by Emma Tharp
“Won’t he understand?”
I wish I knew. “That’s the thing. He hates his job so much and this opportunity would’ve given him the perfect out.”
“That sucks. Why don’t you call Mrs. Armstrong? I bet she’ll have good advice for you.”
“I think I’ll do that now, if you don’t mind?”
“Not at all. I’m curious to hear what she says, too.”
Digging through my purse, I unearth my phone and dial in her number and click the speaker function. She picks up on the third ring. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Ms. Carter?”
The sound of her voice comforts me almost immediately. “Hi, Mrs. Armstrong. First of all, thank you so much for the opportunity at the Freemont. Ethan and I had a blast.”
“That’s good to hear. It wasn’t a problem at all. Just one little phone call.”
“We ended up getting a card from Marcus Campbell from IM Records and I met with him today,” I tell her.
“It sounds fabulous, so why do you sound less than enthused?” I can see her now with a quizzical curve to her brow.
The last thing I want to do is sound ungrateful or pouty, but it’s hard to be one hundred percent excited when Ethan’s being excluded. “I’m sorry if I don’t sound excited, I am. It’s just…”
“What is it?”
“Mr. Campbell wants me. Not Ethan. I’m a little disappointed about it because Ethan had his hopes up. Remember how we talked about him not liking his job? This could’ve been a new start for him.”
“How did he take it?”
Massaging my forehead, I cringe because I know she won’t approve of my answer. “Well, he doesn’t know yet.”
“Really.” Her voice goes up in pitch. “Why not?”
Oh, dear. I hate the thought of telling her that I’ve been putting off calling him because I’m a coward. “It’s because I’d been hoping to call him with good news and since it isn’t, I’m afraid to hurt him. In fact, I came right home after the meeting, told Rachel, and called you. He’s next on the list.” Even though my stomach sinks to the floor at the thought of calling him.
A heavy sigh comes through the phone. “Caroline, he’s a big boy. He’s going to be fine. Sure, he might be disappointed, but in the end he’ll be happy for you. That boy cares for you a great deal. When you get off the phone with me, call him. Okay?”
“I will,” I say, my voice just above a whisper.
“Good. Now don’t go thinking about turning down a once in a lifetime opportunity because you think you’re going to be upsetting anyone. You’re not. This is your dream, right?”
“Yes.” Playing the guitar and piano as a kid with my dad, I always thought I’d sing on big stages and have fans that loved my music. Could my dream really become a reality?
“Exactly. Now if you need any advice or help, don’t hesitate to get in touch with me.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Armstrong.”
“Any time. Now go call Ethan.” She doesn’t wait for a reply and ends the call.
“You going to call him now?” Rachel asks.
Standing up, I pace back and forth in our tiny living room. “Not right now, but I will.”
Two days later, I’m in a sound room at IM Studios singing for a team of five people.
Thank goodness, I’m wearing a white dress. It highlights my style, flowy and bohemian, and hides my unease. Cold sweat seems to be seeping out of every pore and my limbs are tingling. I can’t recall a moment in time where I’ve been more nervous.
But I’m prepared.
I picked my song and I’ve rehearsed it over and over again until Rachel had to leave the apartment she was so sick of hearing me. I sang it in front of the mirror and recorded myself so I could work out the kinks. It’s an old song about living in the moment and it shows my vocal range better than any other.
“Ms. Carter, whenever you’re ready, you can get started,” an older gentleman sitting next to Mr. Campbell says. They all introduced themselves to me when I came in, but the information went in one ear and out the other.
Clearing my throat and rubbing my damp hands down my dress, I ease myself closer to the mic.
The first words that flow out of me are soft and smooth, but I can hear a slight shaky tone as well. Damn nerves.
Instead of stopping to regroup, a vivid picture of my father coaching me through harder songs comes to mind. His handsome face is right in front of me. ‘You’ve got it. Keep going. No quitting, kid.’
