10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Late in the afternoon, Callie’s cell phone sounded the ominous notes of Darth Vader’s theme. She laughed. Tessa’s suggestion of giving Brian his own special ringtone had been a stroke of genius. Now, instead of that sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she had the giggles. She briefly debated blowing him off, but decided to take the call. Like ripping off a bandage, it might be painful, but better in the end to do it quickly.
“Brian,” she said as she answered the phone. “What a surprise.”
“Hey, babe,” he said, as if nothing had changed between them. “How’s the voice?”
“Improving every day,” she answered, careful to keep her tone neutral.
“Great. That’s great. Glad to hear it. And the files?”
Oh, right, the files that were still sitting in their box in the closet, waiting to be sorted.
“I haven’t had a chance to sort them,” she said. “Is there a deadline I should know about?”
“The attorneys called yesterday to follow up. I told them we needed a few more days. Tell you what. I’ll send you the address. When you’re done sorting, you send the box directly to them.”
“We’re sending them the originals?” she asked, mystified. That didn’t sound like a smart move.
“Good point. You’ll need to send them copies of all the documents. You keep the originals and bring them back home with you.”
Callie swore silently. She should have kept her mouth shut and sent the originals. But making copies was easy enough, if time-consuming. The thought of going ‘home’—whatever that meant—made her feel queasy. What the hell was she going to do?
“Callie, are you still there?”
“What? Yes. I’m here. Copies. Will do.”
“Great. One other thing.”
“Yes?” she answered cautiously, determined not to accept any more assignments.
“I’ve been talking with the label, and they want to know what we have in mind for the next album.”
“The next one? We haven’t even released the first one yet!” Callie knew that signing with a record label could be intense, and that they would push you to produce constantly, so that you always had something new and fresh. But seriously? Before the first album even came out?
“I know, I know. It’s crazy. But that’s the way they operate. They said that this quiet period before the tour is a great time to get a head start on the next album. And when they said quiet, I immediately thought of you, all quiet and secluded up in Wisconsin. What a perfect time to write new material.”
Callie didn’t respond. Yes, it was a perfect time to write new material. Her material. The songs she had been burning to write, the ones that Brian hated.
“Callie? You there?”
“Yes. ”
“Look, if you’re going to bail on all your other responsibilities, the least you can do is crank out a few new songs. I mean, what else do you have to do all day? You never go anywhere.”
Now, Callie knew that she didn’t get out much, but how in the hell did Brian know that? Was she that predictable?
“I go out all the time, visiting friends, sailing, hiking.”
He snorted, his disbelief clear even across the bad connection.
“Whatever. It’s still time to get cracking on new material. Are we clear?”
Callie could feel herself stretching out again, with all her former selves lining up behind her, arms crossed, scowls on their faces. They didn’t think much of the rationalization running through her head: ‘It won’t take all my time. I can still write my own songs, and work with Danny, and review the files. Of course, I’ll need to step it up a little. Be more disciplined. But I’m the one who wants a music career. This is what it looks like to make it. Suck it up, sister, and enjoy the ride.’ Her past selves might not like it, but they also didn’t need to live in this moment, right now. She had to do that all by herself.
“New songs. Right.”
She closed her eyes and let her head thump back against the cushions of the chair. So much for escaping.
“Excellent.” Callie could hear voices on the other end of the line, higher in tone than Brian’s but muffled. “Listen, babe. I need to run. Rehearsal is starting.” A giggle. “I’ll check in later this week, see how the new material is coming along.” Some sort of scuffle, more giggles. “Let me know when you send the files.”
“Sure. No problem,” she said, looking out at the lake. She imagined that the water was warm and that she was floating in a sunny spot, her hair flowing around her like a mermaid’s.
“Later,” he said, and broke the connection.
She let the phone slide down into her lap and kept her eyes fixed on the water. If she focused hard enough, she could hold on to that feeling of floating, warm in the sunshine. As long as she could keep her head above the water, she would be okay.
“Hey, sugar,” said Luke, poking his head out onto the sun porch where Callie sat in her favorite chair staring out at the lake, her guitar sitting unused in its case on the floor, her phone still in her lap. She had no idea how long it had been since the conversation with Brian.
“Hey, Dad,” she said, looking over her shoulder to smile at him. “What’s up?”
“I was going to ask you the same question,” he said. “You’ve been out here for a while, but I haven’t heard any music.”
She looked back at the lake.
“I was thinking,” she answered. “But I really should be working.”
She knew her voice sounded defeated and that her father would want to know what was wrong. She should work harder to sound cheerful, because she really didn’t want to talk about it. She sighed, wishing she could just play some music and forget about everything else.
“What do you say I get my guitar and we play something? You’ve been home more than a week now, and we still haven’t played together.”
She should have known her father wouldn’t bug her to talk. He knew that—for the two of them, at least—the solution to just about any problem was music.
“Sounds perfect.” she said, leaning forward and pulling her guitar out of its case. When he didn’t immediately make a move, she looked back at him. “Well?” she asked. “What are you waiting for?”
They played for hours. When their fingers were raw, they stopped, watching the sunset burnish the water in fiery shades of red and orange. She felt light again, and free, her obligations more like filament bracelets than shackles.
