Wes and Margaret glanced at each other.
“He’s supposed to be retired,” Margaret said. “Taking it easy.”
“Are you enjoying retirement?” Ivy asked. “Because if you are and don’t want to do it with me, it’s no problem. I can find someone else. But I’m telling y’all right now. I’m doing this my way from now on.”
“Good for you,” I said. “And I’m in.”
“We can start with that incredible song you just sent me,” Ivy said.
“I should probably think this through,” Wes said. “But I’m not going to. I’m in too.”
“I’ll make more tea,” Margaret said.
Wes’s studiooccupied the entire basement of the house, accessible through a door off the kitchen that led down a flight of stairs. The control room was separated from the live room by a wide pane of glass, the vintage SSL 9000 console running the length of one wall. Wes had bought it in 1994, and maintained it with the devotion other men gave to classic cars. In Nashville, studios paid fortunes to get their hands on boards like his. Above it, the current generation of Genelec monitors flanked the glass, the one concession Wes had made to updating the room.
Ivy stopped in the doorway and looked around. “Lord, Wes, this is unbelievable.”
“It should do the trick,” Wes said, already settling into the engineer’s chair. He pulled it forward and reached for the mouse, pulling up the session file from the week before with my demo of just two tracks, vocal and guitar. “I say we record it with just the guitar and Ivy’s voice. My gut’s telling me it could be a great single. Something we could release soon. Get everyone hyped up for the new album.”
“I haven’t done an acoustic song in forever,” Ivy said. “I love the idea.”
“Yep, just voice and guitar. No production. No strings, no pedal steel, nothing.” Wes turned to face us. “I think it’s more powerful this way.”
I reached for my guitar. “Georgia and I are ready.”
“The label would hate the idea, which makes me love it even more.” Ivy looked at the monitors, then at Wes, then back at me. “Let’s do this thing.”
“We’ll need to get the mic placement right,” Wes said, already turning back to the console. “I’m thinking the Neumann U87 about eighteen inches out, angled slightly down toward the sound-hole. Maybe a room mic in the corner to catch the natural reverb.” He was pulling up settings now, completely engaged. “We’ll do six or seven takes and comp the best one. Won’t take more than a couple hours.”
And just like that, we were in business.
Wes disappearedinto the live room to check the mic stands, leaving Ivy and me alone in the control room.
“I’ve been thinking about you and Dana,” Ivy said, perched on a stool. “And feeling guilty.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe I should have been less selfish. Made sure she got a crack at all the best material. I mean, maybe Dana’s right. Your marriage breaking up was my fault.” She put her hand up to silence whatever retort I was about to utter. “If I’d known how manipulative the studio execs were, I’d have done something to help. Instead, I was solely focused on my own career.”
“I disagree completely. You paid your dues for a long time. It was your turn. The success you’ve had was and is well-deserved.” I picked up Georgia and sat across from her. “The stuff between Dana and me was complicated. The more she saw your career rising, the more jealous she became. It consumed her. That’s the truth. Which is on her, not you. But as far as my marriage goes? We had a lot of problems that had nothing to do with you. Danacared about fame more than she cared about me. I mean, no one can blame you for her cheating on me, for example.”
“I don’t know. You and I have always been so close. Maybe I should’ve backed off our friendship.”
“No, that’s not right. We’ve been like family for fifteen years. Anyway, without you, I would be nowhere. You sang my songs into hits and made me some really good money while doing it. This thing with Dana and me was doomed from the beginning. I can see that now.”
“I’m glad you came out here. You’re in such a better place.” She was quiet for a moment, looking down at the floor, clearly lost in thought.
“What is it?” I asked.
She lifted her gaze to me. “I thought I’d lost you. Those years with Dana, you weren’t yourself. It was like she snuffed out your light. I’m glad you’re back.”
“I haven’t been able to write. It was like the voices in my head had turned off permanently. I thought I might be done. Until this song.”
“What changed?” Ivy peered at me, playing with one of her dangly earrings.
“I met someone.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Like a girl someone?”
