I frown. “Well, yeah. But I figure at this point no rep is better than a shitty rep and Huck’s been helping me to reinvent—”
“You misunderstand,” Trina cuts me off. “That wasn’t me judging you. That was me offering you representation.”
My jaw drops open and my brain flip-flops for the third time in an hour. “Are you serious? That’s a terrible idea. I’m a fucking shit show.”
“What? You are not! You’re incredible,” Annie breaks in. “That’s an awesome idea!”
“I’m basically a pariah in this town—”
Craig’s warm fingers reach out and cover my lips, and as out of control as this all is right now, I still fight the urge to lick him.
“Stop talking the nice agent out of representing you.”
Trina waves him off. “Look, Lorelai, I’m no stranger to tough cases, but I know what I like, and I like what I see in you. You’ve got stage presence, you’re down-to-earth, your range is sultry and sweet, and you have a good head on your shoulders. You also come with a built-in fan base and a record producer who knows his way around lyrics and composition.”
“Trina.” I try to instill reason. “Let’s be real. I’m more than a tough case. This town hates me.”
“Bullshit. From what I saw, they love you.”
“Here, at a bar, sure. But radio and record companies? Square just canceled on me, and as of last week, my name was still trending on Twitter, and not in a good way.”
Trina presses forward, tapping the table with her long red fingernails. “Okay, I’m gonna be real transparent with you. Annie didn’t invite me along tonight.”
Annie starts to protest, and Trina rolls her eyes. “Yes, yes, I know I’m always invited, but honestly, you kids exhaust me most of the time. Anyway, she mentioned she was inviting you and I tagged along because I’ve been following your career since you first hit the scene, a cute little southern belle with terrible highlights. I wanted to meet you and see what you were like. I’ve long suspected you were impressive, and you’ve proven it tonight.”
“God,” I groan. “I wouldn’t have drunk so much. I’m acting like a twenty-something. No offense,” I say to Mathers.
“None taken!” she replies cheerfully.
Trina scoffs. “Fuck’s sake, Jones, I bought your drinks. I have no interest in polish. I just want to know you’re the real deal, and everything I saw tonight proves that. You don’t have to tell me right now. Go home, sober up, talk to whoever you need to talk to,” she says, obviously eyeing Craig, “and get back to me.” She passes me a business card.
I take the card and immediately slip it in my pocket. “I will. Thank you.”
* * *
Oops! She Does It Again!
BY ALICE BRITTON
Oh, what company they keep! Spotted this weekend at a downtown club in Nashville, country music’s most infamous former starlet, Lorelai Jones, drinking cocktails with none other than country music’s darling, Annie Mathers, while the pair watched Jefferson Coolidge （né Clay Coolidge） play a set on stage. While it’s unclear whether the pair of crooners were trading industry secrets or kisses, they did surprise the busy Saturday evening crowds with a last-minute rendition of Britney Spears’s “Toxic,” even, one insider shares, calling themselves Neil Young’s Bitches, no doubt a tongue-in-cheek reference to Jones’s fall from grace after singing Mr. Young’s “Ohio” some years … （cont.）
Comments （2354）
chickenLIL I was there! Their performance of “Toxic” was brilliant and I’m pretty sure Annie Mathers is dating Jefferson Coolidge still, NOT Lorelai Jones. Though I would love that.
Fabriceducation Free Lorelai!
LlamaLlamaMelodrama Wonder where Drake Colter was?
JesusISourLordandSavior Repent, sinners!
SharkWeekIsMyFave My cousin was there and he said Lorelai was seen hugging Craig Boseman.
ChestertheInvestor I was today years old when I realized “Jonesin’” was written by Craig Boseman and not Drake Colter and now Boseman and Jones are being seen together?!
JunieB Not only that, I heard he’s producing her next record …
MusicFirst Promote this @jaslkn45
28
CRAIG
ALL I SEE IS YOU
We finish recording Lorelai’s album, titled Avalanche, late Wednesday night. One of the hottest nights of the summer so far. It’s a whopping sixteen songs, but there was a method to my madness. We recorded twelve new tracks, almost all written by Lorelai or at very least cowritten, as is the case with the duet we teased first that’s being featured on both Lorelai’s and Coolidge’s “debuts.” We also included a couple of popular stragglers, officially releasing them this time, as part of the entire collection of Lorelai’s solo work, including “What They Have,” which she wrote for Shelby and Cameron, and a rerecorded studio cut of “Ohio.”
The way I figure, after a lengthy meeting with Lorelai and her new boss-manager Trina Hamilton, there are only two options forward if she wants to reinvent herself. One, the bullshit apology tour where she was forced to pretend she was someone she wasn’t, who was sorry for something she wasn’t sorry for. （The route exactly no one wanted to go down again.） Or two, embrace what happened, stand proud, and hold tight to your principles, then create a fucking brilliant piece of art that no one can argue against.
Honestly, it was the easiest album I’ve ever worked on. Even if I didn’t miss the hell out of seeing her naked, I would still jump at the chance to record all her records. She’s a professional through and through and primed and ready to take back what’s been owed her.
I don’t know if country music radio will accept her. They’d be fucking idiots not to, but that’s out of my control. What I do know, with absolute certainty, is it won’t matter in the end. Because everyone else will accept her.
* * *
I’m closing up the studio alone. Lorelai is headed to the airport to pick up Maren and I’ve already sent Arlo home for the night. He and Dr. Josh have started their prenatal parenting classes at the hospital so they can learn how to change diapers and … well. Other important stuff, I’m sure.
My phone rings and I grin, answering right away. “Hey, D, what’s up?”
My nephew hedges, “Nothing much. Just felt like calling to say hi.”
I turn off the lights to the studio and lock the door behind me before heading for my still-lit office at the end of the hall. “Everything okay? You sound a little down tonight. Too much Fortnite?”
“Maybe. I’m bored.”
I bite back a snort. Oh, to be bored. What that must feel like.
“Ah. Let me guess. Your mom told you to hit me up for entertainment.”
My sister’s muffled voice in the background confirms it, but I don’t mind.
“Kind of. I was watching this show on TV and they do pottery and stuff and Mom said you have a studio. I was thinking I wanted to try it and maybe you could teach me.”
I sink into my chair and work to swallow around the tightness in my throat, a little baffled at my own reaction. Then again, wasn’t this exactly how I was twenty-five years ago? Calling up my great-uncle and begging to go out to the cabin with him? It was about art, sure. But it was also about wanting to spend time with a man I admired. Besides, what I lacked in pottery skills I made up for in fishing, and Uncle Huck never cared.