He paused a moment to let the words sink in, and AnnieLee felt her heart give a lurch.
“You’ve got a couple of things going for you, though,” he went on. “One, Ruthanna Ryder says you’re hot shit, and when a deity like that speaks, people like us listen. And two, we’ve heard your single. It’s pretty fantastic.”
“Thank you,” AnnieLee said. “I—”
“But it takes more than a good face and a great voice to sell records,” Tony interrupted. “And we’ve got a lot of girl singers here already. You’re familiar with Susannah Dell, of course. She just hit number ten on Billboard Country Airplay this week, and she’s going nowhere but up.”
AnnieLee put her hand on her guitar case. “You got a lot of girl singers?” she repeated. “Well, shoot, I sure hope you do, considering women make up fifty percent of the population and most of the country music audience.”
The redhead’s eyes widened a little, and she gave AnnieLee a barely perceptible shake of the head. AnnieLee knew she wasn’t being properly deferential, but she didn’t care.
Tony’s hands unsteepled as he leaned forward. “You think you can rise above the crowd, AnnieLee? Do you know how many songs get uploaded to DSPs every day? Try forty thousand—to Spotify alone. There’s so much noise out there. There’s more music than ever before in history. What makes little ol’ you think you’ve got what it takes to be heard? And not just to be heard, but to be loved?”
AnnieLee looked around the room at the people who, she now understood, were only here because Ruthanna Ryder had called in a favor. Tony Graham had made up his mind about AnnieLee before she even walked in the door.
It was the kind of thing that really got under her skin. That—and being called little.
“I won’t pretend to be a city sophisticate, Mr. Graham,” she said, “but you can stop talking to me like I’m as dumb as a turnip. I’m a straight talker, too, and I’m here to tell you that you’ve got a damn gold mine right here sitting across from you.”
Tony Graham laughed. “A girl singer with an outsized sense of confidence.”
“I believe in myself, and if you heard me play, you’d believe in me, too,” she said. Fearless, shameless: she was playing the part well. And it felt good.
But AnnieLee was angry, too, thinking about the times she’d been underestimated or kicked around by someone bigger and more powerful than she was, someone who thought he had a right to tell her how things were going to be.
So without waiting for Tony Graham’s invitation, she got out her guitar and began to play. She sang with hope and she sang with fury, and the ACD people sat so still they could have been statues. She blazed through three songs without stopping for breath. She wasn’t going to give them a chance to show her the door until she’d shown them her talent, in all its gorgeous rawness.
When the last notes of “Firecracker” faded, AnnieLee put her guitar back in its case and folded her hands in her lap. “Well?” she said calmly.
Tony Graham wiped imaginary sweat from his brow and turned to the pale, red-lipped woman sitting next to him. His entire demeanor had changed. “She’s fire,” he said. “We want her, don’t we?”
Everyone in the room nodded, and the assistant standing in the corner met AnnieLee’s eyes and gave her a tiny thumbs-up. “You did it,” she mouthed.
Tony Graham was already talking about the deal they would sign, and AnnieLee heard a bunch of numbers and big promises and terms like synergy and omnidirectional marketing.
AnnieLee listened, nodding, and when Tony paused for a breath, she said, “I want to keep my publishing.” She saw a shadow pass over his face, and she went on before she lost her nerve. She was asking for the kinds of things a star like Ruthanna would ask for. “I want approval on the producer, and I want to coproduce, because I know my songs better than anyone else.”
The room went dead quiet. Then Tony Graham started laughing. “I’m afraid that’s just not possible,” he said.
AnnieLee picked up her guitar. “Then I thank you for your time, sir,” she said. “It was real nice to meet you all.” She stopped in front of the assistant as she headed out. “What’s your name, hon?”
“Samantha,” she said. “Sam.”
“Sam,” AnnieLee repeated. “Thanks for being here today. I’m rooting for you, too.”
Chapter
43