“Call me when you land,” I say as he squeezes my hand and takes a step toward the door.
“I will,” he says.
“Not a text, okay? A phone call.”
“Okay,” he says, walking backward. He glances over his shoulder and nearly crashes into a lady and her daughter, hopping out of their way just in the nick of time. I laugh and wave. He blows me a kiss. And then he’s gone.
The last thing in the world I want to do is speak to the people Kai nearly trampled, but they’ve recognized me and it’s clear from the looks on their faces that they’re fans. So I dab under my eyes with my summer scarf and plaster on a big smile as they roll their suitcases my way. Me Time is over; Bird Barrett is on.
“Hmmm,” Shannon mumbles the next day as she flips through the pages of my songwriting journal. I hold my lucky pendant in my hand, twirling it back and forth between my thumb and forefinger nervously. It was only a year ago that she was blown away by the poetry I’d come up with during my time on the road with my family. It was raw and I didn’t know how to shape some of the ideas into songs, but at least she had something to work with. Today I think she was expecting that same fountain from which to draw, but there has clearly been a creative drought. “Well, we could maybe piece two of these fragments together,” she muses, strumming a few chords on her guitar.
“So, ‘You’ve got a light, a light that’s almost hidden now,’ ” she sings. My ears perk up. We’ve been working together for an hour and that’s the first thing that’s even come close to sounding like a song with potential.
She looks up at me questioningly and I nod. “Yeah, that sounds great,” I say.
“So what next?” she asks.
“Huh?”
“I picked that line out of your journal,” she says, her long black hair falling over her guitar as she slides my journal across the coffee table. “But the rest is a list of band names or something. Where were you going with that first thought?”
I sigh heavily and put my head in my hands. “I don’t remember,” I moan.
“Oh-kay,” Shannon says, setting her guitar down. “Let’s take ten.”
It’s embarrassing. I can tell that she’s disappointed in me and I hate it. I’m disappointed in myself. I’ve had all summer to work on new material. There were a million times with Kai when a song took root in my heart, but I wasn’t disciplined enough to pull away from that moment with him and write it down. And I had hours on the bus going from stop to stop where I could’ve been working, but instead we texted or talked on the phone or watched the same movies from different buses so we could talk about them later. It was like we were together even when we weren’t together.
But right now, staring at the list of band names in my journal, the notes about Kai’s favorite films from Sundance, the meals he said he wanted to make me once we were off tour… now I couldn’t feel more disconnected from him—or from my music.
Instinctively I glance up at Stella’s loft, but she’s not here either. I sigh. Nobody is. Stella’s spending time with her dad before starting school at Samford next week, Jacob’s interning for Open Highway until he leaves for UCLA, and Dylan’s around but already wrapped up with his new friends at Belmont. Soon, everybody will be at college making new friends and new memories. And suddenly, I feel very, very alone.
18
I DON’T KNOW when I’m going to get used to it, but ever since being discovered I am constantly reminded that a lot can change in the blink of an eye.
“Wow,” I say, following my mom, dad, and Jacob into the gorgeous condo Anita’s real estate agent found us in Santa Monica. “This is even nicer than it looked online.”
“It ought to be, as much as it costs,” my dad grumbles. “The rent here is more than most people’s paychecks.”
“Um, is it too late to go get my stuff from the dorms?” Jacob cracks.
We roll our suitcases into the living room and set our bags down, the four of us quiet as we take it all in. The place has gorgeous beach views through floor-to-ceiling windows, which the real estate agent promised meant we’d see some breathtaking sunsets. The two bedrooms are big enough for king-sized beds and dressers, the kitchen has brand-new stainless-steel appliances and granite countertops, there are Jacuzzi tubs in both bathrooms, and the living room leads out to a balcony where I can totally envision myself having tea in the morning and songwriting. In fact, as I watch a couple walk hand in hand in the surf, I’m already feeling inspired.
