Read The Last Dreamer for Free Online Page A

standing at a microphone, mugging at the others and grinning with delight, but it was Jeff Downs, the lead vocalist, who stole the scene. He half-stood, half-sat on a stool, one heel on a rung, his eyes focused on his guitar as he sang:
When I pick her up on Saturday,
And she tells me, “Oh, we’re on our way,”
And it’s all so real, I have to say,
It’s the best time, the best time in the world.
     
At the beach we’ll walk along the sand,
And I’ll kiss her soft and hold her hand,
And she’ll tell me, yeah, that I’m her man,
It’s the best time, the best time in the world.
     
The best time,
And I know it will last forever.
The best time,
And I know now our future is set   .   .   .
    Jeff’s buttery voice lengthened every note, filling every word with intention. She could remember playing the song in her head as she sat at the edge of the lunchroom bench, next to Lizzie and across from Lizzie’s new friends. She’d pretend to laugh at jokes she didn’t get, jokes told at parties she hadn’t been invited to, all the while thinking that the girl Jeff described in the song would one day be her.
    Watching him on her computer screen, she wondered: Was he still so beautiful, with his dark eyes and square jaw? Did he still have that amazing smile? Was he happy— could he be happy? After all, he had been washed up as a TV star while he was still so young. How did he feel about being a blanket peddler? Was it a letdown after so much time as a star? Or was there something about being a regular person that was better, more fulfilling, than being a star? Was he happy with himself? Or did he spend his life second-guessing the choices he had made when he was younger? Did he have dreams that he could pursue only when he was out of the limelight, or had his only dream been to stay in the limelight forever? And maybe most important of all, what lessons about her life could she glean from his? If he had found a way to be happy as a blanket peddler instead of a star, could his story teach her how to be happy, too?
    And that’s when she realized she had to meet him. She had to find a way to sit down with him and get her questions answered.
    But how? The articles she’d read online suggested that he was pretty reclusive. He wasn’t quoted in any of them, and one piece had specifically noted that he never talked at all about his past. She couldn’t just call his showroom and ask to speak to him. No doubt he had a receptionist who screened his calls. And she couldn’t just show up there and expect him to welcome her. Without an appointment she’d be asked to leave the building before she even saw him. She supposed she could go to his showroom in Manhattan and wait until she saw him go in or out—but would she even recognize him? And if she did, what would she say? Please talk to me, I was once a big fan, I loved your music, I loved your voice, and when I read that you had a business right here in New York selling blankets . . .
    His blankets! She sat up straight, clenching her fists— that was the ticket! She could gain entry to his life by requesting to interview him for an article for Business Times . She would go ahead and write the article and then sell it to Stuart. After all, Jeff Downs was a celebrity, or at least he used to be. Thousands of businesspeople used to watch Guitar Dreams every week, thousands of businesswomen used to love the dreamy Jeff Downs the way she once did. Certainly he was the kind of big personality that Stuart wanted to profile.
    Fingers flying over the keyboard, she went back to the Downs Textiles website. She didn’t want to waste time waiting for a return email that might or might not come, so she found the company’s phone number. Barely breathing, fingers shaking, she picked up her cell phone, trying three times until she finally entered the number correctly. The line rang. She listened to the menu. Not surprisingly, there was no option to reach Jeff Downs directly, so she