“Well, Michael, I’m glad you’re fixin’ to spend some time at your new digs, but in case you forgot, I have a job back home., so unless they magically transport my kindergartners and my house up here, I won’t be in Dallas much.”
My treadmill winds down and I stop running, sweat trickling down my neck and temples. Michael punches the stop button on his machine and steps off. He’s so tall that, when he’s off the treadmill and I’m still on mine, we’re eye to eye.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that,” he says with his arms crossed on his bare and very distracting chest.
“Mm hmm,” I mumble, trying not to stare at his glistening skin.
“I don’t want you to go back to work.”
I laugh loudly. “What?” I ask as I gasp for breath. “What are you talking about?”
“You heard me. I told you I want to get you into the recording studio. I’ve found a place in Dallas that’ll work great. Walsh can come in for a few weeks after the baby’s born, and Colin has said he’ll be here as much as we need him. Once the tour is over, we can start working up the songs. I already have the first couple sketched out. I think we can be ready to go in about six weeks once we hit it full time.”
I stare at him, not sure how to handle this. I mean, my daddy is one overbearing man. As a preacher he’s used to being in charge, and he doesn’t hold with sass from anyone. But I think Michael could give Daddy a run for his money. Maybe that’s why Daddy hates Michael so much. I always figured it was the godless-rock-star-with-tattoos thing.
I clear my throat. “Michael. I appreciate you thinking about my album and all, but I don’t have a few million dollars lying around. The pay for this tour was a nice little extra, but it’ll buy me a vacation at Christmas, not a few months in Dallas recording an album that might never sell.” I sound like exactly what I am—a kindergarten teacher. No vision, no guts, no dreams. I hate it, but I can’t help it all the same. It’s impossible to tame twenty-four years’ worth of conditioning in one summer.
He grins at me. “That’s where I come in, Sunshine. I’m your producer and your new record company all rolled into one. And as your new boss, I’ll be covering all your expenses while you’re working for me.”
I stand for a moment and think about this. He can call it whatever he wants, but it amounts to charity, and my daddy raised me to give charity, not take it.
“I can’t accept that, and you know it. You’re not a record company, and you can’t just give me money to hang out with you in Dallas all fall.”
He moves to the wall and takes a workout towel from the rack there. As he wipes down his arms, face, and chest, I watch, mesmerized.
“I am a record company. As of yesterday, I’m the president, CEO, and sole proprietor of Sunshine Records, and you’re my first artist. As soon as you sign the papers, of course.”
I look up from his flexing muscles, trying to catch up with what he’s saying. “Sunshine Records?” I feel my little heart go pitter-patter. How does he do these things to me? One stupid romantic gesture and my hopes are up again even though I know deep down nothing will ever come of it.
“Yep. Incorporated, on file with the State of Texas, approved by my lawyers and my financial manager. And their fucking secretaries, too, I imagine.”
“Don’t swear, Michael,” I scold out of habit. Like it ever does any good. “You really started a record company? Just to record my album?”
“I started a record company to record your album, and hopefully some others too. I’ve hired a talent scout to look around and find me some fresh sounds. I have a couple of fantastic sound engineers coming in from Portland in a month, and the studio I found is letting me use a rehearsal space until we start recording.”
“And what am I supposed to do about my job?” I can’t believe he’s thought this whole thing through. This is so unlike him.
“I don’t care what you do about it, darlin’,” he tells me in his best Texas drawl, which isn’t all that good but is super sexy. “I’d tell you to quit, because you won’t ever be going back. But I know you don’t do things that way, so tell them to get a substitute for a few months. Whatever. It won’t make any difference in the long run, your album will go platinum and you’ll be touring the country, headlining over girls like that poseur Lucy Hale.”
I laugh. Michael’s nothing if not arrogant. Even when the arrogance is on my behalf.
“And where will I live? How will I pay my bills?”
“I told you. Your record company will handle that stuff.”
“How, Michael? I want details, numbers, a plan.”
