Page 8 of August Lane
“I’m not stalking you. I’m vetting you. Making sure you’re not a tabloid nightmare before I offer to change your life.”
Luke didn’t sit down right away even though hope surged through him hard and fast. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t hitch his dead dreams to Jojo’s big moment because odds were this conversation wasn’t what it looked like. Last week, he’d watched a newscast where the Tennessee lottery announcer read winning ticket numbers next to a cage of Ping-Pong balls. The first few matched Luke’s birthday, and even though he hadn’t bought a ticket, his heart skipped a few beats anyway. Now, it did that same pointless jig. Jojo’s manager offering to work with him was a long shot in a game he’d stopped playing.
Luke folded his arms and schooled his face into unreadable stone. “I’m listening.”
David smirked. “Well, this is different. Until now you’ve had the get-up-and-go of a surly Muppet. Is this broody thing the real you?”
“Still not hearing anything that makes me want to grab that chair.”
“Fine, fine.” David motioned to the bartender, pointed to Luke’s tonic water, and showed the man two fingers. “I’ll need a clear head for this. Still trying to accept that I’m actually here, trying to convince you of all people to perform at one of the biggest events of Jojo’s life.” He sighed. “It’s the Hall of Fame. She’s the first Black woman to be inducted. Only a few people know it yet, but the news will break tomorrow.”
Luke sat down again. The club manager jabbed at his watch, but Luke ignored him. Nothing could distract him from the man sitting across from him, claiming history was going to be made and that Luke was about to be a part of it. “The Country Music Hall of Fame?”
“That’s the one.”
Luke turned it over in his mind. Not Linda Martell. Or Sister RosettaTharpe, the woman who’d inspired Elvis’s career. Even though Jojo had been in the industry for twenty-five years, she was a bold and probably controversial choice. It acknowledged that all those albums country radio had ignored for decades were real country.
They weren’t honoring history. They were rewriting it.
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah.” David looked earnest for the first time that night. “I don’t have to tell you how big this is. They’re pulling out all the stops for Jojo. International press, a streaming concert, and a new album release after her induction.” David leaned forward. “This is legacy making. I need you to understand that.”
“I get it,” Luke said. “I won’t tell a soul until it’s out there.”
David leaned back, reclining again. “Good. Because Jojo wants to sing ‘Another Love Song,’ with you at her concert if you’re interested…” David looked around. “Who am I kidding? Of course you are.”
A sound burst from Luke’s throat, half shout and half “goddamn” that he muffled quickly behind his hand. He still didn’t quite believe what the man was telling him. “Why me?”
“Are there any other Black semi-famous country stars from her tiny speck of a hometown that I don’t know about? If so, I’d love more options.” David sighed. “She likes the song. It was one of the first covers she mentioned adding to the set list.” He paused. “You haven’t said yes.”
“I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever she wants.”
“I bet you will.” David studied him for a moment. “But like I said, I’ve been looking into you. Probably closer than anyone else has in years. I know about the drinking. And the rumors about your marriage.”
Luke’s excitement faded. He hadn’t thought about his marriage to Charlotte Turner before accepting the offer because those rumors were true: Theyhadbeen separated for years. The lack of an official divorce was their attempt to avoid an even bigger scandal than her covering Jojo’s song. Charlotte had cheated on him with the woman she was currently engaged to. If her conservative fan base found out that not only had she been unfaithful but she was also secretly queer, it might ruin Charlotte’s career.
Luke briefly wondered if this man knew that his entire life was one lietoppling over the next. But David had made it clear he wasn’t a fan. If he knew the truth, he wouldn’t be there. “All that stuff about Charlotte and me is old news.”
“Agreed. But I just want to make sure that’s all there is. You’ve been off the radar for a long time. Any other skeletons I should know about before we put your name in micro font beneath the headliner?”
Luke’s thoughts turned to “Another Love Song,” but like always, he wrestled them back down a different road that wasn’t littered with potholes. “No,” he said. “What you see is what you get.”
“Well, that’s probably true.” He gave Luke a long look. “You really haven’t been home in thirteen years?”
Luke was thrown by the sudden change in topic. “No. Why?”
David shrugged. “Just seems odd. I imagine it’ll be strange going back next month.”
“Going back?”
“The concert’s in Arcadia. During that music festival that they hold every year.” He pulled out his business card and scribbled something on the back. “Think you can sing that song one more time?”
Luke nodded, even though his heart was trying to strangle the life out of him. “Does um…” He cleared his throat. “Does August Lane still live there?”
August didn’t realize how drunk she was until she laughed when Shirley Dixon called her a backstabbing cunt. She’d convinced herself that the faint buzz in her ears was nerves. Or, more accurately, guilt. Ringing the doorbell of your married ex-lover at one in the morning was bound to be hazardous to your health. Staring into the angry abyss of Shirley’s blue eyes confirmed it. That kind of venom left a mark on everything in its path.
August tried to explain that, despite appearances, she wasn’t there to cause a scene. But what came out was a slurred “This isn’t what you think,” coupled with a desperate “I don’t want trouble.”
