Chapter 40
Alison gazed around at the subdued hustle and bustle of the five-star restaurant, listened to the two producers pitch their idea as if it were the greatest thing since sliced bread, tasted the gourmet food and fine wine on her tongue… and felt strangely disconnected from all of it.
It was such a strange progression. Not six months ago, she would’ve been laser-focused on this meeting, dying to know what the concert series could do for her career and putting on her “sly negotiator” hat to wrangle the best deal she could.
“Alison, think about it this way,” David said, “you can make as much money and garner as much exposure working twelve nights a year as you can doing eight shows a week. Not only that, but you’ll have total creative control. The setlist, the band, the costumes. All of it, up to you.”
Damn, she had to admit, it sounded tempting as hell.
“I understand everything you’re saying. And, believe me, I’m interested. The only reservation I have is that I don’t know if I’m really in the right headspace to put forth a major creative performance right now. It’s tough to plan and execute an Alison Bartholomew extravaganza performance when I’m having a tough time figuring out what it even means to be Alison Bartholomew at this point in my life.”
David nodded, and he and Ira exchanged looks. Ira said, “Forgive me for being too forward, but is it possible there’s more to it than that? Maybe you’re a bit unsure about your professional presence after the reality show?”
She took a moment to consider that, then nodded slowly. “I suppose there could be an element of that. After all, I’d never give my fans less than one hundred percent. If I didn’t know that I could march out on that stage and command it completely, I wouldn’t do it at all. That’s not fair to them. They paid for a ticket, and they deserve the best show I can deliver.”
David leaned forward, intensity sparking from him. “What if there was a way that you could figure out whether or not you’ve ‘got it’ right now, so to speak? A very low pressure, low risk way to get in front of an audience filled with exactly your target demographic, people that love your music and music exactly like it, and see what it feels like?”
Alison gave him an amused half smile, remaining noncommittal as she said, “Those are the words of a man who already has a plan in place, David. So why don’t you just tell me what it is?”
David and Ira laughed, in that hearty way people do when they are in the midst of a highly polished sales pitch. “You got me.” He turned to Ira. “This one, she’s on top of things.”
“She’s a smart one,” Ira agreed.
Alison laughed in spite of herself. She knew she was being played, but Ira and David were so good at it—and, besides, she was actually interested in what they had to say. “Okay, okay. Enough with the flattery. Just tell me what you have in mind.”
“We’ve organized a fundraiser. It’s the reason we’re in town—three-night run next week. Sold out crowd, all three nights. Command performance by the lead soprano of the San Francisco opera. Only problem? She’s in surgery, having nodes removed or some such.”
Alison nodded slowly. “So, your idea is that I would step in?”
Ira pointed at her. “Bingo. We’d hook you up with the music director, intense rehearsal, and then a three-night run. You could consider it a test run for future engagements.”
Alison closed her eyes to try to quell the warring impulses inside her. To quiet the sharp voices staging an argument inside her own head. Professional challenge versus a home in Valentine Bay. God, they each held so much appeal, they each pulled at her deepest desires with compelling strength.
And then, in the back of her head, one little dissenting whisper, drifting through the screams, asking her: What if you can have both?
“I’ll do it,” she blurted out, shocking herself. As David and Ira congratulated her and ordered champagne to celebrate, her ears buzzed with the commitment she’d just made.
Later, as she walked back to her hotel, she held her phone in one hand, slapping it in a regular rhythm against her opposite palm.
She needed to call Troy and tell him, but she was having the damndest time dialing the phone. Even though she knew she was being ridiculous, she felt a little ashamed, like she should’ve talked to Troy before making the three-show run commitment to Ira and David.
That was ludicrous, she knew; Troy wasn’t her husband. He wasn’t her…anything. And as much as that fact made her kind of sad and incomplete in a deep way, it also relieved her of the responsibility to run her professional decisions by him and discuss them before committing.
Still…it just didn’t feel right. Deep in her gut, it didn’t sit well.
So, she was freaked out about calling him, and she was putting it off. She didn’t want to hear the words that might be at the other end of that phone call.
Come on, damn…he’d put them on a break just because she’d wanted to pursue the opportunity via having this dinner conversation. She didn’t know what he was going to say when he found out that she’d agreed to stay through the next week.
But, then again…how strong could what they had be if just one week apart could destroy it?
“Ahhh!”
She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, people streaming around her as she stood stock still.
Finally, she took a deep breath, clenched her gut, and dialed the phone.
All this back and forth wondering wasn’t getting her anywhere. Time to find out what the real conversation was going to be like.