by Lisa Lace
“Not thin-skinned, kindhearted,” Lucas corrects him, springing to my defense. “Something you’d know nothing about. This is what having a heart looks like.” He shakes his head in disgust. “All my life I’ve tried to earn your respect, but today, you’ve lost mine. You have no integrity. You’re not in it for the music or the artists. You’re only in this for yourself. If you’ll let the best talent we’ve had since this label began walk out the door for nothing more than a quick lay, then I can’t work here anymore. We’ve got different ideas of what all of this is about. I’m gone, too.”
Lucas takes his jacket from the back of his chair and shrugs it on. He circles his arm around my shoulders and walks me out of the room, down the hall, and out of the studio.
I’m shaking with shock; he’s shaking with anger.
We say nothing until we’re on the street outside the building. I look up at him with wide eyes. “You didn’t have to do that. You’ve just thrown your whole life away.” My voice is hoarse with tangled emotions.
Lucas laughs bitterly. “I should have done it a long time ago. All my life, I thought I’d never live up to my father’s expectations. I’m starting to think he’s been holding me back all along. I couldn’t take one more day of not speaking my mind.”
“You’ve got so much to lose. Your house, your cars—”
“None of that matters. At the end of the day, a man’s got to be able to look at himself in the mirror.” He looks over his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get out of this place.”
I take his hand. “Let’s go to my apartment. I’m going to tell my dad everything.” I let out a cathartic laugh. Telling Jane and Harvey what I thought of them has lifted a weight from my shoulders. “He can tell me ‘I told you so,’ I don’t care. I just want my life back.”
Lucas kisses me.
The kiss is more intense and passionate than any we’ve shared before. It’s like we’ve won a battle we didn’t even know we were fighting and have emerged victorious. We should be feeling battered and beaten, but I think we both simply feel free.
I wrap my arms around his neck, then jump up, wrapping my legs around him, too. We kiss like nobody’s watching, even though there’s an audience at the bus stop, laughing at our display.
No more worrying about what anybody thinks. No more hiding or pretending.
Today’s the day Ivy Evans stops letting the world walk all over her.
Dad is watching TV when we arrive. He looks up and rolls his eyes when he sees Lucas is with me. “You two are still together, then?”
“Yes, Dad. But I have something to tell you.” I pick up the remote and switch off the television.
Dad huffs at the interruption and spins in his chair. “What’s so important?”
Lucas and I sit on the sofa next to Dad’s armchair. I want to get everything out in the open so I can put this whole Fox Records disaster behind me.
“You were right,” I say. I take a deep breath and swallow my pride. “Fox Records wasn’t the right label for me. Harvey screwed me over, and Jane turned against me, too. I’m done with that place. I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”
Dad doesn’t say anything right away. He sits up in his chair and reaches for my hand. He looks genuinely sorry.
“Sweetheart, I never wanted to have this conversation. I didn’t warn you against Fox Records in the hopes I’d get to say, ‘I told you so.’ I wanted to save you the hurt of being let down.” He holds out an arm to me. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I know you thought this was going to be your big break.”
Tears spring to my eyes at his words. I expected a lecture, but Dad’s being sweet. I crawl into his lap and let him give me a hug before returning to sit beside Lucas.
Dad’s hands tighten into fists. “When I think about the sort of shit Harvey Fox gets away with, it makes my blood boil. He shouldn’t be able to treat people this way. But I’m surprised at Jane. You two were always a good team. What happened?”
I hold up my hands. “She saw a chance to get ahead and she took it.” I shrug. “There was nothing I could do.”
He reaches across and pats my knee. “I never wanted to say anything, but she couldn’t hold a candle to you anyway. She was holding you back. You’ll do just fine on your own, just you wait and see, my girl.”
Dad looks up at Lucas as if just registering the fact that he’s still here. “And you? You’re still dating my daughter?”
Lucas takes my hand and gives it a squeeze, holding my Dad’s eye. “Yes, I am.”
