the rectangular case while Casey opens the
guitar.

I’m surprised at how
small the keyboard is. I don’t know much about instruments, but I know a piano
is a lot bigger than whatever this thing is. I’d just assumed keyboards would
have the same number of keys as the piano, but this one clearly doesn’t. I’d be
surprised if it were half the size. I would have asked Casey about it if we
were alone and I thought there was any chance he would have heard me. The way
he cradles his guitar and gazes at it like a child he hasn’t seen in months,
I’m not sure he even remembers any of us exist.

I catch Luke’s quick
grin and headshake to himself as he observes the same thing I do. He doesn’t
comment either, however, and only places the small keyboard on the table. He
begins unloading the other equipment from the case, which includes two small
boxes with knobs and holes, a foot pedal, and two microphones. Finally. Microphones
I recognize. There are also several coils of cables that he stacks neatly beside
the rest.

By now Casey has his acoustic
guitar assembled and slung over his shoulder. He’s picking and strumming, and
even I can see and hear the difference between this one and the one he’s been
playing in the suite. He seems much more at home now, more comfortable, and the
clean, rich tone makes it obvious how much the inferior instrument was holding
him back. I find myself getting excited to hear this guitar do our song
justice.

“So do we get to hear
this new masterpiece or what?” Eli asks, and Casey almost seems startled from
his rendezvous with the guitar.

“What? Oh. No, not
yet. I want to do a quick scratch track for you. I’ll record something right
after we eat.” He thinks for a moment. “Actually, yeah, sorry, I’ll set up in
the office,” he directs to Luke who nods.

“So secretive,” Sweeny
teases.

Casey shakes his head.
“Nah, it’s not that, it’s just, we’re further than concept, and what we’ve got
is too complex to get the feel from the acoustic alone. I want to layer in the
keys and some strings and pads, too. Oh! Plus, Luke wrote this awesome lick for
you, Sweeny. You’re gonna love it.”

Sweeny seems
impressed, and Luke shrugs.

“Now, I wish we’d
brought the Les Paul,” Sweeny mumbles, and Casey gives him a smile.

“It’s fine. This is
fine. I can layer in an electric and some percussion samples so you get the
idea.”

I’m trying desperately
to follow their conversation and keep the baffled look from my face. I look
again at the table, which has one tiny keyboard and two small boxes. There
can’t be more than 50 keys on the thing, and yet Casey’s talking about
recording a whole orchestra in the office. There seem to be more buttons and
levers on the keyboard than actual piano keys, so maybe that has something to
do with it, but I doubt it. I’m so confused.

“Can I help?” I ask,
more to remind him of my existence than anything.

He smiles and starts
toward the table. “Yeah, great! Grab those boxes and cables and put them in the
office. I’ll get my laptop and the controller.”

“Controller?”

“The keyboard,” he
explains, and I nod. That makes sense. I guess. Or not.

I can hear the other
guys resume the conversation without us, and focus on my assignment. I gather
the equipment, as requested, and follow Casey toward the office.

He’s already begun
arranging the keyboard on the desk and has his laptop fired up to the right.

“Can you pass me the
USB cable?” he asks. “Yeah, the little one there.”

I nod and hand him
what looks like a cable I’d use to hook up my printer.

He plugs it into the
keyboard and connects it to the laptop. I see that he also has an external hard
drive hooked up. Next he takes the pedal and plugs that into the back of the
keyboard.

“You’ve been calling
it a controller more than a keyboard. Why?”

He continues his setup
as he answers. “Because that’s all it is. It actually doesn’t do anything on
it’s own. It’s like a mouse or keyboard for your computer.”

“Huh?”

He stops and waves me
over. I can see it’s taking incredible patience for him to stop his eager
preparations to explain, but I really want to understand.

“Listen,” he says, and
starts pressing the keys as though he’s playing a song.

I see that the display
on the keyboard is lit and numbers are flashing, but I don’t hear a sound.

“I don’t hear
anything,” I say, and he smiles.

“Exactly. It doesn’t
make any sounds. All the sounds are generated by the computer. This thing is
just a fancy joystick really.” He laughs. “These days you have to be more of a
computer programmer than a musician to make music.”

I stare at him in awe.
I had no idea.

“Can you show me?” I
ask, fascinated.

He seems excited
again, and I love watching his passion come to life. He navigates around his
laptop, and soon I’m staring at a program that covers the screen with lots of
small boxes and even more empty space. I still don’t understand what’s happening,
but wait patiently as he clicks and moves around with a casual expertise.

