CARLY CLIMBED UP to her third-floor brownstone apartment on Friday night carrying a bottle of champagne and a selection of gourmet appetizers from the deli. In a half hour or so her friends Althea and Erica would come over for a drink before they all went out on the town to celebrate her getting the Wallis account.
She put the bubbly in the fridge next to the jar of sourdough starter she’d brought from Irene’s house. She’d left some starter back in Fairhaven in case Taylor or Annie got ambitious. Now that she’d begun using it, she was committed to keeping it going.
After arranging the snacks on a baking tray she tidied up. Compared to the spaciousness of Irene’s house, her studio apartment felt cramped, almost claustrophobic. Never mind, it wouldn’t be long before she could afford a bigger place.
Hard on the heels of that thought came a wave of the depression that had dogged her since leaving Fairhaven. For a brief, heady period, she’d really thought she and Finn had forged something lasting. The west coast versus east coast thing was a problem but with enough will, they could solve it. With her salary she would be able to fly reasonably frequently between New York and Los Angeles. And he could stay with her for long periods. A songwriter could work anywhere, right?
Career-wise, he’d been so close to breaking out of his self-imposed slump. He’d been trying, he really had. And then he’d just…given up. Where was the young Finn, the guy who had practiced classical piano for hours on end, day after day, and still found time to explore different music and develop his own style? Where was the outcast son who had nevertheless made a name for himself as a songwriter? The guy who’d counted his busking coins as if they were riches, the man who had for one shining moment, believed in himself as a performer?
Where was the guy who’d kissed her in the tower? The man who’d made love to her, not as if the world was ending, but as if it had just begun?
When he’d given up on himself, he’d given up on them, too.
Her phone rang. Wiping her hands on a tea towel, she picked up. “Hello?”
“Carly, it’s Sam, from Fairhaven Realty. We had an open house on Wednesday. I’ve got great news.”
“Yes?” Carly’s pulse kicked up a notch but she didn’t know if it was excitement or dread. She opened a cupboard and brought down small plates and champagne flutes.
“A couple from Seattle have made an offer,” Sam went on. “They’ve underbid your asking price by twenty thousand but if you’re looking for a quick sale it might be worth considering.”
“Did you tell them I need an extended settlement period?” Carly said.
“They’re fine with that, as long as they can move in before the school year starts. They’ve got a couple of kids in primary school.”
“Any other bites?” Carly asked.
“Some interest but nothing solid. It’s a big house, lots of maintenance,” Sam said. “It’s not for everyone.”
“I can put in a counteroffer, right?” Carly asked.
“Midway would be reasonable,” Sam said. “They like the house and would probably be willing to come up a little.”
“But it would still be below my asking price and it’s only the first offer.” Carly hesitated. “I need to think this over.”
“By all means, but if you’re considering it, don’t take too long. They’ve got their eye on several houses in the area.”
“I’ll get back to you by the end of business tomorrow.”
Carly hung up and went to the fridge for the champagne. The glass she poured wasn’t in celebration. Everything seemed to be happening at warp speed. Her expanded job, Finn back in LA, the house on the brink of being sold. The weeks in Fairhaven had felt like an idyll, sandwiched between “before” and “after” segments of real life. There was a musical term for an interlude—intermezzo. That’s what their romance had been, an intermezzo.
Her fingers sought out Finn’s number. She’d told herself she wasn’t going to be the first to call. Instead, she would give him space to figure things out—and let herself cool down. But he’d been such a part of Irene’s life and the house that it seemed only right she talk over her decision with him.
The phone rang and rang. She tried to tell herself he could be at a studio working but her fuse had shortened where he was concerned. If he let it go to voice mail…
“Yo?” he answered at last.
“Finn, hey.” She felt awkward and angry. “Did I get you at a bad time?”
“No, it’s fine.” His voice sounded gravelly, wary. “Congratulations again. I should have called but I was…tied up.”
Tied up. That could mean anything from a studio session to solitary day drinking.
“Doesn’t matter,” she said, even though it did. “Sam just called. Someone put an offer on the house.”
“Great,” Finn said. “I guess.”
“It’s what we did all that work for,” she said. “The buyers are willing to have a long settlement so that’s good for Taylor and Annie. It’s under my asking price but not so far below as to be out of the question.”
“I don’t sense you jumping for joy,” Finn said, sounding more alert. “What’s the problem?”
