Once we hit the top of the stairs, I stop her one more time before we enter the studio. “You good?”
Lorelai takes a deep breath and pulls off her sunglasses, tucking them away. “Yeah.”
My expression is skeptical, and she smirks. Something inside of my chest loosens at the sight. “I’m good. Fuck them and the horse they rode in on and all that. I’m over it.”
And you know what? I know she isn’t really over it, but I believe she’s on her way.
21
CRAIG
DIE A HAPPY MAN
Not only did Coolidge bring fiddler Fitz Jacoby and drummer Jason Diaz, he also brought Annie Mathers, reigning queen of country. Mathers immediately made a beeline for Lorelai and the two beauties huddled together, giving the men shit and presumably draining the planet of its talent just by their mere existence.
Before today, I obviously knew there was a dynamic between Coolidge and Mathers, everyone did, but it’s something else to experience it up close. The way they challenge each other with just a word or a look. It’s a language all their own, equal parts friends and lovers, and it rings familiar in a way I’d better not overthink.
Right now, Coolidge and his bandmates are sitting in the dim studio while Arlo and I man the board. Annie’s over Arlo’s shoulder and Lorelai’s sitting behind me, her eyes closed, listening to his rich vocals.
He’s singing an original right now. He’s a more-than- decent lyricist, singing lines that speak to experiences he shouldn’t have but believably does. The honesty in his tone is kind of unsettling, but I’m into it. I let his vocals wash over me and allow them to soak deep into my bones, not interrupting him. Just letting him do his thing and get comfortable behind the mic. Already my brain is picking up on a kind of funky vibe that I want to eventually explore with him. Almost R&B. There’s an edge to him that has a cross appeal. A little bit of a Babyface or an old-school Usher vibe.
It’s a direction country artists cycle through every few years, but it’s tough to manage without outright appropriation. Coolidge is a farm boy from Indiana, but he’s also danced with the devil. No parents and an older brother who died while serving in the military overseas. His reputation for getting into trouble as a kid is well known, and I think that innate recognition of survival comes across.
It’s no wonder he and Annie found each other. Mathers is practically country music royalty. Her parents were Cora Rosewood and Robbie Mathers. Think Tim and Faith if they hadn’t overcome the odds and turned vegan. Literally everything crashed and burned for Annie’s parents in the most horrific way. She was sent to live in Michigan to grow up with her grandparents away from the lights and toxicity of Nashville and returned a young woman with a good head on her shoulders and talent shining out of her pores. Fate brought Coolidge and Mathers together for a summer tour, and as far as I can tell, they’ve been intertwined ever since. Even when Coolidge stepped out of the limelight and walked away from his career, they’ve remained intact.
Jefferson moves into a new song, pressing his lips to the mic and meeting our eyes. “This one’s untried. I wrote it a while back and kind of threw it to the wayside, but I’m suddenly feeling it.” He looks over his shoulders to his bandmates. “I’ll go solo on it unless you wanna jump in.”
Then he meets Mathers’s eyes and starts to strum.
Within a few chords, I know this has to be on the album. I can also tell it’s exceptionally personal and probably biographical. A glance at Mathers and she’s pressing her lips together, pushing her big bold curls out of her face and revealing glittering eyes. The song is about a sinner in love with a saint and is told from the perspective of after. Not as if whatever they had was over, but instead it’s because she’s no longer a saint. He’s corrupted her with their shared sensuality.
By the time he’s done, both Annie and Lorelai, who’s come alongside me, are fanning their pink faces. Arlo removes his hat, swiping at his forehead, and everyone laughs.
I press the speaker and lean forward. “Okay, so that’s going on the album.”
“Gotta check with Annie first.”
“Oh, sure,” Annie pipes over the speaker, chuckling despite the flush in her cheeks, “ask me after you’ve played it for everyone.”
“Easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, darlin’。 Learned that one from you, little Miss ‘Coattails.’ And ‘You’d Be Mine.’ And ‘That Man’s Gonna.’ And—”
“Okay, okay. We get the picture. I’m just kidding, anyway. How dare you sing that when there’s glass between us and witnesses, including one I’m practically related to.”
Coolidge winks and drags his callused fingers over the strings, and I clear my throat. “Right. We’ll come back to that one and the one before it because as far as I can tell all the songs you have stockpiled there deserve to be laid down as tracks. I have some thoughts on some engineering stuff with regards to overall vibe and maybe some crossover potential if you’re amenable, but first, while I have Lorelai here, what are your thoughts on the duet?”
Annie presses forward again on the button, but she’s talking to Lorelai behind me. “A thousand times yes.”
Coolidge laughs into his mic. “Yeah, what she said. Let’s do it.”
Within moments, we’re settled on chairs, sofas, stools, and even a pair of cushions that Arlo dug out of his office, all cozily crowded around the sound booth. Waters, beers, and for Lorelai, a cup of honey lemon tea are distributed as we workshop the duet. Annie is an impeccable resource on timing and delivery, taking my lyrics and parsing them in a way that feels fresh. After barely thirty minutes, they’re ready to lay it down and head back into the studio, picking up their headphones and stepping up to the mics.
I’m not sure I’ve ever had a recording go so smoothly. I’d sure as hell never experienced anything like it from the other end when I was working under Drake. Everything has come together so seamlessly, it almost makes me second-guess myself, but I can’t second-guess Lorelai and Jefferson. Truth is, sometimes that’s the way it works. Things just click and personalities jibe and vocals marry, and anyway, I called it from the start. I knew these two would be perfect for this song.
After the duet, we decide to call it a night. It’s not that late, but I don’t need anyone straining their vocals and this is a good stopping point. Plus, and maybe more important, I’m dying to get Lorelai alone to talk. We’ve barely scratched the surface on the conversation from earlier and I’ve been itching all fucking day thinking she might still be questioning whether she should be here with me. With us. The duet should have proved it a hundred times over, but I need to be sure.
I more than anyone know firsthand how fucked up Lorelai was after Drake’s rejection, followed by the rejection of the entire industry. It’s been years, but the writing’s on the wall. It’s all coming back in full force, and I can’t let that happen.
Last time, I let her leave and have her space. I won’t be making that mistake again.
“Come back to my place?” I ask, before realizing how it sounds and feeling my face burn.