Chapter Two
Carl
I let her cry for a little while, and when it became apparent I wasn’t going to get a clear conversation out of her, at least not anytime soon, I said, “Carolyn. Carolyn. Carolyn!”
She quieted and said softly, “Sorry.”
“Okay. I want to make sure I understand what’s going on. You’re excited about the idea of having a gig like this, but you don’t have the ability to get here. Is that right?”
“Yes,” she said. Her voice betrayed the unmistakable sound of humiliation.
I said, “I remember when life was like that for me. Would your car make it as long as you had gas?”
She told me it would. I asked her where she was and did a quick calculation online.
Then, I said, “I want you up here.” I verified she had a money transfer app and said, “I’ll call you right back.”
I liked the way the app on my phone made sending money so easy, but I supposed I was just a little too old really to accept the idea of doing anything with a phone; no matter how smart it was supposed to be. I gave it a second and then texted the link to the club. She’d have to drive a total of seventeen hours to get here.
I dialed her number and she answered right away. “Mr. Fontaine?” she asked.
“Call me Carl, Carolyn,” I said.
“Okay, Carl,” she said softly. “You can call me Rollie.”
“Okay, Rollie,” I said. “I want to make sure you got the map and the money.”
“I got it,” she said. I worried she might cry again. “I… Why are you being so nice to me?”
I didn’t want to answer, because the answer was complicated. At least a part of the answer was that she’d cried and been completely unable to function. She needed help and she needed direction and – well – helping and directing were the most fulfilling things I ever got to do.
I said, “You’re very talented. You’re exactly what my club needs, and I want to get you here and convince you to stay.”
“But…” she seemed afraid to ask.
I took a guess. “When you get here,” I said. “I’ll have you do one show. If you like it and you want to keep it up, wonderful. You won’t be trapped, though. If you decide it’s not for you, I’ll make sure you have the money you need to get back.”
“But what if I do a show and you don’t want me there anymore?”
“That’s not going to happen,” I said. Then I added, “If you want to stay, but I decide you’re not right for the club, I’ll give you money to get back home and another five hundred dollars on top of it to make up for your time. Is that a deal?”
I thought about that video of her and her performance; the complete raw emotion. I couldn’t even begin to imagine not wanting her to stay.
She said, “Okay. I’ve never driven this long of a trip.”
She sounded nervous and I asked, “Do you want me to call you every couple of hours just to make sure you’re okay?” God! I was behaving like her Daddy. I felt foolish as hell and was just about to tell her I was sorry for the stupid idea.
“You’d do that for me?” she asked. The disbelief in her voice was unmistakable. The gratitude was unmistakable as well. What the hell had happened to this girl?
“We had a singer here,” I said. “She wasn’t as good as you, but anyway, she moved on. I want you up here, and let’s face it. Everyone needs some help every now and then.” I could feel sadness creeping into my mind as I talked about my last singer, Joanie. She wasn’t just my last singer. She had been my wife and my little girl. She got caught up in the rising star thing and left me for a music producer.
“But…”
“Rollie,” I said, “Your music makes it all worth it for me. That singer was the best thing that ever happened to my club.” Best thing for me, too. Also the worst. “You’re better than she was. I need you here. You can think of it as me being kind, or you can think of it as me being selfish because I want you.”
“Okay,” she said softly. The disbelief in her voice was still very strong, but I could do nothing to change that, of course.
“When will you hit the road?” I asked.