Pleasure in the Rain (8 page)

“That,” Thomas says, getting to his feet and swaying a little under the alcohol’s remaining influence, “remains to be seen.”

♪

THE NEXT MORNING
, the three of us pile into Thomas’s truck at just after eight. We’re supposed to be at the studio at eight-thirty, and even though we’re pushing our luck on time, Thomas insists on a Starbucks infusion. He maneuvers his big truck through the drive-through, and we each get a large coffee. Nobody opts for food, and I can only guess it’s because we’re all equally anxious about the morning ahead.

CeCe
has yet to say a word to either of us other than an initial good morning. She sits in the middle of the seat between us, sipping at her coffee and looking straight ahead.

I fortify myself with a few sips as well before saying, “If we’re not up for this today, I mean, if we’re not ready for this, I think we should just go in there and tell them that.”

Both CeCe and Thomas take so long to acknowledge that I’ve said anything, I start to wonder if they even heard me.

Driving with one hand, Thomas props his coffee cup on his knee, looking straight ahead. “Are we all ready for this?” he asks.

“You mean am I ready, right?” CeCe says, her voice low and void of emotion.

I consider not saying the truth, but it feels like the truth is pretty much the only hand we have left to play.

“You’re punching the clock,” I say quietly, “but your heart’s not in it.”

She draws in a deep breath, bites her lower lip and then breathes out again. “Is that what you think, Thomas?”

“Sorry, babe,” Thomas says, “but yeah.”

I stare out the window, forcing myself not to look at her. I hate hurting her. I know what we’ve said hurts. “You’ve never been about dialing it in, CeCe. That’s not who you are. We need to go in there this morning and give it everything we’ve got. Do what they hired us to do. Or we don’t go in at all. We go at it lukewarm, we’re not doing anybody any favors. Not them, not us.”

I feel her stiffen next to me, but then just as quickly, she sinks back against the seat, anger losing its foothold.

“You’re right,” she admits in a low voice. “I just don’t know if I can do it.”

“Do you want to do it?” Thomas asks softly.

We’re on the interstate, tractor-trailers whizzing by on either side of us. We’re approaching the exit when she says, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do."

“Then we’ve got your back,” Thomas says. “Right, Holden?”

"Always,” I say.

She nods once, biting her lower lip, and then saying, “What if I let you both down?”

“You won’t.” I reach for her hand and lace my fingers through hers.

She squeezes hard, as if I alone am the anchor that will keep her afloat today.

For the first time in months, it feels like we have a shot at life finding its way back to some kind of normal. It won’t be the old normal. I know better, but a new normal that’s yet to be defined.

Thomas hits the blinker, and we take the ramp that will get us over to Music Row.

CeCe
glances at me. I let myself fully meet her gaze.

“The songs are good, Holden,” she says. “They’re really good.”

And I wonder if she has any idea that a number one song wouldn’t mean as much to me as hearing those words from her.

♪

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

CeCe

The launch party for the record takes place on the one-year anniversary of the shooting. Holden, Thomas and I all voiced our objections to the label. To me, it feels opportunistic and disrespectful, but their angle is a different one, and that’s the one they chose to go with.

Good wins in the end. Bad guys get their due. And life goes on.

It’s true that if there’s a message in the music, this would be it, and although I want to believe it, I just don’t know if I do.

A Hummer limo picks us up at six p.m. to drive us to an estate outside the city where the launch party is being held. It’s the former home of one of country music’s earliest stars, and we’ve been told it’s an incredible place.

 The label had actually sent an image consultant over earlier in the week to take us shopping for the clothes we would wear tonight and give us pointers on ways to polish - her word not mine - our appearances.

We’re in the back of the limousine and on the way when Thomas says, “So this is us. Spit shine time.”

“I guess,” Holden says. He looks at me, and even in the dim light of the car, the color of his eyes deepens.

“You look beautiful, CeCe,” he says.

“Yeah, you do,” Thomas agrees.

“Thanks,” I say, keeping my voice light and looking down at my hands. “You two look pretty great yourselves.”