“Let’s unpack and go shopping for some furniture,” I say, wanting to get settled in right away. I was jet-lagged when we pulled into the parking lot, but now that I’m officially a part-time California girl, I feel a burst of renewed energy. “We need a car and we need a couch.” I clap. “Stat.”
My dad looks at me dubiously. “We need groceries and we need toilet paper,” he says, mocking me with a loud clap of his own. “ ‘Stat.’ You may be making money, honey, but you still have to prioritize.”
I roll my eyes. “Buzzkill.”
He chuckles. “Hey now,” he says, putting his arm around my shoulders, “I’m still your manager for a few more days, so I’m going to call a few more shots. Let’s grab the rest of the bags from the rental car and figure out a plan for lunch. I’ve heard In-N-Out-Burger is a Los Angeles must.”
“Yeah, it’s awesome,” Jacob says, already the Cali pro. “I wish they took my meal plan. I’d be, like, a gold-valued customer. Adam and I were there last night.”
“Adam’s in town?” I ask, whipping my head around.
“Was,” Jacob says uncomfortably. “Headed back out on the road this morning. Told me to tell you hi, though.”
I nod, looking back out the windows. “That’s cool.”
I don’t know if Jacob knows exactly what happened between me and Adam last winter—what Adam may have told him or what he picked up on his own—but it seems like Jacob and Dylan tiptoe around any mention of him when I’m in earshot. It’s immensely frustrating.
“So we’ll grab the rest of the bags and get burgers for lunch?” Jacob asks.
“Absolutely not,” my mom says breezing past us. “Might as well eat spoonfuls of lard.”
“I think that’s the secret ingredient,” Jacob teases as he follows her out. “It’s what makes them so good.”
My dad winks at me and holds the door open.
“I’ll be down in a minute,” I say, waving him on.
The door bangs closed, and I walk to the massive windows, amazed by the view. As the waves roll onto the shore, I watch a man throw a Frisbee into the surf and wait for his dog to retrieve it. I watch seagulls circle overhead, their calls to each other like a secret language. I can’t believe this is happening, that this is where I live now, that California represents so much possibility.
I wish Kai were here.
I always wish Kai were here.
I pull out my cell phone and open the patio door, taking a few shots of the beach and the way the sun sparkles on the ocean. It’s breathtaking. I laugh to myself as I send him a picture text:
Can’t wait till you come visit!
And then, just because Jacob mentioned he said hi, I send the same beach pic to Adam, with the message:
My view right now.
I chuckle when Adam immediately texts me a pic of an old rotary phone, a lamp that looks as old as I am, and cheesy hotel art, the frame crooked on the wall.
Trade ya.
I stretch my arms up high over my head and inhale the salty air. It was weird to go all these months without Adam popping in and out of my life, without talking or texting much, but now it’s nice that we can get back to some sort of normalcy—that we can maybe just be friends.
I hear my family come back into the apartment with the last of the suitcases and I go inside. The place is pretty sparse, no matter what my dad says. It will be air mattresses and living out of luggage for a few days.
“Did you grab my purse, Mom?” I ask.
“I didn’t see
it,” she says. “I think we got everything.”
I groan. “I left it on the console,” I say. My dad holds out the keys to me. “Be right back.”
At the elevator, I jab the DOWN button a few times and consider taking the stairs—the five-hour flight left my body stiff and a little sore—but then the doors open and I am totally astonished as none other than Bonnie McLain steps onto my floor. “Bonnie!”
Her face mirrors my own surprise.
“Bonnie,” I say again. “Hi, I’m Bird Barrett. We met last month in Omaha. I toured with Jolene Taylor?”
“Well, Bird, I remember you, girl! You’re not going downstairs for the Zumba class, are you?”
I shake my head. “Um, no.”
“Good,” she says, looking relieved. “I just finished Spin with the girl that’s teaching it and she’s a drill sergeant. Had every one of us beat up from the feet up.”
I laugh out loud.