“Lucas left the label,” I explain. “Harvey tried to make a fool of me, turning me into a backup singer, and Lucas walked out. We left together.”
“You left the label?” My dad’s voice rises in surprise. “You must be walking away from a fortune.”
Lucas shrugs. “It wasn’t worth the compromises I’ve had to make. I wanted to be a better man than my father. I thought that meant being a more successful producer, but I was wrong. Holding on to your principles, that’s what matters.”
My father nods slowly. He looks from me to Lucas. “It must have taken a lot for you to come tell me all this. I bet you expected a lecture.” He pats me on the shoulder. “You didn’t compromise yourself, Ivy. I’m proud of you.” He turns to Lucas and holds out a hand for him to shake. “You’ve surprised me, Lucas. I’m sorry for what you’ve lost, but I think you’ve made a wise decision. I hope it doesn’t cost you too much.”
Dad looks at me with eyes full of regret. He shakes his head. “If only it was thirty years ago. If I still had my label, I’d offer you a deal in a heartbeat. The places I would have taken you, my girl. You’d have set the world on fire.”
Lucas
If only.
Wait a second…if only!
“You should record her,” I say. “You should represent her yourself.”
Greg chuckles. “I wish I could, but I don’t have a studio, and even if I did, I don’t have any contacts in that world anymore, no network. I’ve been out of the game too long.”
I lean forward. Now that the idea is in my head, I’m convinced it’s the perfect solution to all our problems. The excitement is like a ball of energy in my gut, pulsing with each beat of my heart and sending thrills through my bloodstream.
“Hear me out. Why shouldn’t we start the old label up again? It’s perfect. You could be the owner, I could manage, and Ivy would be our first star.”
Raising an eyebrow, Greg shakes his head. “It’s impossible. I’m broke.” He gestures around the shabby apartment. “In case you haven’t noticed.”
“I’ll invest.”
“You?”
I nod eagerly. I’m so psyched by the idea I can barely sit still. I stand and pace the small living room quickly. My body can hardly keep up with how fast my thoughts are racing.
“I have savings. Lots of savings. What I don’t have is a job. What Ivy doesn’t have is a record deal. What you don’t have is a studio.” I gesture around feverishly. “Let’s put it all together and turn this situation into an opportunity.”
Greg opens and closes his fingers around the handle of his cane. “It would never work.”
“Why not?”
“It just wouldn’t.”
“I don’t see why not. I have a huge network. Hundreds of contacts in the industry.” I look to Ivy for support. “You were at the masquerade. Every one of those guests was there at my invitation. I have contacts coming out my ears. I could organize a PR event tomorrow and have a dozen top execs and the world tweeting about it.”
Ivy looks shell-shocked. Slowly, she nods. “He’s right, Dad. Lucas knows everybody in the business. Music critics, radio guys, journalists…”
I nod eagerly. “And I can work the sound board. If we could get a studio together, we could be recording within a few weeks. I can put the record out to a few stations, call in a few favors. Ivy would be topping the charts within a year.” I turn to Greg. “What do you say?”
“I appreciate your enthusiasm, Lucas, but I don’t
think it would work. I would never go into business with a Fox again.”
“Consider me an investor. The company would be yours. One hundred percent. I would take a salary as a producer for the label, and a commission on the record sales.”
Greg frowns. “It doesn’t sound like you need me, to be honest. I’d be expendable. That was the mistake I made last time.”
“That’s not true. As a producer, I’d be out most of the time, scouting for talent and pushing records. There needs to be someone to hold down the fort and be the face of the label. Besides—” I look across at Ivy tenderly “—a wrong was done to you, and I want to make it right.”
“I don’t need your charity, son.”
Ivy groans. “Dad! Let it go. Jesus Christ, you’re being offered a lifeline here.”
