Arlo picks up my phone, powering it down and tossing it onto my desk with a thud. “If you aren’t gonna answer, and believe me, I understand why you aren’t, then let’s just conserve the battery, and by default your sound engineer’s sanity, hm?”
“Sorry,” I apologize distractedly. “It’s just Drake. Or his lawyers. Or Drake and his lawyers.”
“Or, you know, CMT calling our offices. Pretty eventful stuff. Incidentally, boss, I wasn’t aware we had a landline listed. Anyone who knows better just reaches out to you or me directly.”
I’m clicking around on my laptop, putting together a couple of demo tracks I lined up for Coolidge, aside from the duet, to play for him today. “We don’t have one listed. I haven’t bothered because then I would have to hire someone to answer said landline.”
“We should set up a voice mail at the very least.”
“Someone would have to check it and respond. You want to be that person?”
Arlo scoffs, adjusting his hat. “I’m a sound engineer.”
“And I can’t be answering it, because I’m the fucking CEO, so what we’re gonna do is let it ring, without a voice mail, and if they really need to get ahold of either of us, they’ll call our cells.”
“I’m sensing tension.”
I continue clicking around, unseeing. “I’m not tense, I’m tired and I’m busy and I’m preparing for our next client who is supposed to arrive any minute and I can’t concentrate with my phone ringing and vibrating every forty fucking seconds with notifications from Colter because he’s anxious about his precious Grammy nod. I just need a moment of fucking peace and quiet to hear myself think.”
“Riiight. Got you,” Arlo stage-whispers before turning for the door. When he reaches it, he glances over his shoulder with what I am positive he thinks is a jaunty smirk. “And so we’re clear, you don’t want to know when there’s a powerhouse brunette pacing outside our front doors?”
I raise a single eyebrow, but my gut tells me I already know the one he’s talking about, and therefore I’m rolling back in my chair to the lone window, peering through the slats in the wood blinds. “What is she doing outside?”
“No idea, but I’m betting she’s not here for me.”
I watch Lorelai pace a small circle in high-heeled boots before jumping to my feet and marching out of our offices and down the stairs and shoving through the heavy metal door.
“You’re not on the schedule, are you?”
Lorelai shrieks and jumps three inches in the air. “Jesus Christ, Huck, are you trying to kill me?”
I lean against the doorjamb and cross my ankles. “More like trying to figure out why you’re out here and not in there?”
“Well, I don’t have an appointment, as you said.”
I scoff good-naturedly. “You know I was being flippant. You don’t need an appointment here, and besides, it’s never stopped you before.”
“I know, but I figured you’d be all super busy and famous and I wasn’t sure after … well.” Her arms drop with a giant sigh. I look at her, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, just barely hidden under her large sunglasses, before my gaze wanders to the defeated droop of her shoulders. She searches around, as if looking for a crowd carrying pitchforks. “I didn’t know if you heard the interview and what that might mean for … our partnersh—us. What it means for us.”
Hell, is that what this is about? I shake my head and swing the door open behind me, standing there, waiting for her to pass. She freezes in place, her eyes wide for a long beat before her expression melts ever so slightly and she quickly ducks past me. I tug her to a stop and lean in so I can see past the shaded lenses of her glasses.
“I fucking loved the interview. Arlo thought I was being attacked in my office because I hollered so loud. I’d guess it would be the equivalent to competitive guys watching the Super Bowl, the way I carried on. Not that Arlo or I would really know. That deejay baited you and you handed him his ass live on the radio. You didn’t back down for one moment, even though literally everything that mattered to you was on the line. Do you realize how incredible you are? I’m in awe of you. I’m not ashamed to be seen with you, I’m fucking honored to share your air. You can have your own office space if you want. I’ll change the name to Lorelai Jones Recording Studio. I’ll have merch made with your gorgeous face on it.”
Lorelai huffs softly, “Huck—”
“No. You need to hear this. This isn’t the same as last time, and I’m not Drake Colter, so whatever this is…”—I gesture between us—“it’s not dependent on you hiding yourself away and staying the quiet and perfectly submissive starlet. I have no interest in that version of Lorelai Jones. I want the one that cusses out the patriarchy and plays Neil Young and writes whole-ass songs when they could just send a text. I like the schoolteacher activist.”
“I might never sing in this town again,” she says.
“I’d love to see them try and keep you out.” I wrap my arm around her, leading her upstairs with me. “Now, I have Coolidge on his way and he’s putting up with me and Arlo only because he thinks you’re part of the package deal, so maybe I really will get merch made. Some T-shirts or those trucker hats that were super popular a few years ago. We’ll bring sexy back.”
Once we hit the top of the stairs, I stop her one more time before we enter the studio. “You good?”
Lorelai takes a deep breath and pulls off her sunglasses, tucking them away. “Yeah.”
My expression is skeptical, and she smirks. Something inside of my chest loosens at the sight. “I’m good. Fuck them and the horse they rode in on and all that. I’m over it.”
And you know what? I know she isn’t really over it, but I believe she’s on her way.
21
CRAIG
DIE A HAPPY MAN
Not only did Coolidge bring fiddler Fitz Jacoby and drummer Jason Diaz, he also brought Annie Mathers, reigning queen of country. Mathers immediately made a beeline for Lorelai and the two beauties huddled together, giving the men shit and presumably draining the planet of its talent just by their mere existence.
Before today, I obviously knew there was a dynamic between Coolidge and Mathers, everyone did, but it’s something else to experience it up close. The way they challenge each other with just a word or a look. It’s a language all their own, equal parts friends and lovers, and it rings familiar in a way I’d better not overthink.