“Oh, honey, it’s good to see you,” she says, beaming at me. She dabs her face with a small towel, and instead of getting on the elevator, I let the doors close. “Do you live here, too?” she asks, confused.
I nod. “We’re moving in today, actually.”
She shakes her head, her eyes wide with wonder. “Well, I’ll be. Isn’t it a small world?” she asks. “Y’all come on down to my apartment one of these days for some of my famous sweet tea.”
“Yeah, definitely,” I say.
“Six-A,” she says as she starts down the hall. “Any time.”
“Six-A,” I repeat. “Got it.” I press the elevator button again and shake my head. My mom is going to flip.
“I’ll see you around, neighbor,” Bonnie calls as she opens the door to her condo and heads inside.
I wave back.
When the elevator pings and the doors open, I jump on, suddenly bursting with excitement. I can’t think of a better sign than bumping into a legend like Bonnie McLain only a couple hours into my big LA move. When I get to the lobby, I stride out into the California sunshine, full of hope. It feels like things are already happening.
19
“SO HORSES AND a birdcage, huh?” my dad teases a couple days later as he helps Mom and me bring our flea market finds into the apartment.
“The big stuff’s getting delivered,” I say, setting one of the four wine-barrel bar stools under the counter. “And don’t worry, Dad. There were plenty of Labor Day weekend sales.”
“So we’re not broke?” he teases.
“Not yet,” I say. “Wait until I go car shopping, though. I saw a yellow Ferrari today with my name on it.”
My dad laughs heartily and shakes his head as he goes outside for another box.
Mom and I finally went furniture shopping, and although it started out rough, with Anita sending us to the designer stores on Rodeo Drive, the day ended up being pretty awesome once we texted Kai for some vintage shop recommendations. I fell in love with a triptych painting of horses inspired by the carousel at the Santa Monica Pier, and we found a modern, teal-colored sofa that will look perfect against the same wall. But my favorite find was a large antique gilded birdcage that we’re going to repurpose as a floor lamp.
“Well, somebody knows how to say happy housewarming,” my mom calls from the front door. I turn around and see her walking toward me with an exquisite bouquet of yellow poppies.
“For me?” I ask.
She nods and hands me the small card attached. Grinning from ear to ear, I tear it open, thinking about how Kai and I texted all day and he never once let on.
But I’m floored when I pull the note from the tiny envelope:
Lady Bird,
The California state flower for a California girl. Congrats on the tour and good luck in LA.
Adam
About a billion questions race through my mind. I mean, these aren’t your standard roses or lilies. Are poppies even in season right now? How did Adam get somebody to deliver wildflowers? What does it mean that he put so much thought into this? My mind is spinning, but the one question I am able to formulate aloud is, “How did Adam even know my address?”
There is mischief in my mother’s eyes. “Maybe a little birdie told him.”
I roll my eyes.
“Oh, not like that,” she says, realizing the double meaning and waving me off. “I leave the puns to your father. I’d say Jacob told him. Aren’t they just gorgeous?”
They are. And they must’ve cost a pretty penny, too. I play it cool until my mom goes into the kitchen; then I whip out my cell phone and take a pic of the bouquet, sending it to Stella:
What do these mean?
They’re from Adam, btw.
I stare at my phone, but she doesn’t write back right away. I lower my nose to smell the poppies. They don’t smell like anything, but they are very pretty. And so sweet. And so thoughtful. And so confusing. And so very… well… Adam.
I text him:
Wow. Thanks for the flowers. They’re beautiful.
Unlike Stella, Adam writes back immediately:
You’re welcome. How’s Cali?
My thumbs fly over the screen, texting him back easily and effortlessly, like the old days:
Great! Beaches & sunshine. You’d love it.
The minute I send that text, though, I feel guilty. I don’t know why—I haven’t done anything wrong—but I think about Kai on the road and feel bad as another text from Adam comes through:
Hope to visit soon. Staying with Jacob over his fall break.