“Not a problem exactly.” Carly couldn’t put a finger on her resistance. “If I hold out I might be able to get a higher price. On the other hand, they’re the only people who have shown interest. If I let them go, I might be passing up my only chance to sell to someone willing to meet my conditions.”
“Ah, the old bird in the hand dilemma,” Finn said. “What’s your gut feeling?”
“My gut feeling doesn’t make logical sense.” She walked to the window overlooking the street, gridlocked in the early evening. Horns honked. Someone shouted. The noise didn’t bother her. She liked the bustle of the city. So where did this uneasy feeling come from that had been clawing at her ever since she signed the agreement with Sam’s realty agency?
“I think,” she said slowly, “I want to keep the house.”
“I thought you couldn’t afford to,” Finn said. “I thought you wanted to buy an apartment in New York with the proceeds.”
“Yes, yes.” Why was it suddenly annoying that he was parroting her words back to her? “I didn’t say it makes sense.”
“What you’re experiencing is a case of Fear Of Missing Out,” he said. “Otherwise known as wanting to have your cake and eat it, too.”
“You’re right, it’s a dumb idea. I was going to crunch the numbers on the option of keeping it as a rental property but I’d only be delaying the inevitable. It’s not as though I’d ever live there.”
“How is being back at your dream job?” Finn asked, changing the subject. “Everything you hoped it would be?”
“It’s fine. I told you I got that big account I’d been angling for. It’ll be a lot of work but could lead to even bigger things.”
And yet, all day she’d been dogged by that feeling of anticlimax. An “is this all there is?” feeling. Which was crazy.
“That’s great,” Finn said. “You’ll be helping a lot of people.”
“Yeah.” People that she mostly would never see. How could she not have realized that her job entailed a lot of paper pushing and little personal contact with her clients?
“And the business cards?” Finn went on. “Did they turn out?”
“Serif was definitely the way to go. You were right.” The longer they chatted, the harder it was to remember why she was mad at him. “How’s Rufus? Do you have a fenced yard? Can you get his brand of dog food there?”
“He’s settling in fine. I took him for a walk up in the hills this morning. He loved chasing the ground squirrels.” Finn was silent a moment and then cleared his throat. “He…he misses you.”
“I miss him, too.” Carly’s eyes welled. She gulped champagne.
She was supposed to be celebrating, not having a pity party. She’d gotten everything she wanted. Except for Finn. And the house and Rufus. Well, a person couldn’t have everything, could they?”
“I have news, too,” he said. “I’ve got an interview with Molto.”
“That’s great,” Carly said. “If you get the job, would you be based in Los Angeles?”
“Yeah, good huh?” Despite his words, he sounded down, the opposite of the guy who’d sat at the table grinning and counting spare change. “It’s time I got real. I’m thirty years old. Dreams don’t come true just because you want them to.”
“No, they don’t,” she said, a bit too sharply. “You have to make them happen.”
“I thought you’d be pleased about Molto,” he said. “You showed me the ad.”
She sighed. “I am, I guess. If you are.”
“My Screaming Reindeer song is nominated for another award,” he went on, ignoring her lack of enthusiasm.
“You should be getting that nomination.”
“It’s not a big deal, just some radio station award,” Finn said dismissively. “Not like I missed out on a Grammy.”
“The publicity will be great for you,” Carly said, trying to be upbeat. “Congratulations.”
“I know you’re disappointed in me….”
“I’m disappointed for you.” Her fingers tightened on her phone.
There was a long silence.
She pressed the damp napkin to her eyes. This was no way to stay in contact. Any sympathy she offered would look like pity, which he would hate, and any constructive criticism would look like well, criticism. “I’m your friend no matter what. Do you understand?”
More silence.
“Sure.” His voice became detached, almost offhand. “Big deal or not, I have to go put on a monkey suit. Tom’s picking me up soon. Congrats again.”
Carly hung up. She let out a long breath and then went to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. As Finn had said, it was time to get real. The romance was most definitely over.
* * *
FINN GOT TO his feet and whistled and clapped as the Screaming Reindeer were called onstage to accept the award for most requested song of the year.
“Congratulations.” Tom pulled him into a hug and slapped his back.
Finn subsided into his seat. The blonde in the shimmery silver dress on his right—Amber or Amy, something like that—smiled. She’d been coming on to him all evening even though he’d done nothing to encourage her.
Finn was happy for the band but in his deep, dark, heart of hearts he was envious. And bitter. Black and bitter as the life he led. Carly was right. It should have been him accepting this award. Of course there was no saying his rendition would have won an award but he would never know because he’d never given himself the opportunity.
