“Look, Lace, you gotta understand that every journalist, every paparazzi, has a job to do. I can’t fault these guys for trying to get a juicy story or a hot photo. But I can be prepared and on my guard. I can make sure I’m smart about how I interact with them.”
“You want to be friendly but not intimate. Always maintain a little bit of distance,” James adds.
“Yeah. A guy like Josh might invite me for a drink after a one-on-one interview, like we’re buddies. I mean, we’ve known each other for years, so it’s not an unreasonable ask.”
“Right. But then, the next thing you know,Rolling Stonehas an expose about how Ben parties like a wild rock star. Chicks, drugs, the works,” James says.
“You two seem to be familiar with these kinds of tricks,” Lacy shoots me a sly look. “Speaking from experience?”
“Afraid so. But good news is, you get to learn from my mistakes,” I reply.
“And boy were there a lot of them,” James adds. “You’ve really got a great teacher here, Lacy.”
“And onthatnote, how about moving on to the next interview?” I say, giving James a light punch on the arm.
“On it,” James says, striding to the door to call in the next journalist. Meanwhile, Lacy settles onto a sofa in the corner.
We continue like that all morning. I’ll do my 15 minutes with a journalist and then introduce them to Lacy, giving her a chance to get to know some common names and faces in the pop culture journalist biz. It’s always good to make contacts. In the few minutes we have between journalist interviews, Lacy asks about what she’s seen, zooming in on tough questions the journalist asked or sidestepping maneuvers she saw me make. I give her pointers, with plenty of help from James, who seems to have taken an interest in Lacy and seems to want to take her under his wing.
Finally, we wrap up the last interview of the day. After a quick bite, we transition to a bigger room that’s equipped with a top-tier sound system. It’s time for the listening party. As the journalists settle into their seats, I go to the front of the room, preparing to introduce the track. From the back of the room, James gives me an affirmative nod. It’s go time.
“So, as you all know, I’ve sort of gone off the grid recently—” A ripple of laughter interrupts me. I’ve been getting one question consistently all morning,Where have you been for the past six months?!
“Well, I’ve been working on some new music,” I continue. “And today I’d love to play you just a snippet of what I’ve been creating. So, without further ado, here is one track that will be on my next album, and that I think helps give you an idea of the tone for that album.”
I nod to James, who hits play, and music booms over the room. I smile to myself as I sit down. This is way different than my usual stuff. It’s a down-tempo rock ballad. Just me and my acoustic guitar. It’s different, yes. But it’s alsogood. I think it’s some of the best stuff I’ve ever written. Looking around the room, I see journalists furiously scribbling in their notebooks. We don’t allow phones in the room for the listening party, just as a precaution to make sure nobody records the tracks and leaks them. So, the journos have to go old-school with pen and paper for taking notes.
Looking around, I notice Lacy in a far corner of the room, immersed in a quiet conversation with a young woman I don’t recognize. Maybe a music blogger? James only organized one-on-one interviews for the big names likeRolling StoneandPaste. But we invited a few more of the smaller names for the listening party. But what is she talking to Lacy about? As the track plays on, I discretely walk over to find out. By the time I’ve reached Lacy, the girl is gone.
“Who was that?” I murmur quietly.
“Oh, I thought that was some assistant of James’s, wasn’t it?” Lacy asks innocently.
“James doesn’t have an assistant,” I say tightly, my guard suddenly up.
“She said something about being an assistant,” Lacy says with a shrug. “I couldn’t really hear her because of the music.”
“What did she want?”
“We were just making small talk. She mentioned that it seemed like you and I had known each other for a long time, and that she noticed how comfortable we seemed together. I told her how we’d met, that we were step-siblings but that it was just for 6 months, 15 years ago. Not exactly juicy gossip.”
I feel a nervous flutter in my stomach.Fuck, I hope that girl wasn’t a journo. To a journo, anything and everything can become juicy gossip. I prepare to stride over to James to ask him to find out who the mystery girl was but, before I can, the track comes to an end and the room erupts in applause. After that, I’m accosted by one journalist after the next. They want to shake my hand and ask questions about the song, the inspiration, what the rest of the album sounds like, and more. I lose Lacy in the crush of people and forget all about what she told me.
I’m gratified to hear that the journalists liked the track. One woman tells me she’s going to write it up as an “ethereal revelation of the magic that can happen when rock embraces romance.” I mean, how cool is that? I have to admit, despite my bluster to Josh, I was worried that my fans might not like the new music. But after the listening party, I’m feeling more confident.
After about an hour, the room starts to empty out, with the last remaining journalists grabbing some free snacks and bottles of water before they head off to their next gig. I see Lacy chatting animatedly with Josh fromRolling Stoneand smile to myself. Clearly, she’s made a new fan. Josh gives me an enthusiastic thumbs up from across the room. I’m curious what he thought of the track and prepare to go over to ask. But before I can go anywhere, I’m waylaid by James.
“We’ve got to talk, Ben,” he says. I’m still staring at Lacy from the across the room, watching as she laughs with Josh, and I don’t note the urgency in his voice.
“Ben,” James says again, more firmly this time.
“What’s up?” I finally turn to him. His face is serious. Is he worried about the listening party? “I thought that went well,” I say proactively, hoping to ward off whatever negativity he may have. “Some of the journalists really liked the new tunes.”
“Yeah, the listening party was a hit.”
“So why do you look like somebody just punched you in the gut?”
“It’s Lacy.”