Heart Shaped Spotlight

If I didn’t hear from Trisha in three more days, I’d throw myself into the next project, and let her go.

***

The next morning after two quick radio interviews, Dave sent me a list of talk shows and all manner of media outlets who were also desperate for interviews. His recommendations were in bold, but he was concerned about how much traveling I’d be doing over the next few weeks.

We had to go over the record deal being offered by the show. Since this was the third time the contest had run, the contract wasn’t quite as much of a huge deal. We’d have to sit down over coffee sometime soon and decide whether an album of love songs would be the best move right now, or if I should concentrate on the first album with my new band.

Crawling out of bed, I looked around the beige hotel room where I’d been sequestered for the past few weeks. I’d have to start packing, especially the endless notes and song fragments that had taken over the entire space.

After ordering room service breakfast, I scrolled through endless messages of congratulations. Kev, Lora, and Doug, of my new band Hemlock and Emeralds, seemed to be losing their minds with excitement.

My phone beeped, and I saw it was a call from my bass player. “Hey, Lora. How’s it–”

“I knew you were going to win!” she shrieked, as I quickly held the phone a foot away from my ear. “I knew it from the first second I saw your weak-ass competition.”

“Settle down. A few of them were pretty damn good, actually.”

“Whatever. Why don’t you sound more excited?”

“Just getting up. Need coffee.”

“Dude, I’m really proud of you,” she said at a more reasonable volume. I could almost hear her grinning. “Screw all of the band promo junk. You worked your ass off and took a lot of chances to slay that contest. I’m going to bowl you over with hugs whenever you get back here.”

I chuckled as I answered the door. The delivery guy saw that I was on the phone and silently set my tray on the desk.

I handed him ten bucks. “Thanks.” He nodded and smiled, disappearing as quickly as possible.

Loudly slurping my coffee as close to the phone as possible, Lora laughed. “Caffeine addict,” she giggled.

“You know it. If it’s my worst vice, I’m likely going to survive, right?”

“Theoretically, yes.” She paused, and I knew what was coming.

“We haven’t heard anything yet,” I said before she could ask. “I’m giving it three days, then letting go.”

I could hear her soft sigh. “Yeah. That’s rough. But setting a limit is likely healthy.” She paused, then spoke more gently than I’d ever heard her before. “It’s okay to let her go, Nate. You’ve done everything, and then some. Far above and beyond the call. It’s time.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, feeling my throat begin to close. I couldn’t believe I was actually at this point.

“We’ll be seeing you on TV, I guess,” Lora said brightly. She could always tell when I needed the conversation to change. “We might even have a rehearsal without you just so we can gossip about how you were on the show.”

Chuckling, I said, “Sure, as long as you take some photos. We haven’t been posting anything online, and it’s your turn.”

“I’m on the case. Congrats, man. We’re all proud and impressed, but don’t worry – we’ll knock your head out of the clouds the second we see you.”

“I’m counting on it. Thanks.”

“Bye, Mr. Fancypants Winner.”

Tossing the phone on the table, I brought my coffee and breakfast to the couch, then grabbed my notebook. Everyone was using apps and high-tech systems for their to-do lists these days, but I needed a pen and paper.

Trisha had always teased me about my aversion to technology, calling me an old fashion poet, and asking me if I'd prefer to write by candlelight. She was remarkably shy, but since she knew me so well, her sassy side always came out.

Dave had mentioned that some people were gossiping online that I had made up Trisha to win the contest. I honestly didn't care what other people thought. I don't think I've ever seen a gossip website in my life. Social media and being artificially connected with strangers didn't interest me in the slightest. I surrounded myself with real people as much as humanly possible.

Writing slowly in my journal, I tried to brainstorm all of the pros and cons of my second biggest problem at the moment. Although Dave and I still had to sit down and figure out all of the details, I would be offered a recording contract from the contest.

They wanted an album full of love songs. Since I had already written six songs specifically for the show, I only had to churn out five or six more, then work on the arrangements. I could probably get it done in a few weeks, then the recording in about a month, depending on what studio they wanted me to use, and what sort of musicians they set me up with.