Page 53 of My UnTrue Love
“No passion?” He repeated, stunned by her blunt analysis. Clementine had never told him something like that before. She always liked his music. “What does that mean?”
“It’s got no,” she shrugged expansively, “ka-pow! You know? Nothing that makes it special. Nothing that transports you, or touches you, or resonates with real honesty. And beauty. And life.”
“Noka-pow.” Bill chimed in.
“Exactly.” Clementine beamed, as if Bill was incredibly insightful.
“Rosalee says it’s the best song I ever wrote.” Johnny snapped, shaken and on the defensive.
Bill smirked without moving his lips.
“You’re not just singing it?” Clementine seemed confused. “Youwrotethis?”
“Of course I wrote it!”
“Um…” She still looked surprised. “Well, the introduction has some very nice moments. It’s slightly too long, but…”
“Why did you think someone else wrote it?” He interrupted.
“Um…” Clementine glanced up at Bill again, as if he might be able to sugarcoat the answer.
Bill adopted an oh-so-serious expression. “It’s gota lotof potential, John.”
Clem seized onto that platitude, missing the coyote’s mocking glee. “Yes! So much potential. You’re onto something very… unusual.”
“It’ssophisticated!” Johnny snapped. “Maybe you’re just not getting that, because you’re not used to it. Listen again.”
“Oh, I don’t think hearing it more’ll help none.” Bill lamented.
“Please don’t misunderstand.” Clem could obviously tell Johnny was upset and wanted to soothe him. (Which was how any girlshouldbe.) “I see how you said you were going for a new audience with that sound. It’sverynew.”
“Sophisticated.” Bill added without a drop of sincerity.
“You’ll get there, Johnny. You just need to find some genuine passion.” Clem perked up for all the wrong reasons. “Bill has massive amounts of passion. It’s one of his greatest assets as an artist. Do you want to brainstorm some ideas with him?”
Bill couldn’t have looked more helpful.
“Why did you think someone else wrote this song?” Johnny repeated through his teeth, not willing to let it go.
She chewed her lower lip. “Honestly? It just doesn’t sound like your work. You usually have so much more to sayin your lyrics. This one is… kind of… justthere.” Clementine reached for a peanut, as if she was uncomfortable and wanted to do something with her hands.
“Salt.” Bill reminded her.
The coyote paid more attention to Clementine’s health than she did. Johnny had noticed that before. Bill would monitor her salt intake to the teeny-tiniest grain, ensure she took her pills on time, and hover over her whenever she seemed to be stressed. The medical-magic complications that affected her weren’tthatbig a deal, but the coyote thought he was a damn witch-practitioner.
She made a face at Bill and dropped the peanut back into the bowl. “I’ll just eat it when you’re not around.”
“Oh, I’m always lurking about someplace.” Bill brushed one of her unruly curls back from her cheek. “Ready, darlin’? We got stuff to do.”
Johnny flashed him a hate-filled look. “You’rethe ‘artist’ she’s working with?” Ah-ha! Now he got the coyote’s game. Bill was trying to steal Clem away to further his career. “She works withme. It’s always been Johnny and Clementine.”
“Until you fired her.” Bill reminded him with casual finality.
Johnny shook his head, because that wasn’t at all how it had gone. “Clem just transitioned into an advisory role, outside the day-to-day grind of the band. We both thought it was for the best. She’s still going to help me with my new songs.”
“I don’t have time, Johnny. Bill has a show tonight.”
“Bill’s playing here?” Johnny looked around the seedy interior of the Lone Prairie and sniffed. “Yeah, this seems abouthis level. Dinah wouldn’t let him near the stage at The Kitchen, I assume.”
