“Well, my band just broke up,” I told her. “I was with them for a long time, like almost a decade. So right now, I’m not sure.”
“What was that like? Breaking up with a group of people you’ve been close with for so long? I mean, I assume you were close?”
“We were. We still are, but our working relationship as a band is over. And it was really hard, actually. Took a long time. Like if you were married to someone for a decade, a divorce wouldn’t just happen overnight, right?”
“Probably not.” Her soft blue eyes were all over my face…
And,shit. Kinda hurt just talking to her about it.
She seemed so… sympathetic. And it just made me feel every shitty thing I’d been through this last year. All over again.
I didn’t want to think about any of that right now, let alone feel it.
“Are you sure you’ll never work together again, though?” she asked, maybe sensing my shift in mood. “Like, you know how bands always break up and then they get together for a final reunion tour? And then another final reunion tour? And then another…?” She smiled softly.
“Yeah, some bands do.” I shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe someday when we’re eighty and the royalties are running out, we’ll reunite for the Penny Pushers’ geriatric world tour.”
She laughed her soft laugh. “Let me know. I’d like tickets to that.”
“You’ve got tickets. Hell, if we do that tour, you’ve got a backstage pass.”
“I’m holding you to that. I liked the Penny Pushers. I’ll be honest, though. I never had any of your songs in my iTunes or anything…”
“Ouch,” I said, in mock offense.
“I mean, until just recently,” she confessed, “after I met you. But you guys do get a lot of radio play in Vancouver. I hear your songs a lot. Everyone does.”
“Yeah. Thank the gods of music for CanCon. Without those requirements saying local radio has to play a certain amount of Canadian content, we probably never would’ve gotten off the ground. We had a strong following in Canada, and we had a few lucky breaks over the years. Meeting Dirty at a festival was one of them, for sure.” I figured I didn’t need to explain to her who or what Dirty was. They were way the hell more famous than the Pushers ever were.
“You toured with them a lot, right?”
“Yeah. They liked us, and they took us on their tours, several times. Really opened up our fan base. Without them, I don’t think the Pushers ever would’ve been so successful. Not that we were all that successful in the end.”
“I guess it depends how you measure success,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, like I said, your band gets radio play. A lot of bands don’t. And I’ve seen your condo, Ashley. You said you own a house on one of the islands. Not everyone can afford real estate in Vancouver.”
“Yeah. We’ve made some money. We’ve had some hit songs. I guess that’s not the only way I measure success, though.”
She cocked her head a little. “What else do you want that you don’t have yet?”
“Fame,” I said bluntly. “And I don’t mean that I need millions of people screaming my name and following me around with cameras all day, hashtagging me. I’d just like to be known among my peers asthe guy. You know… the guy who does that thing you admire. I’d love to be known, by the time I die, as one of the greatest rock vocalists of all time.” I shrugged. “Something ridiculous like that.”
“That doesn’t sound ridiculous. It sounds like the exactly right kind of dream to have, since it’s your passion.”
“Maybe.”
“Anything else?”
Love.
I didn’t say it, but there it was, looming in the back of my mind. Breathing down my neck like some phantom son-of-a-bitch.
A fucking amazing relationship was definitely on the wishlist, wasn’t it?
I didn’t even want to acknowledge that or admit it to myself, much less say it out loud to anyone else. But it was there.