A high note rolls off my tongue like I was born to sing it. I belt out how I’m living in the moment and not holding back, and the sound is pure and open. I’m leaving it all here.
Memories of singing this song with Ethan cascade through my mind. I wrote it right after we started the band. I was too afraid to share it with the group until I went over it with Ethan and we worked through it. He played his guitar while I sang and he’d made lyric recommendations that complemented and mirrored what I wanted to portray.
I close my eyes as a cleansing peace sinks into my soul, as if Ethan and my dad are both with me in the room, rooting me on. Singing the last notes, I ease my eyes open. The only woman in the room, sitting at the end of the table, has her mouth open in the shape of an O.
Mr. Campbell starts to clap, a light airy sound filling the otherwise quiet space. “Excellent job. We’re going to have you go wait in the reception area and we’ll call you back in a couple of minutes.”
“Okay,” I say as I make my way out of the room.
It’s the longest couple of minutes of my life. My head messed with me the entire time. What if they didn’t like me? What if they thought the song choice was horrible? What if they tell me to quit singing all together, that I don’t have talent?
Walking down the hallway, I stop in the restroom and splash cold water on my face and neck. I dab a paper towel on my cheeks and forehead. It does cool me down and take some of the edge off my anxiety.
Back in reception, Mr. Campbell is waiting for me. “Thought you went home.” He chuckles at his joke.
It wasn’t funny.
“No, I just needed the ladies’ room.”
“Well, we’re ready for you. Come in.”
Following him, he points at a seat across from the table of five. I sit down, cross my legs, and focus on keeping my breathing even.
The woman says, “We won’t keep you in suspense any longer. We talked it over and we’d like to offer you a contract.”
My mouth becomes cotton ball dry. “Really?”
“Yes,” Mr. Campbell says. “We’ll be drawing you up a contract and have it to you in the next week.”
“I don’t normally sing solo. I used to have a band and I sing with a man. We’re a duet,” I say, my voice pleading.
“We think we can market you, Ms. Carter. Not a duet. Is that going to be a problem?” the older man next to Marcus asks, tapping his long finger against the table.
The room sounds funny, as if I’m under water. “No,” I say, but it’s muffled.
“Do you have any questions for us?” the woman asks. She’s wearing a pleasant smile.
“Not right now,” I say the words, but I can’t hear them.
They all stand, so I do the same. “Great. We’ll be in touch soon. Call us in the meantime if you need anything.”
I shake hands with all of them and walk out the door.
Getting in the car, I turn it on and crank the radio. I hear it loud and clear.
8
Caroline
In the comfort of my apartment, I grasp my cell phone tightly in my hand and will myself to call Ethan. He needs to know the truth, but there’s a part of me that’s afraid of his reaction. Will he be upset that they didn’t want both of us? My stomach aches thinking about him being sad. Or what if he’s happy for me? It’ll be good, but I’m still disappointed that we aren’t doing this together.
Every time I get a little bit excited about signing the contract and recording songs in a studio, I never f
eel one hundred percent happy about it because a piece of the puzzle is missing.
At the Freemont, Ethan didn’t perform his best. I worry that he was still in his head about my job and our fight afterward. Guilt weaves its way around me like a winter coat in the summertime. It’s stifling, hot, and can’t be ignored.
I’ve waited long enough. Taking my phone in my hand, I click his number and hope he picks up.
“Hi, sexy,” he says, his tone is hot-fudge-sundae-sweet. My heart breaks some thinking about changing his mood. I cross my fingers hoping this conversation will go well.
“How are you tonight?” I ask.
“Great, but better now that you called.”
I run my fingers through my hair and picture his handsome smile and the way he’d greet me if I were coming home from work now. He’d lift me up in his arms and twirl me around. His gray eyes would sparkle and I’d run my fingers through his blond hair. And if I focus hard, I can smell his cologne, citrus, and spice and all Ethan. “It’s good to hear your voice.”
