Reverb by J. Cafesin Page A

and arms. Stacked abs peek through and below the bandage. His hands are shoved deep in the pockets of his worn jeans, pulling the waistband down in front, exposing his bellybutton and the graceful line of his pelvic bones. And even though he knows it was completely inappropriate, Martin wants to jump him.
    Lightning crackles across the valley again. James startles from the clap of thunder that follows. He glances at Martin with a quick, demented laugh.
    “I’ve become a bit jumpy.” He flashes a twisted grin.
    “I can see that.” Martin meets his black-eyed stare. And the old James is gone. The James he knew was casual and confident—to the point of arrogant. The James who showed up this evening seems positively unhinged. He’s the same exquisite work of art, but Martin does not know this man. “God, someone really messed with you, didn’t they?”
    James stares out at the storm. He nods slightly. “You think I’m crazy, Martin?” He whispers the question. The James he knew never would have asked it.
    “You mean now, or have always been?”
    James smiles. “Let’s start with always.”
    “I’m not qualified to judge crazy, James. But I recognize obsession. I’ve lived it, with you at times. Actually, anytime with you.”
    James scoffs, then looks at Martin. “That wasn’t obsession. It was love.”
    “That’s not love, James. Music can’t love you back.”
    His expression hardens and he looks back out. “Yeah… I got that, alone in hell...” He stands stone still, completely absorbed in his thoughts, but not like the old James—clearly rapt in the sounds he created. Now his face is expressionless, like a mask on top of many.
    Thunder rumbles but it's distant. Storm cell is passing. Half-moon peeks out and lights the rolling hills of vineyards in deep blues. Ambient light cast James in marble, like a Greek god. But then Martin notices him trembling. And the indestructible archetype is gone.
    “Do you think you’re crazy, James?”
    He shoots Martin a quick look, then turns away, pulls the blanket off the bed and wraps it around his shoulders. He stares outside. “I know what crazy is. I lived it, with it for the past thirteen months.” He gives a dismissive laugh and shakes his head slightly. “I’ll admit to being obsessed, but I don’t think I was crazy. I don’t know if I am now. I may be.” Another quick, derisive laugh. “They tried to make me crazy.” He speaks as if to himself. “I know John thinks I’m crazy.”
    “John thinks you’re still suicidal.” Martin waits for a reaction but gets none. “And I must admit, I’m concerned, too, after seeing what you did to yourself. Care to fill me in on the accuracy of John’s assessment?”
    James looks at Martin and cocks his head. “What’s the deal, Martin? What difference does it make to you? I mean, really? We haven’t seen each other or worked together in years. If we never saw each other again, what impact would it have on your life? Honestly, why does it matter?”
    “Jesus, James. What the hell kind of question is that? How long have we been friends?”
    “Is this a test?” Soft smile on his face. “I don’t know, Martin. But we’ve known each other a long time.”
    His comment cut. It was careless, and so James . “Fifteen years. You’ve been a part of my life for fifteen years. Whether by default or design, you’ve affected it. I’ve done some of my best work with you. You got me my first Broadway gig, and my first Tony nomination for Christ’s sake.”
    “You’re a talented composer, Martin. It was always a privilege working with you.”
    Martin softens. “And for me, with you, James.”
    Sad smile dances across his full lips. He stares out the bay windows at the blue valley. He looks like a monk, or one of those young fantasy novel heroes. “We made some good music together.” James whispers, as if to himself again.
    “And we’ll make more down the road—”
    He laughs, like Martin is