“Was he the reason you decided to study music?”
I tip my head back and forth. “Part of it. He got me into music really young.”
Admittedly, my memories of quality time with the manare sparse, given how long ago he peaced out of my life. But music was the only thing he ever cared about, so of course the few memories I do have of spending time with him are centered around that.
“Did you ever want to be a musician yourself?”
“Maybe when I was really little,” I say, “but doesn’t everyone want to be a rock star when they’re that young?” Eventually, I realized I’d inherited most of my dad’s features and precisely none of his musical talent. I’ve always found the behind-the-scenes stuff more interesting anyway. “What about you? What made you want to get into the industry?”
“Oh, I fully wanted to be a pop star,” she says with a laugh. “My sister and I stanned the Disney Channel singers so hard. Growing up, my mom put us in pageants and stuff—”
Picturing Eleanor as a pageant girl kind of breaks my brain. “Wait, like, with the frilly dresses? And the creepy doll hair and makeup? And the tiaras?”
“Tiaras are for winners,” she says sardonically. “My sister placed first a couple times, but the best I ever got was second runner-up.” She waves her hands. “Point is, I quickly realized that I actually hate being the center of attention that way.”
I lean back in my seat, overlaying the idea of Eleanor I had in my head with this new information. In a weird way, it tracks. Eleanor commands attention. She’s nice to look at and difficult to ignore, and she has that aura of confidence that’s sort of… captivating. But it never feels like she’s activelytryingto get anyone’s attention.
“Always loved music, though. I would spend all the money I was supposed to be saving for college on concert tickets.”
“What was the first concert you ever went to?”
Her lips purse. The longer she hesitates, the more excited I get, because clearly the answer is embarrassing.
Finally, her eyes flick somewhere over my shoulder and she huffs and says: “It was Justin Bieber.”
“Oh, Eleanor,” I say, voice full of mock disappointment.
“I was a literal child, okay?”
“Bieber, though? Really?”
“I mostly went because Iris was really into him—”
Food forgotten, I lean forward and prop my forearms on the table. “Did you have a poster of him in your room?”
Her jaw shifts. “I shared a room with Iris.”
“So yes.”
“It washers.”
“Sure it was.” My grin stretches impossibly wider. “Did you fantasize about marrying him? You did, didn’t you?”
“My tastes have evolved, is the moral of the story.”
“Obviously.” I gesture to myself as I lean back again, which earns me one hell of an eye roll. “So why A&R? Instead of becoming a talent manager or producer or something like that?”
She tips her head side to side, considering. “My first boyfriend was in a band.”
“And you were a Belieber?”
“The horse is dead already,” she says dryly. “They were alt-rock, and he was the drummer.”
“Ah.” I snap my fingers. “That was my second guess.”
“Anyway, I essentially acted as his band’s manager. It was around then that I started to think about discovering artists and getting to be the one to offer contracts that make someone’s dream come true.”
It’s a straightforward answer, but it throws me all the same. It’s just so… wholesome.Making dreams come true.
