More Than Anything (13 page)

“You really think I can do that?” I ask softly.

“You just did. And yes, I know you can, Sage. You’re that one in a million I got into this business to find and work with. You’re the real thing.”

My head’s spinning when I sit down at the dining room table and note glumly that my imported chocolate collection’s been decimated over the last couple of days. I’m going to have to do something about that. A girl can’t live without good chocolate and strong coffee. At least this one can’t.

I’m still sitting there an hour later when my cell chirps at me and an unfamiliar number appears.

I just about burst into tears when it’s Derek, I’m so happy to hear his voice.

“I got the new phone. This is my number. I’ll leave it on all the time. And even remember to charge it.”

“This can’t be the first phone you ever had,” I say, and my voice sounds thrashed, worked, but not from singing.

“I’m a total loser. It is.”

“Next you’re going to tell me you’ve never used a computer.”

“A what?”

“It’s like a phone, only bigger. I hear it connects to the interwebs.”

“Black magic.”

We talk for twenty minutes. He tells me about his preproduction, which from the sound of it is going nothing like my first day. He’s got a producer who’s going song by song with him, deciding on which standards he’ll cover. No talk about originals.

“Aren’t you going to do some of your own stuff? Or maybe get some songs from a songwriter?” I ask, having learned at least that much in my short stint as a studio pro.

“It hasn’t come up. But good idea about the songwriters. My stuff’s too dark, I think. Nobody wants to hear me do angry.”

“I’ve never heard you do angry.” Then I remember the rest stop. The conversation grinds to a complete halt. I salvage it with an abridged account of my day, and promise him I’ll send him a copy of the first song whenever I’m allowed to.

“I miss you, Sage. We were really good together.”

“We
are
good together. Not were. This is temporary.”

“I know. But some days it feels like forever.”

“It’s time lying to you. There is no time. It’s just you and me doing what we need to do until we can see each other again.” I pause. “Be together.”

“This completely bites.”

“We finally agree. Hey, look at the bright side. At least neither one of us is still stuck at Lucifer’s. It could be way worse.”

He laughs. “Yeah. It has been, hasn’t it?”

“I can still hear the trains in my head.”

“Only five and six-sevenths of a week to go.”

“See? Put like that, it’s nothing.”

“A heartbeat,” he agrees.

“I…I really want to see you again, Derek.” It’s as close as I can come right now to telling him how I feel. I’m hoping he’ll read between the widely drawn lines, because I’m too emotionally drained from the day to say more.

“I know. I do too.”

When the call ends, it’s with the finality of a gunshot, and I’m left with an echoing silence as I stare at the phone like it’s the enemy. Marble floors are cold comfort for an aching heart, and I resist the impulse to hurl the phone against the wall out of frustration.

Which I’m glad about, because it rings again. I’m so happy he called back for some reason. It’s touching at a basic level.

“I so miss you,” I say.

“Of course you do, girlfriend. I’m adorable. Like a hit of crack, you just gotta have more, more, more,” Jeremy says, his distinctive lilt seeming to burst from the phone.

I laugh out loud and shrug off the embarrassment. “How’s my favorite Broadway star?”

“I’m taking the city by storm. The critics are breathless with anticipation. But most important, I just got my first advance check and a couple of payments from Sabrina. And guess what I bought with it?”

“A feather boa? Pleather suit? Yoga pants?”

“Cold, baby, cold. I bought an airplane ticket. I’ll be out there next week for three glorious days!”

“Shut up! You did not.”

“I did indeed. I figured absent the responsible guidance of a seasoned mentor, you’ll run astray and ruin your chances at greatness. It was the least I could do. Tell me you have a spare bedroom or a couch.”

“Yes on the bedroom,” I squeal, and realize I do miss him a lot. “This is going to be so fun. I have so much to tell you.”

“I saw you on TV and realized that you’re all alone in that capital of sin, that den of iniquity, and I was completely jealous.”

“It had nothing to do with the hunks at my table?”

“Shame on you for those dirty thoughts. Of course not. I mean, not entirely.”

“When do you get in?”

“Next Tuesday.”

“One thing, though, and I don’t mean to be a party pooper. I’m in preproduction, so I’m busy most of the day.”

“Oh, my lord. The way you said it I thought it was something serious, like one of those scoundrels got you pregnant.”

“That would be tough.”

“Stay away from shifty-looking white doves. That’s my advice.”

Just five minutes chatting with Jeremy lifts my spirits, which were unaccountably low. I have no reason to be down. I just did a performance Sebastian thinks is the bomb, Derek sounds like he feels the same as I do, and it looks like the sky’s the limit.

But I get like that sometimes.

Sometimes I wish I could divorce myself, because nobody knows how to ruin great moments like me.

I’m just getting out of the shower when my phone rings again. It’s Sebastian, and he sounds excited.

“Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“No…”

“Pick you up in ten?”

“What’s going on, Sebastian?”

“I just got done with Saul. We’re celebrating.”

“What are we celebrating?”

“How bitchin’ you are.”

I finish drying off as I consider his invitation. I try to think of a clever response, but he cuts in. “What’s your favorite food?”

I don’t even have to think. “Italian.”

“I know the perfect place. Dan Tana’s. A true Hollywood joint.”

“I don’t know, Sebastian…”

“Because you’ve never tasted their food. Trust me on this.”

I sigh, trying to sound exasperated, but I can’t muster the annoyance. Actually, I’m glad he called. A night out sounds like the perfect end to an emotional day. And he’s not hard to look at. Melody would be so jealous. I can sense more selfies coming.

