Tommy crossed the large, cavernous, all-white space and approached Ira sitting alone at the bar.
“What do you think?” Ira turned on his stool and swung an arm wide, gesturing toward his latest creation.
Tommy looked all around. “Well, it’s really, really white.”
Ira laughed and punched a few prompts on his iPad, first drenching the space in slanted gray shadows and lines before switching it to a deep bloody red that seemed to drip down the walls and spread across the floor.
“I think of it as a canvas,” Ira said. “Those are just two of the landscapes I can create. It’s seemingly limitless. Check this out.” He tapped another prompt and the room glowed a deep, translucent blue. There were colorful coral reefs, sharks swimming by, like being under the sea, no tank or wet suit necessary. After a moment, he switched it back to red.
Tommy paused uncertainly. Ira had summoned him there just a few hours earlier, and Tommy still didn’t know why.
“Sit. Have a drink,” Ira said.
Tommy obeyed, watching as Ira grabbed the bottle of Unrivaled tequila, filled a couple of shot glasses bearing the word RED, and pushed one before him.
Tommy paused. His last encounter with tequila, just the day before, hadn’t gone down so well. Still, Ira was waiting, so he braced for the worst, hoped for the best, and tossed back his drink. As soon as it was empty, Ira filled his glass again and looked at him expectantly. “I’m pacing myself,” Tommy said, raising a hand in protest.
Ira laughed and drained his own glass.
Tommy tilted back on his stool. He felt nervous, anxious. The whole scene set him on edge, partly due to the strange heightened environment, and partly because he worried Ira was softening him up before he called him out on breaking into the Vesper. He wondered if he should mention it first—beat Ira to the punch. Since they both knew it happened, it seemed strange to not just get it out into the open.
“How are things going at Elixir? Malina treating you well?” Ira asked, before Tommy could put a voice to his thoughts.
Tommy debated whether to confess. Deciding Ira probably already knew, he said, “Been better.”
Ira gave him a look that encouraged him to continue.
“I screwed up.” He ran a hand through his hair and toyed with the rim of his shot glass. “She threatened to cancel the contract.”
“Not sure she can do that,” Ira said.
Tommy shrugged. “She thinks she can, and that’s all that matters.”
“Do you want me to speak to her on your behalf? Or set up a meet with a lawyer?”
Ira was acting like a dad, and it made Tommy uncomfortable. Why was Ira always trying to help him, or at least pretending to help him? Should he tell him? Finally speak the truth he’d been waiting to put into words?
Tommy wavered, on the verge of a full-blown confession, when instead he shook his head and said, “She has the grounds. And honestly, I’m not sure I’m cut out for all this.”
“All what?” Ira’s gaze was as sharp as his tone.
Tommy could sense an impending lecture, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t cut out for that either. Last thing he wanted was to confide in Ira Redman, the very person responsible for getting him into this mess.
Malina was pissed about the botched Rolling Stone interview and had threatened not only to cancel his contract, but to kick him out of the apartment as well. He had an appointment to speak with her first thing in the morning. A week ago, he wouldn’t have thought twice about keeping it. Now, he was no longer sure.
He remembered the way Madison had lectured him when she called him out for complaining about the haters and tabloids.
Maybe she was right.
Maybe he was ungrateful, or unwilling to take the bad with the good.
Maybe he was being naive.
Maybe he just didn’t have it in him.
Maybe he really was spineless and scared and would always be more comfortable being a big fish in a minuscule pond, where admiration was assured and little was required in return.
All he knew was that the summer had forced him to face some harsh truths that left him questioning who he was, what he stood for, and just how far he was willing to go to accomplish his dreams.
He studied Ira sitting beside him. To most, Ira was a living legend. But Tommy could only guess at the sort of questionable things he might’ve done in order to rise so high. He wasn’t sure he was willing to follow Ira’s lead.
“I don’t know how much longer I’m going to stick around.” Tommy cleared his throat before adding, “I don’t think I’m a good fit for this town.”
Ira regarded him with a searing gaze. “We all tell ourselves a story, Tommy. We make up entire narratives about who we are and what we’re capable of. We set limits on ourselves without ever being tested. It’s natural, human, though it’s also an excuse for playing small. You have a gift. I’ve seen it firsthand. Which is why I’d strongly caution you against scripting an ending that indulges your fears before you’ve had a chance to discover if they’re even valid or real.”
Tommy grew still. It wasn’t the first time Ira had gone on a philosophical bent. Hell, he liked to pontificate more than anyone Tommy had ever met. What he didn’t understand was why Ira could possibly give enough of a shit to put so much thought into warning him against the worst part of himself.
There was a strange intimacy to the moment. They were alone, with no immediate threat of distraction. It was, Tommy realized, the perfect opportunity to confront one of his biggest fears and tell Ira the other half of the dream that had fueled the move west. Ira had just praised him, so surely he wouldn’t reject the idea of Tommy being his son.
It was all in play, just like he’d imagined. Tommy was famous, he had a record deal (well, at least for the moment), and enough money banked that he didn’t actually need Ira’s help. There was nothing Ira could give him that Tommy didn’t already have.
Except a willingness to admit to being his father.
It was now or never. He’d rehearsed the speech so many times the words were easily summoned.
His hands splayed on the table before him, he inhaled long and deep. His mouth opened to speak, when he suddenly realized that while he did want to salvage the record deal and continue to pursue his dreams, he was done caring what Ira Redman thought of him. All that mattered now was what Tommy thought of himself.
He pushed the shot glass away. “I’ve got an early morning.” He started to rise from his stool.
Ira’s gaze narrowed and held fast to his. “I’d like if you could stick around just a bit longer. I’ve got something special planned that I’d hate for you to miss.” He flashed Tommy a look that said the offer was nonnegotiable, and then he led him down a long hall to the last door on the left.
Tommy glanced nervously between Ira and the door.
“Why don’t you wait in here?” Ira swung the door open and ushered Tommy inside yet another room done up all in white. “Make yourself comfortable.” He gestured toward the long bench against the far wall. “The show will begin soon.”
The next thing Tommy knew, Ira was gone, and the door locked behind him.