Page 154 of My UnTrue Love
“Which is a lie.”
“No! Not at all.”
Bill finally glanced his way, his gaze skeptical.
“Wedoknow each other.” Alan persisted. “Kind of. I was the first person to ever interview you, as a matter of fact. About four years ago.”
Bill blinked at him with zero recognition. Alan was literally an anthropomorphized weasel. Most people tended to recall his brown fur and wire-rim glasses. Bill seemed to be blanking or he just didn’t care.
“We met in Nottingham? At a wedding?” Every sentence Alan uttered came out as a question. “Maid Marion had brought you in to perform at her reception? You weren’t too happy. You told me she’d basically kidnapped you.”
Bill slowly nodded, as if recalling that day. The castle exploding had been pretty memorable.
“At the time, I worked forNottingham’s Naughtiest News.” Alan went on, encouraged that Bill was at least listening. “Always hunting for a celebrity scoop, you know? I’d hoped you were some new, up-and-coming musician. Iaskedyou if you were, as a matter of fact, but you told me no. You told me that you weren’t a singer.”
“‘Cause I wasn’t a singer, back then.”
Alan sensed an opening for an insightful interview question. He adopted a professional tone. “What changed tomakeyou a singer?”
“Started to sing.”
Alan’s shoulders slumped forward.
He had no idea how to make this article better than the hundreds of boring, uninformative stories other reporters had written about Bill over the last few years. Short, bland, and unobjectionable. Nothing new or special to say. His editors would never publish it. Alan would lose his job and the bank would foreclose on his condo. He was screwed.
His wholelifewas screwed.
There had never been anyone more screwed, except maybe that nobody musician who blew himself up in that swimming pool. Alan forgot his name. Jimmy or something.
“And I met my manager.” Bill went on thoughtfully, oblivious to Alan’s mental doom-spiral into poverty and unemployment. His expression became much more engaged. “Clementine changedeverything.”
Alan’s jaw sagged, shocked out of planning his future as a cautionary tale for other journalists. That remark about his manager was the most revealing thing Pecos Bill had ever said to any reporter.Ever. He scrambled for a follow-up question that would keep the conversation going. “Can I talk to her?” It was the only thing he could think to say.
“Talk to Clem?” Bill’s eyebrows slammed down, as if Alan suddenly posed a mortal threat to everything he held dear. “About what?”
“Whatever she wants to talk about. Anything. Nothing. Life.” Now he was coming up with plenty of words, but none of them seemed to be digging him out of his hole. Bill kept staring at him with predatory intensity. “I’m sorry. I just thought she might have some insights into the music industry or…”
Bill cut him off. “You want to interview Clem?” Tension seemed to ease from his shoulders.
“Yes?” It was another statement delivered as a question.
“Huh.” Bill looked back towards the horses for a long moment. “Clem never gets enough credit. Never wants it.Everythingis because of her, though.” He seemed to be mulling things over in his head. “And she does like to talk.”
Another pause, where Alan was smart enough to stay quiet.
Then, Bill reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his phone. A couple of swipes on the screen and then he was talking to someone on the other end. “Howdy, Miss Clementine. You busy?” His voice was totally different, now. Warm and happy. Like he and his manager were best, best friends.
Was it wrong to pray for an interview? Because Alan was now praying. This was his story. He could already tell.
“Well, a reporter I can tolerate finally showed up and he wants to talk to you.” Bill continued affectionately, a whole new person with his manager. “No, he wants to talk toyou. About all the great work you do. So get your pretty self down to the paddock, lickity-split.”
Alan’s eyebrows rose at the flirting.
“Well, one of us is gonna talk you up to this nosy fella, darlin’. Unless you want him to hearmyversion of our history --like how you singlehandedly drove all my success and how I wouldn’t even be a damn thing without you-- I suggest you… Yes, it is so the truth! You know how important it is for me to ensure that women get their due in this industry.”
Bill’s manager was the force behind his achievements? Now Alanreallywanted to talk to her.
“Now, Clem, I can’t help the way I see things. As an artist, I have to be true to my own memories and feelings and…” Bill smirked. “That’s what I thought. See you in five minutes.” He hung up and went back to watching the horses, his voice losing all of its momentary openness. “Alright, she’s comin’.”
