Tease (Songs of Submission #2)(12)

Then I felt clean. I went through the rest of the songs the way we’d planned, with the dynamics and inflections coming from the right place. We culminated with Moon River, our gentle send-off from the emotional roller-coaster of the set.

I breathed. And they applauded. I was getting used to that. I didn’t get filled-up like a balloon anymore, probably because they weren’t my songs. What they applauded over their dinners was my craft, not my songwriting, and that artistic distance made all the difference.

I nodded, glancing behind me. Kevin’s table was empty. Typical. I thanked everyone, and just like every time before, I slipped into the dressing room. Gabby came in right behind me.

“What happened to you?” she demanded.

“What?”

“I thought you were falling apart at Stormy Weather.”

Ah. I remembered. Gabby the perfectionist. “I pulled it out, I think.”

“Every. Song. Counts.”

“Thanks. No pressure, right?”

“This was not the night to find your footing, Mon.” She pointed at me, accusing me of ruining the set.

“Hey, you know what? Lay off. And you might consider pulling your weight at the meet and greet. The Gabby I knew in high school didn’t hide behind a piano.”

I didn’t wait for a reaction. I just walked out. I’d been underhanded and cruel. The Gabby I knew in high school wasn’t coming back, not after the depression and suicide attempt. That Gabby hadn’t shown up for years, and bringing her up was unfair. I was fighting with some core, self-fulfilling loneliness that made me push people away.

The room was crowded, with the bar area customers bleeding into the dining area. The servers had trouble navigating the people and tables and mislaid chairs. I made it to the table by the warm speakers and found it full of men in perfect suits with colorful ties and women in button-down shirts and spiked heels. Agent-wear. Theresa had her back to me, and Deirdre, with her dismissive glare, was nowhere to be found. The eleven of them were having so many heated conversations in groups of two and three that I was going to pass the table and pretend I hadn’t been on my way over.

“Monica Faulkner!” I heard my name and almost had a heart attack. Eugene Testarossa, who I’d been a creep to a couple of weeks before at the rooftop bar of the Stock, called out to me.

“Hi,” I said, waiting for him to recognize me. From his expression, he either didn’t remember me or didn’t care.

“Nice set.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m Eugene. I’m a recording talent agent at WDE. You’ve heard of us?”

“Yes, of course.” I was spinning smiles into gold, trying to keep from hugging a guy who, without his job and connections, wouldn’t have gotten more than a courteous rejection.

“I’d like to sit and talk with you about something. Not a big deal. We’re headed out to Snag. Can you come?”

A dream invitation. But no. I wasn’t talking business over drinks. And if it wasn’t business, I didn’t want to be trapped at a douchebag bar on the west side.

“I have plans, I’m sorry.”

He handed me a bright red card I knew had the WDE logo on it. “Call me then, and we’ll set something up.”

“Thanks. We hoped you’d come tonight.”

“We? You’ve got representation already?”

“No, me and Gabby.” I indicated her at the bar, next to Darren.

“Oh, the piano player? I thought she came with the club. Huh. Well. You don’t gotta bring her if you don’t want.” My face must have been dragging on the floor, because he stood up straighter and held his hands out. “But no problem. Yeah, sure. Both of you. A set. We can talk.”

“Great.”

“Okay, you call tomorrow,” he pointed at me, then put a phone to his ear. I smiled, but I knew more douchebag representation was in my future.

I started walking backward out into the aisle. “Will do,” I said, nearly crashing into Iris, the waitress who’d been there long enough to be considered furniture. With one last wave, I went to the bar as fast as I could which, after the kind words and handshakes with everyone between Eugene Testarossa and Gabby, took about seven minutes.

“What happened?” Gabby was all over me. “What did he say?”

I showed her the card. She hugged me as if I’d just told her it was a healthy baby.

“Nice work.” Darren held up his beer.

“Don’t all huddle around the card, guys. Act cool, okay? It’s not a big deal,” I said.

“Ah, lassie,” Theo said, “there’s nothing coolish about you.” He took my chin in his thumb and forefinger and shook my face. I playfully slapped his hand away.

“Let’s go out,” Darren said. “We can take every word you two said and give it major surgery.”

Oh no. That wouldn’t be good at all. I’d have to tell Gabby she was an optional part of the set or make something up I’d get busted for later. If she found out I’d had to rescue her before she’d even met Testarossa, she would spiral into Shitsville, and I didn’t want Darren and me following her around again. Our recent freedom had been delicious.

“I made other plans,” I said, glancing from face to face, landing on Gabby’s last.