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And anyway, I don’t even know ifdisappointedis the right word for how I feel. It never even occurred to me to be invited until I saw my former bandmate all packed up and ready to go on our porch. As far as I know, she’s barely spoken to him since she returned to town. If he had the stones to expect an invite, maybe I should have?
But I didn’t. That probably says a lot about the fundamental difference between Drake and me.
I think of Melissa’s asking me to bring Lorelai tomorrow. As if it was some foregone conclusion we’d come together. Weddings and family brunch dates. Am I missing something? I mean, aside from my massively inappropriate and doomed-to-be-unrequited crush on my tenant-friend?
There’s a tapping on the door and Arlo comes in. We don’t make a habit of working Saturday evenings, but sometimes it can’t be helped, and since I took yesterday off todrive Lorelai to the airport and help execute an ax-throwing baby-gender-reveal party, tonight is as good as any.
Arlo takes in my stretched-out form, my feet propped purposefully on the edge of the soundboard, along with the empty coffee cup and bag from my late lunch crumpled on the floor a foot short of the wastebasket, and a frown creases his pale freckled forehead.
“Been here a while? I thought Coolidge couldn’t meet us until after eight?”
Jefferson Clay Coolidge is a former country wunderkind who burned bright and fast and burned out even faster. As a teen, he was picked up straight out of high school by the major labels and was fed all the best stuff, topping the charts and capturing a few Grammys his first year out. By the second year, he was slipping, however, and ended up shocking everyone by dropping off the face of the earth after a seemingly successful summer tour with a then-up-and-coming, now-unchallenged starlet, Annie Mathers. I don’t know the entire epic story, but I know enough to make a guess based off his enduring sobriety and plans to reinvent himself.
The guy is still young. Maybe twenty-three? Twenty-four? But he has the chops. His songwriting is solid and classic, and he has this soulful voice that brings life to any lyric. Which means I’m super stoked for the opportunity to work with him. Does it help that Drake has always been jealous of the kid?
It doesn’t hurt any, that’s for sure.
“He’s not,” I tell Arlo. “I just had some things to do and wanted to take advantage of the quiet space.”
“Right,” he says, clearly dubious. Arlo agrees with Melissawhen it comes to how much time I spend in the studio. I sometimes wonder if either of them realize how much work it is to start a record company from ground zero. If I’m not here, work isn’t getting done and money isn’t being made and bills won’t get paid.
Don’t get me wrong. This is exactly what I’ve always wanted to do, and I know I’m good at it. But it’s not like I can pass the buck to someone else when things go sideways. I’m the end of the line. It’s awesome and scary as fuck for a guy who spent the first thirty-something years of his life coasting on the fringes of other people’s career moves.
“There’s nothing wrong with being professional and prepared for a new client. I’ve been listening to Coolidge’s earlier work and making some notes. I’ve placed a few phone calls out for collabs so we’re ready to run if things go well tonight.”
I do have notes, that’s not a lie. But Arlo knows me well enough to appreciate I could spout off thoughts on Coolidge’s entire catalogue at a moment’s notice, even before today. I know my stuff.
“Well, since you’re here,” he says, pretending to buy my bullshit, “I heard a story about a former partner of yours.”
Arlo always hears stories. I don’t know how, and I’ve stopped trying to figure it out. The man is more reliable than a gossip rag.
“Oh yeah?” I stretch back, casually interlocking my fingers behind my head.
“True or false, one Drake Colter turned up all remorseful smitten kitten on the very public doorstep of his luminescent ex-fiancé right as his former bandmate wasalsoshowingup and had a little shootout at the O.K. Corral moment in the front yard?”
I don’t even know where to start. “What?”
Arlo’s smirk is triumphant, and it makes me want to scuff his shiny overpriced designer boots. Rub dirt and grit all up in the nonexistent creases.
Instead, I drop my hands. “Colter showed up, yes. He thought to go with her to the wedding that he was definitely not invited to and she turned him down and then I dropped her off at the airport as planned. No O.K. Corral moment. Not even words. Just grabbed her luggage and took her to the airport. As friends do,” I add plaintively.
Arlo sighs, heaving dramatically into the chair next to mine and spinning to face me with a frown. “That’s not nearly as juicy as I hoped. Though I love the idea of him showing up only to have you sweep her off her feet.”
I bite back a frustrated groan. “No sweeping. Just carried her luggage.” This is starting to get obnoxious. “Did you talk to Melissa, by chance?”
He tilts his head to the side, his floppy red hair slipping over one green eye. “Your sister? No.” He crosses one knee over the other. “But how is the hetero love of my existence?”
“She’s fine,” I mutter. “Invited me to brunch tomorrow.” I straighten and pull myself to the soundboard, proper. “Listen, the last thing Lorelai needs is sweeping in any iteration from another guy in her life. She’s already busy fending off Drake full-time.” And let’s face it, eventually he’s gonna wear her down. It’s the reason I didn’t bother with a lease. I don’t need the hassle of paperwork when she caves and moves in with him.
I’m not completely unfamiliar with self-preservation.
“She wouldn’t need to fend him off if you were there.”
I wave him away, switching on random levers that Arlo will fuss over later. “Something of which she is well aware. She didn’t want a date this weekend.”
He narrows his eyes shrewdly and I ignore him. He likely knows about my feelings for Lorelai. As I said, he knows everything. But up till now he’s kept his thoughts to himself. After all, if he can see my feelings for Lore, he can also see her lack of feelings for me.
But before he can say anything more, I’m saved by Coolidge’s arrival with his rusty-haired bandmate, Fitz Jacoby. We make introductions and I listen and watch the dynamic between the two musicians while Arlo runs through some logistics about our studio. It’s clear Coolidge and Jacoby have known each other a long time. Fitz is well known for both his fiddle and guitar playing. He’s married to Annie Mathers’s cousin and bandmate, Kacey Rosewood. If memory serves, Jefferson was at least at one point very attached to Annie, creating quite a bit of overlap between the two bands. Jefferson and Annie oozed chemistry at the CMAs a few years back, setting off ripples of giddy speculation across the country music echelons. Even my front-row seat to Drake’s hissy fit couldn’t keep me from noticing.