This was his life, the one he’d chosen. It was fine. He was making a living, his songwriting was gaining recognition and he had Tom looking out for his interests. What was he worried about?
The rest of the evening he drank steadily to blot out all the things he didn’t want to think about. The RockAround gig, Carly, his mother—
Oh, man. Another thought hit him. Irene’s house going into the hands of strangers. He and Carly would never again sit on the porch and watch the sunset. Never climb up to the tower for a clandestine kiss. Never harvest the vegetables they’d planted. Never fill the house with rug rats of their own.
“Are you all right?” Tom said, a hand on his shoulder. “You just groaned.”
“Yeah, fine,” Finn said wearily. “I should get going.” He dragged his tux jacket off the back of the chair. “You stay,” he said when Tom also rose. “You’ve got another client up for an award.”
“I can take you home,” Amber or Amy said, looping an arm through his. He thought she was trying to keep him upright until her hand strayed to his butt.
“Thanks, no.” Clumsily, he disengaged himself. “I’ll get a cab.” Before anyone could stop him, he wove through the tables toward the exit.
* * *
HE WOKE UP lying on his back on the ground. His head hurt too much to open his eyes but he could tell by the red glow behind his eyelids that his surroundings were bright. Something warm and wet was wiping across his face. He felt around gingerly, hoping he wasn’t on a public sidewalk. He felt grass. A park? Could be just as bad.
What was that wetness? Cracking an eyelid he saw a long pink tongue descend toward his nose. Rufus, trying to rouse him.
“G’way, dog.” He batted at the Irish setter and dragged himself onto his elbows. He was in his backyard in his underwear. His tux jacket and pants, socks and shirt were spread around the pool area. His hair felt damp and his boxers were damp, too. An empty scotch bottle lay on the tiles next to a lounge chair.
Apparently he’d thought it a good idea to go for a midnight swim alone and blind drunk. So this was what rock bottom felt like. He was lucky he hadn’t drowned.
“C’m here, Rufus. Sorry, boy.” He slung an arm around the dog’s neck and buried his face in his fur. “Disgusting.” Rufus whined. “Not you,” Finn said. “Me. I’m disgusting.”
Rufus made a long, low growling sound that sounded almost like talking.
“I should do something about it?” Finn asked wearily. “Yes, I should but…”
He searched for an excuse and found none. There were no buts to cover how low he’d sunk. He had no legitimate reason to complain about a single thing and yet he was miserable. He couldn’t even pretend to have dreams anymore and that was wrong.
As he lay there on the grass, gazing up at the relentlessly blue sky, his brain cleared and he could view his life dispassionately. His career, whichever direction it took, was secondary to his happiness. The accolades and applause were all very well, but in the end it didn’t matter as much as the people in his life. The most important of whom was Carly. He’d had a chance to be with her and he’d blown it. He’d blown it with his family and his friends and his community. All because he’d lost his self-respect and his integrity as a man and as a musician.
Somewhere over the years, an essential part of himself had gotten lost. He had to get it back. He had to get Carly back. And Irene’s house. He had to find his way home to his family and Fairhaven.
He was done hiding and being a coward. It was time to tackle that mountain. There was only one way to the other side. He couldn’t go around, he couldn’t go over. He had to go through the fear.
Finn crawled over to his jacket and fumbled in the pocket for his phone. “Tom? Have you still got the name of that guy at the research center?”
* * *
CARLY WENT OVER her list of pros and cons for selling the house. It boiled down to a battle between head and heart. Selling was smart financially speaking because she could put down a deposit on a nice apartment in New York. Keeping the house, on the other hand, would mean she would retain her connection to Fairhaven, her aunt and Finn. Bonus points that Taylor and Annie could rent indefinitely.
Not that she expected to see Finn again any time soon now that he’d backed out of the RockAround gig. In any case, she’d decided regretfully she couldn’t afford the time away from work to go to the concert even though she would have liked to be there for Annie. The girl’s latest flurry of text messages had been bursting with excitement, but also worry because the band still hadn’t found a keyboardist.
Carly tapped her pen on the paper and returned to the problem at hand. Head or heart? If she were her client she would advise herself to follow her head. No one ever got into trouble by choosing the smart course of action. They might not be happy but they would be safe. At the same time, it was impossible to discount the precious memories and sentimental value of Irene’s home.
Her phone rang. It was Sam. Shoot, he wanted her decision.
“You have another offer,” the Realtor said. “It’s over your asking price by fifty thousand dollars.”
