Ian uttered, “Wow.”
Connor nodded to the keys. “That same night the agent who still represents me came up and said I might have what it takes to make it in film. As an actor. Not a musician. And I did. Make it. And I’m happy. I love my family and my life. Mostly.” He pointed at the silent instrument. “When I’m not off on another shoot, every month or so, I sit in Sylvie’s restaurant and live a tiny shred of my dream. Until one day my neighbor phones and says there’s this star doing some work for our pal Danny. Would I like to sit in? And between takes I look at his face, and I see exactly what I went through.”
Connor looked at him for the first time since entering the studio. “You haven’t lost your gift. If you have any doubt about that, go have a word with Arthur. Sooner or later, you’ll find what’s necessary to rekindle that precious flame. It may not be in the way you expect. But it will come. Right now, in this moment, all you’re doing is repairing a hole in your commercial world. That’s all. Nothing more.” He gave Ian a moment to respond, and when he didn’t, Connor asked, “Ready?”
Ian nodded.
“Good.” Connor walked over, opened the door, said, “Make the call.”
* * *
There was no logical reason why Connor’s confession would render Ian so calmly resolute. But logic held little sway in that remarkable moment. Taking a willful step back into the world from which he had fled. All arguments to the contrary, Connor was right. He needed to do this.
A young man’s voice answered, “MISO. How do I direct your call?”
“The director’s office, please.”
“Who do I say is calling?”
“Ian Hart.”
A pause, then, “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Hold please.”
Eons passed. Ice ages began and retreated. Then, “Ian?”
“Hello, Kiki.”
“You have thirty seconds.”
“I didn’t know I was booked to play your festival until the MISO lawyers went on the attack.”
“So the rumors are true.”
“There are so many, at least some of them have to be.”
“I’m not calling them off. Our attorneys can tear you apart, for all I care. So don’t bother begging.”
“That’s not . . . Okay, it would be nice to have my life back. And my home. But I’m calling to say I’ll play.” When Kiki did not respond, he went on, “A friend suggested I ask that in return, you help rebuild my good name. But I’m not asking. If you want to do it, fine. But my offer is without strings.”
Ian heard the woman breathe through pursed lips. “Our advance . . .”
“Is in some Aruba bank, as far as I know. And no, I’m not asking for that, either. I’m coming, and I’ll play. If you still want me.” He stared through the studio’s glass wall, over to where Connor and Arthur were both doing their best to look anywhere but at him. “This is about honoring commitments.”
“Well.” Another breath. “Few things astonish me in this business. And most that do are dreadful.” Then, “Rehearsals start in three days.”
“I’ll be there. What am I playing?”
“You truly don’t know?”
“I have no contract, no alert, no note on my calendar. Truly.”
“If your louse of a manager ever returns, promise you’ll let me skin him.”
“No.”
