Two
TWO
LEAPFROG AT YOUR OWN PERIL
In true Jackson Lord style, his little get together is a full-out rager. We have to park halfway up the street since his circle drive is jammed with leased Teslas and BMWs, the cars of choice for Nashville’s wanna-be elites.
“I thought this was supposed to be a casual thing,” Cass jokes as we make our way to the backyard.
“It wouldn’t be a casual Lord hang without a full bar and a DJ.”
“Don’t forget the sushi bar.”
I gasp and clutch my chest. “I would never.”
Jackson’s Brentwood home is, in a word, colossal. It’s technically his dad’s property, but he spends most of his time on set in Vancouver so Jackson claims the house as his own. The massive backyard has an outdoor kitchen bigger than some of the apartments I’ve lived in. There are five cabanas surrounding the guitar-shaped pool, a hot tub in the shape of a guitar pick, a fire pit with seating for thirty, a putting green and three separate balconies coming off the back of the house.
It’s just after eight but the backyard is already wall-to-wall people. The drinks are flowing, the music is pumping, everyone on their best see-and-be-seen behavior. I’m out of place in my shorts and t-shirt, most of the girls in sparkly party dresses and fresh waxes.
“Penny Lovejoy and Cass Zimmerman,” a sing-song voice calls, “my two favorite people.”
Jackson, fruity drink in hand, finds us through the crowd and pulls us into a three-person hug.
“It’s Mari Gold,” I say with a knowing smile. “We’re in public.”
“Stage names are for stages, not friends,” he says. “Besides, I keep telling you. It’s okay to use your real name to get your foot in the door. Let your talent win them over, yes, but you still have to get in the door. Lovejoy is how you get in the door.”
On some level, I know he’s probably right. Everyone has a Nashville story about how so-and-so met so-and-so at a party and ended up with a number one single. It’s Nashville legend, meeting the right person at the right time and all your dreams falling into your lap like spilled soup. Jackson and Cass believe I’ll get my opportunity if I just get over myself and let people know who I really am.
Fresh off the sting of Brad’s betrayal, I’m not so sure.
“We’re here for the food,” Cass says.
“Right this way,” Jackson says, pulling us through the crowd.
We don’t make it ten feet before someone’s stopping us.
“Hey, Jackson, who are your friends?” A dark-haired guy in black jeans and a fitted black t-shirt smiles at me but his eyes are too wide, like he swallowed a too-big bite and it’s stuck in his throat.
“Mike, my man,” Jackson says, shaking Mike’s hand while slapping him on the back, “meet Mari Gold, amazing songwriter and singer, and Cass Zimmerman, hairstylist to the stars.” Jackson turns to us, a car dealer smile on his face. “Ladies, this is Mike Wilson, an up-and-coming producer here in town.”
“Nice to meet you, Mike,” I say, feeling entirely awkward meeting a producer while wearing shorts the same length as my butt cheeks, my first Nearly Naked Network Moment .
“Mari Gold, right,” Mike says coolly. The way he’s looking at me makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Jackson played me some of your stuff. Spicy.”
“Did you send him the right songs?” Cass asks Jackson, who shrugs like, don’t look at me .
“That’s an…interesting take,” I say.
Mike puffs out his chest in that aloof way I’ve seen on a lot of these guys in L.A.—nervousness that comes off douchey. “You’ve got a certain flavor. I love songwriters with flavor. Of course, it’s not really the kind of stuff I work on.”
“No?” I give Jackson a look but he’s scanning the party, ready to move on to the next influential.
“What I’m doing is really fresh. Very in the moment,” Mike says. “Kinda like what LOVEJOY’s doing.”
We’ve been at this party a total of five minutes. Maybe ten. I thought it would take at least thirty before someone brought her up. It’s almost a challenge, seeing how fast his demeanor will change, how quickly the conversation will shift, if I tell him who I am. The curse of being related to someone wildly famous—I’m the girl people meet once and immediately forget in favor of my sister. No one ever comes back for seconds with me.
A mosquito lands on my arm and I swat it away. It’s hot, the muggy April night too steamy to be comfortable. All I want is a cold drink and salty food and this so-called producer is namedropping LOVEJOY like it’s a power move.
“You’re her sister, right?” He says it with a gotcha glint in his eye. He shifts his weight, rolls his shoulders, so proud of himself.
Jackson and Cass simultaneously gape at me. They’re no doubt waiting for me to punch this guy in the jaw or scream in his face or fully hulk out, clothes ripping as I tear the party apart in a LOVEJOY-infused rage.
I hold Mike’s gaze, my mouth set in a firm non-smile. “Yep. Ever since I was born.”
“Fascinating.” He mentally calculates how quickly he can shake me down for info. “You ever do any writing with her? ”
Cass lets out a loud snort and then mumbles sorry, her eyes roaming the party for an escape route. I smile so wide I can see the tops of my own cheeks. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. You know, you don’t look anything like her.”
People love to point this out, how my sister and I look nothing alike. Polly’s waifish and petite and blonde and sparkly-shiny where I’m tall and solid, built more like a basketball player than a lip-gloss model, the opposite of shiny. Probably why everyone leapfrogs over me to get to Polly.
“Then how’d you know I was her sister?”
“I’m good buddies with Brad Fowler. He mentioned it when he and I worked on a project together a couple weeks ago.”
Brad the Bass Player strikes again.
“How nice of him,” I say, my hands balling into fists at my sides. “I’ll be sure and send him a fruit basket to say thanks.”
Mike, oblivious, says, “I’d love to hang with her sometime if she’s ever in town. Some of the things I’m working on could really vibe with what she’s doing.”
“I bet,” I say, deadpan, surreptitiously elbowing Cass an S.O.S. message.
“You could come too,” Mike offers. “Would be cool to work on a collab.”
I should be nice, should pretend to care about what he’s saying, should play along with his LOVEJOY collab fantasy, but that way lies madness. I came to Nashville looking for meaning, to find my roots, something to become and believe in. Being upstaged by my sister wasn’t part of the plan.
“Would you excuse us for a sec?” Cass says. “We’re just gonna hunt down some beverages. I saw a lime green concoction on my way in that looked interesting.”
I lift my downturned smile, hoping it looks sincere. “Great meeting you, Mike.”
“Yeah, you too. Let’s catch up later? I’m serious about the collab.”
I give him a thumbs up and throw Jackson a look I hope conveys how much I do not want to meet any more Nashville Clingers thankyousomuch.
Once we’re far enough away to not be overheard, Cass presses her thumbs into her temples and gags. “Why did you admit Polly’s your sister to that slimeball?”
“Ill-timed compulsion? Heat stroke? Unfortunate verbal diarrhea due to break-up distress?”
She nods. “Alcohol. We need alcohol.”
There are two bars set up on the far side of the pool, both with long lines in front of them.
“I’ll get a place in line,” Cass says. “See if you can scrounge up something decent in the kitchen so we don’t have to wait.”