“Wow.” Something had to be wrong with this picture. “I suppose they want a quick settlement.”
“No, one hundred and twenty days is fine.”
“What’s the catch?” Carly asked.
“No catch.” Sam paused. “Well, maybe one. The buyer is Finn Farrell. He made the offer over the phone but he says he’ll be in tomorrow to put in a formal offer.”
“Finn,” she repeated in disbelief. He’d just talked her into selling. So he could nab the house for himself? Why? After his disastrous no-show at Rhonda’s there was no way he’d want to go back to Fairhaven to live. Did he think it a good investment? What exactly was he thinking? Why had he made the offer without saying a word to her?
“What should I tell him?” Sam said. “Will you accept? I don’t think you’ll do better.”
“I… I need to talk to him myself,” Carly said. “I’ll get back to you.”
She hung up and immediately called Finn. “What are you doing?”
“I take it Sam contacted you?” he asked. “Financing is assured, there’s no problem there.”
“I’m not worried about that.” Carly noticed he sounded a lot sharper than the other day. “I want to know why you want to buy it.”
“Does it matter?” Finn said. “Isn’t the point that the house won’t be going into the hands of strangers? That’s what’s been bothering you the most, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but I don’t want…” She pinched between her eyes, suddenly struck by a horrible vision of him living there with another woman. “You’re not responsible for what I want.”
“Just say yes and there’ll be one less thing for you to worry about.” When she didn’t reply Finn changed the subject. “I’m going away for a week or ten days. Before I leave, I’ll send you an e-ticket to the RockAround gig. Will you come?”
“Are you going?” Carly asked.
“I’m in the band,” Finn said. “So, yeah, I’ll be there.”
Carly blinked. “I didn’t know you’d changed your mind about performing. Annie didn’t mention it.”
“I only decided this morning. I’m flying up to Fairhaven this afternoon to talk to Dingo about it.”
“Finn, it’s wonderful that you’re going to try again but…” Would he let her and everyone else down a third time? To fly across the country, get her hopes up again, only for him to back out at the last minute. She didn’t think she could take the disappointment again.
“Trust me,” he said persuasively. Not just sharper but irrepressible. “You’ve always believed in me. Believe in me one more time. Because now I finally believe in myself. It’s going to be okay.”
“The concert is only two weeks away,” she protested. “How are you going to get ready in such a short time?”
“I’ve found an intensive therapy—or rather, Tom found it—that apparently works miracles,” he said. “Give me one more chance. In fact, marry me, Carly. I love you. We’ll live on South Hill and fill that big old house with babies, just like Irene wanted us to.”
“Now I know you’re crazy.” She laughed even though she wanted to curse and her heart did backflips at talk of love and marriage. Typical Finn, making her amused and flustered all at the same time. What was she supposed to say to such an off-the-cuff proposal? She wouldn’t dignify it with an answer of any kind. “No one proposes over the phone.”
“I’d rather do it in person but that isn’t possible right now. I’ll ask you again at the concert.”
“I’m not going to the concert,” she said. “I have too much work to do.”
“It’s a holiday long weekend.”
“I need to get on top of things.”
“Please, Carly,” Finn said, his voice becoming husky. He paused a beat. “The lightbulb wants to change.”
Carly almost said yes, but she forced herself to keep silent instead. She wished him good luck and then called Sam back to tell him she needed time to think about Finn’s offer. If she lost the other offer, so be it, but she wasn’t saying yes to Finn until she was confident his words were genuine. She would give him a couple of days and then talk to him again when he wasn’t in such a strange mood.
* * *
FINN FLEW UP to Seattle that afternoon and rented a car for the drive to Fairhaven. Time was running out and he had a lot of talking to do before he headed to the medical center. He was nervous about that, but he’d made a commitment to Carly. If he let her down again there would be no coming back from that. Nothing was more important to him than her, not even the concert. He had to prove to her he was serious about changing.
His first stop was Sam’s Realty with a check for the deposit on the house. The money wasn’t necessary until Carly accepted his offer but Finn wouldn’t be available when—if—she did accept so he gave it to Sam to hold in trust. Finn signed some papers, shook hands and headed across town.
He parked in front of his parents’ house. It was after 5:00 p.m.; his mom would be home from work. Still, he didn’t move. He could feel the lick of fear breathing down his neck. Then he squared his shoulders. There was no going around this.
Slowly he got out of the car and walked up the path to the front steps. He knocked and waited, shifting from one croc-skin boot to the other.
The door opened. Nora crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you doing here?”
