“It is when you’re locked into a contract.”
“Contracts can be renegotiated.”
“Maybe.”
He gives me a twisty-lipped once-over. “Well when you do finally find the courage, feel free to reach out. I’d be happy to talk logistics with you.”
“I might take you up on that.IfI find the courage, that is.”
“I think you will. You already took the first step.”
“How’s that?”
“You did something risky and it paid off.”
“What was risky?”
“Writing back to Harmony Sonora, for starters. Then keeping that whole thing going. Then letting your real sound bleed through. Now that you’ve gotten a sense of it, you won’t be able to leave it alone.”
“That what happened to you?”
“Yep. It’s the only way I ever could’ve handled everybody gaping at me like I don’t belong, calling me a traitor to whichever genre—depending on who you ask—or saying I’m corrupting oneor the other orbothby bringing in new elements. Never mind the race comments. I came to the point of wanting to make my own music so badly, I didn’t care what anyone thought anymore, or what I had to give up for it.”
Suddenly it occurs to me how pathetic I’ve been, feeling sorry for myself because I’m a fraud. Like it would besohard to stand up for myself more at Glambam, or maybe even walk away from the security of my record deal if they keep refusing to let me choose a new trajectory. But changing my style wouldn’t make me anyone’s target the way it has for ACKER. I might get some flak from the hardcore country fans for stepping away, lose out on some money, and then people would probably start to forget about me. At worst, I’d fade quietly into obscurity and live a normal life.
Meanwhile, knowing how despicable some people are, ACKER’s probably gotten death threats for daring to help break the mold, for not fitting the look and sound of a typical country artist.
“That’s … awful.” A bitter taste forms on my tongue.
ACKER swirls the drink in his glass. “It sucks, but … I won’t go down without a fight. And I’m not alone; every day more and more artists are doing their own thing, standing up for their art, chipping away at barriers.”
“You shouldn’t have to fight at all. You’re a genius and that’s all anyone should pay attention to.”
“Unfortunately, that’s the way the world works. It’s the only world we’ve got … just like this is the only life we’ve got … so we have to make the most of it.”
One life. Make the most of it.I’ve heard that a thousand times, from family members, from motivational speakers, from social media when people share and reshare those little quote graphics. But it’s starting to hit differently.
It’s like a seed planted in my head. I can’t tend to it right now because I’m smack in the middle of a new album and a major PR stunt, but I give it a sprinkle of mental water and vow to come back to it later.
I look at ACKER with awe, and I think how someone like me, with all my privilege, really should get his shit together. I order another drink, hoping that when the dust settles on this phase of my career, maybe I’ll have a clear view to carve a better path for myself.
RIFF:Braden just told me we might have to do an interview soon. Like … as a couple.
HARMONY…
HARMONY:I thought PR was declining interviews for now. To build suspense or whatever.
RIFF:I guess they’re ready to consider one. Probably to help staunch the fake-dating rumors. The more people see us together, the more they can accept the idea that what we have is “real.”
HARMONY:Only if we act well enough …
RIFF:Yeah, so that’s why Braden mentioned it. He said we should probably at least learn a little more about each other, in case an interviewer wants to try to trip us up.
HARMONY:I didn’t realize we were applying for a green-card marriage, but … okay. You already know where I’m from, what I do for a living (duh), some of my family background. What else would you need to know?
RIFF:I don’t know your birthday or your favorite color. Or your middle name, come to think of it.
HARMONY:So Google me.
