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“No idea, but I’m betting she’s not here for me.”
I watch Lorelai pace a small circle in high-heeled boots before jumping to my feet and marching out of our offices and down the stairs and shoving through the heavy metal door.
“You’re not on the schedule, are you?”
Lorelai shrieks and jumps three inches in the air. “Jesus Christ, Huck, are you trying to kill me?”
I lean against the doorjamb and cross my ankles. “More like trying to figure out why you’re out here and not in there?”
“Well, I don’t have an appointment, as you said.”
I scoff good-naturedly. “You know I was being flippant. You don’t need an appointment here, and besides, it’s never stopped you before.”
“I know, but I figured you’d be all super busy and famous and I wasn’t sure after… well.” Her arms drop with a giant sigh. I look at her, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, just barely hidden under her large sunglasses, before my gaze wanders to the defeated droop of her shoulders. She searches around, as if looking for a crowd carrying pitchforks. “I didn’t know if you heard the interview and what that might mean for… our partnersh—us. What it means for us.”
Hell, is that what this is about? I shake my head and swing the door open behind me, standing there, waiting for her to pass. She freezes in place, her eyes wide for a long beat before her expression melts ever so slightly and she quickly ducks past me. I tug her to a stop and lean in so I can see past the shaded lenses of her glasses.
“I fuckinglovedthe interview. Arlo thought I was being attacked in my office because I hollered so loud. I’d guess it would be the equivalent to competitive guys watching the Super Bowl, the way I carried on. Not that Arlo or I wouldreally know. That deejay baited you and you handed him his assliveon the radio. You didn’t back down for one moment, even though literally everything that mattered to you was on the line. Do you realize how incredible you are? I’m in awe of you. I’m not ashamed to be seen with you, I’m fuckinghonoredto share your air. You can have your own office space if you want. I’ll change the name to Lorelai Jones Recording Studio. I’ll have merch made with your gorgeous face on it.”
Lorelai huffs softly, “Huck—”
“No. You need to hear this. This isn’t the same as last time, and I’m not Drake Colter, sowhateverthis is…”—I gesture between us—“it’s not dependent on you hiding yourself away and staying the quiet and perfectly submissive starlet. I have no interest in that version of Lorelai Jones. I want the one that cusses out the patriarchy and plays Neil Young and writes whole-ass songs when they could just send a text. Ilikethe schoolteacher activist.”
“I might never sing in this town again,” she says.
“I’d love to see them try and keep you out.” I wrap my arm around her, leading her upstairs with me. “Now, I have Coolidge on his way and he’s putting up with me and Arlo only because he thinks you’re part of the package deal, so maybe I really will get merch made. Some T-shirts or those trucker hats that were super popular a few years ago. We’ll bring sexy back.”
Once we hit the top of the stairs, I stop her one more time before we enter the studio. “You good?”
Lorelai takes a deep breath and pulls off her sunglasses, tucking them away. “Yeah.”
My expression is skeptical, and she smirks. Something inside of my chest loosens at the sight. “I’m good. Fuck them and the horse they rode in on and all that. I’m over it.”
And you know what? I know she isn’t really over it, but I believe she’s on her way.
21CRAIG
DIE A HAPPY MAN
Not only did Coolidge bring fiddler Fitz Jacoby and drummer Jason Diaz, he also brought Annie Mathers, reigning queen of country. Mathers immediately made a beeline for Lorelai and the two beauties huddled together, giving the men shit and presumably draining the planet of its talent just by their mere existence.
Before today, I obviously knew there was a dynamic between Coolidge and Mathers, everyone did, but it’s something else to experience it up close. The way they challenge each other with just a word or a look. It’s a language all their own, equal parts friendsandlovers, and it rings familiar in a way I’d better not overthink.
Right now, Coolidge and his bandmates are sitting in the dim studio while Arlo and I man the board. Annie’s over Arlo’s shoulder and Lorelai’s sitting behind me, her eyes closed, listening to his rich vocals.
He’s singing an original right now. He’s a more-than-decent lyricist, singing lines that speak to experiences he shouldn’t have but believably does. The honesty in his tone is kind of unsettling, but I’m into it. I let his vocals wash over me and allow them to soak deep into my bones, not interrupting him. Just letting him do his thing and get comfortable behind the mic. Already my brain is picking up on a kind of funky vibe that I want to eventually explore with him. Almost R&B. There’s an edge to him that has a cross appeal. A little bit of a Babyface or an old-school Usher vibe.
It’s a direction country artists cycle through every few years, but it’s tough to manage without outright appropriation. Coolidge is a farm boy from Indiana, but he’s also danced with the devil. No parents and an older brother who died while serving in the military overseas. His reputation for getting into trouble as a kid is well known, and I think that innate recognition of survival comes across.
It’s no wonder he and Annie found each other. Mathers is practically country music royalty. Her parents were Cora Rosewood and Robbie Mathers. Think Tim and Faith if they hadn’t overcome the odds and turned vegan. Literally everything crashed and burned for Annie’s parents in the most horrific way. She was sent to live in Michigan to grow up with her grandparents away from the lights and toxicity of Nashville and returned a young woman with a good head on her shoulders and talent shining out of her pores. Fate brought Coolidge and Mathers together for a summer tour, and as far as I can tell, they’ve been intertwined ever since. Even when Coolidge stepped out of the limelight and walked away from his career, they’ve remained intact.
Jefferson moves into a new song, pressing his lips to themic and meeting our eyes. “This one’s untried. I wrote it a while back and kind of threw it to the wayside, but I’m suddenly feeling it.” He looks over his shoulders to his bandmates. “I’ll go solo on it unless you wanna jump in.”
Then he meets Mathers’s eyes and starts to strum.
Within a few chords, I know this has to be on the album. I can also tell it’s exceptionally personal and probably biographical. A glance at Mathers and she’s pressing her lips together, pushing her big bold curls out of her face and revealing glittering eyes. The song is about a sinner in love with a saint and is told from the perspective ofafter.Not as if whatever they had was over, but instead it’s because she’s no longer a saint. He’s corrupted her with their shared sensuality.
By the time he’s done, both Annie and Lorelai, who’s come alongside me, are fanning their pink faces. Arlo removes his hat, swiping at his forehead, and everyone laughs.
