Chapter 14
All those songs about a love lost make sense now. I thought I had loved before, but never has it ending felt like this .
I’m at a party. I mean, we all are, the entire band. Kat has secured us invitations to this shindig and wants us to smooch up to some industry executives who might offer a lucrative contract to us. I didn’t really listen, so I wouldn’t know what this is about.
I’m having a look around. There are so many dinosaurs of rock and roll here that I feel like a baby. I suppose there are more Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductees present than I have fingers. That singer, whose second album went through the roof and that keeps playing on radio non-stop, flirts with the Hollywood star, who just has been voted sexiest man alive. They’re good people. What’s not to like about this?
A bright light flashes right in my face. I close my eyes and shield them with my hand, trying to regain my vision, but that doesn’t keep that photographer from taking several more pictures.
I remember now. Photographers. They are not good for me. I manage to wrangle myself out of the melee and find a secluded seat in a dark corner. There I sit and nurse a drink and try not to think of Hunter. But she is a big, pink elephant.
A couple of songs that I’ve written are numbers one and four in the charts. I always had assumed that I’d be crazily happy if that ever happened. Well, I’m not.
One of the songs I had written with Hunter on my mind, back in Elken Grove. A sweet ballad about blooming love. And the other is a melody that I had worked on for a while. Only after the break-up did the words start coming. How can the very same people who praise the song’s grittiness and raw desperation not realize that this is how I feel? I tried telling the truth once. When the interviewer asked me how I felt, I answered, “Sore.” That is an apt description, but of course I had meant emotionally sore, like my heart was exposed, raw flesh. But somehow the interviewer had made crude sexual innuendos. I’m still not quite sure how he got there.
“Mix and mingle!” Kat takes the glass of water out of my hand and replaces it with whiskey. “Enough of that broody artist—let the world have some dazzling rock star!”
“I don’t feel it.”
“I know.” Kat smiles radiantly at someone passing by. Holy moly—that’s Malik. I’m a massive fan of his. For a brief moment I’m excited about something. Haven’t been in a while.
Out of the corner of her mouth, Kat admonishes me. “I don’t care. This is the chance to get big into business.”
“We already are playing arenas.”
“Back in the day you’d be on your way to never-ending fortune. Things have changed, though. Today, you can play arenas and have concurring number one hits without ever making it big. So, please, make sure Tawpie Tantrum have their shot at getting that contract.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Whenever Kat pisses me off, I am extra polite and call her ma’am. She hates it, and I love that she does.
Did I mention she arranged some new gigs? And the first one is going to be in Richmond, VA. Karma’s a cruel bitch.