Page 47 of Love Is a War Song

I slept fitfully on the red-eye, missing Lucas the entire time.

Worried that I had failed them all and Lottie would lose our entire family legacy.

Since my outburst in the car, my mother had kept unusually quiet.

It was hard for me to understand how she could feel such apathy for her family home— our family home.

Grand Records released my music video while I was on the flight, fast sleep.

The response I had seen online was still divided.

I had not seen the fully edited and polished cut prior to my exile.

It looked phenomenal. The choreography, the makeup.

I hardly recognized myself. The dancers in loincloths were ridiculous, but it worked for the song.

Thinking of Lucas watching it made me smile, knowing the rant he would go off on about it.

Somehow, I knew deep down that he would be proud of me and the work I put into it. He just wouldn’t admit it out loud.

Niles was on damage control, and everyone was all-hands-on-deck to make the launch of my song and album in the UK a success.

We had three days of rehearsals lined up in a dance studio to prepare for my Graham Norton performance.

Line dancing didn’t count as staying on top of my dance-and-exercise regimen.

Two male dancers would be joining me. We were doing a simplified version of the choreography from my video.

In addition to the rehearsals, I was expected to make the PR rounds to promote the video and my album.

Niles scheduled a full day of press with podcasters, journalists from papers and magazines, radio DJs, and strategically chosen influencers from TikTok.

The first set of interviews were happening in my hotel suite later this morning.

“Knock knock,” Chelsea said as she poked her head into the bathroom where I was sitting in the chair in front of the vanity.

“Hey.” I motioned for her to come in. My energy was low from all the traveling.

“Isn’t this so exciting! It’s like old times. We told you it would all blow over. Number one in the UK! Don’t tell your mom, but I snuck some champagne in my bag so we can toast to your success.”

“We can save the champagne for another time. I have so many things to catch you up on.”

“Oh, that makes sense. Yeah, of course, we can do a toast another time. So, how was Oklahoma? I hate that we only got to email a couple times.” She set her bag down and took out her makeup palettes and brushes to set up.

How did I answer that question? What had at first felt like a jail sentence ultimately changed my life.

I left my heart there and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get it back.

So as Chelsea pinned my hair back to start priming my face, I gave her an abbreviated version of events.

By the end of it, she dropped her brushes and gave me a huge hug. I almost started crying then and there.

“Have you tried calling Lottie and getting Lucas’s phone number? Surely the cowboy has a cell phone.” She leaned against the counter, my makeup and hair forgotten.

“I’m scared to call Lottie and tell her that I fell for Lucas.”

“He needs to know you drove all over town looking for him to say goodbye. You can’t end it like this.”

“I know.” I groaned and hid my face in my hands.

“Have you ever been in love before?” she asked quietly.

“No. Have you?”

“Once.” She gave a small smile.

“What should I do?”

“I think you finish up everything you have to do here in London, and then get on the first flight back to the States and get your man back.”

“Niles said I could be here for six weeks if everything goes to plan. He wants to kick off a tour here and extend to Europe.”

“They can plan all those logistics without you. You can easily go to Oklahoma and talk to Lucas. You have to.”

I looked at my friend with tears in my eyes.

“I was so worried you’d dump me as a friend the longer I stayed in Broken Arrow,” I confessed. I missed her so much. I needed someone to talk to about my Lucas feelings, to be validated and encouraged. It would have been a lot easier if I had been able to talk to her more while on the ranch.

“It will take a lot more than sporadic emails for me to dump you. Shoot, I stood by you as you wore a loincloth and feather headdress.”

“I never wore a loincloth! What is it with everyone thinking I was in a loincloth!” I threw my hands in the air.

She laughed. “I’ve been seeing these TikTok videos about the Mandela Effect. It’s when everyone is having the same false memory. That must be it.”

“The dancers wore the loincloths,” I grumbled, crossing my arms.

“So do you have a plan? Are you going back?” she asked.

“He said it could never work for people as different as we are to be together.”

“Oh, that’s nonsense.”

“Why haven’t you started? The first journalist is going to be here in an hour, let’s go.

” My mother swooped in, snapping her fingers.

She had on a pencil skirt and cropped blazer with her hair pulled into a sleek low bun.

She was back to being all business. Her presence immediately broke the moment Chelsea and I were having.

“Sorry. What are you wearing today? What’s the vibe you want to go for?” Chelsea asked me.

“Can we shoot for Cindy Crawford from the Pepsi commercial?”

“Oooo, big, bouncy, sexy hair. Let’s do it.”

And she did as I filled her in on more tidbits of my life at the ranch and Lucas. I didn’t share the specific details of the night in the storm cellar, but based on her smug look, she was convinced it was the book she’d given me that had planted sexy-Native-man attraction.

I got used to roughing it at the ranch, but I had to admit that I missed glam. My hair and makeup were perfection. They had to be, because this was my armor to gather courage to face the press that had so easily turned against me.

My mother and Niles hovered about the suite; these interviews could not go wrong. So much was riding on them. Chelsea left after my hair and makeup were done. I’d see her again later, but she didn’t have to sit and listen to the hours of interviews.

I sat in front of the windows looking out over Grosvenor Square park, waiting for the next journalist to enter the room. So far, it had all been iterations of the same question: How does it feel to have the first number one single in the UK as a Native American woman?

There was only one thought that went through my mind: When will I have done enough to earn that place?

I knew my family and some of my culture now, but there was a part of me that never thought I would be worthy of such an accomplishment.

