Page 33 of If Not for My Baby
“So sorry, pal, we only have a minute left, can I get in one last pressing question?”
Halloran nods, patient as ever. “Yeah, a’ course.”
“Your very first single, ‘If Not for My Baby,’ catapulted you into stardom. Number one hit around the world, diamond certified, fifteen times platinum, won a Grammy. How do you continue to make music knowing, realistically, it’s all downhill from here?”
The audience laughs uncomfortably, and Joe adds, “That sounds rough, but I mean, the odds of you havingthatkind of success again are slim, most likely. How do you make more albums knowing that?”
I look at Indy. “Can we egg this guy’s house?”
Lionel scowls. “I can make a Costco run.”
Jen says nothing, but her jaw is rigid and I know she’s fuming.
“You know, I recorded that song with a friend of manyyears, and while I’m honored by all the continued love, I don’t hold it in higher esteem than any of my other work. And I certainly don’t look at a song I’m writing or recording and wonder about its chances as a hit. That would compromise the creative process, I think. All I hope to achieve with my work is the distilling of my own psyche into music that, hopefully, resonates with people. Whether that’s one person or a thousand is no difference to me. That’s what makes the craft worthwhile, or at least, what success is to me, personally.”
Joe nods, pleased. “Fair enough. Halloran, everybody!”
The crowd applauds and the four of us release tandem sighs of relief. A PA pops the door open and I’m brought through the hallways onto a new section of the stage and placed on a wooden stool before a moody red backdrop. This crowd at one time would have felt like a full theater to me, but now it’s just a cozy little gig—only three or four hundred people. It’s daytime, too, so the spotlights aren’t blinding and I’m eerily calm. Not that I get much stage fright, but for my first duet with Halloran, I’m surprised at my level of Zen.
But then I realize I’m not Zen, I’m just eager to get this over with and leave. No—eager to get Halloran out of here. He shouldn’t even have to perform after that interview. The force of my desire to protect him surprises me. An image pops into my vision of me dragging him out by his elbow patches and throwing a Molotov cocktail in our wake.
Halloran’s brought out by a hurried grip in a headset and offers me a weak nod that almost kills me. He’s off his game, and I can tell. The grip knocks over the mic stand when heturns to leave, and I watch as Halloran bends to pick it up. “All right,” he mutters. “There ya go.”
Did he just console a mic stand? Why do I want to hold his hand? I’m feverishly angry at everyone employed here and can’t seem to shake it.
“You look fearsome,” he says under his breath when he comes to sit on the stool beside me. “Everything all right?”
“That interview…”
“It’s part of the machine. Don’t worry, I’m grand.” His eyes sweep over my body. “That color is very lovely on you.”
“Black?” I laugh.
A smile spreads across his face, and I can physically feel some of the stress leave my body. “It suits you.”
We don’t speak as we’re lint rolled and feather dusted with blush brushes. AMorning Showproducer counts us in and then we’re live and the studio audience is cheering.
The first few chords of “Halcyon” are familiar to me, but I’ve never heard them like this. The amplified acoustic guitar is lush and slow, the reverb carrying through the entire studio. I can feel Halloran’s soothing words as if they’re his hand stroking my cheek. The chords rock through me like a lullaby.
He conjures smoky mountain blues with just his guitar and impenetrable voice as he sings of the lovelorn Alcyone and the relief she finds in death. His tortured, stormy expression is even more gutting in such an intimate performance, and as I tap my foot to the rhythm I wonder absently if he feels any relief in knowing I’m right here next to him. Relieffrom what, I’m not sure exactly; it’s such a weird thought I don’t have time to analyze it as the song ends and “If Not for My Baby” begins.
“The oceans rise to meet the skies,” he sings while strumming, turning his eyes directly on me. “My love just tells me, now we can be free.”
And though I know it’s a performance—no different than every night I’ve seen him and Molly perform the same song—my bodypurrs.
“Broken roadways, sweet rain sideways,” I harmonize back to him. “The end of days, if not for my baby.”
Halloran’s eyes are nearly all pupil as I finish the verse. He’s staring at my mouth, breathing hard. He rips into the next lines and I hum alongside him. We are one well-oiled machine. Finishing where the other begins, meeting in the middle to bridge a gap. He croons low, I warble a bit higher—we sound like magic, bottled. Electricity and madness and scratching an itch you didn’t know you had. I am floating.
And I decide in that moment, with Halloran’s steadfast, poetic eyes on me, his ruthlessly masculine face and multitalented hands and that heart, which I just witnessed withstand the worst interview in existence with little more than a frown…that he’s not just cute. He’s otherworldly, reverentlybeautiful.
And try as I might to fight it, I’m a little infatuated. It’s a shame, I think as the song ends and the audience cheers raucously for us. It’s an attraction that will haunt me. One that’slikely not reciprocated, and will serve only to distract me over the next month and change. It’ll be fine. I’ll get over it like I did with Mike. I’m not screwed.
I change quickly, and can’t bring myself to ask theMorning Showcostume team to allow me to purchase the Morticia-Addams-meets-Stevie-Nicks dress. I do make a note to google it once I’m changed, and stark horror slaps me across the face when I find out it’s some ridiculous French brand and over two thousand dollars.
“You two were stellar.” Jen huffs as we walk. “The only decent part of the day. It goes without saying we won’t be returning toThe Morning Show with Joe Jennings. I’ll be giving the producer a piece of my mind as soon as we’ve left.”
“It’s fine, Jen.” Halloran pulls on his baseball cap as Lionel rushes us from the studio. Sound check is in an hour and according to Lionel the venue is about thirty minutes outside the city proper.