“So what’s this I hear about you not writing any music?” she asked at last, curious to know what had blocked her father. All her life he had been a songwriter. What had changed?
He sighed. “It’s not easy to explain,” he finally answered, and she laughed.
“Of course not,” she said. “If it were easy to explain, it would be easy to fix, and you would have fixed it already.”
“True,” he said, chuckling at himself.
“Do you want to try to explain?” she asked, feeling the strangeness of the conversation. Coming back home, all grown up, put a whole new spin on their relationship, and it was disorienting.
“Let’s just say that I’m having my mid-life crisis,” he answered. “Even though I always planned to retire from teaching after this year, it’s still a big change. I guess I need to work through some baggage.”
“Aren’t you a little old for a mid-life crisis?”
He barked out a laugh. “God, I hope not.”
“Sorry. I thought a mid-life crisis was something you do when you’re forty. Not fifty.”
“Fifty-four.”
“Whatever,” she answered, rolling her eyes. “Didn’t you do one of these already?”
“Nope,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve always been slow when it comes to the emotional stuff.”
Callie considered for a moment, then had an inspiration.
“Maybe you need a red convertible,” she suggested, trying not to laugh at the image of her dad zooming around in a shiny red car. “Or a Harley!” At that mental image, she did dissolve into laughter. “Oh my God, I have to call Mel and Tessa. That image is just too awesome not to share. ”
Her father actually harrumphed. “There’s no need to tell your sisters about this. It’s not a big deal.”
As she wiped tears from the corners of her eyes, Callie took a few deep breaths and tried to settle down, but everything now struck her as funny.
“Don’t tell your sisters,” her father insisted.
“Fine, fine. I’ll keep it to myself,” she agreed. “For now.”
He didn’t look happy at that qualifier.
“Enough about me,” he said, clearly still grumpy. “What’s going on with you and the band?”
That shut down Callie’s giggles quite effectively.
“Ah,” he said. “So there is something wrong in Wonderland. What is it?” he asked.
“It’s not easy to explain,” she answered, twisting her lips at the irony of her response.
“I’ll bet,” he said. “Success changes everything.”
“We had problems long before we signed the record deal,” she said. Might as well be honest. If she spoke the words out loud, maybe a solution would be obvious.
“Such as…?”
“Let’s just say that success has amplified a bunch of small problems and interpersonal bullshit into much bigger problems and much messier bullshit.”
“Do you think you can work it out?” asked Luke.
She sighed. “If I keep my mouth shut and do what needs to be done, if I continue playing mediator for all the growing egos in the band, then yes, we can work it out.”
Luke was silent for a moment, considering.
“So what’s the alternative?” he asked at last.
Tears filled her eyes so quickly that she could barely keep them from spilling over.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, then sniffled. Her father grabbed a tissue from the side table and passed it over. She blew her nose, grateful that he wasn’t making a big deal out of her tears.
“Why not tell them to go to hell?” he asked. “Why stay?”
“How can I walk away?” she asked. “We’ve worked so hard and so long for this. I want my shot at the big time. I’ve always dreamed of making a living doing my music. So what if this isn’t as wonderful as I had imagined? It’s the only path forward that I can see. If I can just get through the next few years, maybe I’ll have enough credibility—enough connections—to strike out on my own. Until then, I need to suck it up.”
“Are you sure it’s worth it, sugar?”
“Yes,” she said, knowing as she said it that she was lying. “No. Oh, I don’t know. I can’t bear the thought of going back. But I can’t bear the thought of starting from scratch either. If I’m screwed either way, I’ll take two years of hell over ten years of scratching my way back up from the bottom.”
Her father didn’t dive in with a bunch of stupid reassurances that everything was going to be okay. He just listened, and she loved him for it. She wondered, not for the first time, why he had left his own music career behind and retreated to rural Wisconsin to teach music.
They were both silent for a long time before he spoke again. The sun, sliding below the trees behind the house, left only a few last streaks of flame across the lake.
“Have you ever thought about recording a demo?” he asked.
“We just finished recording an album,” she answered, confused. “We don’t really need a demo.”
“That’s not what I mean,” he said. “I’m talking about you and your music, not the crap…ah, I mean ‘stuff’ you write for the band.”
She smiled wryly. “You like it that much, huh?”
“It’s fine, but it’s not you.” He tipped his head to the side, giving her a speculative look. “A demo would be a concrete step toward leaving the band. Might make you feel better. ”
“I can’t even wrap my head around that,” she admitted. “My first thought is that it would be amazing. Of course, Brian would kill me if he found out. And I could never afford the studio time. And even if I kept it a secret, the second I gave a copy to a prospective label or venue, Brian would find out about it.”
“It’s risky, true. But so is doing nothing. Think about it,” he said, as he stood up and stretched. “I better get started on dinner. I’ll call you when it’s ready.” He ruffled her hair the same way he had always done. “Think about it.”
Callie watched the last of the flames disappear from the water’s surface, leaving the lake in shadow as day turned into night. She silently cursed her father for placing an almost unbearable temptation before her. Two competing concerns warred within her: How could she risk it? How could she refuse?