Real life is starting to creep in.
Not all the way in. I’m still not reading the tabloids, this morning I had guacamole and chips for breakfast, and I haven’t touched kale since I’ve been here. Take that, burrito baby.
But it feels like the shadows are lurking, as though my time—this precious time—is coming to an end.
Case in point: I spent most of the day on the phone.
It was supposed to be a nine o’clock check-in with my agent, but Barb had exactly 947 questions for me, and after she relayed my answers to those questions to various people, she came back with the news that my publicist, the account manager at the label, and some chick from the Today show wanted to talk to me.
I’d said yes to the first two but no to the Today show, and by one o’clock my hand was cramping from holding the old-school phone for so long, plus I was pretty sure I was developing a blister on my ear. Is that even a thing?
I keep an eye and ear out for Noah, but I haven’t seen him all day. I’m disappointed but not surprised. We spend most nights together, but we do our own thing during the day, mostly. Partially because we both have work to do, partially because I think we’re both terrified of what might happen if we get too used to each other’s company.
I lose myself in music for a while, perfecting the rhythm of “Predator,” which is becoming one of my favorite songs on the album.
But even though I’m pleased with the way things are going, I can’t escape the feeling that I’m missing something. It’s like one track eludes me, but I don’t know what it is, and it’s making me crazy.
Eventually I realize that I’m squinting to see my notebook and that the sun has set. No sign of Noah.
I head down to the kitchen, pulling a frozen dinner out of the fridge and popping it into the microwave Noah bought a few days ago. As I wait for it to heat up, I carefully listen for the truck, the crunch of his boots, or even Ranger’s big noisy bark.
Nothing.
I’m just tossing my plastic tray in the garbage after shoveling in a thoroughly unsatisfying meal when the phone rings.
I grit my teeth, really regretting giving my agent the landline number.
As expected, it’s Barb.
“One more thing,” she says by way of greeting, the second I pick up the phone.
“Sure!” I say cheerfully, even though it’s been “one more thing” all day.
“This Road and Roses thing…”
I withhold the groan. Barely.
That dang movie.
At the time it seemed harmless enough. They promised it would take up only a couple of days, at most, to film a quick karaoke scene in some offbeat movie about a retired female rodeo star trying to find herself back in the small town where she grew up.
The filming itself was as painless as promised. Even a little fun.
But word about the movie hit about the same time that my record became a hit, and all of a sudden my five minutes of screen time became the movie’s primary draw.
I know I sound like I’m complaining, and I really don’t mean to. It’s just…I can’t stand the thought of everyone staring. Whispering.
“What about it?” I ask.
“Sweetie, I know you’re working on your record, and I’ve been tolerant of that, but skipping out on the red carpet…not a good move. Ya get me?”
Has Barb always annoyed me this much? I can’t remember.
“I’m in the movie for five minutes, Barb. I sing a song.”
“Sure, but this could be your in, sweetie.”
I frown. “My in for what?”