That surely there were better artists out there who were “more” Native, grew up in their communities, spoke their languages, who had never been nor would ever get the opportunities that had led me to this fancy hotel in London talking to reporters.

Lucas was right. I gained this platform and the most important thing I could do with it would be help the community I had grown to love.

I was antsy during the next fifteen-minute interview.

I couldn’t remember the name of the man in front of me.

I answered his questions as if on autopilot while my knee bounced up and down.

Finally, it was over, and he left. I was supposed to get a lunch break before the stylist Niles booked came for my fitting, but I knew what I had to do.

“Niles,” I called after him as he was about to step out.

“Yes, darling?” I had to take a breath and force myself not to roll my eyes. I had most certainly not been his darling while I was in Oklahoma convinced my career was over.

“I have to play you my song ‘Heartbeats.’ I have to record it. I think if we release it as an exclusive song with the digital album, we won’t have to worry about CDs and vinyls that were already printed.”

“Avery, baby, we’ve talked about this. You’re simply not ready to write and have your own song on your album. I’m not saying it’s never going to happen. Just trust us. We know your sound. Look at you, you’re number one right now.”

“Listen to Niles, Avery.” My mother’s voice sounded from the couch on the other end of the room. I was sick and tired of being treated like a child.

“I am listening to Niles, and I am asking Niles to listen to me. I worked on the song while in Oklahoma. The problem was the bridge, and no one here was honest about it, they just said it wasn’t good enough.

But I fixed it, and the song is too good to let you brush it off again.

I’ve never felt this way about a song before. ”

His cell started ringing in his hands.

“Please don’t take that,” I said. I needed to be taken seriously, and it had to start now.

“I have to take this, but that does not mean I’m closing the door to this conversation, just tabling it for now.” He pressed his phone to his ear and walked out of the suite.

I started pacing. I couldn’t fire my label, so I had to convince them to believe in the song like they believed in my ability to make this record.

“Relax, Avery. Just have patience. You’ll get to record your songs. It’s all about strategy,” my mother said, getting up from the couch.

“How can you say that to me? It’s always ‘Wait, Avery; pay your dues, Avery; just listen to them, Avery.’ I’m sick of it.

You’re my manager. You need to be fighting as hard for me on the things I genuinely care about as much as all the other mainstream stuff.

This song…I don’t even know how to explain it, but it’s magic.

It’s real and raw, and you’d feel it too if you all just took a chance and listened to it. ”

“I do fight for you. Every single day. Just because I choose not to get in a screaming match with your A&R rep over a song doesn’t mean I have not gone to bat for you.

This month I was a nervous wreck making every call I could fighting for you.

” She raised her voice. “I sent you to my mother for Chrissake, Avery. Your safety was my priority while I worked to keep your team from dropping you as a client, so you could even have a chance to keep doing what you love. I love you and only want what’s best for you.

” The wind left her sails, and she suddenly looked so small.

“Mom, I—”

The door to the suite opened, interrupting me. Niles popped his head in, phone still pressed to his ear.

“Pom Pom is here. This call is going to be a while but have fun and find the best look for The Graham Norton Show .” He stepped aside, holding the door open for what looked like Naomi Campbell’s twin.

Pom Pom the stylist was over six feet tall in her four-inch stiletto heels.

She was dressed in head-to-toe black patent leather—a full catsuit and calf-length trench coat.

A glossy, bold red color on her full lips.

She rolled in a rack full of hangers. When she settled into the suite, she stood next to the rack casually with her hands in her trench coat pockets. She looked like she belonged on the cover of Vogue .

“I have three words for you. Assless. Leather. Chaps.” She blew a bubble with her bubble gum.

None of those words were what I thought she would open with. “I am always open to bold fashion risks,” I said diplomatically, so as not to offend her style.

“Love that you said that. Pairing it with a hot pink bikini top and pink rhinestone cowboy hat would be the look.”

Despite what I just told her, I couldn’t wear it. I was tired of the costumes and the whole charade. I looked through the options on the rack. There wasn’t a whole lot of material to most of them.

“Do you have anything simpler? Like maybe a dress without as many cutouts?”

“Niles asked for hot, babes. I brought the hottest stuff in my wardrobe,” Pom Pom said, her cockney accent becoming more pronounced as she smacked her bubble gum.

“Western is in right now. I saw your music video. This would be so cohesive. Beyoncé is doing it. Chappell Roan is doing it. Dolly Parton has always done it.”

She brought up valid points, but after the warbonnet incident, I was taking no chances. I would ask many questions and push back if I needed to.

“You’ll look great, honey.” It was almost like my mother was trying to smooth things over. Now I didn’t want to wear them just because she liked them. “These Brits love the American culture right now and they love you.”

“It’s true. Your song is bringing it down in every club. Your fans here are going to eat you up in these.”

“See? These people want a show, give them a show,” my mother encouraged.

I sighed in resignation. I wasn’t going to win this one.

I had to pick my battles. “Okay, if I must wear the chaps, can you get something with a lot more coverage to wear on top and under? Like what if we did a black mock-neck long-sleeved crop top, and some colored leggings to wear under the chaps?”

“A crop top would look hot, yeah, especially with how high-waisted these chaps are. Babes, I know just the thing. I’ll bring it all to the studio. Don’t you worry one bit.” Pom Pom air-kissed my cheeks before she left.

“Things are really turning around. I need to arrange your car for rehearsal this evening.” My mom walked away, muttering her to-do list to herself.

I stood there, exhausted, and felt depressed knowing that all I had to look forward to was Pom Pom and her bubble gum in my face and a pair of assless leather chaps.