A New Hope (Thunder Point #8)(76)

“Oh, I’m worse than that, I’m not kidding. I’ll fly to Houston if you’ll just talk to me for—”

That’s right, she thought. She’d told him she was in Houston. It had been sarcasm, but of course he wouldn’t have realized that. “Listen, Mick, I can’t be helping my ex-husband. I have someone in my life now, someone I love.”

“Yeah, no surprise. It’s not about romance, Ginger. It’s bigger and more important than that.”

“And you can’t tell me on the phone?” she pushed.

“No. No, I can’t. One time, that’s all. I need your advice. It’s life-or-death.”

She sighed heavily. “How much time is this going to take?”

“I don’t know. An hour or two, give or take,” he said. “I’ll come to you, it’s that important.”

“It must be,” she said. He was coming to her for advice. She suspected a brain tumor or something equally terrifying. Perhaps he wanted her advice about treatment options. “There’s a casino in North Bend. They have a coffee shop inside. I’ll meet you there at three tomorrow afternoon and you can have a half an hour.”

“Jesus, Ginger, what’s happened to you?”

She nearly laughed but stopped herself...in case it was a brain tumor. “You have to ask?” she said. “Three o’clock. That’s the best I can do. I have a job, I have an important man in my life. Take it or leave it.”

She talked it over with Grace and while Grace couldn’t even begin to understand why Ginger would accommodate him at all, she agreed to cover for her.

Mick was already in the coffee shop, staring into a cup of coffee when she arrived. When she got to his table, he stood. He was peaked, his features drawn, and he appeared thinner. She thought, Oh, God, it is cancer! I have to make my peace with him so I’ll have no regrets when he dies!

“Ginger,” he said, reaching toward her.

She withdrew slightly. “Come on, Mick. This isn’t a happy reunion. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“Let’s get you some coffee. Okay?”

“Sure,” she said, sitting down. “Is it your health? What’s this about? If you don’t mind me saying so, you don’t look so good.”

He lifted a hand to the waitress and when she came, he ordered another coffee. “I don’t feel so good, either. My life is falling apart. I’m at the bottom. This is the end. I’m forty-two. I’m bottomed out.”

“Explain,” she said. Her coffee arrived immediately.

“Remember Buster Kleinman?” he asked.

She frowned. “Why does the name sound familiar?”

“Why? I talked about him all the time! He’s one of the biggest agent/managers in the music business. He’s tight with every recording studio in the country. He’s represented some of the biggest names in the industry.”

“So?” she said. “You already have an agent.”

“Not a big agent. I need some power behind me. Mort’s small-time. But I got an in to see Buster, to take a meeting and play for him. I sent him CDs all the time but finally Rory Denison, six Grammys, number one on the charts, he forwarded one of my CDs to Buster and I got an appointment. We really hit it off, me and Buster. We had some drinks, some dinner, talked for hours and the next day I went to his private studio and played for him.”

No, she thought. This is why I drove to North Bend? She told herself not to throw hot coffee on him. It would be poor form, especially after her stand-off with Matt about anger. “Congratulations,” she said. “And this concerns me how?”

“You know me better than anyone, Ginger. We were together for years. You know as much about my music as I do. We talked about my playlist after every performance. You told me which songs were my best. You listened to my backup musicians and singers. Your ear is almost as good as mine.”

“This is about your music?” she asked, astonished.

“He said I just wouldn’t work for him, that I have a good voice but no magic. He said I don’t have what he’s looking for, that he needs to see more passion, more emotional instinct. I lack passion? Have you ever known anyone in the business with more passion? Do you know anyone who wants it more, anyone who would do more to get to the top? He said my desire isn’t translating, isn’t tracking. He said I was a perfectly good entertainer but good isn’t enough. How am I supposed to deal with that? What’s he talking about? I’ve been taking every gig I can get for twenty years, jamming whenever I can, traveling, pouring every minute and every dime into it, reaching out to every famous musician in the business, sending every person with any clout sample CDs. No one has more passion than I do! And he wouldn’t even talk about it.”

Ginger felt a little numb around the ears and neck. She was completely flabbergasted. “What in the name of God do you want from me?” she asked, keeping her voice level.

“Tell me what I did wrong because I know my sound is good. I know my performance is at the top of my game—people follow me, just to hear me play. They stand in line! I know a hundred singer/songwriters in the business who aren’t as good as I am who are getting more breaks!”

“This isn’t happening to me,” she said, her fingers on her temples, slowly massaging.