The song was done.

Well, written. And arranged. It needed some backup, something more than piano. He imagined it with a smooth, sultry, jazzy flavor. A sweet saxophone behind it. A soothing beat. Something laid back and gentle to help you ease into your evening.

Josh sat on the bench at the piano and stared at the words and notes that had been scratched onto the page, that no one else could understand, likely.  He liked it, exactly as it was. He wondered if anyone else would.

A few weeks later, it was another nice Friday night in Orlando. The arrival of fall brought cooler temperatures, the kind where you just barely needed a jacket and the skies were clear and the air smelled like spiced apple pie and chicken and dumplings.

Josh and Celeste were enjoying another night out alone, courtesy of his parents, and stopped in to catch a set of The Associates.  They almost didn't come-- not because dinner ran late, or their walk drew them away from the area of the Warehouse, or because they wanted to be at home with their kids--but because Josh was nervous. He had turned the song over to Tyler, who had given it to Mike, who sort of kind of directed the music. The band had learned the song. It would debut that night, and he would be exposed and naked. Sort of.

Josh almost didn't want to know what anyone thought of it. He was most nervous about what Celeste would think.

They were supposed to play the song during the second set, at least Tyler said they would. The crowd would be thinner and a little more forgiving, but at least the song would be played. So Josh was surprised and terrified and furious altogether when, toward the end of the first set-when the bar was full and they were playing pretty well and everyone was into the music coming from the stage-- the first chords of his song started.

He stiffened, and sat up straight, and swallowed the lump in his throat. "This is it. This is the song," he said to Celeste.

Confused, she frowned. "I thought they weren't playing it till later."

"Yeah, me too. Someone's getting his ass kicked, right after this set."

"Shhhhh," she soothed, her hand on his arm, her eyes on the stage.

Tyler was on guitar, Mike on keyboards, Kevin on bass, Devin on sax, Bobby on drums.  Mike and Kevin took care of vocals, Tyler piped in when he felt the need. Josh had to admit... it sounded almost exactly like it had sounded in his head. Almost. A little lazy, but he was kind of proud of it. Or he would be, until the boos started, or if the applause was just polite and not overwhelming.

He grabbed Celeste's hand, squeezing it tight. He was so nervous. As the song dipped into verse two, he dared a look around the bar. People seemed to like it, nodding their heads. Some had their eyes closed and were swaying back and forth and when the song ended, the room erupted into applause. An almost standing ovation-which the Warehouse crowd didn't offer very often.

He hadn't realized he was sweating until a drop rolled down his forehead and dripped onto the table. He grabbed at a cocktail napkin and swiped at his head. Relief. Finally. He'd written something. Put it together. Submitted it to a band for them to learn and play and they did and this finicky crowd-though, how finicky could they be, if they liked The Associates, but still-didn't boo it. He was kind of proud.

And so was Celeste. She wrapped and arm around him and squeezed and left a big wet kiss on his cheek and smiled, when he could finally look at her.

"I'm so damn proud of you," she said. He couldn't hear her for the applause and the band still playing, but he could read lips. He liked what her lips were saying. "It turned out great!"

"Thanks," he said a half smile forming, finally able to take a deep breath and look up. Tyler caught his eye and winked, and then nodded his head toward the stage, and then mouthed the words, "Wanna come up?"

Josh sat there, like a bump on a log, not knowing what to do. He looked at Celeste, who only shrugged and smiled and back at Tyler, who narrowed his eyes and nodded at him again, and mouthed, "Get up here!" So he did.

Slowly, he got up from his chair, and made his way to the side of the stage. Tyler stepped to his microphone, eyeing him as he wove his way through the crowd.

"Since you guys liked that so much, we're gonna play it again, but I'm asking the guy that wrote this song, and put it together to come up and do it with us. He's a little nervous, so let's make him feel at home. What do you say, Warehouse?!"

Josh didn't hear the applause; he only saw the steps leading up the stage. Five of them. Five tiny steps and then he was up there, in front of a room full of people. To sing a song he hadn't sung with this band, and hadn't sung for anyone, ever. He was going to choke. He just knew it.

"Josh." A warm hand was on his back, a familiar one. He turned around to find Celeste standing there, offering her hand to him. "You want me to go with you?"

He nodded, and swallowed, and took her hand. Together, they climbed the five steps to the stage, where Tyler met him and led him, by the elbow to a microphone stand. A lone stand. Out in front.

He was, for an instant, back in that room. That room in downtown DC, with critical eyes and stone faces staring at him, wanting him to open his mouth and let that angelic voice fall out. He'd wanted it to fall out. It just wouldn't come. He froze, completely, and in embarrassment and shame, ran from the room and down the hall, past his mom, past everyone, until he found a corner, and collapsed into it.

He felt a little like doing that same thing, right then. Except... he couldn't. He had to do this. Once and for all.  

Josh gripped the microphone, clipped into the stand, like it was his lifeline. Looked out over the expectant crowd, heard the light tapping of the drumstick on the edge of the drum, counting down the start, then Devin's sax blowing a sweet tune. He was going to open his mouth, and words were going to come out. Because if they didn't he would never, not ever, try this again.

But they came. From his mind, from his soul, where they'd been laying dormant and living and swirling, producing dreams and nightmares. The words he'd been running from, the life he was hiding from-they were one and the same.

