Chapter 31 I’m Letting Go of All I’ve Held Onto
I’m Letting Go of All I’ve Held Onto
HARMONY
The wind on the bluffs whips my hair against my face. With no direct access to the private beach where Griffin and I had our staged date, I watch from the public viewpoint a few yards from the road as the sea crashes into the shore over and over at the bottom.
My fame prevents me from going to normal beaches if I’d like to be left alone, so, until I buy my own beachfront property, this will have to do.
The tide grounds me somehow. Its steady rhythm feels foundational, like a pulse.
In high school, whenever I was having an emotional crisis, I always went to the beach, where I would lie on the sand and close my eyes and listen to the waves.
The last time I did that was the summer before my first semester of college.
I’d been auditioning for Lucky Stars in multiple locations without success, and I was determined to make my next try my last, so I was feeling pensive.
Because I’d arrived so early, there was hardly anyone there, and the sky and the sea both felt so enormous they didn’t seem real.
I remember thinking how small I was, how I wanted to feel big—not physically, just to matter more.
Everyone matters. I know that. That’s not what I mean.
What I’m saying is, I wanted to do something that lots of other people knew about, something that would last beyond my life.
It was part of the existential crisis I have every few years when I get a minute to think too hard about the universe and my place in it.
Usually I spiral for a bit, and then I get absorbed in mundane things and forget again.
I’ve learned to handle those episodes better with age, but when I was younger I wasn’t sure what to do with my desperate need for purpose, other than to let it fuel my wild ambitions.
Thus, I honed my craft and put myself out there and clawed my way onto the stage.
For better or worse, never did I imagine this is what my life would look like in a decade.
The vast expanse of blue above and below still makes me feel small, but only because of its magnificence. Meanwhile, FM Sound makes me feel small because they’ve magnified my faults and exploited my insecurities.
I hope Griffin isn’t too upset. I know he cares about my happiness, but he doesn’t understand that I can’t be happy—not in this particular case.
That’s why I have to distance myself from him for the moment.
If I’d stayed at the hotel, he would have taken me to my favorite crepes place and expected me to come to my senses, tried to talk me into fixing this.
Honestly, if given enough time, I’m sure he’d try to contrive an idea to still get my masters somehow.
God, I love him for that. And for everything else he is.
But because I love him, I want him to have a chance to pivot his career the way he’s always wanted to—he’s so close now—and he’ll never be able to do that if I let him encourage me to ruin it.
Plus, he’s the one person outside my family who has truly allowed me to grow, to take up space in his life.
When I’m too much for other people—too “fat” or too “old” for the media, too clingy for past lovers, too melodramatic in my music—Griffin only wants more of me.
He admires who I was but doesn’t dwell on it.
He acts like he’s excited to see who I’ll become.
I think back to what he said on the Play By Hear podcast: “It’s really stupid to compare Harmony to her younger self. She was beautiful then, she’s beautiful now.”
I feel like he meant that in more ways than one.
Yet here I’ve been for the past few years clinging to the girl I once was.
I spent my mid-twenties desperate to get back down to my high school pants size (which still wasn’t small enough for me before) and, to be frank, I haven’t one hundred percent given up on that dream yet—even though I eat like I have.
I’ve spent the majority of my career trying to live up to the “ideal me.” And I’ve spent all my time at Glambam desperate to get my masters back because deep down I felt like having them would mean I hadn’t completely lost that part of myself, that girl from the beginning of my career who was young and full of hope, instead of whatever I am now—aging faster than I’m comfortable with, rife with emotional baggage, and unsure where to go next.
But that’s pathetic.
I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished. I’m proud of what I’ve overcome. My thighs are thicker and so is my skin. I’ve accumulated wisdom along with my laugh lines. I’m smarter and stronger and more skilled. I don’t want to go back to the days when I didn’t know my worth.
What the hell have I been doing, fighting tooth and nail for my first two albums?
It’s my work, special songs that mark eras of my life, and it feels wrong to let someone else have ownership over it.
And yet, there are so many other things that were taken from me that I’ll never get back—time, innocence, pieces of my heart—and I can accept that.
So why not those songs too?
Yes, maybe someone else profits off of them, the same way men I’ve been with have undeservingly benefited from my attention or my body, the same way lesser celebrities have used me for my status and clout before.
It hurts and I can’t change it, but I live with a clear conscience, knowing that I work hard and I treat others with respect, even when I don’t receive the same respect in return.
My old music doesn’t define me. What I do every day does. And today, the best thing I can do is protect the people who matter. If two years’ worth of my blood, sweat, and tears is the price, I will gladly pay it.
I scroll through my contacts until I find Dana Hatton’s number. I already called FM Sound first thing this morning to get it; now I just have to give her my answer.
Do I send a text? Hi Dana. This is Harmony. You win. Or maybe, Hey, it’s you-know-who responding about the you-know-what. Answer: affirmative.
No. She’s not getting off that easy. There’s more a want to say. A lot more.
If this woman dares to threaten me, she’s going to get an earful before I give her what she wants.
HARMONY: I’ve made my decision, but I want to tell you in person. Where can we meet?
She tries to argue than an in-person meeting is excessive. I promise her it will be quick, and that this is too heavy for a text message.
DANA: Fine. Saks, women’s clothing, 3:00. Come alone or you know the consequences.
Somewhere public of course, where we could reasonably “run into” each other again.
HARMONY: See you then.
The second she spots me, she steers me behind a blouse rack, glances around to ensure we’re not directly in view of any security cameras, and pats me down.
“You think I’d be wearing a wire?”
Sliding her palms down my sides, she replies, “You were so insistent about meeting in person. I have to make sure you’re not trying to do something stupid.”
Sneaky audio recordings aren’t worth anything legally, and I’m sure she knows that, but she also probably knows there’s the possibility that I could anonymously leak it myself if I dare to try and catch anything she says.
It’s not always about what can be done legally; social damage can be even more threatening, if done right.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “This has to do with my ego.”
She finishes her assessment, then steps back and folds her arms. “Alright, let’s hear it.”
“I’ll do what you say.”
“Great.”
“But I want you to know something.”
“What.”
“I’m not ashamed of anything you have on me.
I’ll admit I’ve made mistakes and I could have pushed back when my label asked me to mislead the public, but I’ve done my job.
I’ve shown up and I’ve worked my ass off, often at great personal expense.
If it were up to me—if it were only my career on the line—this would be a non-issue.
Luckily for you, my feelings for Riff turned out to be real, and I won’t do anything that hurts him. ”
“Yes, lucky me. Are we done?” She actually looks at her Rolex to emphasize how much I’m wasting her time.
“You know what? No. We’re not done. You said FM Sound made me who I am, but it’s kind of the other way around—don’t you think?
Who would you be if you hadn’t ‘discovered’ me?
Who would be eager to sign with you if you couldn’t say you’ve worked with Harmony Sonora?
You didn’t pluck me from obscurity. I showed up, I did my thing, I put myself on the line. ”
“Wow, you weren’t kidding. This really is about your ego …”
“You know what the most ironic thing about this is, though?” I ask.
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me even if I say I could not care less.”
“You got what you wanted, but … it won’t be enough.
I’ll be fine without the masters. Not only will I survive, I’ll thrive as I make more music, as I keep growing.
Because I can stand on my own. I’ve proven that.
I don’t need you, but you sure as hell need me—so badly that you had to blackmail me into letting you keep my work.
That’s pretty damn pathetic if you ask me.
” I shrug. “I don’t know. It kind of seems like I’m not the real loser here today. ”
And I walk away.