One Tenor’s Journey
When the reader first meets Jamie Logan, he is at the lowest point in his young life. How he moves beyond that and eventually to a career as an opera singer is a compelling story. Jamie’s path is not easy. He faces personal and professional challenges, including family crises, a jealous rival who attempts to undermine him, a hate crime. Striving to overcome his own self-doubts is a continual struggle for him.
Here is the opening chapter of You Are My Song. The book is available on Amazon in paperback and Kindle, and paperback copies can be purchased locally at the Pocono Community Theater whenever the theater is open. The purchase price at the PCT is $12.00.
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Jamie Logan found a parking spot not far from Al’s Bar and sat in his car for a long moment before leaving the air-conditioned comfort of the ’58 Chrysler Three Hundred. It wasn’t his car; it belonged to the dealership, and he’d just grabbed the keys because he needed wheels. His car, a ’54 Dodge Royal, was in the shop awaiting repairs.
It was a sweltering, steamy evening in East Tennessee, and even though Jamie had only a short distance to walk, he had just left his office and was dressed in a suit and tie, hardly comfortable attire for the weather.
He’d found himself making this stop more and more frequently over the past six months or so, reluctant to go home, now that “home” consisted of his old bedroom in his parents’ house. Walking into that house was a daily reminder of the marriage which had ended so badly after beginning with such high hopes.
He sighed, opened the car door and stepped into the heat, pushing his way through the door to Al’s into what was inevitably a smoky atmosphere. It wasn’t much cooler than it was outside; the air conditioner in Al’s never seemed to work very well. The jukebox was turned down but he recognized the tune; Jerry Lee Lewis, “Great Balls O’ Fire.” Regulars in the bar waved at him as he came in; they seemed to regard him as one of them.
He returned the waves, walked to the bar and ordered a draft, whatever was on tap. It didn’t matter; beer was beer. The envelope in his inside jacket pocket felt bulky. When he got home he’d take it out and look at the divorce papers inside.
Jamie glanced around the room and realized he was quite possibly the youngest man there. How had he come to this; how was it that at twenty-two he was dealing with a situation which seemed to happen more to men at least twice his age?
The beer was icy cold and tasted good to Jamie. He wasn’t going to rush to sign the papers. It was a formality anyway; the marriage was over. After what Sarah put me through, she can damn well wait.
The song on the jukebox changed; Dean Martin, “Return to Me.”
“Hey, Jamie! How about helpin’ ol’ Dean out? You gotta know this one!” Jamie didn’t even turn around.
“Throat’s kinda sore, Les. Anyway, Dean’s doin’ just fine on his own.” This happened from time to time; people who remembered Jamie as a singer from four years earlier, when he’d had the lead in the high school musical. He’d loved to sing back then, and people liked to hear him. But Sarah hadn’t wanted him to sing, and whatever Sarah wanted, he had tried to give her.
Jamie drained his beer mug and ordered another. Summertime, he thought. I always loved summers when I was a kid.
Cover design by Tristan Flanagan