and prospective artists through. Good crowds, but they’ll let you know loud and clear if you’re any good. We’ll send a car for you at nine tonight, you’ll hit the stage at ten as an opener, and be back in your hotel room by eleven with no broken bones. Yours or anyone else’s, am I clear?”
He’s talking to me like a fucking toddler, but I pull back on the reins of my temper and simply nod.
“Good. If that goes well, we’ll send you to the studio tomorrow. Mission will be to record as many quality tracks as possible. Don’t let me down, son.”
I know a dismissal when I hear it, and I just bombed the hell out of this meeting. Maybe I can salvage it tonight, though. Chattering away ain’t never been my strong suit, but if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s singing.
Back at the hotel, I drink a whiskey then decide I should probably do something responsible like hot water with lemon if I’m singing for my life tonight. Room service sends that up quickly, and I swallow it like a shot.
I want to talk to Willow, tell her I fucked up, and let her reassure me that it’s going to be fine. She’d probably say ‘no matter what happens, it’s an experience that you’ll grow from. Be in it, feel every moment of it, and use it.’
She’s right, even when she’s not here. She’s a part of me, and I feel her even though she’s far away.
So I don’t call and worry her yet. She has faith in me and I’ll prove her right.
Instead, I pull out Betty and play a few chords. Writing a new song for a show in a few hours is a risky fucking move, but I’ve never been one to play it safe. And since I met Willow, inspiration fills me easily and words come to me more readily, demanding release.
Chasing down my dream so I can give you yours.
The proof of a man is in his woman’s eyes.
Storm for me, shine for me, show your soul for me.
And I’ll dig down deep to get mine so you can have yours.
After a while, I have that feeling. This is good. I know it is. I did what Willow would’ve told me to do—lived in this moment, mixing the opportunity, the fear, and the hope into these words. The melody is driving and urgent, giving it a sense of hunger.
I play it five more times through, tweaking and changing little things to perfect it. It’s my ode to Willow and our future. Whether I make it tonight or not.
The car stops outside a small, dark grey brick building that looks like it’s seen better days. The sign above it is painted on and simply says Bar. Is that its official name? Not even The Bar? Just . . . Bar.
Inside, I find Jeremy, Glasses Guy, Blue Blouse, and a couple of other people I didn’t meet today crowded around a small table. Actually, everyone in here is crowded around small tables meant for maybe two but which currently host upward of six to eight glasses. The chairs are mismatched and scattered in no pattern I can discern, everyone finding a tiny space to fit their ass in.
Jeremy shakes my hand. “Bobby! Good to see you. You ready for this? Tonight’s the night your life changes.”
He makes it sound like he’s got a golden ticket with my name on it and all I have to do is reach out and grab it. But if it were that easy, anyone could do it.
I nod.
A guy dressed in black gestures for me to follow him, and he leads me to a holding area. There are four green folding chairs and a case of water on the floor. Nothing fancy like the hotel, but I wouldn’t expect a bar to be fancy, anyway. I sit as directed and wait my turn.
Too soon, or maybe not soon enough, I’m given the stage.
“Hi, everyone. I’m Bobby Tannen.”
There’s usually a cheer from the crowd at Hank’s, but tonight, it’s quieter than a January morning covered by snow. I don’t let it faze me and go into my set.
I start with Bridge Over my Broken Heart, then do Her because Mom’s song seems like a good luck charm, as though she’s here with me for this. I play the song I wrote today, which I’m calling Dig Down Deep, and that’s when the crowd really falls under my sway. One