He sighs as he opens the door to the hallway and ushers me through. We walk toward the elevators and I look up at him with one eyebrow raised, waiting for him to answer.
“It’s all in the paperwork, Sunshine. But first, we need to get a house.”
I step into the elevator and he follows, standing just a touch too close so that I feel the residual heat coming off him. I take a deep breath to calm my pounding heart.
“We?”
“Yes, Sunshine, because you’ll be living with me.”
Mike
JENNY IS silent as we drive to the first house on the realtor’s list. I could tell she wanted to argue about the house. She’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever met, like grade-A sugar melting on your tongue, but she’s no pushover, and I can tell she’s going to fight me on this. All of it—the album, the living situation, the money. But, fuck, I have the resources, she has the talent, so why the hell shouldn’t I put the two things together?
Since Lush broke up a year ago, I’ve been in a tailspin. I never once thought about the possibility of Lush not existing, so I had no idea what to do with myself. I spent the first several weeks drinking and fucking myself into a virtual coma. When I finally sobered up long enough to think straight, I realized I needed to do something different with my life or I was going to end up worse off than Walsh.
So I headed to the Double A to support him, but what I never told anyone was that I did it for me too. I knew that being out there in the middle of nowhere on a dry ranch would be nothing but good for me. Like I said, I’ve always figured I’d end up just like Loretta, but I guess I’m not ready to go that route quite yet. I mean, look at Robin Williams. He made it to sixty-three. Maybe I have more years in me than I thought before the inevitable takes hold and bleeds the life right out of me.
But what I learned from working my ass off in the blazing Texas heat was that what I missed about Lush wasn’t the women and the drugs and the parties. No, what I missed was the music and the friendship and the family. Those guys were my only real family from the time I was sixteen on, and when we split up, I felt the loss more sharply than I’d felt the loss of my original family.
Then, one night, I looked up from my glass of beer in a small-town saloon and there was Jenny. I swear it was practically a religious experience for me. Like I’d seen a real-life angel. She’s the whole package—the voice, the looks, the smarts. So I vowed right then and there to keep her with me for as long as I could. I know it can’t last forever. She’ll get a big-time career, she’ll meet people—men, producers, agents, and managers—and she’ll figure out that I can never give her what she wants. But until then, she’s mine in every way but one, and I’m going to enjoy each minute of it. Including living with her if I can.
We pull up to an enormous, brick, Tudor-style place. The price of housing here is so cheap compared to what I’m used to that I told the realtor the sky was pretty much the limit. I guess she listened. This place is a fucking palace.
I look over and Jenny’s eyes are wide, her mouth in a little ‘o’ that makes me want to grab her and press my lips against it.
“Cat got your tongue, Sunshine?”
She turns to me and her eyes narrow. “You’re seriously going to buy something like this?”
“What do you mean?”
“Some enormous ode to materialism and Texas trashoholics. I mean, it’
s so…not you.” She waves her hand around up and down in front of me.
I chuckle. “What exactly do you see me buying then?” I’m curious to view myself through her eyes, but I’m scared at the same time.
She taps a finger on her chin for a moment. “A warehouse,” she answers. “In the West End district. Something modern and slick. Big, high ceilings, lots of bright art, a sound system to kill for, and your guitar collection hanging on the living room wall.”
Something inside me pitches sharply and my breath catches in my throat. That she knows me so completely is almost more than I can handle. It’s like she sees inside my soul, and it strips me raw to realize it.
I clear my throat. “Maybe,” I answer. “But what about you? What’s your dream place? And be honest, Sunshine. I always know when you’re lying.”
“I’m not the one buying the house,” she chastises.
“Humor me,” I say.
“Well, I’ve always pictured something in a high-rise building, a beautiful luxury apartment, Persian rugs, lots of glass and marble. And then”—she sits up straighter as her enthusiasm increases—“a rooftop pool and garden. Someplace you could look out from and see the lights.” She sighs. “Yeah, if I ever make it big, that’s where I’d live.”
