“Oh, whatever, come on, Ada. You’re just jealous that something good is happening to me for once. Can’t you just let me enjoy this? Writing for your blog, all the attention this week...I haven’t felt this happy in a very long time. Maybe ever. This might be bullshit in the end but it’s my bullshit and it makes me think there might be a place for me in this crazy world.”
She rolled her eyes but her face softened. “Fine. Whatever makes you happy. I think you should Google him first, though, just in case. See if he’s on the America’s Most Wanted list.”
That made sense. I went to Google and typed in his name.
A lot of pages came up. They were all connected in some form or another to his work on the webcast. Nothing too interesting.
“Well, that’s a good sign,” said Ada.
I nodded, then typed in Declan instead of Dex.
Another set of pages came up. I clicked on one that said “Funkiest band to rock New Jersey,” thinking it must be another Declan Foray.
It was an online magazine article about a lounge act called Sin Sing Sinatra. The band, consisting of a keyboardist, bassist, drummer and a singer (who was called Declan Foray), was mildly successful playing small clubs and bars on the East Coast. They were described as “Rocker Crooners” and did hip, lounge-y covers of rock songs. The singer, Declan, was described as having a “smooth, yet formidable voice” and he was someone to watch for. I clicked to the next page and saw a picture of Dex, my Dex (I guess you could call him that), singing into an old-fashioned mic.
His face was thinner and the moustache was gone, but it was definitely him. His floppy dark hair was more subdued and a white suit adorned his body. He looked like as total showboater. He also looked very young. I looked up at the URL to see the date: 03/09/02. He would have been around my age.
“So he’s a singer, too?” Ada pondered.
“I guess so. At least he used to be.”
“Maybe he changed his name because he sucked.”
I glared at her. “Dex is short for Declan. Somehow. And it says here that they were the opposite of suck.”
“Then how come I’ve never heard of them before?”
“A, you’ve barely heard of any of the best bands. You blindly believe that talent is what the radio tells you. And B, there are tons of excellent bands, groups, singers, whatevers out there who do quite well for themselves despite never becoming well known.”
“Oh, whatever. He’s a cameraman now, not a singer, so he failed somewhere along the way. This conversation is boring me now. Good luck with your thing.”
Ada turned on her heel and left my room, slamming the door behind her. Come in quietly, leave loudly.
I shook my head at her teenage dramatics and turned my attention back to the screen. It didn’t really matter to me whether Dex was a singer or not. But I couldn’t help but be even more intrigued. I had a huge respect for all musicians; they were sort of my weak spot. I could barely write notes, my songs were terrible and though I had heard I had a strong and pleasant singing voice, it wasn’t anything to make a career of.
Curious, I started cruising torrent sites trying to see if I could find any recordings of Sin Sing Sinatra or Declan Foray. I found nothing and eventually fell asleep on my keyboard.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I woke up on Friday morning a few minutes before my alarm went off. I tried to remember if I had any dreams during the night and I was coming up blank. Then I remembered the phone call...Dex...the webcast...Google. Everything. Could that have been a dream?
I quickly looked onto my bedside table and saw the piece of paper with his name and number scrawled on it. It was definitely no dream then. Dex was real; the proposition was real. And I knew in the deepest recesses of my being I had to be a part of it, no matter what.
Grabbing my phone, I quickly dialed his number, ignoring the fact that it was early in the morning and he might be sleeping. I was afraid that the longer I waited, the more likely he would be to change his mind.
With each unanswered ring my nerves tightened sharply. All these doubts started to flood my brain: What if he doesn’t remember? What if he had changed his mind? What if his boss, Jimmy Kwan, changed his mind? What if I’m waking him up and it’ll piss him off so much that he’ll cancel?
That last thought scared me most of all. I was entertaining the idea of hanging up when he answered.
“Hello?” Though it sounded groggy, there was no mistaking that voice. My heart skipped a beat.
“Uh, hi, Dex. This is Perry calling,” I said as brightly as possible. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”
“Who?”
My insides swirled. “Perry. Palomino. We spoke yesterday about my blog. The potential webcast. I met you in the lighthouse…”
“I’m sorry, I was absolutely wasted yesterday. I don’t remember talking to anyone about anything. What did you say your name was again?”
I could not breathe. “Um, Perry.”
I was pretty sure he could hear the sadness in my voice.
“Perry,” he repeated. I could almost hear him running my name through his head. “That’s an unusual name. I guess you would know that. Most people think of Matthew Perry, I bet. Or Perry Mason.”
“Yeah…” I trailed off.
“But there’s always Peri Gilpin. You know, Roz from Frasier. She was a real firecracker, that Roz. I would have married that woman, you know, if she was real and didn’t have that horrible ‘90s hair.”
My head started to reel.
“It’s Swedish,” I managed to say.
“Aha!” he exclaimed. “That would explain your mother’s accent.”
“You remember talking to my mother?”
“Of course I do. Do you think I’m a tard?”
Yes, I thought. Big time.
“Oh,” he continued, “you must not get that I’m pulling your leg. You know, about being wasted last night. And the whole not remembering thing.”
What the hell was this guy on and so early at that?
“Oh kiddo, you really shouldn’t be so gullible.”
“I’m not gullible,” I said defensively. “I’m just not used to dealing with crazy people.”
Silence. Then a small, awkward laugh from his end. “Well, I am sorry if I misled you, Miss Palomino. I have, in fact, been waiting for your call.”