Page 44 of Your Play to Call
just throwing that out there
score two touchdowns on Sunday and you can hear it
you’ve got a deal
see you tonight
I’ve always kept new music close to me until the last minute. It drives my label crazy but it’s how I operate. The only time I play it early is for Claire, or my parents, when I’m stuck or if I need an honest reaction. I may have been doing this for over ten years, but the imposter syndrome is there just like the first album I put out. The little voice nagging, putting the doubt and second-guessing in your brain.
“Wonder whothatcould be,” Emilie says, her eyebrows raised, looking at my phone.
I shoot her a look.
“I still think it’s crazy I saw his apartment before you did,” she says.
The flowers. We’re still trying to keep this between us which meant I had to be careful with getting something sent to his apartment. Between Seth taking care of the security logistics and Emilie dropping them off, I was successful.
You know what I like about Tripp? He calls. When he wants to talk about something, he picks the phone up and calls. He’s available and I didn’t know that was something I needed until now. My bar might be too low.
Instead of looking at everything as an obstacle, he finds a way to do what he wants. I still can’t believe he has his assistant leave in the car, that everyone knows Tripp drives, when he comes to my home. All in the name of keeping my secret.
He was adorable when he came home to the flowers I sent. For someone who loves sending them, I’m not sure he’s received many. I was afraid he’d think it was stupid or not something “women should do for men”. Instead, he was thankful and excited. Now, he’s trying to figure out what his favorite flower is.
Lining up our schedules has been difficult. His day off is on Tuesday but Tripp doesn’t believe in a day off, considering he always has something scheduled.
Tonight, he’s coming to my place. I’m going to make dinner and he’s in charge of dessert.
The thought of seeing Tripp tonight is what’s getting me through this meeting that I’m absolutely dreading.
Peppermint tea is waiting for me when I come in. I have a single copy of a burned CD, like it's 2005, of a few rough songs. I’m paranoid about emailing any files and even though it’s not final music, I’d always rather be safe than sorry.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” Erik says, his voice lined with agitation, matching the arms folded across his chest.
I can tell he’s in a mood.Great. I hand him the CD, which they knew I’d bring, and they play it.
There are only three songs, and they still need work. Everyone listens while I feel like I could crawl out of my skin. My hands are folded on the table, and I’m staring at them, hating every second.
Once the final song wraps, Erik says nothing, leans back in his chair, and sucks in a long, drawn-out breath.
“This is—”
“Great. Even for an early stage,” Claire interrupts. She knows this bothers Erik to no end, but she doesn’t care.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” he responds. This isn’t new. Claire and Erik bicker like siblings. When she really wants to get under his skin, she calls him “Ricky” and I will never forget the color his face turned the first time she said it.
“You didn’t need to say anything. With your sighing and furrowed eyebrows while you were listening. I know what you’re thinking. You’re concerned about revenue.”
She called it perfectly. I love her for that.
“It’s a different approach. We know what works, I’m not sure the need to divert so far from that.”
“Because she wants to. That should be enough. For you. For all of you.” She points around the table like a disappointed mom.
“Claire, I’ve got this,” I say as Claire sits back in her chair. “I’ve been with this label for nine years. You signed me to my current deal when I was twenty-one, and I’ve put out the same type of music. I’m at a different stage of life. I want different things. And if we’re being honest, I don’t have it in me to write the album you want me to. Even if I did, there’s no way I’d tour that album.”
“Do you need more time?” Erik asks.
“You’re not hearing me. I can’t do it.” I hit every letter of the words, pleading for him to listen. Tears flood my eyes, but I barter with any god who will listen to not let them spill.