“Okay. Give me fifteen minutes. I just got out of the shower.”

He doesn’t say anything. I hope he’s not imagining me naked. “Fifteen. You got it.”

I need to do laundry because I’m exhausting my wardrobe. I figure the leather pants are too dressy for Italian, so I wind up with my Girl Power shirt and the bell bottoms I swore I’d never wear.

The Porsche’s parked out front when I get to the lobby, top down, and Sebastian looks happy even through the tempered glass of the door. I shoulder my way to the car, and he greets me with a smile as I slip into the passenger seat.

“Hope you’re hungry. The portions are humongous,” he says.

“I could eat.”

He accelerates from zero to a thousand in about two seconds, and we’re at the restaurant in a blink. It’s exactly as I pictured it, with movie star photos on the walls and massive portions. We order the lasagna, which he promises is large enough to share, with a starter salad that could feed everyone I know.

He leans forward, a twinkle in his eye. “Saul’s beyond pleased. Part of this game is to keep the label excited, and believe me, he’s seeing dollar signs after hearing that tune. He agrees it’s a smash, and also agrees that it’s probably
the
take, even though we’ll do it again about a million times, just in case you can do it better.”

“That’s great,” I say.

“What makes it important is that he’s now super motivated to get this out in a hurry and will put everything he’s got behind it. If Saul does that, you could fart on tape and it would chart on Billboard. Do it rhythmically and it’ll go top 10.”

I almost spit lettuce all over the table. Sebastian is funny. In spite of myself, it’s easy to warm up to him.

“So what do we do to make that happen? Not the farting.”

“It means longer hours for you and a more intense schedule. How do you handle pressure?”

“I was living in the park dodging perverts while scrambling for my next meal a couple of months ago. You want to talk pressure?”

“That’s what I was hoping. He wants more original material, too. More like sixty percent originals, forty standards. So I’m going to put the full-court press on everyone I know for their best stuff. And I know a few people.”

“I haven’t had a chance to listen to the songs you emailed me yet. I was a little burned out after today, and I wanted to listen with a clear head.”

“No sweat. I already know which two you’re going to love.”

He’s got such confidence, but it’s not egotistical. He’s just done this so much he
knows
. From anyone else that would come off as cocky. From him, it’s matter-of-fact, and I have no doubt he does know.

I nod. The salad’s awesome. Crunch, crunch, nod, crunch. I’m seriously hoping I don’t have any oregano or parsley stuck between my teeth.

I have no idea why I feel so self-conscious around Sebastian, but I do. Comfortable, but a little intimidated. He’s done so much, has so much experience, and I’m just starting out. It’s crazy that I’m sitting with him getting ready to wolf down pasta like it’s a normal night out, nothing special, no big deal.

He’s looking at me with that faint air of puzzlement that’s quickly become his norm with me. Unlike Derek, he can’t seem to read my mind, other than the inappropriate parts, which seem to be growing daily.

I feel compelled to fill the silence with words, to explain. “Nothing. I was just thinking about how fast everything’s happening,” I say, opting for the truth.

“It is, and it’s going to accelerate. None of which should affect you for the next month or two. You stay focused on making this record and let the elves do everything else behind the scenes.” He finishes his salad and takes a sip of the Chianti he ordered. I’m drinking soda. “Do you have a manager yet?”

“Yeah.” I tell him about Terry. He nods.

“I know her. She’s good. A battle-axe. That’s what you want on your side. This business can eat you alive if you’re not careful. You can’t trust anyone.”

I smile. “Including you?”

He laughs. “Especially me. I’d take you to the cleaners and take all the credit, but June would kill me. So you’ll have her to thank for anything good coming from my end.”

I put my fork down, done. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

“That’s the spirit. You’re already getting the hang of it.”

I laugh again. “Do you take all your artists out for pasta?” I want to take back the question the moment I ask it, but it’s too late.

“Only the beautiful, talented ones.”

Boom. That’s not at all producer-artist professional, from what I can tell. But it’s nice to hear.

“You silver-tongued devil.”

“Guilty.”

The server whisks our plates away and reappears moments later with a platter of lasagna you could land a 747 on. I stare at it in awe. It’s like an ocean of cheese and meat sauce.

“That looks healthy,” I say, my mouth watering.

“Hey, you’re young. Enjoy it. Once you’re on the road, you’ll be eating fast food and wishing for death.”

“Forget the part about silver tongues. Is it really going to be that bad?”

“First tour, probably. Everything’s on a budget, and you’re paying for it all out of your slice, so you won’t be fine dining. It’ll be a bus to nowhere if you’re lucky, or a van and two rooms at a fleabag motel if you’re not. But once you’re big, which shouldn’t take that long, you’ll get the star treatment – first-class hotels, comped meals and clothes, maybe even a jet now and then. The problem is that’s still going to come out of your cut, so be careful. More than one multiplatinum artist has declared bankruptcy after selling a blazillion records.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. You make it sound like white shark water.”

“That and more. I’m not trying to scare you, just tell it like it is. I’ve seen a lot, and everyone’s going to have their hand in your pocket. You and Terry will have to fight tooth and nail to get a fair deal, and even then, you won’t be able to trust the numbers anyone gives you. The concert halls will lie about receipts. The record company will dick you just out of habit. Crates of swag will disappear from your tour merchandise. Expenses will be inflated.”

I shake my head. It’s too much information. He’s scaring the crap out of me. “So why would anyone want to do it?”

“Because they have talent, and because it beats flipping burgers or working behind a desk. Just remember one thing: Nothing in life is free, and never more so than in the music business.”