“Ok, hang on a sec.”
He glances around the desk as if searching for something, and then grunts. “Do
you have headphones? I’d let you use mine but they’re custom for my ears so you
won’t be able to hear very well. I was hoping they’d have external speakers in
here but they don’t and the built-in speaker won’t do it justice.”

I nod. “I do in my
bag. I’ll go get them.”

“Ok, great. I’ll load
some stuff for you to hear and get this set up.”

I grab my headphones
from my room and return as quickly as possible. When I do, I see him hard at
work, one hand on his laptop and the other playing the keyboard. I can see he
has headphones in his own ears now and I’m not even sure he’s noticed I’ve
returned.

I wave my hands to get
his attention, and he pulls one out of his left ear.

“That looks like a high-tech
hearing aide,” I comment, observing the molded earpiece dangling around his
neck.

He grins. “It kind of
is. Only a million times better. They’re called in-ear monitors. They’re custom
fit to my ear so they fit perfectly. These babies have twelve drivers!”

I smile, knowing I’m
supposed to be impressed by that, but I don’t know what a driver is.

“Ok,” I say. “These
probably don’t.”

He laughs. “No
probably not. It’s ok. You’ll still be able to hear this.”

He waves me over, and
I hand him my headphones. He plugs the end into the laptop stereo jack, and I
put the buds in my ears. My jaw drops when he starts playing. That tiny little
machine on his desk has transformed into an entire band in my head.

I can tell he loves my
expression, and his eyes are wild with excitement. He’s trying to talk to me
again, so I pull out one of the headphones.

“Tell me an instrument
you want to hear,” he repeats, and I think for a moment.

“Violin,” I say,
remembering his other talent.

He nods, clearly happy
about my choice, and I watch him move around his screen, adding things to boxes
and blank space.

“Ok, now listen.”

I put the headphone
back in, and he starts playing. The beautiful, simple melody ringing through my
ears sounds exactly like a violin, down to the vibrato and hit of a bow on a
string.

My eyes widen. “I can
even hear the vibrato,” I whisper.

He laughs. “Tremolo,
but yeah. How about this?”

He clicks more buttons
and starts playing again. This time the sound is fuller, another stringed
instrument has joined in a duet. He clicks some more, and next thing I know I’m
listening to an entire strings section playing a steady, syncopated riff that
changes its rhythm as he moves a button on his screen.

“That’s amazing,” I
exclaim. “It sounds just like an orchestra!”

He nods. “And check
this out.”

He clicks some more
buttons, and now I hear an acoustic guitar strumming along. I glance around the
room, still unable to believe he’s doing all of that with this little keyboard.

I laugh. “You don’t
even need an actual band anymore, do you. You could record an entire song with
just this thing!”

He shrugs and grins as
I pull out my headphones. “A lot of people do that actually. There’s a huge
advantage to recording in midi. You’re basically converting sounds to data,
which allows you to do anything you want with them. I can record a riff on the
keys and make it sound like a trombone. Then decide I want it to be a cello,
instead. Then decide I want to turn it into a loop and copy and paste it a
hundred times, or just have it play once and tell it to repeat. I can quantize
it, level volumes, even alter specific notes if I don’t like the way something modulates
without re-recording anything.”

“So what does this box
do?” I ask, tapping the other rectangle on the desk.

“That’s an interface.
It’s going to allow me to hook up the mics and my guitar to the computer so I
can add vocals and live guitar to the recording as well.”

“This is crazy.”

“I know. It’s awesome.
And see all these buttons and faders?” he asks, pointing to the knobs and
sliders on the keyboard. “I can program all of these to control anything I want
to. It’s especially valuable when playing live because it allows me to change sounds
and trigger what I need right from here instead of messing with my computer.”

I look at him. “But I
thought you’re a drummer.”

He smiles. “Yeah, I
don’t do this for NSB. Just on my own projects.”

I shake my head in
disbelief.

“What?” he asks,
suddenly shy again.

I smile at him.
“Nothing. You just keep surprising me, that’s all.”

He laughs. “Hopefully,
good surprises,” he teases, pulling me toward him.

“Oh yeah,” I assure
him, sliding onto his lap. It’s so natural, so easy, and I kiss him without
even thinking. He kisses me back, and there’s that sudden urgency again. I feel
so secure, so sure, in his arms, and wish I’d been bolder earlier in the guest
room after my shower. I want him. That much is obvious to both of us. Gosh,
right now if I could. I can’t get enough, grasping his collar as I press into
him. He seems just as determined, and I love the way his hands hold me against
him. It’s pretty obvious how much he wants me, too.