Page 53 of The Girl with No Name
I shift uncomfortably. “I don’t know. I guess I assumed she would say no. I kind of floated the idea, and she talked about how great it is that we’re both so independent. I don’t want to be needy.”
“But isn’t that what a relationship is? Like, it’s okay to be a little needy in a relationship. You need the other person. And they need you. You sacrifice your full independence for the good of the partnership. Right?”
“I don’t know about that. Aren’t modern relationships all about being independent?”
She laughs. “If you want to be independent, why be in a relationship?”
“You’re not totally wrong. But we’re long distance. It’s a phase, that’s all.”
“And she’s been at grad school in California all year. So question: how do you…function?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I assume you’re a healthy twenty-seven-year-old male, and that includes a healthy sex drive.”
“That’s a little personal.”
“Yeah, it is. But I feel like you never talk about these things.”
Interrupting our moment, Dunn pops onto the rooftop with a red Solo cup.
“I thought I’d find you guys up here!” he booms. “Had a seventh sense.”
“Are you…drinking?” I ask.
“Little hair of the cat never hurt anyone. Knowing how to find free beer is the sixth sense, in case you were wondering.”
“Hair of the cat? Do mean hair of the dog?” I ask.
“Cat, dog, tomato, to-mah-to, Zach Bryan, Zac Brown, Randy Brown. Okay, those last three are very different. Look—are we not partying today? It’s the big day!”
Just then, Randy, the hotel clerk who checked us in yesterday, appears on the roof, presumably for his cigarette break, judging by the pack of Marlboros in his hand. “Oh, didn’t mean to interrupt. Are y’all having a band rehearsal?”
“Yes, actually,” Dunn says confidently.
“Can I hear a song?” Randy asks.
“Sorry. He’s trying to keep the voice limber for today,” Dunn says smoothly. “We don’t want to overdo it.”
“Oh, right. Of course. Are you his voice coach, too? Just one song won’t hurt. I insist.”
“Well, ah…”
Maybe it’s the fact that he drank more than a football team last night, but the normally unflappable Dunn is caught off guard.
“You have to play for the help. That’s part of our policy,” Randy says snidely. “Maybe you didn’t read it?” He has a little twinkle in his eye, and the subtext is clear.I’m on to the little game you’re playing here.“Anonymously, of course,” he adds.
“Well, twist my arm and color me blue,” I say, tuning my guitar. “One little song can’t hurt.” This is make or break. I’ve got to make it believable that one of my songs could be played at a mostly country festival. And I’ve got to sound like the Red Lemons.
“So, this is a new one,” I tell him after a moment. “Hasn’t even been recorded. It’s called, ‘She Don’t Know Where John Prine Grew Up’.” I close my eyes and start strumming away.
If you want to meet a good woman
You better move out to the city
City livin’ is not for me
But the girls here are so pretty