Beat

To make matters worse, I have to get through a packed day at work, which includes an hour of one-on-one coaching with Fly

My entire life has been spent around musicians. Famous, infamous—legends, even—I stopped getting anxious around them years ago. But something about Fly

The first step in assessing a singer’s vocal health is to observe. I ask the artist to recite the words to the song they last sang so I can examine their vocal posture during normal speech and inflection.

“Just a verse is fine. I want to see how you’re filtering laryngeally generated sound up through your vocal tract.”

Fly

The words are vaguely familiar. “Is that from one of your songs?”

“Nope.” He offers nothing more.

“It’s familiar, but I can’t place it. Who sings it?”

“Olaf.”

“Olaf?”

He smiles. “It’s from the Frozen soundtrack.”

“That’s the last song you sang?”

“Sang it three times just this morning.”

“Disney fanatic?”

“My niece, Laney, loves it.”

Earrings, rings, leather tied around his wrists, tatted skin, scruff on his face, hair a sexy mess—and sings Disney songs to his niece. The inside of this man may just be as beautiful as the outside.

“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. How old is she?”

“Four.”

“Does she know her uncle is a rockstar?”

“Definitely not. Did you know your parents were rockstars?”

I laugh at the notion. “Definitely not. My dad was a total goofball.”

“Well, I’m sure that’s how Laney feels. I’m the uncle who lets her eat crap and go out in her pajamas. She jumps up and down when I enter a room, but it’s basically because I bribe her to think I’m cool.”

“Sounds more like she thinks you’re cool because she knows the real you.”

“Did you think your dad was cool?”

“Not until I was an adult. I remember this one time, I must have been about twelve, we were walking down the street and this woman ran up to him and asked him for his autograph. She whipped open her shirt, right there on the street, for him to sign her boob and she wasn’t wearing a bra.”

“What did your dad do?”

“He pulled her shirt closed and told her to have some respect for his daughter. I thought the woman had to have escaped from a mental institution to do that to my dad. I mean, he was just Dad.”

“You saw him for who he really was. Everyone else saw the image they wanted to see. The hard part of fame is remembering which expectation you need to live up to. It’s easier to do what the fans expect. Living up to the Laney standard is much harder.”

“Legions of women would be devastated if they knew your heart was already taken. Laney is a lucky girl.”

“I’m saving room for one more in there, don’t worry.” He winks. And all I can think is that that girl is damn lucky, and part of me wishes it was with a capital L.

Getting through Fly

“So. Give it to me straight. What am I doing wrong?”

Ummm…absolutely nothing from what I can see. Everything was perfect. Don’t change a thing. Shit. “Could you do it again? Maybe a different song, one you haven’t sung in a while. So the sounds are less familiar to your body. Sometimes that can give me a different view.” At least I make it sound like a real thing when the words come out.

He sings again, and this time I force myself to observe. “Hmm…your posture is great. Most people have a tendency to favor one side of their neck, which makes them tilt a bit when they speak, and it becomes magnified when they sing, which puts strain on the muscles around the vocal cords. Your alignment is perfect.”

“Thank you, it goes with the rest of my perfectness,” he says with a teasing arrogance that, from the little I know about him, I know isn’t real.

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“You can’t now tell me I’m not perfect. I was already basking in the glow.”

“Actually, it was perfect…but almost a little too perfect. Which makes me think you don’t usually stand this way when you sing.”

“It isn’t the way I normally sing. On stage, I usually have a guitar over my shoulder. Even if I’m not playing it, it’s there.”

“Well, I need to see you holding your instrument to assess you fully, then.”

Fly

“The guitar. I’d need to see you holding the guitar.”

“That’s a shame.” He shrugs, the playful smile still on his face. “But okay. It’s your call. Whatever instrument you want to see me hold is fine with me.”

“How big of you.”

“So now we’re talking about the other instrument again?”

I roll my eyes, although this conversation is having more of an effect on me than I let on.

It’s after six when we finish, yet it feels more like fifteen minutes and not two hours that have passed. “I have to run. I’m helping out Avery at Lucky’s tonight. She’s not having much success finding a waitress.”

“Maybe I’ll stop by tonight with some of the guys from the band. If that’s all right?”

“I’m sure Avery would be excited if you came. The place will be buzzing with In Like Fly

Fly

Chapter Nine

Lucky—

Nine years earlier,

age sixteen

“You excited, princess?” Dad pops a square of the Hershey’s Special Dark we share every day into his mouth.

“I can’t wait. I haven’t seen her in six months.”

Dad’s face falters for a fraction of a second, but then he smiles. “I was talking about getting on stage this afternoon.”

“Oh. Yeah. That too, Dad.”

“You nervous?”

I’m not really sure if he’s asking about Mom or singing this time, so I give an answer that I think will satisfy him for both. “A little.” The truth is, I’m nervous about seeing Mom again. I’m not sure why. I wasn’t even nervous about singing on stage at Lucky’s for the first time, until Dad told me Mom was coming to watch. Then my palms started to sweat when I thought about performing—in front of Iris Nicks.

“You’re going to be great. You were born to be on a stage. I wish I had half the talent you do.” Dad kisses my forehead.

I’ve sung in front of crowds before. A few months ago, the school talent show was sold out when I sang—every seat filled with kids I’d have to see at school the next day, yet I didn’t hesitate when I walked out on stage. I remember standing behind the curtain, watching the Massey twins do their gymnastics routine while I waited for my turn. My eyes sca