Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 72828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
The second was about three years ago when I’d been asked to tour with Reba.
“The only time you come to my house is when you have good news.”
“Welcome home,” Wendy says from the kitchen when Annie just grins at me. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Just water for me,” I reply and drop onto the couch across from Annie. “You don’t exactly look happy.”
Annie sighs and sets her mug on the coffee table, then drags her hand down her face as Wendy passes me a tall glass of ice water with cucumber floating in it.
Wendy’s fancy like that.
“I’ll be upstairs, refreshing your linens,” Wendy says in that breezy, everything-is-under-control way she has and bustles out of the room. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Wendy.”
Annie waits for Wendy to ascend the staircase before she sighs again and pins me with her sharp, brown eyes.
“Just say it.”
“Okay, your label isn’t going to offer you a new contract.”
I blink at her. This isn’t what I expected at all.
Before I can say anything, Annie stands and paces the living room, clearly not any happier with the situation than I am.
“The last album didn’t perform,” she says. “The tone of the songs and the content just wasn’t what fans love from you, and it didn’t sell even close to what they expected.”
“They gave me some liberties with it, and, granted, I tried some new things. But damn, Annie, fans can’t expect me to sing the same songs, over and over again.”
“Oh, but they can, and they do.” Her face is grim as she turns to me once again. “The tour did about as well as the album. You saw the empty seats every night, Sid.”
Yeah, I saw them. I tried my damndest to ignore them, but I saw them.
“It showed the label that you’re just not a headliner, and in this business, if you have even one flop, they move on to the next artist. There are a thousand singers behind you that the label will record, and you know it.”
“What do I do now?” I press my fingers into my eyes, trying to ease the headache that’s set up residence in my forehead as I swallow down the panic. “Do we shop for a new label?”
“I think you need a break.”
My eyes pop open, and I stare at Annie as if she just suggested I swim naked in the shark-infested ocean.
“I can’t. I have to stay relevant. I have to stay in people’s minds. Otherwise, I’m done, Annie.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Name one female artist who took time off and came back stronger than before.”
Her lips twist as she thinks it over. “Trisha Yearwood.”
“I’m not married to Garth.” I stand and push my hands through my hair in agitation. “Fuck, Annie.”
“Listen, I know this isn’t what you want to hear. I’m sorry that the album didn’t sell as well as the others. But, Sid, you’ve been working your ass off for a long time without a break. No one can maintain that level of work forever. Take a year off, rest, put on ten pounds.”
“Oh, yeah, that’ll be great. I won’t fit into any of my stage costumes, and then the tailors will yell at me, and it’ll be all over the tabloids that I have a food addiction.”
“You’re thin. The bags under your eyes have bags. Honey, you’re not even close to thirty yet. You’re too damn young to look this…old.”
“I just came off tour, for Christ’s sake!”
“The fifth one in a row. You release an album every single year. No one can expect you to continue at that pace.”
I’m shaking now as I slowly sink back onto the couch and blow out a long breath.
“Annie, country music is my life. I’ve been at this for years, like you said, and I’m still only a mid-level artist. I feel like I’m fighting for my life here.”
“For what? Honey, you’ve had an excellent, respectable career. You’ve won CMAs, you’ve toured with legends, and you’ve written songs that are beloved. Hell, you even had a Grammy nomination. That’s more than most people even dream of.”
“And yet, here I am, getting the axe from my label, and my agent is telling me to quit.”
“No.” She marches over to me and takes my shoulders in her hands. “No, Sid. I’m not telling you to quit. I’m telling you to rest. Write some music, collaborate with friends, and take a fucking vacation. You’ve been all over the globe, and you’ve only seen the insides of stadiums. Go sit on a beach somewhere and have a sexy man bring you drinks, then fuck his brains out.”
I can’t help but bark out a laugh at that.
“I’m going to book interviews for you, magazine spreads, and photo shoots so you’re not completely out of sight and out of mind. And in those interviews, you tell them that you’re writing the next album, and it’s the best work you’ve ever done.”