We’re quiet for a couple of minutes while the car rolls on, sleek and plush beyond anything I could possibly feel deserving of.

“Anybody else feel like we’re standing on the edge of a cliff about to jump off?” Thomas asks, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” Holden says. “I do.”

“They’re making some crazy predictions about this record,” Thomas says.

“Isn’t it all just guessing?” I ask.

“I agree,” Holden says, “except that by now I think we know they don’t do much investing in guesses.”

“Well, with the album going live at midnight,” Thomas says, “We’ll know pretty soon whether they were right or wrong.”

I glance out the window at the city’s skyscrapers retreating into the distance.

“If y’all could go back,” I say, “to the moment you started dreaming this dream of coming here and making it in music. Would you still go after it if you knew how the dream would end up coming true?”

The weight of the question settles around us.

“Probably not,” Holden finally says in a low voice.

“No,” Thomas echoes.

“Me, either.
I guess we’ll never know whether we would have made it to this point without the shooting and all the media stuff.”

There’s another question I want to ask. And that is this.

If our dream is transformed into something other than what we had imagined, will it change us as well? A year from now, will we be the people we came here as?

But I keep this one to myself. I honestly don’t know if I want to hear the answer.

♪

THE HOUSE IS
enormous. Three stories high with wings that jut off to the right and left. Boxwoods that appear to be a hundred years old line the front like guards standing watch. Cars are parked on either side of the winding driveway, and a flutter of nerves erupts in my midsection.

“Incredible,” I say, and I’m pretty certain in that moment I cannot go in that house and do what is expected of me.

As if he’s felt my conclusion, Holden reaches over and presses his hand on mine. “They’re just people,” he says. “You’ve got this.”

“I really don’t know if I do or not.”

“Yeah, you do.” Thomas places his hand over my other hand. I feel unbelievably lucky to have them both in my life.

“How about I just stay between you two all night?” I ask.

“We can be a CeCe sandwich,” Thomas says with the grin I have begun to see more of recently. I’ve missed it in these past months.

“Fine by me,” Holden says, looking down at me without the usual censoring.

“Will your dad be here?” I ask, forcing myself to glance away.

“I think so,” he says.

Thomas’s mom stopped by the apartment earlier in the afternoon and showed us the dress she had bought to wear. She’d been so excited and proud, and I couldn’t help but envy Thomas a little.

Mama won't be here tonight. She’d had a terrible sinus infection for the past ten days and didn’t think she was strong enough yet to make the trip. She’d made me promise over the phone this morning that I would FaceTime her while at the party so she could see what it all looked like. I tried to hide my disappointment because I know how much she wanted to be here.  Since the shooting, she’s all but put her own life on hold, driving back and forth from home to Nashville to make sure I’m all right.

The driver eases the limo to a stop at the front of the house and walks around to open Holden’s door.

We’ve arrived.

♪

AS A LITTLE GIRL
, I had once visited the Biltmore Mansion in North Carolina with Mama. It’s one of the most extraordinary places I’ve ever seen, and the inside of this house reminds me so much of it.

The foyer is huge, a winding staircase with shallow marble stairs leading up to the next floor. To the left is what looks like an enormous ballroom where at least a couple of hundred people are mingling, sipping drinks and some talking, others listening. An incredible speaker system streams music from what sounds like every direction and the song playing is one of ours from the new album.
Pleasure in the Rain
. It’s strange to hear my voice filling the room.

“That’s pretty dang cool,” Thomas says as we walk into the main room.

Gazes begin to turn our way.

A man with short cropped white hair and smart-looking eyeglasses starts toward us. I recognize him as the label President Henry Ogilvy. We’ve only met him once at the label’s main office, but he’s not the kind of man that you forget. Confident but gracious, he knows the music business and is said to be the force behind many of the names who have made it big over the past ten years in Nashville.

He walks up to the three of us, smiling his very white smile. He holds out both hands to me, forcing me to let go of Holden and Thomas. He leans in then and kisses me on both cheeks.