“I respect you,” I tell Greg. “This isn’t charity. It’s a business opportunity. You work on getting the label up and running while I work on promoting Ivy.” I close my eyes and picture the three of us in business together. It feels right. “I can write a check today.”
“I’ve been out of the business so long…”
“All the more reason to get back on the horse,” I insist. “The business needs more like you, Greg. Think of all those artists like Ivy out there—original, unique, compelling voices that nobody’s hearing. They deserve to be represented by someone who’s going to do right by them and won’t force them all into the same mold. We could be those people.”
Greg’s eyes darken and he looks down. “That’s all I wanted when I started the label. Those acts I found were something special, but Harvey rebranded them as pop icons, and they were all one-hit wonders. You wouldn’t even recognize their names today.”
“Exactly. We could create a label that specializes in promoting unique voices. We could be a label with a soul.” I hold out my hands theatrically. “I can see you at the head of this label, Greg. No co-owners. You’d be responsible for making sure your people maintain their integrity. You could stop artists from being taken advantage of. You could finally make that dream a reality.”
“It would take half a million, at least, to start a studio like that. The equipment alone, the property, the promotion…”
I hold up a hand. “I’ll worry about that. I have money to spare, Greg. I can’t think of anything I’d rather invest in.”
I sit down next to Ivy again, unable to sit still. I fidget as I continue to talk. “I’ve spent years learning everything there is to know in this business, and what have I got to show for it? Every time I showed an artist a shred of compassion, I was called weak. Every time I tried to preserve an original voice, I was called a pathetic idealist. No more.” I slam a fist down on my knee. “I love music. I want to make records that go down in history.”
Ivy looks across at me with affection. She leans into me with a dreamy smile. “You should see Lucas’s record collection, Dad. He’s a worshipper of the greats.”
“I am. I appreciate music. I get satisfaction from finding talent. Jesus, I have a chance here to do what I love, rather than kidding myself I’m living the dream.”
Greg looks across at Ivy. “What do you think?”
“I think we should do it.” Ivy looks from Greg to me and smiles brightly. “Lucas’s right. We’ve all had to do things everyone else’s way for so long. We’ve missed out and been walked all over trying to play the game. Let’s make our own rules for a change.”
She looks across to me and takes my hand. “Only if this is what you want, Lucas. It’s a huge amount of money to invest on a whim. This has to be what you really want, not just a ‘fuck you’ to your dad.”
“Screw my dad. This isn’t about him. This is about us.” I nod slowly. I feel high on adrenaline. The vision of a perfect future is emblazoned in my mind. I’m certain. “This is about me. I’m damned good at what I do, but I’ve never been able to take an artist all the way. I always let my father make the final decision. I’ve watched him turn too many exceptional artists into cut-and-paste copies of each other. I want to nurture the Freddie Mercurys, the Rolling Stones, the Adeles, the Whitney Houstons, the Bob Dylans of this world. I want to turn on the radio and hear an artist I’ve found and worked with and feel proud.
“This is what I want.”
Ivy nods. “It’s what I want, too.” She looks over to Greg. “Dad?”
He looks between us. A smile grows on his face, and he slaps his hands down on his knees. “Fuck it. It’s what I want, too. Let’s do this.”
Ivy
I sit on the other side of the horseshoe-shaped desk opposite the radio host. Lucas sits next to me. As I fidget in my chair, he grins and gives my hand a squeeze. It’s been three months since my dad, Lucas, and I decided to team up, and here I am—about to do my first radio interview, two weeks after my debut record hit the charts.
I’ve never been inside a radio station before. I’m sitting on a soft leather chair with headphones in my lap and a microphone on a desk in front of me. The radio host is barely visible past the row of monitors in front of him. As I listen, he introduces my song and sets it to play.
He takes off his headphones and smiles at me. “There we go,” he says. “It’s playing now. When it’s over, we’ll do the interview. I have to say, Miss Evans, it’s a pleasure to have you here today. Everybody in the station loves the song.”
I beam. “Thank you.”