“Everything okay, Linus? You sound sad.”
“No.” I try to recover. “But I do have news.”
“What is it?”
I take a calming breath and say, “I heard from Marcus Campbell.”
“No way!”
“Yup. And he wanted me to come in and sing for the team. So I did.”
He’s silent for a moment and I wonder what he’s thinking. “How did it go?”
“Good. They told me they were going to offer me a contract.”
It hangs there in the air. The unspoken truth. That I never said anything about him being included in any of it. I wait for a response, biting at a hang nail, my leg bouncing uncontrollably, but he’s quiet.
“I asked Marcus if you needed to be there and he said no. So I was going to surprise you with the news, but when I went and sang, the team said they were looking for a solo artist. And honestly, I’m crushed. I wanted it to be us.”
“Okay.” More silence.
“What do you think?” My tone is tentative at his lack of enthusiasm.
“That’s great.” But when he says it, it doesn’t sounds ‘great’ at all.
I bury my head in my hands. When I called Ethan I was expecting a reaction. Not the silent treatment, the anti-reaction. Now I’m at a loss.
“Will you please talk to me?” I plead with him.
“You know what? I’m tired and I’ve got a mountain of paperwork to catch up on. How about I call you in the morning?” He doesn’t sound mad or sad, but indifferent, and to me that’s worse.
“That sounds like a plan.”
“Goodnight,” he says.
“Goodnight.” Please don’t be mad at me.
There are open tables and several seats available at the bar. It’s a slow lunch shift by Lolita’s standards, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing considering the fact that I don’t really want to be here.
It didn’t sit well with me that Ethan never called this morning. And he didn’t answer when I tried calling him. He gave me a one word answer when I texted him right before my shift started. I asked him how he was today and he said, ‘great.’ I swear if he uses the word great to me ever again it’ll be too soon, because I know he’s not great.
With all the conversations we had about being open and honest with each other, neither of us seems to be doing a very good job of it. All I want to do is get on a plane with my sister today and go back to Pennsylvania so I can talk to Ethan face-to-face. Look him in the eye and tell him that I love him and that I’m sorry I haven’t been pulling my end of the bargain with communication and that I can do better.
Reggie, one of the regulars, is here. He’s one of my best tippers, but today all I see when he’s around is the look on Ethan’s face when Reggie put the cash in my bra strap.
“What’s got you down today, darlin’?” Reggie drawls when I bring his pint and chicken wings to his table.
“Nothing. I’m great.” Oh, man. I can’t believe I just said that.
He drinks a mouthful of his beer and puts an arm around me. “Is it boyfriend troubles? I saw you talking to a young man the other day. Looked like you two were fighting. You’re way too pretty to waste your time on someone who doesn’t appreciate you.”
I’m squarely stuck between wanting to defend Ethan by telling Reggie off and having to play nice because he’s a good customer. Reggie is in luck because I’m running low on energy today. “Oh, no. Don’t worry about me. All is well. Can I get you anything else right now?”
“Nope. I’ll call you over when I need you.”
Painting on a plastic smile as I walk away, I say, “Enjoy your wings.”
A few hours later at the end of my shift, Steve, my boss, calls me into the back room before I punch out. It isn’t every day that you get called into his office. Prickles of concern creep up my neck.
He’s sitting behind his desk. He’s got male pattern baldness and doesn’t seem to want to let go of it because he’s using a strange hair paint, but it’s failed miserably, dark color at uneven patches at his temple. There are times when I find myself staring at his near nonexistent hair mess, like now. “What’s going on?” I ask.
“Everything okay with you today?” His eyebrows scoot up his forehead and it’s then I realize how bushy they are. Isn’t it a cruel twist of fate that you can have an abundance of hair in eyebrows and near nothing on your head?
“Yeah, I’m…” I stop myself from saying great. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Oh, well, the reason I’m asking is because Reggie mentioned that he thought you were off today. And I don’t like hearing complaints from the regulars. You do realize you can be replaced.” There’s a tinge of malice in his tone.