I’m inspired—by her vision, by the dreamy look in her eyes, by the flush in her cheeks. And I know exactly what I have to do. Right on cue, the realtor pulls up in the huge, circular drive of the house.
“Stay right here,” I tell Jenny. “We’re going to be looking at something else. I just need to talk to the realtor.”
Sixty minutes later, we pull up in front of an old, brick building in the West End district. The outside’s been redone and the sign on the front says, For Sale, 10,000 square feet, live/work, commercial zoning available.
“This more like it?” I ask, smiling at the look of wonderment on Jenny’s face.
“How in the world did you find something like this so fast?” she says.
“Money talks, Sunshine. The realtor nearly creamed herself when she heard I was willing to buy an entire West End warehouse if it met my needs.”
“It’s gorgeous,” she breathes. That alone makes the $3.4 million this place costs well worth it.
“Come on. Let’s go see inside.” I climb out of the truck and walk around to her side.
The realtor is on me in seconds. “Mr. Owens,” she gushes as she puts her hand on my arm and not-so-discreetly squeezes my biceps. “I think you are just going to love this place.”
Jenny steps down from the cab and the realtor’s face falls.
“Oh!” she squeaks. “I didn’t realize you were looking for a place for you and your…”
“Friend.” I grin at her, knowing my vagueness will drive Miss Dollar Signs Up Her Ass crazy. “And she has final approval, so you’ll need to make sure to pay a lot of attention to what she wants.”
The realtor swallows and her smile fades. “Of course,” she quips. “If you’ll both follow me right this way.”
Inside, we find the bones of what I will make into Jenny’s dream, only she doesn’t know it yet. The place is made up of a giant main floor, open except for the kitchen, a bathroom, and a small library behind big original wood doors that slide on a hanging track.
The kitchen is huge, stocked with all high-end appliances and a slate countertop. The floors throughout are reclaimed wood polished to a smooth sheen. I hope I can keep them in a few places, but I’ll replace the rest with marble just like Jenny described.
We stroll through the ground floor, Jenny oohing and aahing the whole time. Then we move on. The upstairs has four bedrooms and three bathrooms. All of the bedrooms have doors opening to a catwalk that overlooks the ground floor. At the end of the catwalk is a large space that is wired for an entertainment system as well as another set of stairs that go up.
“Oh look!” Jenny exclaims as she sees them. “Where do these lead?”
“Why don’t you take a look? I’m right behind you,” I say, trying not to smile at what I know is coming.
We walk up the half-dozen stairs and open the glass door at the top, stepping out onto a rooftop paradise. It’s floored in some sort of outdoor clay tiles that are a pale-peach color. Squares have been cut out intermittently, and planted with tall wild grasses, softening the whole area. There are trees along two walls and a lattice with vines on it along the third. The fourth wall is open with a glass railing that protects the area but allows a perfect view of the other buildings on the block, and the sky beyond. In the center of everything is a huge pavilion with a full outdoor kitchen, a sitting area, a dining area, a Jacuzzi, and an outdoor fireplace. It’s absolutely spectacular.
I hear the breath leave Jenny’s lungs, and her hand flies up over her mouth. “Oh my sweet baby Jesus,” she whispers.
I stand behind her, closer than I should, but right now, I don’t give a shit. I want to feel the joy that hums through her as she looks at her dream come to life.
“Is this more what you had in mind?” I ask quietly, dipping my lips next to her ear.
She turns around, her eyes brimming with tears.
“What’s the matter, Sunshine?” My heart beats erratically, and my eyes search her face for a clue to what she’s feeling. I thought I was doing something right, but it looks like I fucked it up.
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she whispers. A tear rolls down her cheek and I struggle not to wipe it away. “I can’t believe you did this. I’m just…” She turns away from me and stares at it all again.
