Can't Look Away(28)
Jake spent part of most days at the studio with Sam and Hale. When it came time to record the album, their producer, Ron Dixon from Dixon Entertainment, flew in from LA. Jerry oversaw the recording, too, but fortunately, Maxine only worked events. The band’s debut album—titled The Narrows after the beach in North Carolina where Jake and the Lanes had frequented as adolescents—was set to release in December. Danner Lane was being pitched as Mumford & Sons meets Kings of Leon, though Molly thought there was another comp there, too—something slightly more cheerful and pop-infused. Maroon 5, perhaps, though Molly didn’t think Jake would be thrilled with that comparison. Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, he’d like better.
When Jake got back from the studio in the afternoons, he often spent several hours writing new songs. He liked to work on the floor, with his notebooks splayed out on the coffee table. Molly was normally home by then, unless she was subbing; she’d finished her yoga teacher training at Bhakti in August and had been assigned five weekly classes, all of them morning. And though she wasn’t yet making nearly enough to support herself—new teachers at Bhakti brought in just forty dollars per class—Jake still convinced her to give up her afternoon shifts at Angelina’s.
“Otherwise, you won’t have any time to write,” he’d argued when she’d objected. “I can afford to pay more of our rent right now, so what does it matter?”
“But it’s not just about rent, Jake. I have loan payments to make every month.”
He’d nodded, contemplating. “I can pay your loans, Moll.”
“Jake, I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask. You know I have a bunch in my savings from the record deal—I can swing it right now, so why not? We’re a team. When you get your big, hot book deal, or start getting paid more at Bhakti, we can reevaluate.”
Molly didn’t like the idea of her life being subsidized, not by Jake or anyone. But he was right—if her schedule stayed this packed, she’d never have time to finish the book.
And so, she’d conceded. Every day, when she was finished at Bhakti midmorning, Molly went home, made a quick lunch, then spent the rest of the day writing. The only problem was the lack of space. Their apartment was small, and with Jake at the coffee table, there wasn’t an ideal spot for Molly to work.
One morning in late September, she came home from Bhakti to find Jake was still there.
“You’re not at the studio?” Molly’s backpack slid off her shoulder, dropping to the floor.
“I got distracted on my way to the subway.” Jake stepped to the side, extending both hands in presentation. “Look what I got you.”
In the corner of the living room was a small wooden desk. Molly’s laptop was perched on its surface, along with a blue ceramic lamp and an Obama mug filled with an array of pens and pencils.
“Jake, where did you—”
“That secondhand store on Bedford. You know the one right before the L train? I’ve been meaning to pop in there. A writer needs a place to write. You never had a desk when you lived with Liz, did you?”
Molly shook her head, her lips parted in surprise, in pure appreciation. “You carried it up here yourself?”
“It wasn’t too heavy.” Jake looped his arms around her neck, leaning down to kiss the side of her face. “The wood’s a little grubby. I was thinking I’d paint it white. You like it?”
Molly looked up at him, deep into his bottomless blue eyes. “It’s perfect.”
From that point on, they fell into a new rhythm—Jake on the floor, Molly at her desk—feeding off each other’s energies. They could be alone together, wholly immersed in their own creative worlds while just several feet apart. At seven or eight in the evening, they’d come up for air, one of them wandering over to the other and nuzzling in, signaling a stopping point. They’d open a bottle of wine and make an easy dinner, or order in, or sometimes head out to meet friends for drinks and a bite.
Afterward—more nights than not that first year—they had sex. Consuming, fierce, unhurried sex, their eyes locked, their bodies fixed in a steady rhythm that grew more familiar and mutually beneficial each time. In the middle of working on her book—the demanding but purposeful task of connecting and editing and rewriting the contents of her thesis—Molly found her mind drifting to her sessions in bed with Jake, replaying moments that were often specific and mechanical. She was sure she thought about it too often, but she’d never experienced sex like theirs before—not even close.
That fall, Danner Lane had fewer gigs in order to increase demand for shows around The Narrows’ release. To build buzz around the album, Ron had arranged for a single to come out in advance of the launch, and so “Salt River” dropped mid-October. Molly came to every concert the band did play—Jake said he needed her there, but she would’ve gone regardless. Liz liked to say it was because Molly felt threatened by Maxine, but this wasn’t true. Molly had become more and more tempted to tell Liz to go fuck herself.
At Jake’s shows, Molly stood near the front but always off to the side. She never failed to be entranced by the expert way he handled the guitar while singing his heart out. His talent was extraordinary, but it was his stage presence that truly made him shine. That je ne sais quoi she’d seen from the start.