He cleared his throat. “I’ve come to ask your advice on the direction of my musical career.”
“Why would you want my advice when you stopped listening to me years ago?”
“I can’t guarantee I’ll follow it,” he conceded. “But I’d like to hear what you have to say.” He paused. “And I want to apologize.”
Nora’s expression remained impassive and for one horrible moment he was afraid she would turn him away. Finally she said, “Come in.”
She led the way into the living room where the TV was tuned to a sitcom. She switched it off in the midst of a burst of canned laughter. “Your father’s bowling tonight. Do you want something to drink?”
“No, thanks.” Instead of sitting Finn prowled the room. Family photos were arranged on the top of the upright piano in the corner. Joe in his navy uniform, his mom and dad dressed up for some function—in recent years judging by his dad’s gray hair. His aunt and uncle and their now adult children. The only photo of Finn was his high school graduation picture. Everyone had grown up, it seemed, except for him.
He turned to Nora, who stood, hands clasped, waiting for him to settle. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I’m sorry for all the worry I caused you.” His voice broke. “For the embarrassment.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said, almost crossly and touched a fingertip to her eye. “Dingo told us about your problem after the open mike. Oh, Finn, why didn’t you ever say anything?”
He hunched one shoulder. “We weren’t talking to each other.”
“We’re talking now. Sit down and tell me what’s going on with you.”
“I’m going to go for it, with the band.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Songwriting is satisfying, being a studio musician pays the bills, and the Molto gig—if I got it—would be a career highlight. But none of those things give me the excitement I get from performing. From what I remember of that, anyway.”
Nora’s brow wrinkled as she studied him. “I take it you’ve figured out how to get over your stage fright?”
“Anxiety. Yes, I have,” he said. “There’s a guy in LA who cures some of the toughest cases using virtual reality therapy. I’m booked in for my first session with him tomorrow.”
“I hope it works for you,” Nora said. “Does Dingo even want you in his band after what happened at the café?”
“He’s the next person I need to see, to find that out.” Finn paused. This bit coming was the most important… “Back in high school, Dingo introduced me to rock music but I started our band. I want it back, to guide it, steer it to where I know it can go. What I can’t decide is whether to tell Dingo before the RockAround gig or afterward.”
“It’s his band now,” Nora said. “You can’t dip out for twelve years and then expect him to just hand it over. At this point, you’re riding on his coattails.”
“I get that,” Finn acknowledged. “But if I’m going to go into performing wholeheartedly then I want to start with a bang.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Finn. This is something you’ve got to work out with Dingo.”
“Let’s look at it from another angle,” Finn said. “Which makes a bigger splash on the show bill—Finn Farrell and band, or band with Finn Farrell?”
“What does your agent say?” Nora asked. “He’s the expert.”
“I’m asking what you think,” he said. The dilemma was a no-brainer, really, and his mother would know that, but he was trying to include her in his process. Trying to show her he cared what she thought.
“You should have top billing,” Nora said.
“That’s what I think, too. I hope Dingo will agree.” Finn rose. “Sorry to make this so brief but I don’t have much time. I’ve got to go see him now.”
Nora walked him to the door. “Let me know what happens.”
“I will.” Finn hesitated on the porch. “By the way, I’m buying Irene’s house. Trying to, at least.”
Nora’s eyebrows rose. “Are you going to live there?”
“It depends,” he said. “On Carly.”
“Oh, Finn, don’t get your hopes up,” Nora began.
Finn held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear about how I’m not good enough for her or that I can’t give her the finer things in life. The finest thing in life is love. That, I can give her plenty of.”
“I believe you. But she’s made a life in New York. She’s worked hard and is climbing the ranks in her company. Or so I gather from what she said at dinner at her house. Giving all that up would be a big sacrifice.”
“I know,” he said. “I’ll be sacrificing my comfort zone. I might crash and burn, but at least I’ll know what I’m made of. I want to prove myself worthy of her.”
“Oh, Finn. Of course you’re worthy.” She hugged him, her eyes moist. “I’m sorry, too, honey. I know I was hard on you growing up but I only wanted the best for you. I should have backed off, should have listened to you more.”
He hugged her back. “I’ll make you proud, you’ll see.”
She eased away and smiled through her tears. “I’m already proud.”
How long had he waited to hear that from his mother? Funny. Now that he had, it almost wasn’t important anymore. Oh, he was glad she felt that way and it made him feel good to hear her say it, but the person he was trying to prove himself to was himself. “Thank you.”
