There was a knock at the door, and I hollered, "Come in."
Dave always had an extra key card for my hotel rooms. Unlike other musicians that might need babysitting due to addictions stronger than caffeine, Dave and I just found it handy to be able to drop in on each other, and sometimes deliver food. Or in my case, leave him sticky notes with intentionally stupid lyrics across his bathroom mirror w
hen I was feeling silly.
As always, he answered the first question before I even had to ask. "Haven't found her yet. My email is chock full of crazy chicks though."
"Bugger it,” I muttered.
Then Dave flashed me a crazy grin. "If you do decide to do the album for the contest, you'll have to write an extra song, I think."
"What do you mean?"
He held up his phone, showing me a photo of a white-blonde southern singer who was known as much for her microscopic outfits as her soaring voice. "Guess who wants to purchase your song,’Three Weeks from Today’?"
I must have looked absolutely gobsmacked, as Dave flopped onto the couch, laughing. "Her people contacted me this morning. The price is more than fair, so I suggest you take it."
I nodded, taking another big swig of coffee.
“Aren't you excited?"
"I am, I'm just a little… Stunned."
Dave sighed heavily. "You're wondering again whether you should let someone else sing a song you wrote for Trisha."
"Listen, dude, we've spoken about the mind-reading . Knock it off."
He chuckled. He was sort of the big brother I'd never had, and was one of the very few people who could laugh in my face and tell me when I was being a dork.
"You’ve sold plenty of other love songs. It won't make the song any less special if it’s shared with a different audience. Plus, she doesn't want to pretend that she wrote it. You could have full public writing credit. Her team will even promote you on social media as soon as the single drops."
"Wow," I said. "That's unusual."
He shrugged. "I think she's had a bit of a slump after that whole messy public break up a few months ago."
I stared at him blankly, and he rolled his eyes. "Of course you don't know anything about it. She was dating a slightly younger guy, he cheated on her, total drama, and somehow he tried to make her look like the asshole."
"Once again, this is why online gossip is the fucking worst,” I chuckled.
"I agree with you completely. But her people seem to think that having her do a song from a hot young new songwriter will make her look incredibly sweet."
"Hey, I'm fine with it. If you think it's a good idea, start the wheels in motion."
"Awesome," he said, clapping me on the shoulder before he stood up. He glanced around the room, then flashed me a sharp look.
"I know, my writing process is not visually appealing. Deal with it." His take charge attitude turned me into a snarky teenager sometimes, but it amused both of us.
"You do you,” Dave shrugged. “I hope you're not too burnt out to crank out some more songs for this album."
"I haven't one hundred percent decided on it, but I've already started writing, yeah." I didn't tell him that some nights I wrote instead of sleeping. But since he came into my room most mornings seeing piles of notes everywhere, he probably knew.
"Rest up a bit today," he said. "I know I sent you that interview list, but you don't really care, do you?"
I shrugged. "I care, I just don't know the details of any of these shows. Whatever you think is the best fit, I'll do them."
"Excellent. I'll call you in a bit."
The second Dave left, my eyes fell to the notes that had been scribbled around four in the morning. My hand automatically reached up to touch my necklace. As my thumb swirled around the back of the little leather pouch, I knew what Lora was going to say to me in three days. She was the only person who knew what it contained.