Your love, like a candle
Flickers in the dark
You came into my life
And brightened up my heart
With you by my side
I see the love that I wanna feel
Show me you love me baby
Show me that it's real

Just take my hand
I'll make you understand
I want you
You want me
And that's the way it's got to be
Now that you're here
I'm gonna make it clear

Josh had the oddest moment of déjà vu he'd ever had in his life. The dream. This was it. It was almost like this very moment in time. A rush of energy from the crowd, the vibration of the bass and the acoustic guitar and the drums vibrating through the floor, and his voice ringing out through the speakers. This was it.

He saw Celeste in the crowd, standing near the front of the stage, her body swaying, her hands clasped and over her mouth, just barely concealing her wide smile. And two long shiny streaks down each cheek. It made him almost tear up to see how proud she was.

He wanted to jump around-and scream and shout and celebrate. He was doing it! He was excited. He was proud. And when he finished this song, he had a lot more left in him to pull out, and he was going to start doing just that.

 Give me the love I need
Give in to me
Just give me the love I need
Hold me, caress me
Give in to me
Just give me the love I need
Give me the love I need
Give in to me

It took forever to get off of that stage, and even longer to make it back to the table. So many people wanted to shake his hand, or give him a hug, or tell him they loved the song and loved his voice and hoped he would be back. Josh could only nod and smile, say ‘thank you', and try to push through. He was just looking for Celeste, and couldn't find her.

Just when he was ready to give up and put out some kind of All Points Bulletin for her, he saw her. Well, he saw her hair and her back, and the curve of her hip, recognized the way her jeans fit and how her shirt just barely brushed the tip of the band, so a little bit of skin winked at him from across the room. He headed for that little wink of skin and when he reached it, ran his hand across her back. She jumped a little and turned around.

"There you are!" She threw her arms around his neck, pulling him close to her. He sighed as he slid his arms around her waist, and just held her. Just breathed.

"You did it," she said, right in his ear, so he could hear her. "I'm so proud of you. I'm so proud."

He pulled back. Smiling. Relieved. Exhausted. "We have a big old house, all to ourselves, and we're standing in this club."

"I kind of like the idea of going home with the front man."

He laughed, taking her hand and pulling her toward the door. When they were outside, and could hear each other without yelling, he pulled her close. "I'm hardly a front man. But uhm... that was cool. Really cool. I think I want to do it again."

"I think you should."

"Would you come, if I did?"

She eyed him before ducking into the car. "Try and stop me."

Life was busy, again. Not unmanageable, but busy. Fall stretched into winter, and though it didn't snow in Florida, it did get cold. Jack turned four; there was a big party and he had a very good time.

The Performing Arts Center was more than halfway complete, ahead of schedule. Peete Construction always did a perfect job, and stayed on budget. That lowered his stress level considerably. It also made it so he could go back to his regular routine-taking Jack to school at 9, back to the house to work on various designs and bids by 10, and back at the school and then pick up his kids at 3. It was what worked for them, and it was good to be back on track.

But now, he had to fit music into an already full schedule. Josh didn't know how he did it-actually he did. Celeste. She would handle dinner and dishes and then push him into the sitting room and scoot the kids upstairs so he would have time to work and create and write and play, until he was so sleepy he'd nearly pass out right there. She'd come downstairs, and close the lid and drag his fingers away from the pencil and the sheet music and the piano and coax him upstairs. He was busy, and tired, but happy.

Four new songs had come spilling out of him, since that first night he stepped on stage. Two of them he had sung with the band, the other two he'd sung alone. The Associates had generously given him time during their set for him to sing, if he wanted. They'd always offered it. He'd just never taken them up on it. Lately, he was doing that. And he liked it.

Sometimes, they would have Bethany, from Till's school, come watch the kids and everyone would come out, and sit at the same table, and he would do a mini set, just a few songs. The crowd always enjoyed what he put out there, and he liked to think that even though they followed The Associates, they weren't such a bad crowd.

It wasn't like he didn't still dream the dream. It still came. He just dreamt through it, now that he knew how it ended. He didn't make himself wake up, because he was afraid he would prefer that world more. He knew, now that he could love them both. He didn't have to choose.

At least, not yet.

It was a normal Friday night. The Associates did their first set and took a break. Then at the beginning of their second set, after their third song, Josh would do his mini set. It was getting to where people weren't even showing up until right before Josh was about to get on stage. He didn't really like to think about that... he just wanted to get up there and sing and play, and let the words out, otherwise they might start eating at him again. They had to get out, and as his wife said, he had to share it.

He played his songs, and gave his bow and his wave to the audience, amidst the applause. Shook hands and gave high fives on his way to the steps, and just as he hit the bar floor, a man stepped into his view. He was dressed casually, but was obviously from out of town. From his hair cut to his sunglasses to his New York accent, he looked every bit a tourist.

"Paul Redman," he said, extending a hand to Josh. He shook it, confused, but didn't want to be impolite, and began to brush by him.

"Nice to meet you Paul. Thanks for coming out."

"Hold on, hold on. I'm not selling anything. I mean, just dreams, is all."

Josh paused, and eyed this stranger. Something about him... "What can I do for you?"

"Well, the question seems to be more what can I do for you?" He slipped a hand into his pocket and produced a silver card case. He flipped out a thick ivory card, with bold black letters: Paul Redman, Artist Development, Zomba Label Group. "Ever heard of Jive Records? That's us."

"Yeah. Yeah, I heard of Jive. What do you... or what does Jive...want with me?"

Paul chuckled, slipping the card into Josh's shirt pocket. "Well, we want to make you star, son."