“I’m not so sure you should sell it,” his manager broke into Ethan’s number just when he was getting to the big finish. “You got another option besides sell it?”
“Well, I mean…my family wants me to stay here and turn it into a honky-tonk, but?—”
“Turn it into a honky-tonk?” Angelo said. “Huh. A honky-tonk.”
“Yeah, but?—”
“Is it big enough to bring in decent acts?”
“It could be,” he said. “If we knocked out a wall, and…But that’s not what I?—”
“This sounds like the perfect thing, Ethan. You realize that? The solution to your problem is right in your hands.”
“No, Ang. It’s not.”
“First things first,” Ang said, brushing off Ethan’s denial like a pesky gnat. “You need to make a statement for the press to respond to this hit piece. Make a video, okay? Disown your old man, disclaim the inheritance, and talk about your adopted family being the only one you’ve ever known, yada, yada, blah, blah. You got me? Then say you need to take some down time to process what’s happened. Can you do that for me? On video?”
“I…yeah, I can do that, sure.”
“Good. That’s first. You make that video on your phone or whatever, and you send it to me. I’ll do the rest. And then you go focus on that honky-tonk of yours. You want to sell it later, fine. But listen to me, Ethan. You shouldn’t be on the road for a while, especially not with an album due. Besides, a person in anguish wouldn’t be out playing gigs, and you gotta show some anguish to overcome the stories already out there.”
“But they’re lies.”
“First lie to go viral wins. How many times have you heard me say that?”
Ethan sighed and didn’t answer.
“We can overwhelm the bad press with your genuine, down-home wholesomeness. You ain’t faking that. I know fakes, and you’re no fake. I know what I’m talking about. Home is the best place for you right now. And saving that fabric-of-Quale cantina?—”
“Quinn, not Quale, and it’s in Mad Bull’s Bend, not Quinn.”
“—that small-town cantina you’ve written songs about and somehow, through a twist of fate, wound up owning, is the best thing you could be working on. I couldn’t make up a better project for you. Saving a beloved small-town business. Helping out an owner who has to retire after a heart attack. Expanding to employ more locals, boosting the Quale economy.”
Ethan closed his eyes, lowered his head. “I don’t know.”
“Yeah, well, you can’t be expected to know everything, son. That’s my job. Besides, you just found out the man who killed your mother died in prison. And he happened to be your father. You most likely do need some down time, whether you even know it or not. It’d be harder to believe you didn’t. So take it. Meanwhile, I’ll work on turning this whole situation to our advantage.”
“How in tarnation are you fixin’ to do that?”
“It’s my job to figure that out. You make me that video. Other than that, you don’t talk to anybody. No interviews. Stay off social media until I tell you otherwise. Focus on that cantina. Bask in that wholesome hometown of yours for a while. Consider it a vacation.”
“How long a vacation?”
“Eight, ten, twelve weeks. You trust me, right?”
He closed his eyes. “I do trust you, Angelo.” With good reason. Ang was an important, successful entertainment manager, and Ethan was lucky to have him.
“Good. Then do what I tell you. It’s for the best. And shoot me that video. Sooner the better but do a good job. And remember, you need private time to process all this. Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
His manager disconnected without a goodbye, and Ethan figured he was probably already placing another call. He put his phone down. Great. Now he had to stick around home.
And Lily.
He glanced up toward the still open bunkhouse door and realized he’d pissed her off for nothing. Hell.
The shower shut off, and he wasn’t in the mood to talk, so he headed out. If he was fixin’ to have a meltdown, he’d prefer it be in private.
