Allie plunked her phone into her crossbody bag and shook his hand. “Happy to meet you, man.”
Cary smiled. “Pleasure’s mine.”
Allie turned to Tyler and rubbed her chin. “You know, I just had someone drop out of Coachella.”
“Coachella,” she repeated. “Why?”
“Why else? Their radius clause. I’m going to pitch Yestown for their slot.”
The music festival had strict rules about artists not playing shows near Indio or, depending on their draw, the rest of California. By contrast, Bert had imposed a reverse radius clause after her mom had died, only taking gigs within a day’s drive.
Tyler clapped. “I’m so excited!”
“Whatever,” Allie said. “It’s a side stage during the day.”
Still, Coachella.
Cary pushed up his beanie. “I’d love to play Coachella.”
“You couldheadlineCoachella,“ Allie said, her voice certain.
He scowled. “Why am I not playing there?”
“You should probably ask your agent.” Allie pointed to the bar. “He’s over there, downing shots with industry people half his age.”
“Fucking Tommy.” Cary shook his head. “Some things never change.”
After Yestown’s set ended Tyler stood proudly. Their gig had gone as she’d imagined it would, only better and louder.
“They’re good,” Cary said, adjusting his beanie.
“I think so, too.” Tyler waved at a record company executive as she walked by them. “They’re just missing that one song—a radio song.”
“I might have something.”
“A song?” she asked, unsure if he was offering. Cary only wrote for himself, despite his music publisher’s attempts to get him to write for other artists.
“I wrote it ages ago. It’s not a”—he made air quotes—“Cary Kingston song.”
“I bet it’s amazing.”
“I don’t know about that.” He hesitated. “Unless they don’t want an outside writer—totally understandable. It took me years to realize co-writers were allies, not competition.”
“Are you kidding?” She balked. “They’re huge fans. They grew up on your music.”
The cords in his neck tightened. “That makes me feel old.”
“Old?” She whispered into his ear, “I haven’t recovered from earlier. I’m still a little sore if you want to know the truth.”
“Don’t look now.” He stepped in front of her, using his body as a shield. “Fucking Tommy’s on his way over.”
“Cary, buddy!” Tommy greeted him with a bro hug. “What are you doing here?”
“Checkingout some music,” he said. “What did you think of the band?”
“These fucking kids today.” Tommy slung his arm around Cary’s shoulder. “I just don’t get it.”
“Really? I thought they were good.”
