by Leslie Pike
It was my idea to turn the camera and see how we look sitting together. Getting five people on one screen took a little effort and we don’t have a lot of wiggle room. None of us wanted to be in separate locations. There is strength in numbers.
We are practicing being calm and somewhat collected, in advance of our Zoom call with Arthur. I may die of anticipation before it happens. The notes made lay out of the camera’s range in case our minds go blank. There is a real chance it could occur.
Deborah stretches her arms. “Don’t worry. If you stumble, I’ll jump in.”
When the Zoom engages my heart squeezes its response. Oscar makes a barely heard squeak of a sound. As we join the meeting Arthur’s face appears, and he’s eating an orange slice. His face is a little rounder than last time we saw each other. But he’s dressed just as sharp as always. You never see Arthur wearing last year’s offerings.
“Everyone here?”
“Hi, Arthur. We’re all here just holding our breaths,” I say chuckling.
Hope that didn’t sound desperate.
“Who’s that?” He identifies the one surprise guest.
“I’m Deborah Taylor, Montana’s manager. Nice to meet you, Arthur.”
A low grumble proceeds his response. “Yeah, hi. Well, there’s been some movement. We may be a little further into the story than you realize. First of all, your recording of “Mined” isn’t good enough for release.”
What? An electric charge travels up and down my spine. And not in a good way. It shocks me.
“What exactly does that mean?” Jimmy says defensively.
“It means I want you to come to Nashville and record it in my studio,” Arthur bites back. “We need to get the right mix, and this isn’t it. But the song has legs. I’m certain of it.”
I grab Jimmy’s hand on one side of me and Tony’s on the other. Both out of the scope of the camera. I’m white knuckling it and so are they.
“You’re thinking of releasing it on your label?” Deborah asks.
“Maybe. At the very least you’re getting another chance to convince me it’s worth the bother. Do not fuck it up. Hear me, Dove?”
Do I hold back or respond honestly? No contest.
“It’s true, I fucked things up for my bandmates and myself. And I acknowledge causing trouble for you. But Arthur, it was a moral choice.”
“I don’t give a shit. When your moral choices affect me or my business, that’s when we are going to have a problem. Make them on your own time. Got it?”
“Got it.”
I only have Nobel to consider. And I know without question if he needed me to care for him, I’d do the same thing all over again. There’s no reason to mention that hypothetical though.
“Okay. I’m booking your session for next Thursday. Is that a problem for any of you?”
Five voices agree with his schedule without a pause. If we have to run to Nashville naked, we will. This is the moment.
“We will be there. Thank you for the opportunity,” Deborah says with a calmness that masks excitement.
“Good. I’ll have Maggie send you the details about where you’ll be staying. We can talk about the future when you get here. Deborah, you and I are going to have a long conversation. For now, we have to see what Michael Angelica proposes.”
“How did it start with him? Had he seen us?” I ask.
“Not until he heard your song. I was listening to it when he came in for a meeting.”
“Was that intentional on your part?” Jimmy asks.
“It’s all intentional, Jimmy.”
That is who this producer is. I think we are about to be educated in the business of music. Hopefully the reputation that precedes him is accurate. Smart, a fighter for his clients, and fair unless you fuck him.
“I know Archangel’s debut tour is coming up. So you think we are going to be offered opening act for …?” Tony gets half a question out.
“Don’t know.” The sharp response quiets us all. “He wants to see you perform. He will be discussing that with you today. Here’s a tip when dealing with him. One. He’s on his own time. Do not rely on him being punctual about anything other than his performances or recording sessions. Two. He is a man of few words when it comes to anything other than his music. That he can write a book on. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass for his personal life. And he doesn’t care about yours. So, don’t get chatty. It will work against you.”
Jimmy speaks first. “You don’t have anything to worry about, Arthur. No chatty musicians or divas here.”
“Even if we had earned the status, it’s not who we are,” I add.
“I’ve heard that a hundred times before. It doesn’t impress me. Actions do. Just be mindful of the advantage you’re being offered.”
“Okay. And we want to thank you, Arthur. For the second chance,” I say with genuine gratitude.
“Yeah. Just get your asses here and we will see how things play out. No promises.”
The call ends and the screaming starts. We are out of our seats and hugging each other before any words are spoken. I’m jumping up and down with Jimmy. Oscar heads for the refrigerator and a beer.
“Oh my God!!!” I scream. “Is this happening?”
“It’s happening. Maybe, as Arthur says,” Deborah adds.
“What time is it?”
“Almost one fifteen.”
“Oh shit. I’m going to get dressed for the wedding. I’ve got time. Come with me,” I say to Deborah.
Jimmy gives me a look which I choose to ignore and move into the bedroom. Closing the door behind me, I quickly strip out of my summer dress. Shoes get kicked off.
“That went well, huh?” I say.
“Think we have a good chance at this. God, what if we get a record deal?”
I grab the royal blue beauty and step in. “I’m so excited I can hardly stand it!” I say, stepping into my heels.
I look in Grandma’s wall mirror, and can almost hear her voice, ‘You look beautiful, honey’, she would say.
