Blue Notes by Carrie Lofty

thoughts. My heart is beating so hard that it hurts. I want him to go. To stay. To kiss Adelaide right in front of me, to put me out of my misery.
    Or to kiss me , which would be misery and ecstasy combined.
    “Wait. Composing?” Apparently his features don’t scrunch together when he’s confused. They go placid and calm, with smooth lips and eyes shining like sapphires lit from within. “You threw that out to us on the fly?”
    “Yeah.”
    He makes a noncommittal noise and doesn’t take his eyes off me until I’m fidgety. I feel like a child who’s been promoted to the grown-up table too early.
    I want to scream: What did you think?
    I don’t scream, and he doesn’t volunteer his opinion. He only urges me to take another drink.
    “Adelaide knows when she’s giving a good performance,” he says, almost contemplative. I shake away a rush of envy at how much soft affection he gives her name. “You can see it on her smirking face when she finishes. She practically mocks the crowd for adoring her. It’s a blessing or a failing. I haven’t decided, and I’ve had years to try.”
    “You smirk too. I don’t like it.”
    “Then maybe I’ll make an effort not to. If . . .”
    “What now? If I get onstage again?”
    “No, if you leave your hair down for the rest of the night.” He crosses his arms, cupping both elbows. I almost prefer his teasing to this deep assessment. “You’re a lot to take in all at once, Keeley.”
    “ Me? Go find a woman who can keep a rational thought in her head around you.”
    He only smiles. “I’d rather have another hour with you instead.”
    I pull my hair back and snap the rubber band into place. My ponytail is all that stands between me and the pull of his magnetic orbit.
    “Then you shouldn’t have started with me in the first place.” I retrieve my water bottle. “I’m not someone you can learn in an hour. I’m surprised you think any woman is.”

 Seven 
    H ave you ever had a crush on someone you’ve never talked to, but then you see that person in a crowd, and although he barely knows you exist, he smiles anyway? Maybe he’s just being polite. Simple recognition. A shared humanity. I did that once with a cute librarian intern at the community college in Baton Rouge. He was tall and a bit hippie, but he had an incredibly inviting personality. I got the impression he was never unhappy. Probably untrue. Still, some people give off that vibe.
    I saw him last summer at a little farmer’s market. Just a glimpse. He smiled. I smiled back. I don’t think he saw it when morning veggie shoppers swallowed him up.
    I spent the next two hours shopping and talking to Clair, and I scarfed a heavenly cinnamon roll. My eyes, however . . . I kept a lookout for the librarian. Someday, I thought, I’ll learn his name.
    I never did. And I didn’t see him again, at the market or the library.
    Now . . . This is worse. I know a man named Jude. I know the strong power of his grip. I know that I wouldn’t have performed at Yamatam’s without his goading.
    And now I’ll never be the same.
    It’s an unnerving experience to know something so completely, but it’s true. I performed for more than a hundred strangers in an unfamiliar club. I opened up a vein and let my lifeblood pour out. And they rewarded me with so much applause and appreciation that I almost felt like doing it again would be worth it.
    Only, how much lifeblood do I have to give?
    Forget glimpses. Forget fleeting thoughts of seeing Jude again. He was right all along. I’ve walked away from him, now standing at the bar, but I watch him until my eyes burn. He’s flitting through the club, making the rounds. He seems to know everyone. I don’t put it past him. He’s charming and obviously knows how to make an impression.
    I still can’t believe he got me onstage. Was that really me? I like knowing where my impulses and emotions come from, but right now, my impulses are absorbing energy from Jude, from