* * *
“LET ME GET this straight,” Dingo said, hands on hips, an incredulous look on his long face. “You want to take over leadership of the band, renaming it Finn Farrell and the Dingo Pack.”
“Or something better,” Finn said. “Let’s toss around ideas. I thought it would be good to have your name in there, too.”
Dingo continued to give him a hard stare. “That’s not the issue.”
“I know.” Finn raised his hands, palms out. “I have no right to ask for so much. But it was my band originally,” he reminded him.
“Until you abandoned it and me.”
Finn winced. “Fair enough. But times have changed. I’ve changed.”
“Have you though?” Dingo demanded. “How can I be sure you’ll be onstage when the curtain goes up?”
“All I can say is I’m taking serious steps to work on my issues,” Finn said. “This time I’m not giving up till I’m over it.”
“So the rest of us are what? Your backup group?” Dingo said. “That’s not going to sit well with the guys.”
“You’d all be integral to the sound,” Finn said. “Yes, I’d be the creative driving force but without you all I’m just a guy with a piano who sings.”
“Like Elton John?” Dingo said sardonically. “Because he never made it big.”
“I could go it alone and I will if I have to. But remember what we dreamed of back in high school, you and I fronting a band? I want you as my bandmate. You’re not only the best undiscovered lead guitarist I know, but my oldest friend. Leroy and Billy are both terrific musicians, too. Leith, as well. And Annie…we’ll be lucky to hang on to her once she gets known.
“Speaking of Annie,” Finn went on before his friend could respond. “I want her to have a bigger role. You have to admit she’s got a unique voice.”
“She does,” Dingo conceded. “As for Leith, he’s been wavering about joining the band. If you’re back, I reckon he’ll bow out.”
“That would be too bad but I understand.” Finn paused before moving on. “I also want the band to play original music. No group makes it big unless they’ve got their own sound. I’ve got a backlog of my songs we can start with, but I’m open to collaborating.”
Dingo paced away and back, head down. “Anything else?”
Finn had asked Tom’s advice on the business angle. “I want to rebrand, get professional marketing and publicity, update our sound and look.”
“Sounds expensive,” Dingo said. “We’re not making the bucks to warrant that kind of outlay.”
“We will,” Finn said. “I’m positive we’ll recoup our costs and more.”
“All that—if it happens—is in the future,” Dingo said. “We don’t have time to do all that marketing let alone learn new numbers before the RockAround concert.”
“No, we’ll still have to do some covers and the marketing push will have to wait a bit,” Finn conceded. “There’s one song of mine I’d particularly like to do, though. We’ll work on that and as many others as we can nail before the gig.”
“I don’t know,” Dingo said. “Even if we do start making a living from our music down the track, right now the guys can’t afford to quit their day jobs. Leroy and I have families.”
“It’s a risk, no question,” Finn said. “But I’m willing to throw everything I’ve got into this. I’ll use my savings to finance the band for the rest of the summer. I’ll sell my house in LA if I have to.” Dingo’s eyebrows rose and Finn went on, “I’m serious. We’ll record, we’ll tour, we’ll work our butts off. There are no guarantees but I’m willing to back myself. And us.”
Dingo stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head as if trying to absorb everything. “Just to be absolutely clear, you’re asking me to give up leadership of my band. And to hand over creative control and play second fiddle to get you onboard?”
“I admit, it’s a lot to ask.” Some of the fizz went out of his enthusiasm. Dingo had lost trust in him and he could hardly blame him. Still he gave it one last pitch. “I’m in this for the long haul, not just for the RockAround gig or other one-off events. What do you say? Take this leap of faith with me?”
There was a long silence. Then Dingo threw up his hands. “Why not? Let someone else carry the can for a while.”
“Is that a yes?” Finn said, not quite believing.
“I can’t speak for the other guys. I reckon they’ll want to wait and see how the RockAround gig goes,” Dingo said. “They don’t know you and your music the way I do. But…” He shrugged. “We’ve been struggling for years, eking out a living and frustrated because we know we could do better. If we do all right in Seattle I think they’ll go for it.”
“Sure you’re not upset at me getting top billing?” Finn said.
“I’ll be upset if you’re a no-show in two weeks time. As to the other…” Dingo shrugged. “You have a higher profile, a platform, if you like. And there’s something different about you now. I don’t quite know what it is but I’m willing to go out on a limb for you. Who knows, with you headlining the band we might go all the way to the top.”
“That,” Finn said, embracing his friend, “is my master plan.”