Page 127 of August Lane
She tried calling, but there was no answer. “I got your message,” August told her mother’s voicemail. “I’d like to talk before you get here.” She hesitated, tempted to end it there, but added, “Looking forward to seeing you.”
The seed of curiosity grew into anxiety as she went through her day. It got worse when she went to the fairgrounds and saw the biggest crowd yet standing behind police caution tape. The people protesting Jojo’saward exchanged insults with her fans while reporters narrated the chaos in front of large cameras. Bill and two other deputies stood beside cruisers, flashing silent blue lights. The scene felt ominous, like everyone involved was gearing up for a showdown.
Bill spotted her and waved her over. His cattleman sat farther back on his head than usual, which meant the situation was serious. “I’m gonna walk you in through the back,” he told her.
She followed him silently, keeping the crowd in the corner of her eye. The messages on their signs had devolved into veiled threats, withLEAVE WELL ENOUGH ALONEon one side andTHIS IS WHAT YOU OWEon the other.
“Is this even about Jojo anymore?” August asked Bill.
He shrugged. “Was it ever?”
The mood was lighter backstage, but most of it was forced. Everyone was eager to focus on the show instead of what was happening outside. August was invited to film a dance for social media three times. The audio engineer kept complimenting her dress during the sound check. Luke’s name was whispered multiple times, in tones that reeked of judgment. David’s directive to stay away from Luke had made August do the opposite. Everyone knew they were together and apparently had strong opinions about her fraternizing with the guy who nearly derailed their show.
David had vouched for her. Luke had ruined his reputation to give her an opportunity. August owed them this performance, but nothing else. She loved Luke, but this washerfuture,hercareer. She wasn’t sure what it would look like, but she knew it would be on her own terms.
The longer August stood onstage, the more nervous she became. There were more festival volunteers milling around than usual, and she kept wondering what they were saying about her, what they’d think of her voice. It probably looked ridiculous to them, August Lane playing country star, pretending she belonged.
When it was time for August to sing, she grabbed the microphone head without thinking and feedback ricocheted through the speakers. Then she missed her cue, forcing them to start over. The last straw was her singing too close to the microphone, resulting in muffled, muddy vocals that made Jojo’s stand-in grimace.
August didn’t wait for the stage manager to stop her. She stepped away from the mic and signaled to the musicians. “I need a break.”
Everyone exchangedthis was a mistakelooks. She left them there, retreating to the greenroom, but stopped short when she saw David Henry sitting inside.
“That was interesting,” he said.
“I can’t deal with you right now.”
He splayed his hands to prove he was unarmed. “Nerves are normal.”
“Mine aren’t.” She sat heavily beside him. “I can’t do this. People look at me and I freeze.” She glanced at him. “I should have said something sooner.”
Instead of berating her for keeping secrets, David looked confused. “What are you afraid of?”
“It’s garden variety stage fright. I’m not reinventing any wheels.”
He laughed. “Specifically. What are you thinking about when you’re up there? First thing that springs to mind.”
August pictured herself three minutes ago. Her mind had gone blank and then flooded with one loud, persistent fear. “They know I don’t belong,” she said. “That I shouldn’t be here.”
“So, garden variety impostor syndrome?”
She cut her eyes at him. “Don’t get insightful all of a sudden.”
“This is my job. I am occasionally good at it.” He threw his arm behind the couch, looking smug. “Want to hear the solution?”
“Please.”
“Stop asking permission.”
August immediately remembered Jojo telling her the same thing years ago.Stop asking permission. Don’t wait to be saved.David must have given her that advice.
“You’re looking out instead of in,” David continued. “External validation is an old trap that’s easy for artists to fall into. Ask your boyfriend. But it’s only meaningful if you let it be.” He pointed to her chest. “Why do you want to do this? Not the concert. Forget that. Why do you want to make music? What’s the point?”
The answer came to her immediately. “I love it,” she said. “It’s who I am. And I think hiding it was slowly killing me.”
He nodded. “So do that onstage then. Love it.Live.And fuck everything else.”
It was so simple. So true. “Okay, maybe you could be slightly useful to me.”
