Chapter 41 - Chase Me, Cowboy

I’m thinking of releasing Lenny from his contract.

Standing on the curb, I squint one way, then the other. The sun is sinking on Ballpark, Texas, a little town outside the studio near Houston. It’s hot, but so dry it doesn’t bother me too much beyond the trickle of sweat down my back.

Marion won’t like it, but I’m starting to realize I don’t have the patience for difficult clients. But it’s not just that he’s difficult. I’ve noticed he has a lot of bad relationships with other people; he causes fights where there shouldn’t be fights.

On a photoshoot set the other day, I came around the corner and caught him berating the woman assigned to help keep him on schedule. Worse, she worked for us at ITA, not for him. He cussed out one of my people. That bothered me the most. And it’ll bother Marion, too.

My patience is wearing thin. All I want to do is go home to Maine. Or better yet, fly to Wyoming and see Serena.

My phone rings. Startled, I blink and give my head a shake, pulling it from my pocket.

Serena.

Immediately, I swipe and put it to my ear. “Hey, baby. You alright?”

“Yeah,” she says breathlessly.

Silence. I wait, but she doesn’t continue.

“Something wrong?” I press.

“So, I wrote a song,” she says.

“Okay?”

“And I posted it online, and I woke up to a lot of views. Like a lot, more than I’ve ever had. And then, I got this email, but I can’t tell whether it’s real.”

My stomach dives. It’s not unheard of in the age of social media for a small artist to blow up and agents and production companies to pounce on it. In fact, it’s becoming more common. But it’s still a messy situation because a lot of the first wave of interest comes from people she wouldn’t want on her team.

“Okay, was it an agent?”

“An agency, I think,” she whispers.

“Screenshot the email and send it to me.”

I pull the phone from my ear, putting her on speaker. It takes a second before it appears on my phone, and I click into it to examine it closer.

Well, I’ll be damned. It’s from Jenna at MET.

“It’s real,” I say.

She inhales sharply. “What do I do?”

I put the phone back to my ear, as if somebody’s listening in on this empty street. “You should take the meeting.”

“Okay, but…then what? What do I say?” She’s panicking a little bit.

“It’s fine,” I say, keeping my voice soothing. “Jenna is good people. MET is a newer agency, but they’ve signed some talented indie voices and done good work for them. It’s not like ITA in terms of size, but you’d get more individualized attention, and they still have great connections. It’s actually…a really solid choice for a newer musician.”

She sniffs.

“Hey, baby, what’s wrong?” I say. “This is a good thing.”

“I know…but I’m overwhelmed.”

I pause, thinking this through. I’m in a weird spot right now because I’m not her agent, I’m not her boyfriend—not her anything. But I still feel incredibly responsible for what happened. Not to mention, I care deeply. However, I’m still an agent. If I call Jenna, she’s gonna think she tried to poach Serena by accident, and I’ll have to be upfront about what she is to me.

Still, I’m willing to do it.

“Let me call Jenna,” I say. “Get a feel for what they want.”

“Okay, that would be good,” she whispers.

“But I do want to make clear that I’m doing this as a friend,” I say. “I’m not your agent in any capacity.”

She’s quiet. Finally: “My friend?”

“You have another word for it?”

“No, sorry,” she amends quickly. “Go call Jenna, I’m fine. Thank you, I appreciate it.”

“I’ll call you back.”

She hangs up. It’s warmer than I initially thought, I need to go sit in my truck and turn the air on. Pacing down the street toward the lot where I parked, I scroll through my contacts before I locate Jenna Holland. We worked together on a client collaboration a few years ago. Jenna is a young, hungry agent with a great track record already. I was impressed by her, and also impressed by the structure of MET. It’s a woman-owned agency that primarily takes on women, which would be a great fit for Serena, who’s so green.

I hit the call button and climb into my truck.

“Jamie Iron?” she chirrups.

“Hey, Jenna, sorry to call out of the blue,” I say, turning on the air and leaning back, releasing the seat so I can stretch my legs.

“You’re good, I can talk,” she says brightly, her crisp British accent echoing. “I’m just heading out of work, in the lift, so don’t be shocked if the signal cuts out.”

“I appreciate that. I’m calling about Serena Maxwell.”

“Serena—Oh, shit. Is she your client?”

“No, no, she’s not.”

Silence.

“Then…what’s going on?”

I clear my throat. “I know her. She asked me to make sure the inquiry was legit.”

“Well, yes, it is,” she says, heels clacking in the background. “I actually saw one of her covers a few weeks ago. I’d been keeping an eye on her, then she had a video blow up a little and I wanted to at least speak with her. Be the first through the door. How do you know her?”

I click my tongue, thinking. “It’s sort of a horizontal relationship.”

“A what?”

“Like, we’re not often…vertical.”

What am I saying? I don’t have the words to describe what Serena and I have become. We’re not dating, not boyfriend and girlfriend, not partners.

“You’re sleeping with her,” Jenna gasps. “Oh, Lord.”

“She’s actually Coen’s soon-to-be sister-in-law. So I knew her personally before that.”

“Wait… What? She’s related to Coen?”

“Yeah, that’s how I met her.”

Jenna tsks lightly. “I’ve never known you to be messy, Jamie.”

“I’m not trying to make a habit of it,” I say. “She might be my exception to the rule.”

“Interesting,” she says.

I wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t.

“So what are your plans for her,” I ask.

“You saying that as her agent?” There’s a little spice to that question.

“I’m saying it as someone who cares about her,” I say firmly.

That’s the first time I’ve admitted it out loud. It rings out in the brief stillness. I care. I care about her. She makes everything feel better, like I’m not searching for the next best thing anymore without knowing what it looks like. That’s a peace I never thought I’d get.

“Well, I was planning on bringing her out to the studio, work with her a bit, see if we’re a good fit,” says Jenna.

“Where at?”

“New Haven.”

It’s the agency’s studio outside Nashville, situated at the edge of a lake on a restored farm. I’ve been there once, just on behalf of a client renting the space. It’s a beautiful, placid piece of land.

“Alright,” I say. “Let me give you her number and go ahead and have you call her. She spoke to me about the email this morning, so she’ll be waiting on you or me.”

“You want to call her?”

“No can do, as you said, I’m not her agent.”

We talk for a minute longer, then I hang up. A car rolls by, then another. I’m not thinking hard, just letting myself ruminate on everything.

My chest is lighter than air.

This is my opening. I need to take it.

But I can’t do that today, or tomorrow. Maybe not even next week. Because this is her moment, and I won’t overshadow that. I’m gonna hold off and call Jenna, see where things sit after their visit. Then, once she’s settled, I’m gonna pay Serena a visit and see whether she’s still interested in being more than friends.