Loving Dallas(43)

I stand and follow her down a dim hallway to the recording studio. The publicist Mandy put me in touch with pulled some strings to get me on the nationally syndicated Ricky Ray show while I was in town. It’s a huge opportunity, but I’m nervous because I have no idea what he’s going to ask. Ricky is known for asking the tough questions and I’ve been strictly instructed not to answer any involving Jase Wade or his personal life.

My palms are slick so I wipe them on my jeans before shaking the hands of the folks who greet me when the receptionist opens the door.

“Dallas Walker, nice to meet you,” a smiling brunette with headphones on tells me. “Just have a seat right there.” She gestures to an empty seat on the edge of the L-shaped table. “Be sure you speak clearly into the mic.”

“Got it.”

“He can manage, Kim. That’s what he does for a living,” the man on the other side of the table says. “That’s Kim Le. I’m Ricky Ray.”

I nod at Kim and then reach across a switchboard and shake his hand. “Nice to meet you both. Thank you for having me today.”

“Thanks for joining us. We’ll just chat. Forget the listeners. Let’s just shoot the bull like old friends. Sound good?”

“Yes, sir.”

“First rule of shooting the bull, no ‘sirs.’ ”

I nod, feeling like a complete jackass. “Got it.”

A tall blond woman with angular features steps into the small room. “We’re on in five, Ricky,” she tells him.

“Let’s do this,” he says, putting in earbuds like the ones I was given.

I press mine into my ears and they fill with the sound of someone counting down. “On in five” apparently means five seconds in radio time.

“We’re back with Ricky Ray, Kim Le, and up-and-coming country music sensation Dallas Walker,” Ricky says in a completely different voice than the one he used to greet me. “Thanks for joining us, Dallas.”

The chorus of “Better to Burn” plays briefly.

“Thanks for having me,” I say into the silver microphone attached to a long metal arm in front of me.

“So you’re from here in town I hear.”

It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Yes, si—uh, yes. I am. From Amarillo actually.”

Austin originally, but I don’t feel the need to clarify because it would open a door to my past I have no intention of walking through on the radio.

“You had a band there, didn’t you?”

I shift in my seat and it rolls slightly backward. I stop myself before I answer with “yes, sir.” “Yeah. My sister and a buddy of mine played around for a while.”

“Just played around?” Ricky glances down at several sheets of paper laid out before him. “It says here you took third place in last year’s state fair sound-off and that your band, Leaving Amarillo, recently played in Austin MusicFest.”

Swallowing hard, I nod even though I know I’m supposed to verbalize my answers.

“Austin was a good time. I met my manager there. If I hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

It’s a lame-ass attempt at redirecting, but it’s all I got.

“Well, thank goodness for Austin.” Kim breaks in, possibly because she’s the closest to me and can likely see how twitchy I’m becoming. “Touring with Jase Wade must be amazing. Has that been a life-changing experience?”

I grin at her, thankful for the change in topic. “It has been. Jase is an impressive performer and I’ve learned a lot being on this tour. It’s an awesome opportunity and I’m grateful to get to be a part of it.” Most of that is true at least.

“You already have quite a large fan base—much larger than most new artists,” Ricky says, eyeing me as if wondering how I tricked people into listening to my music. “Do you attribute that to your time with your band? Have Leaving Amarillo fans followed you over into your solo career?”

I shrug. “You know, it’s hard to say. I mean I hope so. It’d be great if they did since it’s pretty much the same sound.”

Ricky smirks as if I’m full of shit.

“Well, not exactly the same. You had a fiddle player in Leaving Amarillo, right?”

Son of a bitch. Why this guy wants to talk about the band so much is beyond me. But like a dog with a bone, he doesn’t seem to want to let go.

“We did. My sister is a very talented violinist and fiddle player. She’s been playing since we were kids.”

“She didn’t want to come along on the tour?”

More like the label wouldn’t have ever allowed her to.

Guilt seeps into my pours, thick like lead that weighs me down. I take a deep breath before answering in order to maintain my composure. “We had a loss in the family. She had other priorities to handle when this opportunity presented itself.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kim says, earning herself another grin.

Ricky doesn’t offer his condolences. “So you’re out on the road, right after a devastating loss in your family, without your band. That takes dedication.”

I’m a big boy. I can listen between the lines. What he really wants to say is that I must be some special brand of selfish * to leave my grieving sister and my band behind.