“Wow,” he says. “If y’all don’t make a picture. You look beautiful, CeCe. Good grief, America is gonna be so in love with all three of you pretty soon.”

We each offer him a slightly disbelieving smile.

“Why don’t we get you a drink?” He holds up a hand and beckons a waiter with a small wave. The waiter asks what we’d like. Holden and Thomas opt for a beer. I ask for a Perrier.

“Y’all get your sea legs,” Mr. Ogilvy says. “Relax a little bit, and then I’d like to introduce you around if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.”
I nod as if mixing with this crowd is something we’re used to when nothing could be further from the truth.

When he walks away, the three of us turn to face each other.

“How long do we have to stay?” I ask.

“I think the rule is if you leave before midnight you’ll turn into a pumpkin,” Holden says.

“Right now I think I’d rather be a pumpkin,” I say.

We look at each other and a smile a small smile. It’s a really nice moment.

From the corner of my eye, I see someone walking toward us. I turn my head. It’s Mama and Aunt Vera with Case Philips. A mixture of relief and disbelief rush over me at the same time.

“Hi, honey,” Mama says, reaching out to pull me into her arms. “I hope we haven’t given you too much of a shock?”

I hug her hard and say, “No, it’s wonderful.”

Aunt Vera steps in and puts her arms around me, too. “We are so proud of you, honey.”

I feel tears start to my eyes, and for the first time in a very long time, I realize they are tears of happiness. “I’m so glad you’re here. But how did you-”

Case looks at me now with uncharacteristic uncertainty. “I flew over to Virginia this afternoon to pick these two pretty ladies up.”

“You did?” I ask, still shocked.

“I knew this was something your mama wouldn’t want to miss, so I offered to go get her.”

“Oh, Case,” I say, reaching out to give him a hug as well. “Thank you. How are you?”

“Doing better,” he says. “I have to tell you, your mama here is one of the main reasons why.”

I glance at Mama, aware that I’m not hiding my surprise very well. She and Aunt Vera both give Holden and Thomas a hug.

Case shakes their hands and says, “You three are making me very proud. I can say I knew a good thing when I saw it.”

“Thank you, Case,” Holden says. “We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

 “Not true,” Case says. “You’re here because you’ve got some incredible talent, and the world’s gonna want to hear it. Henry sent me a link to the new album. There’s not a song on it that’s not great. Y’all know how excited he is about you?”

I shake my head and try to say something in response, but nothing wants to come out of any significance, so I just murmur, “Thank you, Case.” He gets the same from Holden and Thomas.

Case asks Holden about the guitar he played on the record, and the three of them are soon in deep conversation about things only guitar enthusiasts know about.

“I need to powder my nose,” Aunt Vera says, heading off in search of the ladies’ room.

Knowing her as I do, I’m sure she is trying to give Mama and me some time alone.

I take her hand and say, “Want to get some fresh air?”

“Yes, of course,” she says and follows me along the edge of the room to the open French doors that lead out onto a balcony. A wrought iron railing encloses the terrace. We stand looking out at an enormous field where horses graze in the moonlight.

“Are you angry with me, honey?” Mama asks.

"Why would I be angry with you?”

“I wanted to tell you that I was coming after all, but Case thought it would be a nice surprise.”

I study her for a few moments. “Is there something you’re not telling me about you two?”

Mama looks down at her hands and then back at me with a small smile on her mouth.

“I’m not sure I even believe it myself yet, but he’s been coming to see me in Virginia.”

“He has?” I ask, failing to hide my surprise.

“I know,” she says. “It’s crazy, isn’t it? A man like that wanting to see me?”

“No,” I say. “Of course it’s not crazy.”

“He just started calling me at night, and we would talk for hours sometimes. I guess he needed someone to talk to who might not judge him about how he was trying to manage his pain.”

“I heard he might be drinking,” I say because I can't help feeling suddenly protective of her.

“He was,” Mama says.

“And he’s not now?”

“No.”

I shake my head, still a little stunned. “Mama, is this romantic?”