Chapter Nine #2
“Clementine,” Jen says, as if she is trying to convince herself everything is fine, “Halloran and I would like you to take Molly’s place in ‘If Not for My Baby.’ Starting with The Morning Show with Joe Jennings tomorrow.”
“If you’re interested, that is,” Halloran adds quickly. “You don’t have to, a’ course.”
Because I am confused, overtired, and apparently not very bright, I look straight at Halloran and ask, “Me? Why?”
Despite the quirk in his full lips, Jen’s the one to reply. “Because we’ve both been impressed with your backing vocals and it’s worth seeing if your soprano voice pairs better with his than Molly’s alto.”
But all I can think about is the look in Halloran’s eyes when I sang for him alongside the hum of the ice machine. “Molly’s so talented, though.”
“Like I said,” he reiterates, “you absolutely don’t have to do anythin’ you don’t want.”
“But you should,” Jen adds brusquely. Her eyes are already on her phone. “It’s the right showcase for your voice.”
It hits me like a cheesy movie flashback.
Blurred edges and wide eyes. The sudden vision of getting to sing Halloran’s beautiful words to an audience that reveres his music as much as I’ve come to.
Getting to sing with him . A rhapsody of love and loss.
A melody I’ve not been able to shake for weeks.
I nod at Jen twice. Three times to be sure she knows I’m excited and not worried about the multiple ways Molly might skewer me. “I’d love to.”
“Good,” Jen says. “Tom, take a page out of Clementine’s book—listen to me. Do the Rolling Stone piece.”
Tom runs a broad hand over his gorgeous mouth in a half wince, half laugh. I get the vibe he doesn’t want to discuss this in front of me. “I’m thinkin’ on it,” he tells her. “I am, I promise.”
A swirling summer wind whips at our faces and tickles my nose. I turn away just in time to sneeze. It comes out like a shriek.
“Bless you,” Halloran says as I sneeze again. “Twice.”
“Good Lord,” Jen says, stepping back. “You sound like a parrot.”
“It’s just allergies,” I assure them both.
Halloran folds his lips together to hide a smile.
“Okay. Bright and early tomorrow, you two.” And with that Jen hurries into the hotel, Lionel speeding behind her.
I crane my neck up to find Halloran’s eyes. “Thank you so much.”
“Thank you .” He shrugs, fisting his hands in his pockets. “Your voice is a splendid instrument.”
His eyes are nearly emerald in the last dregs of daylight, and as I behold them, intent upon me, I find I cannot form any more words.
Then I sneeze again.
—
“She WHAT?”
“Molly,” Indy tries. “Can we calm—”
“I’m not going to calm down . Do not ask me to calm down, because I’m not fucking going to , okay?”
“Okay,” I answer for Indy before Molly can bite her head off.
Molly screeches again and sinks morosely into the bed across from mine, where Indy and I sit.
“I have done everything for that woman. On Halloran’s first tour, in Seattle, when I had laryngitis and Jen couldn’t find anyone to sing backup for just one night while I recovered, I still went out and sang like a fucking pro.”
“I know you did,” Indy says.
“And at Red Rocks, when Grayson had altitude sickness, who played keys and sang harmony?”
Indy sighs. “You, Molly.”
“And a month ago, when she was worried Halloran wasn’t going to—”
“Molly,” Indy interrupts.
A weird energy charges between them. Molly looks at me and then at Indy, and appears almost chastened.
“When Halloran wasn’t going to what?”
Indy shakes her head. “Nothing. It—”
“I do whatever Queen Jen asks, and have for years,” Molly says. “And this is how she repays me? I’m going to kill her.”
“It wasn’t Jen’s fault. Halloran was the one who asked me to take your spot. I should have just said no.” I steady my breaths. “In fact, I’m going to find Jen now and tell her I don’t feel comfortable taking the duet from you.”
“Fuck that,” Molly snipes before I can move off the hotel bed. “I’m not going to be her second choice.”
“I’m telling you, it was Halloran’s decision.”
“None of this is Halloran’s decision,” Molly spits. “Can’t you tell?”
My eyes narrow in confusion. “What does that—”
“Come on, Molly,” Indy coos, reaching across the divide between beds to offer Molly her wine. “Let’s not go down that road.”
“What road?” I ask, curiosity more than piqued. My hunger to learn any scraps I can about him will be the death of me. “What do you mean none of this is his decision?”
“He hates being on tour,” Molly says. “He might hate all of us, I don’t know.”
“He does not,” Indy assures her, and then me with a vehement nod. “He doesn’t hate anyone.”
“Jen makes all of his choices for him and Halloran just suffers through. She has no problem manipulating him, or anyone else, to keep him on tour. It’s how it’s always been.
Ever since she found him and Cara off that first single.
So when I tell you it was Jen ’ s choice, even if it looked like Halloran’s, just fucking trust me. ”
I can’t bring myself to tell her how I sang for Halloran in a hotel hallway.
Nothing’s changing her mind or her mood right now.
And maybe she’s right—now that Molly mentions it, it does seem like Halloran kind of hates being on tour.
He certainly keeps to himself. Won’t do the interviews Jen asks of him.
Avoids the groupies and the fans when he can.
Avoids his own band. Hides behind that tattered green baseball cap. My heart twists for him.
“Okay,” I say. “It’s Jen’s fault.”
“Thank you,” she bites out.
I want to know what it was Jen asked Molly to do a month ago. Whatever it is, neither Indy nor Molly seem open to sharing with me, which would sting a little if I couldn’t tell it was something awful. Of course, that makes me want to know all the more.
“Molly, I’m really sorry,” I say for the thirtieth time.
“It’s fine.” She stands and heads for the door. “I’m going to get drunk. It’s not like I have an early morning anymore.”
“I’ll meet you downstairs,” Indy says.
Molly doesn’t give either of us another look as she leaves, slamming the door behind her.
I fling myself back into the bed. “I feel like crap.”
Indy’s mouth turns down. “You should be thrilled, Clementine. You basically got promoted. Don’t worry about Molly. She’s a big girl and can handle herself.”
“I know.” I had been excited. Before this conversation, at least. My eyes follow the even pace of the rotating ceiling fan, and the little pulleys that clink below each time it spins. “But this is her dream.”
I can hear the frown in Indy’s voice as she says, “What about your dreams?”
And it dawns on me then how few people in my life have asked me that.
Not Everly, when she essentially thrust this tour on me.
Not Mike, when he suggested we get back together.
Not even my mom. But there’s no malice to the realization.
I don’t blame any of them. It’s my own fault—at some point I decided it was easier to be a dreamless person than a disappointed one.
Except somewhere along the way, I became both.