Lucas’s smile is as wide as mine.
We’ve put everything into starting De Novo Records. Lucas and my father worked together to establish a cutting-edge studio with a great space and all the latest technology. It looks incredible.
Once the studio was functional, Lucas and I worked night and day to create my first record. I wrote the song myself, and Lucas was thrilled to hear me back to my own voice. He hired the best studio musicians for the instrumentals, and I’m proud to say we’ve made some beautiful music.
What’s more, it’s been so easy. All of Lucas’s feedback has been constructive and encouraging. The musicians he found have been kind and supportive. I’ve had a wonderful team around me, and I’ve loved every second. We’re all in it for the same reason—the music.
The song I wrote is called “Roots,” and it’s about staying true to yourself and staying strong, the way a tree anchors itself with deep roots to stop it getting ripped out in a storm. I can’t hear it playing over the radio—it’s silent in the studio—but it runs through my head all the same. The acoustic-electric guitar playing a folksy rhythm; simple, clean percussion; soft woodwind at the bridge. I close my eyes and hear it.
When I open them again, the radio host—Carl—is counting down on his fingers…three, two, one… and I fumble to get my headphones on in time.
“And here in the studio with us today is the artist herself, Ivy Evans. Ivy, welcome. It’s great to have you.”
“Hi, Carl. Thanks for having me, it’s great to be here.”
It’s hard to hold in a squeal of excitement. I’m talking on the radio!
“Your record, ‘Roots,’ is currently number five on the charts. How does it feel?”
I laugh in exhilaration. “Amazing. Every time I hear it when I’m out and about, I do a double take. I can’t believe it’s me on the radio.”
“So, ‘Roots’ is a song about staying true to yourself, is that right?”
“That’s right. The music industry is pretty cutthroat. Life, in general, can be hard, too. People will push you to fit into certain boxes, and it can be really hard to push back.”
“Can you give us some examples from your own life?”
Jane’s face flashes across my mind’s eye. I blink and push the thought of her away. It still hurts.
“I suppose you could say my style is pretty old-fashioned. I’ve been told I’m reminiscent of Joni Mitchell, Woodstock, that era. I’ve also been told my music is too political for the mainstream. It’s been tough at times to keep writing songs that mean something to me instead of jumping on whatever’s popular at the ti
me.”
Carl nods. “Mm-hmm. That’s interesting. Would you say this song represents your voice?”
“Absolutely. It’s a dream come true to hear that record on the radio.”
“You’ve got an album coming out later this year. Can you tell us a little more about that?”
“Sure. It’s called Keep Rowing. The songs are all based on my personal experiences living in Skid Row.”
“That’s right. You’re kind of a rags to riches story, aren’t you, Ivy?”
I laugh. “I wouldn’t quite say that. This is the first song I’ve had out there. I’m still in the very early days of establishing a career in music. What I would say, though, is that I’m very committed to bringing awareness to the problems in the area, especially poverty and homelessness. The lyrics in my songs aim to shed light on what’s happening in our own state.”
“I think the word a lot of people would use is ‘powerful.’ Your lyrics are very poignant. What makes you write about Skid Row instead of anything else?”
“I write what I see. As hard as life has been, Skid Row is home. I feel a lot of compassion for the people there. It’s a place where dreams run wild because dreams are all you have.”
“And your dream was to sing.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, there you have it, listeners. Today at KCRW, we’re broadcasting a dream come true. Congratulations again, Ivy. We can’t wait to hear more.”
“Wow.” I put my pen down with a big smile. “That’s the second person to ask for my autograph tonight.” I shiver with excitement. “I can’t believe how quickly everything’s changing. The song’s only been out two weeks, and I’m already getting recognized.”
“That’s why I talked you into that music video,” Lucas replies. “People can put a face to the singer. Shooting it in Skid Row made a difference, too. People watch that video and it adds another layer to what’s already a pretty deep song. Get used to the attention.”