Deborah has a final comment.
“Stay calm and everything will fall into place. Michael Angelica is gonna love you, honey. Everybody does.”
Somewhere Grandma is smiling.
* * *
It’s 7:04, two minutes later than the last time I checked.
“Please quit looking,” ZZ says.
“I can’t help it. We could be here all night.”
Jimmy stands and goes to the window. “This is bullshit. He could have texted.”
Deborah answers behind closed eyes as she stretches out on the couch. “Quit thinking he is on your schedule. That doesn’t concern the man. Get used to it.”
That reminds me how late I am to the wedding. It’s already three hours past my guesstimate. At four I texted Nobel with the update. His response sounded like he was pissed. Five words. Get here when you can. Am I reading too much into that? I’m not leaving though. I will stay here if I have to sleep in this dress, sitting in this position in front of the computer.
I’ve already taken the shoes off and had a bite to eat. The band is unusually quiet. 7:05. I hear a horn honk on the next street.
The screen beeps. Zoom call!
“Oh hell, get back here,” Deborah calls to the crew scattered across the room.
Tapping on the icon, we join the meeting. The face of Archangel appears. Wow. Michael Angelica is every bit as stunning as he comes across in pictures. The long curly hair, the pillowed lips, green eyes. He does kind of look angelic with a devilish twist.
“Hello, darlin’,” he says. “Sorry I’m late. You understand.”
It’s said in a stream of consciousness, as statement not a question.
I center and jump into the conversation. “No worries. Nice to meet you, Michael. Let me introduce the band. This is…
“No time, luv. I just want to say how much I dig Montana’s vibe. Your sound is different. Jimmy, brother you have a remarkable falsetto.”
“Thanks
, man.”
“Each of you shine. So do your songs. Arthur played the latest one for me and filled me in on your history.”
“You’ve never seen us?”
“I’ve seen the YouTube videos. We need to get together and see if there’s anything there. You coming to Nashville?”
Tony breaks in the conversation. “Yeah. We will be there next week.”
“Good. I will be at the session with Arthur. I want to watch, listen, see what I can learn. Here’s your chance to impress. I’ll see you in Nashville. Do not bring any other people to the recording studio. I have to concentrate on the music. I don’t want to be making nice with your wives or husbands, or best friends. Do we have that straight?”
“Of course. See you in…”
The words Michael has left the meeting appear on the screen.
“WTF?” Tony says.
They wear frozen expressions, like if they move a finger, it will all disappear.
“Who gives a fuck? Do you realize what just happened?” Deborah says reanimating.
“I know! Not what I expected. But damn, it’s all good!” I say.
“He complimented my falsetto,” Jimmy adds under his breath.
We break out in wild abandon, complete with congratulatory cheek kisses and a few tears. I take the proper amount of time enjoying what I hope becomes one of the best days of my life.
Shit. Shit. Shit. I get out of the car and hand the key to the valet. It took thirty minutes to get through traffic.
“Thanks,” I say, anticipating being handed the ticket. Come on, guy!
I sprint toward the hotel entry. Almost four hours late. That’s the bottom line.
“Dove!”
I hear my name called as I pass through the doors. Van and the bridesmaid he is paired with are heading in my direction. His tie is untied, her updo is down, and I detect a bit of a problem with her walking straight.
“Your boyfriend isn’t here. You missed it, girl,” Van slightly slurs.
“You just missed the bride and groom too! They took off for the honeymoon,” the girl says.
“That’s what we should do,” Van says to the girl. “I mean have a honeymoon.”
“We would have to be married to go on a honeymoon,” she teases.
“Who made up that stupid rule?”
He wears a boy’s smile and a man’s intention. I bet that has worked beautifully for him. The girl links her arm in his.
“You should have seen Nobel on the dance floor with our aunt. He was drunk as shit.”
“Really? On the dance floor?”
Van starts laughing. “I know! It’s a ridiculous development. He looked like he was about to break something.”
“Oh God. I guess I’ll call him and see if he wants company. Okay see you two later,” I say to the retreating figures. They are headed for the front desk. Of course.
“No you won’t,” Van chuckles.
I want to see where the reception was and if Aurora and Gaston are still here. There are people in the doorway and music playing.
Walking through the entry to the large reception room, I’m greeted by the gorgeous flower arrangements on every round table and small white lights making the room look enchanted. It’s beautiful and well done. While I’m sorry I had to miss the party, I have no regrets about being present for my own life.
A hand raises through the dancers and calls me forward. Aurora. She and Gaston are dancing to the band’s take on a Tony Bennett song. They look like the couple on a romance book cover. He wears a perfectly tailored tux and she a modern, chic gown in lavender. The high heels show off her still great looking long legs. I move toward them, snaking through the last of the never say die guests.
“Hello! Oh, he left, Dove.”
“I know,” I say, kissing them both on the cheek as they sway in place. “I spoke to Van. Was the wedding everything you hoped for? How did the bride and groom do?”
“It was perfect. Parish cried when he saw Scarlett come down the aisle,” Gaston says. “My boys are not afraid of showing their emotions.”
