It was quicker than a blink and an eternity all at once.
I have done everything I possibly can, cut open my soul, used my blood to write these words, and laid everything I am bare on this stage for these people. If they liked it, fine. If they didn’t, fuck them.
I touch the brim of my ballcap as I dip my head. “Thanks for listening.”
When I stand, the audience does too, clapping madly.
I freeze, standing stock still as it sinks in. They liked it, and a warm buzz starts in my belly, growing bigger and brighter.
Like my future.
Lucky son of a bitch found gold in the twisted tunnels of a working man’s mind.
Backstage, Jeremy comes in smiling and pats me on the shoulder. “Good show, son. Really good show.”
“Thank you.” The ‘son’ thing drives me crazy, and normally, I’d have already corrected it, but I’m giving allowances for Jeremy because of who he is. I hate that, but it’s the truth.
“The car will be here in a few to take you back to the hotel. We’ll get insights from the audience later and the tracks from tomorrow. Car will pick you up at noon for that, so get some sleep tonight. We’ll meet with you again on Monday to let you know. Take Sunday to enjoy the city. But no misbehaving. I don’t think you’d be able to sweet talk your way out a scuffle here like you do at home.” His lips lift as he says it, but the smile is forced and doesn’t reach his eyes. Not a real joke but a warning couched as one.
I grunt, refusing to honor that with actual words.
In moments, Jeremy is gone back to the table, listening to the next act. I’m dismissed again.
I’ve never been in a recording studio, so I have nothing to judge this one by, but I think it’s top-notch. The sound board is almost the size of a sheet of plywood and has more knobs and levers than a space shuttle. The room where I’m sitting on a stool in front of a microphone is bigger than my bedroom at home.
“Okay, let’s try that first one from the top again. On the third chorus, the repeat one, I want you to add a bit more growl to it. Like it’s getting ripped out of your chest and you’re furious about it. Okay?” Miller says into my headset.
Miller seems pretty cool. He’d introduced himself as the producer this morning, promised me that we were going to make some prime music today, and had gotten right to it. His critiques and insights have been spot-on so far, and I think my songs are already better after only a couple of hours with him.
I sing my way through Dig Down Deep, my voice vibrating in my chest as I add the growl he asked for. It hurts, physically hurts, but when he plays it back, I can hear the improvement. The actual pain reads as emotional angst, giving the song that touch of wow that it needed.
“Hell yes!” Miller yells in my ear, and I laugh. He’s been cool as a cucumber all day, but he’s damn happy with that take. “That’s what I’m talking about, man. That’s a number-one hit right there. No doubt.”
“Your mouth to fate’s plans,” I reply, hoping he’s right.
Today has gone better than I could’ve dreamed. A real studio, a real producer, my music recorded and primed for radio.
My dream feels even closer.
Grab it with both hands, hold on, giving everything I have. Mom, look what I’ve done. Are you proud of me now?
“Good morning, Mr. Tannen. I’ve been instructed to take you back for a photo check first thing. Mr. Marshall wants the images to discuss during your meeting.” The receptionist clicks down the hall, but my longer strides put me even with her.
“Photos? I didn’t know anything about pictures,” I tell her.
She smiles kindly, and I realize I’m simply a checkmark on her to-do list.
I’m not ready for pictures today, though I’m not exactly the fresh-shaven, styled-hair type. I just need to mentally prepare myself to pose and be paraded around. The ability to let someone else take control isn’t really my best feature.
“Wow,” Rory, the photographer says with a smile when we come in.
The receptionist smiles and talks to Rory out of the side of her mouth as though I’m not here. “I know.”
I ignore their shit, not wanting or needing their attention that way. Only Willow’s.