Out of Tune

Chapter Thirty-Two

If people should take anything from my music, it should be motivation to know that anything is possible as long as you keep working at it and don't back down—Eminem

It was the twelfth of October when the five members of the band Imagine Reality, their manager, and their legal representation converged on downtown Los Angeles. Nervousness and anticipation were palpable entities in the air between them. The label was located in East Hollywood in a fifteen-story building that towered over the band where they stood on the sidewalk, embraced in its shadow.

"How are you feeling?" Paige asked as she sidled up to Lennon.

Lennon swallowed thickly as she glanced at her mom. "Terrified."

"You'll be great. All of you will be."

"Thank you for coming," Lennon said, meaning the words.

She hadn't been sure that her mother would come to this utmost important thing. Hadn't even known if her mother would be excited for Lennon and the band upon hearing of the offer to meet with the label executives.

After Taylor had sprung the news on them, Lennon had existed in a daze. Her thoughts hazy and unclear as if she were staring at the world through fog. Trying to make sense of what was going on, even as they had all celebrated and laughed and cried together.

There had been a part of her waiting for the shoe the fall. For Taylor to say that it had been an elaborate prank, like April Fools. But it wasn't April and Taylor wouldn't do that to them, not after everything.

By the time she'd arrived home that night, her house had been a quiet empty shell. Her mother and Brad asleep in their bed. Colby the same. And so Lennon had crept up the stairs quietly to her own room, yet she'd been too keyed up to sleep. Hadn't been able to do anything more than stare at the ceiling in the dark.

So she'd gone to her closet and shoved all of her things out of the way until she reached the very, very back of it. To where she'd hidden it away all those months ago when she'd first arrived in Los Altos.

Her father's leather jacket.

Well-worn, well-loved – the leather soft and supple in her hands. Still smelling faintly of the cologne that he'd always put on before a gig.

Lennon had pulled it from the closet and shrugged it on. It was much too big for her but there was no one else that Lennon wanted more at that moment. Not a single other soul who ranked above her father that she wanted to tell about the record label meeting.

She had worn the jacket to bed. Had kept it close all night long. Even as sleep evaded her for another few hours, Lennon held tight to that jacket and all that it represented. Whispering to her father in the dark about everything that she wanted him to know as if he could hear her. Somehow. Impossibly.

Lennon had still been wearing that jacket when she'd emerged in the kitchen the following morning. Her mother and Brad were sitting at the table eating their breakfast and flipping through a book and a newspaper, respectively.

Paige had looked up at her daughter, a smile forming and faltering on her face as she noted the jacket draping Lennon's shoulders. It was clear that she'd recognized it, knew the familiar leather even if it had been years since she'd last seen it.

Paige had only stared at Lennon. Just stared at her as if her daughter were a puzzle she was trying to solve. "Is everything okay?"

It had been an effort for Lennon to say, "There's a record label that wants to meet us. In L.A. On Monday."