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Blue Blouse leans forward, and the words stop pouring thoughtlessly when she taps the table with a pink fingernail. “I meant, what’s your situation? Married, dating, single?”
Oh, that I can answer easily.
“Willow. She’s mine.” I can feel the smile stretching my face. “We met recently and I was done for.” I almost say ‘she’s everything’, but a little angel on my shoulder tells me that’s probably not the proper thing to say to a room full of folks dangling your dream over your head.
Another guy pipes in, “It says here you have an arrest record?” He scowls in disdain. “Three times?” His brows climb so high that if he had a hairline, they’d be in it.
I shrug. “Misspent youth. Nothing serious, some trespassing for field parties and bar fights. Chief Gibson, Judge Myson, and I worked it out all right.”
He comes back with a harder jab, “When was the last time you punched someone?”
I grit my teeth, not liking where this is going. “A few weeks ago. Tourist got handsy with my woman when she was working at Hank’s. Broke his nose. Chief Gibson reminded him that it’s not polite, or legal, to lay hands on a woman without consent.”
See . . . I got your feminist thing right here, people. Only we call it being a fucking decent human being and not a douchebag shit stain.
Blue Blouse gasps before covering her mouth with her hand.
What the hell? That ain’t no big deal. Happens all the time at home. Well, maybe not broken noses, but a punch here and there is how we settle shit in the country.
But I can tell the tide has turned in the room. They think I’m some out of control hillbilly, and while that might be a little too close to the truth, it’s not like I’m a total asshole. I only fight when it’s the right thing to do. Or to let off steam. Or when one of the guys needs a target.
Jeremy clears his throat, and all attention shifts back to him. He’s been watching this whole show silently, leaning back in his chair and taking it all in. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I’ve got you a twenty-minute spot at a place we like to run new and prospective artists through. Good crowds, but they’ll let you know loud and clear if you’re any good. We’ll send a car for you at nine tonight, you’ll hit the stage at ten as an opener, and be back in your hotel room by eleven with no broken bones. Yours or anyone else’s, am I clear?”
He’s talking to me like a fucking toddler, but I pull back on the reins of my temper and simply nod.
“Good. If that goes well, we’ll send you to the studio tomorrow. Mission will be to record as many quality tracks as possible. Don’t let me down, son.”
I know a dismissal when I hear it, and I just bombed the hell out of this meeting. Maybe I can salvage it tonight, though. Chattering away ain’t never been my strong suit, but if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s singing.
Back at the hotel, I drink a whiskey then decide I should probably do something responsible like hot water with lemon if I’m singing for my life tonight. Room service sends that up quickly, and I swallow it like a shot.
I want to talk to Willow, tell her I fucked up, and let her reassure me that it’s going to be fine. She’d probably say ‘no matter what happens, it’s an experience that you’ll grow from. Be in it, feel every moment of it, and use it.’
She’s right, even when she’s not here. She’s a part of me, and I feel her even though she’s far away.
So I don’t call and worry her yet. She has faith in me and I’ll prove her right.
Instead, I pull out Betty and play a few chords. Writing a new song for a show in a few hours is a risky fucking move, but I’ve never been one to play it safe. And since I met Willow, inspiration fills me easily and words come to me more readily, demanding release.
Chasing down my dream so I can give you yours.
The proof of a man is in his woman’s eyes.
Storm for me, shine for me, show your soul for me.
And I’ll dig down deep to get mine so you can have yours.
After a while, I have that feeling. This is good. I know it is. I did what Willow would’ve told me to do—lived in this moment, mixing the opportunity, the fear, and the hope into these words. The melody is driving and urgent, giving it a sense of hunger.
I play it five more times through, tweaking and changing little things to perfect it. It’s my ode to Willow and our future. Whether I make it tonight or not.
