After several weekends of practicing-we're focusing on making my voice perfect first-I was getting used to singing for David Foster. He's actually really nice, once you get to know him. I know everyone says that about celebrities, but this guy is Heimlich-maneuver-on-a-random-dude-at-Chili's nice. I mean, he pushes me harder than anyone, only because he knows I can be better. I had only rehearsed with Josh a couple of times, which kinda bummed me out. Life isn't always perfect on rye. The few times I had practiced with him, were hilarious and enjoyable. We have the same sense of humor, as it turns out. We also both LOVE eighties music-he likes the hard stuff, while I am more drawn to the pop-and the Beatles, among other things. I was kind of surprised, though, when he called me one Wednesday, asking if I had any plans on Friday. After finishing algebra, I lay on my bed with Liberace, and started to read The Client. I'd gotten really into John Grisham lately. Jumping, I pull my phone off of the charger. "Hello?" I answer. "Hey, it's Josh. I was wondering if you could come over on Friday to work on some music." His voice sounded lovely on the telephone. "Oh, yeah, sure. I get out at four thirty. I can be there by five." Clearing his throat, he says,"Yeah, that's fine." I swoon. He sounds so sexy. "See you then." I hang up, collapsing onto my bed. Me and Josh Groban are going to work on my singing. Together. Alone. It wasn't exactly a date, but it was something. Well, now I'll have sweet dreams.
