Page 40 of That Weekend in Paris
He starts over, strumming my original melody, and then segues into some additional of his own.
I listen in amazement that he has added something I’m not sure I would have created myself, but I can hear that his choice is wonderful. “I can certainly understand where you get your guitar genius reputation from.”
“I just try to hear it in my head before I ever pick up the guitar, and you gave me the advantage this morning of creating a beautiful start.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“What were your lyrics, again?” he asks.
I reach for my backpack, starting to pull the notebook out with the paper I had written them on when he says, “No, how about you sing it?”
“Ah, I don’t really sing in front of other people.”
“Oh, come on, let me hear it.” I swallow hard, put the backpack down, and close my eyes, searching for the words. I remember the melody and then turn my back to him, facing the window and the courtyard below. I sing the words softly but manage to get it done. I hold my breath a little until he says, “That was beautiful. Sing it again.”
I turn around and look at him. “Again?”
“Yeah, please.”
I draw in another deep breath and start to turn away when he adds, “And look at me, please.”
I stand for a few moments, my voice frozen in my throat. When I start again, my voice cracks a bit, and then I close my eyes, letting the words come out as if I were alone in my office at home working on a song with no one there to hear me singing. When I’m done, Klein sits there on the edge of the bed staring at me for several long seconds.
“You have a beautiful voice, Dillon.”
“Ah, no. That’s not my gift. The words, if I have a gift, they would be it.”
“Your voice is a gift, too. Can I ask why you didn’t go for your own solo career?”
I laugh a short laugh and then, “There are some things you learn along the way that you’re just not meant to do.”
“I can’t imagine what would have happened to make you think that.”
“I actually came to Nashville intending to try to make it on my own.”
“So, what happened?” he asks.
“When I first started meeting with Josh and playing my songs for him, he loved the songs themselves, but he thought I would have a hard time competing with the other female artists who were currently on their way up.”
“With your voice and songwriting talent, why on earth would he have thought that?”
“I guess it was his professional opinion,” I say.
“Hmm. Sounds to me like there was something else affecting his decision-making.”
“Like what?”
“Maybe he didn’t want you to outshine him,” Klein says.
“Josh is successful and was when I met him.”
“So there wouldn’t be any logic in what I say. But it does make me wonder because when I hear you sing, and I know what kind of songs you write, it’s only logical to me that you would have performed many of them yourself.”
“It’s nice to hear. I can’t deny that, but I think my own lack of self-confidence is why I decided not to pursue a career as an artist. I don’t think I have what it takes to get up in front of audiences the way you do. I’m too self-critical, too self-aware. I think it’s worked for me to hide behind the pen, write the songs, and let someone else perform them.”
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that,” Klein says. “You’ve made an incredible career for yourself, but you know, it’s not too late to try the other part of it, too.”
“It’s too late for me. The female artists these days are getting younger and younger, and I’m getting older.”