Steve is an ass. And was Reggie really complaining or was he making an observation? He still left me a giant tip and gave me a hug goodbye. “I apologize, Steve. I admit I’m a little tired and it’s my time of the month.”
His hands fly up in the air and wave around like he’s being robbed. “Stop. I don’t need to hear anything else about it. Your shift is over so you’re free to leave. And please remember to keep a positive attitude at all times during all of your shifts.”
“Got it. Have a great night.” Getting up out of my chair, I scoot out of there like the room is on fire.
As I’m storming out the front door, Cora is walking in. “Hey, everything okay? You’re running out of here quick.”
“I can’t wait to get home and get out of these clothes. Oh, and Steve is in a mood. I’d steer clear if at all possible.”
“Isn’t he always?” She rolls her eyes, highlighting the stellar job she did on her makeup. It’s no wonder she does so well here. She looks like a real live Barbie doll, curves in all the right places, perfect bone structure. I’d hate her if she weren’t my friend.
“You’re right. He is. Everything okay with you?” I ask, realizing she, too, seems a little frazzled as she searches the depths of her bag.
“Oh, yeah. I’ve had the craziest few days. Long story. I will fill you in but I’m going to be late for my shift and I can’t seem to find my phone.”
“Get in there before Steve catches you punching in late. He told me today that I could be replaced.”
She shakes her head and shrugs. “What a jerk.” She leans in and kisses my cheek. “Let’s catch up soon.”
“Let’s.” I watch her rush into the restaurant.
She is one of the few people I’ve met in Nashville that I call a friend. She’s got good energy. I’m going make sure we put something in our schedules to get together soon.
My apartment is so empty now that Rachel is gone for the weekend. I’m green with envy that she gets to go home.
The bottle of red that’s in the cupboard calls my name. I unceremoniously pour myself a large glass and have several sips and rehearse what I’m going to say to Ethan. What’s up with you? Why didn’t you call this morning when you said you were? I miss you. I love you
. Please say that we’re okay.
Not talking to him is killing me. I drink more of my wine and enjoy the numb that starts to blur the edges at the bottom of my first glass. Changing my clothes, I tug off the uncomfortable heels and push up bra and replace them with sweats and a t-shirt.
I pour myself another glass of wine and drink a few more mouthfuls.
Screw it. I want to talk to him now. Digging through my purse, I find my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find Ethan’s number.
I’m ready to leave a message—that may or may not have been inappropriate—but he picks up.
“Hello.” His tone is cool and distant and my stomach sinks.
“Hi. How are you today?” I add as much color and liveliness to my voice as I can muster.
“I’m gr…”
“No, no. Please don’t say great because I know you’re not.”
He sighs. “Okay. How about good? Can I say that?”
There’s sarcasm there and I don’t like it. Right now I’m craving an honest conversation with Ethan. “If it’s the truth you can.”
“Yup.”
Several calming breaths don’t seem to calm me and my patience with him is almost nonexistent. “I thought you were going to call me this morning. You never did.”
“It turned out to be a busier morning than I expected. Dad wasn’t feeling good and stayed home. Someone had to pick up the slack.”
“Is he okay?” My heart twists in my chest and guilt seeps into my pores. Everything isn’t always about me and I’m ashamed that I put him on the spot when he had legitimate issues today.
“I think so.” Speaking about his dad takes some of the edge out of his voice. “He had chest pains last night, but he took pain medication and feels a little better now. Mom wanted to call the ambulance, but Dad shut her down. He insists it’s all stress. We’d all be better off if they closed up shop and moved on, but he’s as stubborn as they come and won’t hear of it.”
Closing my eyes, I push past the unease I feel when he talks about how bad things are at his parents’ insurance agency. And to think his dad is so stressed he’s having chest pains gives me a sense of what Ethan must be going through. I lower my voice. “I’m sorry.”
