Loving Dallas - Caisey Quinn Page 0,53
We’ll just chat. Forget the listeners. Let’s just shoot the bull like old friends. Sound good?”
“Yes, sir.”
“First rule of shooting the bull, no ‘sirs.’ ”
I nod, feeling like a complete jackass. “Got it.”
A tall blond woman with angular features steps into the small room. “We’re on in five, Ricky,” she tells him.
“Let’s do this,” he says, putting in earbuds like the ones I was given.
I press mine into my ears and they fill with the sound of someone counting down. “On in five” apparently means five seconds in radio time.
“We’re back with Ricky Ray, Kim Le, and up-and-coming country music sensation Dallas Walker,” Ricky says in a completely different voice than the one he used to greet me. “Thanks for joining us, Dallas.”
The chorus of “Better to Burn” plays briefly.
“Thanks for having me,” I say into the silver microphone attached to a long metal arm in front of me.
“So you’re from here in town I hear.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Yes, si—uh, yes. I am. From Amarillo actually.”
Austin originally, but I don’t feel the need to clarify because it would open a door to my past I have no intention of walking through on the radio.
“You had a band there, didn’t you?”
I shift in my seat and it rolls slightly backward. I stop myself before I answer with “yes, sir.” “Yeah. My sister and a buddy of mine played around for a while.”
“Just played around?” Ricky glances down at several sheets of paper laid out before him. “It says here you took third place in last year’s state fair sound-off and that your band, Leaving Amarillo, recently played in Austin MusicFest.”
Swallowing hard, I nod even though I know I’m supposed to verbalize my answers.
“Austin was a good time. I met my manager there. If I hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”
It’s a lame-ass attempt at redirecting, but it’s all I got.
“Well, thank goodness for Austin.” Kim breaks in, possibly because she’s the closest to me and can likely see how twitchy I’m becoming. “Touring with Jase Wade must be amazing. Has that been a life-changing experience?”
I grin at her, thankful for the change in topic. “It has been. Jase is an impressive performer and I’ve learned a lot being on this tour. It’s an awesome opportunity and I’m grateful to get to be a part of it.” Most of that is true at least.
“You already have quite a large fan base—much larger than most new artists,” Ricky says, eyeing me as if wondering how I tricked people into listening to my music. “Do you attribute that to your time with your band? Have Leaving Amarillo fans followed you over into your solo career?”
I shrug. “You know, it’s hard to say. I mean I hope so. It’d be great if they did since it’s pretty much the same sound.”
Ricky smirks as if I’m full of shit.
“Well, not exactly the same. You had a fiddle player in Leaving Amarillo, right?”
Son of a bitch. Why this guy wants to talk about the band so much is beyond me. But like a dog with a bone, he doesn’t seem to want to let go.
“We did. My sister is a very talented violinist and fiddle player. She’s been playing since we were kids.”
“She didn’t want to come along on the tour?”
More like the label wouldn’t have ever allowed her to.
Guilt seeps into my pours, thick like lead that weighs me down. I take a deep breath before answering in order to maintain my composure. “We had a loss in the family. She had other priorities to handle when this opportunity presented itself.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kim says, earning herself another grin.
Ricky doesn’t offer his condolences. “So you’re out on the road, right after a devastating loss in your family, without your band. That takes dedication.”
I’m a big boy. I can listen between the lines. What he really wants to say is that I must be some special brand of selfish asshole to leave my grieving sister and my band behind.
I can’t even argue with him so I just nod. “I think dedication is important when it comes to making it in the music business. The window of opportunity is fairly small, so I had to jump when it opened.”
“Definitely,” Kim says, chiming in to agree with me.
“And your band didn’t want to jump with you?”
I grip my knee tightly under the table to keep myself and my temper under control. Telling Ricky Ray to fuck off on national