Chapter 3 #2
“All right. Let’s have it.”
Bex opens her messenger bag and pulls out a storyboard. The first thing I notice is, The Love Line with Liam. My heart does this weird thing where it sinks, fills with dread, but also spikes with excitement.
“I grew up listening to 4225 West,” she starts.
“My mom is a huge fan and made sure my brother and I knew about her favorite band. I thought about going into the music business, in some capacity, but I can’t sing or play an instrument.
In college, I discovered I had a knack for marketing and as part of my senior project I created Bare Wire Audio.
At Bare Wire, we focus on syndicated podcasts of every nature.
Our most popular is, of course, true crime, but I’d like to expand and that is where you come in. ”
Bex holds up her storyboard. “The Love Line with Liam is an evening call-in show where listeners can call-in, talk to the Liam Page, and ask you about life, love, and everything in between.”
I laugh. Not politely. I actually laugh. “I’m a rock star, not Dr. Phil.”
She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t smile. “You’ve been singing about love for thirty years.
You’ve lived it. The mistakes, the loss, the ten years you walked away from your family before you came back.
” She holds my eye again. “People want to hear from someone real. Not a therapist. Not a celebrity doing a bit for six weeks until the novelty wears off. Someone who’s been through it and come out the other side.
Whether you believe it or not, your songs have guided millions through heartache, through divorce, and loss.
You’ve sung songs that have built relationships and have given people an idea of what they want from their partner. ”
My jaw tightens. Bex has done her homework. She’s read the interviews, the press, maybe the tell-all book that I try not to think about.
“I’ve built multiple syndicated shows from nothing,” she says. “I know radio. I know audiences. The fans who have loved you from day one will tune in. They’ll call-in, just to talk to you. I’m asking you to talk about love for people who need to hear it.”
I wish I had asked Mira more questions so I could do my own research on Bex. I would’ve been able to tell her no, before she wasted her time traveling to Beaumont, and preparing this pitch.
“No,” I say. “I appreciate you coming here, though, and do apologize for wasting your time. I don’t feel like this is the right direction for me, right now.”
“I appreciate you listening,” she says as she slides her business card toward me. “This wasn’t a waste of my time, Mr. Page. Like I said, I grew up listening to your music and appreciate the time you’ve given me. If you change your mind . . .” She nods toward the card.
“I won’t.”
I walk, heavy-footed, to Whimsicality. Every table is full, and there’s a line at the counter.
I don’t know the young man taking orders.
In fact, other than Trudy, I’m not sure I know any of the crew currently employed at either the café or florist. This is Josie’s passion and I support it fully by supporting her as her husband.
I don’t get involved with the day-to-day side of things.
Trudy smiles when she sees me and tells me Josie is in her office.
I head toward the back, dodging the team making sandwiches, salads, and wraps for the customers.
I knock once on Josie’s door and open it.
She’s hiding behind her laptop, with her glasses pushed back in her hair.
She looks up and the frown she had turns into a grin.
“Hey, Rockstar.”
Her greeting goes right to my crotch. I groan, mostly out of frustration because who doesn’t love a good desk fuck. Except, it’s the middle of her workday and there’s a café full of people.
“Not now, Josephine.” Years ago, when she had something important to say to me, and I was so lost in my head, I ended things between us, and the way only I knew how to tell her I was serious was to call her by her full name.
She’s always been Josie or Jojo to me. Now, I’ll use Josephine when I need her to take me seriously.
She pushes her chair back. “What’s wrong?”
What is wrong, really? I sit down in the chair across from her desk, and sigh.
“Why so dramatic, Page?”
Oh yes, she’s keeping up the rock star vibe. Is this to stroke my ego? If so, it’s working. “How’s your day?” I ask, deflecting.
She leans back in her chair. It creaks, needs a lube job. I shake my head, clearing my thoughts away from her, bent over her desk . . .
“Well, since you’re asking. The cooler latch is still loose. I spent an hour arguing with our supplier about a shorted order.” She drops the pen on the counter. “How was yours?”
“I had that meeting with the producer who reached out to Mira.”
“The collaboration?”
“Turns out it’s not a collaboration. She wants me to host a radio show. A call-in show. People phone in with their relationship problems, and I sit behind a microphone and talk to them about it.”
Josie takes her glasses off and sets them on her desk. “And?”
“And what?” I ask, shrugging. “It’s a radio thing. It’s not for me.”
“Why not?”
“Why not what?”
“Why isn’t it for you?”
“Because I’m not a talk show host, Jojo.”
“You’re an entertainer.” She points out. “Tell me about the offer.”
Sighing heavily, I tell her about Bex, the storyboard, and the program. “The Love Line with Liam. Cheesy, right?”
“Not cheesy, and I think she’s right. People will flood your phone line because they get to talk to you.
It’s like how we used to listen to Delilah and dance to the slow songs outside your truck.
Katelyn and I always tried to call-in there, to tell her about the boys we were in love with.
People are going to do the same thing if you’re on the line. ”
My wife sounds like Bex. They’re both saying the same thing, yet I don’t believe it. I can see myself sitting in the studio, waiting for the phone to ring. Everything would be scripted and I’d have to read from the page to fill the air.
“I’m a musician. Not a DJ or radio show host. I wouldn’t know what to talk about.”
“You’re an entertainer.” She reminds me.
“And it sounds like if people are asking you questions, you’ll have plenty to talk about.
” She steeples her fingers, much like I do when I’m contemplating the impossible.
It’s nice to see I’ve either rubbed off on her or she’s mocking me. “Are you going on tour soon?”
“No.”
“When’s your next album coming out?”
I think for a minute. We don’t have anything planned. I shrug.
Josie rests her elbows on her desk. “Do you have songs written and ready to start laying tracks?”
I shake my head.
“So, someone comes along and gives you an opportunity to do something and because it’s not standing in front of thousands of people, you’re not interested?”
“There are a lot of things I could do to fill my time.”
She leans back again. “Like what? Fix the cooler? Reorganize the garage, again? Bartend? Play gigs at Ralph’s?”
I run my hands down the front of my jeans.
“Just because I don’t have a plan for a tour or new music doesn’t mean I need a radio show.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
She nods. “I’m not going to convince you to do something while you’re at home. I’m sure there are things you can do to occupy your time until you’re bored and schedule a tour.”
“I don’t schedule a tour when I’m bored.”
She eyes me. “So, you’re happy being home?”
I nod. “I’m the happiest when I’m with you. If you were on tour with me, everything would be perfect. But I’m home, you’re here. The kids are here. I’m happy.”
Josie tilts her head. “So why would you say no to the thing that keeps you grounded here, at home? Why are you saying no, without trying it?”
“Because what I do matters. The band matters. Thirty years isn’t something you walk away from because a woman flies down from New York and tells you you’d be good at talking.”
“Nobody said walk away.”
“That’s what it is. That’s what it would look like.”
Josie picks up the mug and takes a drink and sets it down.
“Okay,” she says quietly.
She puts her glasses back on and goes back to whatever’s on her laptop. She’s done talking about this and listening to the excuses I’ve come up with.