His mother gave her a toothy grin. “Isn’t he talented?”
You’ve got no idea, Mrs. Kingston.
Cary leaned over the armrest. “I’m bringing them on tour.”
“You don’t have an opening act,” she reminded him.
“I do now. You were right. They’re great.”
Halfway through the awards a young man with a clipboard came by to collect Cary. The time had come for his Lifetime Achievement award and induction into the Hall of Fame.
The tribute started with a video montage showing highlights from his career. The impossible task of compressing twenty years into ten minutes had been challenging, but she’d pulled it off.
Luckily everyone had jumped at the chance to congratulate Cary. Unlike Sebastien, people liked him.
As the video ended, Cary stepped up to the microphone and placed a hand over his chest. “Hello, Saskatoon! It feels good to be back in the Prairies . . . the Paris of the Prairies!”
The crowd erupted in cheers.
“I want to thank my fans. I couldn’t do this without you.” More cheers.
He smiled. “I also want to thank Sebastien, Bob Shaw, and everyone at SDM. Tommy, my agent—”
From the music industry section came a unified shout: “Fucking Tommy!”
Laughter rippled through the venue.
“My band and crew. Vegas and Kim—you two somehow make it look easy.” Tyler turned and nodded toward her best friend. “My label and publisher. My ASCAP family. Thank you for being here tonight. And my parents, John and Pamela, for my first guitar—oh wait, sorry, that was from Santa.”
The audience laughed again, and Pamela squeezed Tyler’s hand.
Cary’s gaze swept the room. “And last but not least . . . my girlfriend. You’re the love of my life, babe.”
The flute solo fromTitanicechoed in Tyler’s head as tears slipped down her cheeks.
“Thank you for everything.”
The audience rose to their feet in a standing ovation, and Cary took a bow.
Sebastien turned to her, shaking his head. “You and Cary?” he asked, voice rough with disbelief.
She nodded without meeting his eyes.
“You could’ve saved me the cost of an extra hotel room.”
Fuck off, Sebastien.
After the awards, Tyler and Cary met up with Kim and Vegas, and the four of them piled into a limousine headed for the Warner Music party. Sebastien, Tommy, and Lara—Bob had bowed out—planned to hit the Universal Music bash first and catch up with them later. But it was a fool’s errand. The Warner party would be at capacity within the hour.
They arrived at the party and the rock star posed for pictures before heading inside. An open bar was waiting for them, and live music too. And no Sebastien, Tommy, or Lara to ruin the mood.
The Warner Music party had a “no phones” policy. If you had to make a call or send a text you had to go outside. Surprisingly it wasn’t too difficult to self-police, and it should have been the industry standard, not those phone pouches.
With a little help from her friends at Warner Music in Los Angeles, Tyler had arranged for Yestown to play a set at the party. There was no better way to get the music industry’s attention than to play at a private event with free alcohol.
There was only one problem: Rick “the Dick” Harding.
Back in the day, Rick played in a mildly successful rock band. Now he was a mildly successful entertainment lawyer—still clinging to the dream, just with less hair and more paperwork.