My stomach flips. Again, I don’t know why. I’m totally committed to Kai. I guess it’s just weird that my almost-but-never-really-was boyfriend is best friends with my brother. Also weird that said brother hasn’t mentioned this little visit.
I shake my head and step out onto the balcony. I’m still not used to having an ocean outside my back door. I send Kai a text.
Wish you were here. Miss you like crazy.
I click my screen off but get a text alert right away, which brings up a picture of Kai and me kissing in Nashville the day before he left. I smile as I read his short reply.
Soon!
20
“NO, I DON’T want to valet,” my dad barks at the young guy trying to open his door. “I’m just dropping someone off.”
I cringe, not wanting to make a scene for several reasons. One, I’m outside the Ivy restaurant in Los Angeles, which Kai told me is this fancy place where celebrities and studio people always go. From the paparazzi standing around, I can see that he’s right. Two, I was pretty pumped when Devyn Delaney texted me yesterday asking if I wanted to meet her for lunch, and I don’t want to make a bad impression. “She’s well connected to young Hollywood,” Anita said. But from my perspective, she’s also well suited to understanding how crazy this life in the spotlight can be.
“Do they still expect me to tip?” my dad grumbles now as I get out of the rental car. I glance up at the cute valet again and pray to God he didn’t hear that.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say as I close the door of the Nissan Altima. I duck my head, sidestep the Mercedes-Benz next to us, and walk quickly up the brick steps to go inside.
While my dad’s grouchy mood is totally embarrassing, I know he’s just having a hard time after our meeting with Troy Becker this morning; we signed the papers and he’s officially my new manager. Honestly, I think he’ll be a perfect fit. Troy’s a laid-back, California guy and made us all feel at ease after only a few minutes. And even though I question a guy who wears loafers without socks, I can’t question the success his artists have had. The walls of his office remind me of Dan’s at Open Highway, except the stars he’s posed with are all what Anita calls “crossovers,” meaning singers slash actresses—people like Vanessa Hudgens, Hilary Duff, and Jennifer Hudson. He talked about my brand, our partnership, and being selective with my commercial opportunities while keeping my music first. Any anxiety I had about getting a new manager flew out the window: Troy Becker was our guy.
I think I maybe he
ar one click of a camera as I walk through the charming patio to the hostess stand. After Kai told me how “posh” the Ivy was, I stressed about what to wear, but finally decided on a gray cotton dress with a ruffled front, kind of like an old tuxedo shirt. Not too dressy, but not casual either. Looking around the patio at the white cast-iron chairs and floral throw pillows, it feels like a good choice. Until…
“Bird!” Devyn calls. I look behind me and every head on the patio turns. I see some of the paparazzi outside snap to attention and start clicking. I offer a small wave, but she is already looking away, greeting a seated couple. Then right before she gets to me, she spots someone else she knows and squeezes through a couple of tables to chat them up.
Devyn looks every bit as stunning as she did on the night of her movie premiere, minus the long gown and diamonds. I guess for Devyn Delaney, a “casual lunch” means an occasion for a silk lavender shift dress and four-inch heels under a cropped leather jacket and chunky metal jewelry. Her black hair falls down her back in loose, styled waves, and her makeup is impeccable. It’s only our second encounter, but I can tell that she’s the kind of girl who is always glamorous, be it noon or midnight.
“Bird, it’s so good to see you,” she says when she finally makes her way over. She leans in to greet me and I’m momentarily anxious. Is this an air kiss or a real kiss? Air kiss. Okay. And then here she comes again, so I guess we’re doing two.
“Thanks for inviting me,” I say, glad the whole Hollywood greeting is over.
The hostess leads us to a table inside, and I’m immediately taken with this place. I was expecting something flashy and modern, but to my surprise, the Ivy is more like a cozy country inn. The tables are decorated with fresh flowers and bowls of fruit, the walls are hung with old flags and decorative plates, and the tables are small, some of the banquettes even have throw pillows.
The Road to You Page 12