“Let’s go to the table and talk,” Aurora says, taking my hand and leading us off the dance floor.
“You look beautiful, honey. Nobel is missing out,” Gaston adds. “He had too many champagnes and wanted to put himself to bed.”
As we take our seats, Gaston grabs a flute and pours me a champagne. He serves his wife and himself too.
“Are congratulations in order?”
I look at Aurora with question in my eyes. “For what?”
“Nobel said you were having an important phone call today about your music. Did it go well?”
The fact this woman is asking about my life and career makes me feel seen. She gets it, without knowing the details. Or maybe she knows more than I think. Whatever. She is simply supporting me. It gives me hope for Nobel. After all, she raised him.
“It did,” I say, not holding back the excitement. “It went really well. I hope your son considers it good news too.”
“He will.” She says it like it is a given.
“I don’t know.”
“I do.”
Is this just maternal cheerleading, or does she understand him on a deeper level than I do?
“I hope you’re right, Aurora.”
I lay a hand on Gaston’s. “You two did a great job of raising your children. I admire you.”
“It was a privilege. With Aurora to keep them in line, we did all right.”
“I was the law,” she chuckles, “he was the one who encouraged rebellion of the troops.”
“That’s your artist sensibility, Gaston. It’s part of my makeup too,” I say.
“I really think the best way children grow up is with a little of both,” Aurora adds. “We were lucky to have a creative thinker, and also the logical straight shooter.”
I turn to Gaston. “May I ask you a personal question?”
“Those are the best kind.”
“In the end, what made you decide to leave Paris and live a life you knew nothing about?”
He takes a sip of champagne and looks me in the eye. “It was amor. I knew when she walked into my life nothing would ever be the same.” He takes his wife’s hand and threads his fingers in hers. “No matter what the storm was, she was the oasis in the middle.”
“Oh, Gaston. That’s so lovely,” she says, smiling at her husband.
“It’s true. There was no argument great enough to stay there. Nothing that topped the one to be with her. Once we fell in love, that love had the final word.”
“Oh, honey! Why the tears?” Aurora says, using the napkin to wipe my cheek.
I couldn’t stop my eyes from welling. And if ever there was a time to show my cards, it’s now.
“It’s just that I’m not sure Nobel will make that same choice. And if he didn’t my life would never be the same.”
“Do you love him?” Gaston asks.
“Yes. I do.”
“Then stay who you are. That’s the woman he fell in love with. Have a little faith in its power to persuade.”
As I leave the venue, Gaston’s words repeat in my mind.
* * *
All the way from my place to Nobel’s, I am sending texts. No response. That doesn’t stop me. I want to think the best of him. It is ridiculous to think he wouldn’t be happy for me. It’s still early, he’s most likely watching television and eating ice cream. Maybe being a little pissed off at me for missing the wedding. I just need to hold firm. I did nothing wrong.
Women are used to putting men first. It has been that way forever. And we’ve done it with a good attitude! All we ask now is for the same consideration. There is nothing wrong with being dedicated and driven. It is something we have honored and looked up to in men. And the women that have supported generations of men striving to succeed? It was expected.
I pull onto the property and drive slowly to the front of the house. It’s dark, although some light still remains in the sky. I ca
n’t see the bedroom window from here, so maybe he’s there stewing. I park and get out, after sending one final text and a gif of a woman with a hot dog in her mouth. Maybe sex will calm us both down.
Up the steps. I knock. And knock. I press the doorbell. His car gives it away. He’s here. No doubt. This is getting tiring. I’m not about to stand here all night, begging entry. It’s time to show him how serious I am and how I expect to be treated. Respect. That’s what I want. I turn and walk away.
18
Nobel
Tires on gravel. I heard her car as it pulled away from the house. Something held me back from going to the door. It wasn’t just anger. It wasn’t payback. I was out of the shower. I could have wrapped a towel around me and made it downstairs. Time was not the issue.
I needed to think. And a clear head to do it. The shower brought things back in focus. Now bed is the place to be. Sliding between the sheets, my body relaxes for the first time tonight. I exhale the last twelve hours and try to process where I find myself.
I know what to do. Use logic. It never failed me before. Pick the problem apart. Never look away from the truth. Wait. First damage control. Just in case I’m still drunk and when I wake up in the morning realize I’m wrong. I’d be happy if it happened.
I need to send a text, saying I was showering when she came over. The cameras alerted me, but by the time I saw the clip, she was long gone. I should add we’ll talk tomorrow. Okay, good. Send.
That buys time to think about what happened today. It was a clear look to the future, and the view was not great. Today I was a guy in his forties alone at a wedding. Making small talk, dancing with my aunt. But tomorrow, and every day forward, I could spend the better part of my life in the same position.
If I stay in Montana, I will be the odd man out at every wedding and party. If I go to Nashville, she’ll be working while I’m in a downtown condo contemplating my navel. The view out my windows, buildings and concrete instead of majestic trees and a flowing river. Even if I go, how much of Dove will be mine? How much will belong to everyone else?