Page 121 of Playing By Ear

“Did you say something about an agent?”

“Ah. Right.” Jamie’s voice brightened a little. “Mind that woman from Sunday, after the set? I know I was all casual about it then, but the next day I realized how dire my finances are. Dad needs me more, so there’s nae time to busk just now.”

“Oh, no.” As a fellow freelancer, Perry understood the precariousness of having no paid leave.

“Committing to gigs is out of the question too, but if I signed with a label, it could mean money later this year when I need it most. Besides, I’m nearly twenty-seven, and I cannae stay feart of success forever.”

“Why do you fear success?”

“Because if people know me, they’ll want to really know me.”

Perry rested his hand on Jamie’s thigh and gave it a light squeeze. He couldn’t wait for the world to know Jamie half as well as he did.

Then he remembered a recent story by one of his colleagues about fake agents and managers scamming musicians. “What’s this agency called?”

“Fagan Creative. Rather a cheeky name, but I always did like the pickpockets in Oliver Twist. Also, they’re local, and they’re run by a woman, both of which are important to me.”

Perry mentally filed the name. Tomorrow, he’d make a few calls to check whether Fagan was legit. But tonight, he’d be here for Jamie in all his hope and sorrow.

That evening, while Perry finished writing his album review, Jamie sat on the bed trying to play Prince songs. Not the big hits, but grief songs like “Comeback” and “Sometimes It Snows in April.” The guitar parts came easily via muscle memory, but every time he tried to sing, it felt like a breezeblock had settled on his chest.

The ruthless truth was that every day until the end of time, Prince would be gone. Nearly every year of Jamie’s life had brought a new album or tour. If the world was lucky, there’d be another LP’s worth of unreleased Prince songs in the vault, but after that there’d be nothing.

He thought of Perry losing Kurt Cobain when he was eleven. Eleven was a hard age to…

Jamie’s fingers stilled on the fretboard as the black hole of loss yawned before him. He was swept back through years of sorrow to the instant before Ritchie went from is to was. To the crack of light, the scent of dry-cleaning, the taste of cotton-nylon blend.

He blinked hard, returning to the here and now. It was mad how fifteen years later, the memories still caught him unawares, like a sliding tackle from an opposing fullback. Monday’s gun incident had thinned the fraying veil between Jamie and the past.

“More tea?” Perry asked from the doorway.

Jamie looked at his empty mug, which he didn’t remember drinking from. “Sure. Thanks.”

Perry took the mug. “You sound wonderful,” he said, then turned and headed for the kitchen.

Jamie sighed. He’d planned to admit the truth about his family tonight after the cam session, but the thought of losing Perry on top of losing Prince had taken a pickaxe to his resolve.

Saturday, then?

No. On Saturday, Fergus, John, Ben, and Evan were coming for dinner, to continue Perry’s string of Warriors interviews. He’d already sat down with Heather about the team’s origins, then Duncan and Brodie about the simmering aftermath of the 2014 quarterfinal.

Sunday was Perry’s match, when Jamie would hang out with Perry’s parents, then go for drinks with Sarah and Brian.

How much longer could he put off his confession before it tore him up inside—or worse, Perry found out on his own?

Perry returned, and Jamie swiped his sleeve across his face. “Sorry, I’m a bit leaky.”

“You’re not alone. Thousands of people have gone to Paisley Park for an impromptu vigil. Purple flowers everywhere.” He sat on the bed beside Jamie. “If that helps.”

“It does help.” He took his mug from Perry and just held onto it with both hands. “I’ll write a song about it, being one of millions grieving. How it makes it easier and harder at the same time.”

“How so?”

“Like, if I let down that barrier and feel what everyone else feels, it’ll be too heavy a burden, and it’ll make me numb. I don’t want to be numb, but sometimes it’s the only way.”

“It’s not.” Perry shifted closer. “The night I lost reading, you told me it was okay to grieve. The same applies to you, whether it’s for Prince or…anyone else.”

“I know.”