24- The Mirror Doesn't Lie

I’ve always tried to weigh my words wisely. I knew what I said to others could be interpreted in different ways, but I apparently held a different standard when it came to myself. Lately, I started giving a lot of thought into what Larry said. Why did I quit pursuing my dreams when I encouraged others to pursue their dreams? What was I afraid of? I decided I was going to start living the life I always preached. It was time to make an appointment with an old friend, Sean Simmons. We hadn’t seen each other in over eight years, and the last time I saw him, he was working in a grungy, 200 square foot studio walk-up in the Lower East Side.

My how times have changed. When I called and made an appointment to see Sean, his assistant gave me a midtown Manhattan address. I knew his career had taken off, but I hadn’t even come close to imagining how it had improved his working environment. My friend was now in a luxurious office building that overlooked Times Square. To even get inside his office, visitors had to go through a tight security process on the ground level. As I walked through the gigantic hallway foyer, I started recalling how as two younger aspiring musicians, we played our guitars and sang in the back of pickup trucks until the sun came up. We didn’t have a worry in the world. We didn’t think of paying bills or worry about love. We just followed our bliss, without fear of where it would lead.

When the elevator dropped me off on the 47th floor, I wasn’t quite sure where Sean’s office was, so I asked a young girl in the hallway for help. She kindly walked me over to the firm’s lobby, and introduced me to the receptionist in front.

In the lobby, there were eight leather couches spread out spaciously. An expensive espresso coffee maker that looked more like a piece of art was displayed on an antique table against the wall. Ancient full-sized Roman statues stood in the corners. On the walls were pictures of Sean posing next to Senators, actors, musicians, and even the President of the United States. I walked up to the wall to get a closer look at the pictures.

Just then, I heard his familiar voice echoing from the hallway. You could practically hear the walls cave in around him. Sean’s 6 foot 5 inch frame was a presence that could be seen and heard from a distance.

“Do you know when my assistant told me you called, I said, can’t be, can’t be. You must have got that name wrong. Can’t be Elsa,” Sean said.

I stood up and watched him walk closer. I had seen Sean on television at the MTV and People’s Choice awards, but in person, I noticed the years of life had caught up to him. Sean had a few wrinkles that reminded me he had lived a harder life than most people.

“Look at you. My God,” I said. “You got yourself a suit, an assistant, your assistant has assistants. You work in a high-rise building. It’s just like you always said it would be. You made it Sean. You really made it.”

“No Elsa. In this business, you never really make it. You just keep trying because every day there’s a more ambitious and talented musician that wants what you already have.”

We walked into Sean’s office where there were more pictures of him with musicians from different eras: Elton John, Billy Joel, Norah Jones, James Brown. I walked over to the windows and took in the view of Manhattan.

“I just want to make sure you are still enjoying this,” I said, pointing to the skyscrapers. “Think of where we came from and look at this.”

“Elsa, I always remember where I came from. It keeps me working hard,” Sean said. “I think you and I were the only ones who believed in each other. My parents certainly didn’t believe in me.”

“At least you had parents.”

Sean was one of the few people outside of Mary, Charlie and Nicky, who got my humor and understood my roots.

“Stop that Ally. You are my family, and I am yours. You know, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you and your speeches, always pushing me, always encouraging me.”

Sean walked over to the bar and poured Perrier into a crystal Champaign glass.

“You know, I almost gave up one night back in the Village, remember?” he asked.

I shook my head yes.

“It was four in the morning and we were packing our instruments, and I confided in you that that was my last concert,” Sean said. “I was quitting. But you gave me one of your famous pep talks and, I guess it stuck.”

“I’m glad you didn’t quit,” I said.

“You know I’m a humble guy, but I always believed I was better than 98 percent of those musicians out there. You are in that 2 percent category who is more gifted than me.”

“Oh stop that,” I said. “You can spot talent and music, and that’s why you made it.”

“Okay, enough of the small talk. Tell me, what can I do for you. What brings you here?”

I walked over to the couch and sat next to Sean. He had his feet stretched on the couch, like it was his own home. He wasn’t wearing any shoes.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about pursuing a record album again,” I said.

“I think you should. There’s a place for your music in this world.”

“But I want to pursue my music. I don’t want to pursue the music they want. I don’t want to become their next pop idol. I want to become the next Elsa.”

Sean nodded and listened.

“They tried to change me last time,” I said. “They wanted a different style and music and different hair that wasn’t me. This is who I am.”

“Ellie, You know what a mulligan is?”

“A what?”

“A mulligan,” Sean said. “In golf, we occasionally have to give someone a mulligan. When you give a mulligan to a golfer, you are allowing him a second chance, even though it’s against the rules. Essentially, it’s an unwritten compromise. As musicians, and in life, we need to give mulligans. When you’re working with other creative people, sometimes you have to give them a mulligan to appease them, and they will help you get further. You follow?”

“I follow. You’re saying I need to compromise,” I said.

“Not always,” Sean said. “It doesn’t mean we compromise our beliefs or convictions. It just means that we occasionally give people what they want so we can get what we want later. It’s a trade.”

“I know, you’re right. I challenged the system when I was younger, rather than working with it.”

“Are you still writing music?”

“Of course, that’s what drives me,” I said.

“And that’s why I know you’ll make it,” Sean said. “I know the perfect producer for you, but we need to remember that mulligan. I know you’re creative, but this is an art, and in our own minds, we are all right as artists.”

Sean and I kept talking for another two hours after that. And when I finally left that day, we had made preliminary arrangements for another meeting with more music producers. I was ready to start pursuing my dreams again.