“Are they canceling?”
“They have not said that.”
“What did they say?”
“They would like to discuss whether today’s interview affects brand alignment.”
Rachel tore open the granola bar.
“It took them twelve minutes to discover principles.”
Sophie typed a reply.
“I told them we can speak Monday.”
“You did?”
“You have five days.”
Warmth moved through me before I could stop it.
“Thank you.”
“This is not kindness. It is scheduling.”
“Of course.”
She looked at me.
I corrected myself.
“Understood.”
The drive to the arena took twenty minutes.
By the time we arrived, the clip had several million views.
Messages filled my phone from band members, artists I knew, artists I had met once in elevators, and a former stylist who wrote only:
FINALLY. ALSO THAT SILVER JACKET WAS MINE.
There were supportive messages.
There were angry ones.
A radio station in a smaller market announced that it was “reviewing listener feedback” before deciding whether to keep my songs in rotation. Another added three tracks to an evening program titledOUT LOUD.
The country remained committed to disagreement.
My mother called.
I let it ring, not because I wanted to avoid her, but because I did not want our first conversation about this to happen while three people attached microphones beneath my clothes.
I texted:
I’ll call after the show.
Her reply arrived immediately.