“There’s no pool,” I point out, because I know I didn’t get it exactly right and I want to make sure she knows that it’s not perfect—that I’m not perfect. Not by a long shot. “But there’s a Jacuzzi, and if I can find engineers who say the roof will hold the weight, I’ll put in a pool for you. Maybe over on that side?” I point to the back of the area, away from the street and the view of other buildings.
“Oh my God, Michael,” she chirps, smacking me on the arm and grinning. “You will not put in a pool—unless you want one, of course. This is your house. It has to be what you want. But if you want my opinion, it’s perfect just the way it is.”
“I always want your opinion, Sunshine. And we have plenty of time to decide about the pool. But do you think you could spend a few months here with me while we record your album? Maybe help me decorate the place. ‘Cause I don’t know the first thing about that crap.”
She sighs and looks at me skeptically. “Move in, huh? You really expect me to take a leave from my job, come live in your house, spend a bunch of your money, and record an album?”
I grin. “I do. It’ll be the best decision you ever make. I guarantee it. You’re going to be the biggest thing to hit country crossover since Taylor Swift. Just give me the next four months. Pretty please?”
She walks a few feet away. The realtor has retreated to the sitting area in the pavilion, where she’s finessing some poor schmuck on the phone. Jenny looks out across the rooftops of the neighboring buildings, her hair blowing gently in the breeze. It’s all I can do to keep from touching the delicate strands.
Finally, she turns, pulling her sunglasses down from their perch on top of her head and covering her eyes. I feel like she’s covering up some piece of soul and it bothers me.
“All right, Michael,” she says. “You’ve got a deal. Four months, an album, and we’ll see what we have at the end.” She shoots out her hand and I look at it, confused for a moment. “In Texas, we shake on our deals,” she tells me.
I smile, and a shiver ripples through me. “You got it, Sunshine,” I say as I take her small hand in mine and hold it for just a fraction too long. “It’s a deal.”
Why do I feel like my deal with an angel might be the last bargain I ever strike?
Jenny
THE DAY after Michael picked out his loft, I head home to the tiny town south of Dallas where I grew up. The feelings churning through me as I drive along the flat
highway are so mixed I’m not sure whether to cheer or sob. As much as I yearn to break out of the predetermined monotony of my life as a preacher’s daughter, it’s scary. If I never try I’ll always have that possibility to dream about. If I try and fail, then I’m left with nothing. The reality Michael has handed me is much more complicated than the fantasy I spent the last few years holding close for comfort.
I go straight to the school district office to put in my request for a leave of absence. The superintendent isn’t thrilled, but they can get someone to fill my position for the fall. It’s not perfect, but it’ll work.
Next I head to the Double A Ranch, where my friend Leanne Silva lives with her husband Ronny. Ronny’s lived on ranches his whole life, but he started the Double A to give alcoholics a place to work through some of their issues, and he helps them get back on their feet after they’ve been sober for sixty days. Michael and Walsh got real close to Ronny and Leanne when they were living at the Double A last year.
Now, Colin, the bassist for Lush, is staying in town at Mrs. Stallworth’s boarding house in town, and he helps Ronny out sometimes. Colin also travels a lot. He came to Dallas and Austin to play in my gigs this summer, and in between, he helped out Mrs. Stallworth. She adores Colin, and I’m not sure how he’ll ever figure out a way to get out of her net. Guilt from a feisty old lady is a powerful thing to fight.
Leanne is prepping the dinner for the ranch hands when I arrive. She envelops me in a warm hug. “I am so glad to see you, doll. How’s the big city? Was it Dallas this time?” she asks before she bustles over to the fridge and pulls out a pitcher of iced tea. Then she pours me a glass and pats the kitchen table. “Sit down. Take a load off. You can keep me company while I get these ribs ready for the boys.”
I pull over a bowl of peas sitting on the table and start shelling them as I talk. “Well, you won’t believe this…”
“Honey, it’s Mike Owens. I’d believe just about anything.” She laughs. She’s heard more than anyone about my time with Michael.
Lowdown and Lush Page 2