by JN Welsh
“I keep her busy.” Tommy thought his answer was ambiguous enough to elicit creativity, yet not give up the jig. He could almost hear Nyah gulp over the innuendo.
“Okay...” Gladys fluttered her brows. Pretty dark freckles speckled along her nose and cheeks. Her tenderness toward Nyah made him pleased that she had a close friend who seemed to be invested in her happiness.
“We thought you were a figment of Nyah’s imagination,” Evan said. Tommy had almost forgotten about him. Maybe it was a good thing, because Evan’s condescending tone toward Nyah made Tommy step closer toward her.
“You can rest assured I’m real,” Tommy said. The strength in his delivery had Evan looking down at his shoes.
Tommy hadn’t noticed how much Nyah’s shoulders had tensed until that moment, but when they sank back down from her ears, he thought that perhaps he’d done a good thing by putting that Evan kid in his place.
“We’re just having a coffee before Tommy has to leave.”
A server approached them. “Chicken salad on lightly toasted croissant?”
Nyah raised a finger, and redness again splotched her face.
“And chicken, avocado rice bowl?” the server asked Tommy.
“Yes, thank you.” He pretended to adjust his glasses in an attempt to stifle the laughter puffing his cheeks.
“Looks like you guys are having lunch or else you could have come with us.” Gladys’s shoulders sagged.
“You guys... Where are you guys going?” Nyah tilted her head and asked.
“They asked for a few musicians to head over to Alice Tully Hall for a kids’ concert happening there. I guess they want some additional musicians onstage to help with instruments, so we offered.”
“You volunteered, Evan? That’s a first.” Nyah seemed to be getting back to normal.
“Well, it’s for the kids...” Evan’s eyes slid to Gladys.
Gladys shrugged. “We should get going. It was nice to meet you, Tommy. I hope we see a lot more of you.” She gave a hard wink at Nyah and he couldn’t help but let his humor rip.
“It was a pleasure, Gladys,” he said. “Evan?”
“Yeah, you too,” the man said.
When the two musicians were out of earshot, he nestled back into his seat. “So...”
Nyah dived into her sandwich and chewed slower than a panda with a bamboo stick. He didn’t repeat himself and ate his warm avocado bowl.
She enjoyed two more bites and wiped her mouth with a napkin before she spoke. “Thanks for not saying anything. No one needs to know what I do at the club. They’ve been hounding me about bouncing after practice. That’s when I produce music for my Rebel set. Gladys is always covering for me after performances when I leave, too, but she thinks it’s because I have a...you.”
“A me?” he asked, intrigued.
“You know? A sexy dude that I’m running home for.”
He fisted a hand over his mouth and spoke between chews. “I wasn’t expecting that compliment.”
“I didn’t mean...” The stain on her cheeks intensified and he languished in her discomfort. “It’s just that none of them know that I’m a DJ...like at all.”
“It’s okay. I followed your lead. Any reason why you don’t want them to know?”
“I have my reasons but mainly, I think it would be frowned upon, especially because it will give people like Evan more opportunities to point out that my DJ life is why I fuck up here.”
“Is it? I mean, how have you been able to manage all of this so far?”
She scoffed. “I’m organized. Sometimes I’m a little tired, but I try to rest as much as I can or get an energy drink and caffeine when I need it.”
“Drugs?” He worried that if she straddled these two words with such intensity that it was only a matter of time before things got out of hand, especially if she was the only one handling the business aspects of her career.
“No. It’s not my thing, honestly, but... I can see the pull.”
“You’re doing a lot to maintain these two worlds, Nyah. Yet you’re so adamant about not having an agent or a manager. What do you think will happen after Artistique?”
“I can handle it.” Her mouth twisted, wrinkling with doubt.
“Even I know you don’t believe that shit.”
She sighed.
He offered her an option that might serve them both. “How about this? You become my client. I help you get into Artistique and manage some of your engagements. If you want, I can even introduce you to some new ones and we see how it goes?”
Her doubt wrinkled and pulled her face. “But you’re not a manager.”
“No, but I can do it for a little while to get a feel for what you actually need. At that time I will suggest you take a meeting with Wallace Entertainment. If not there, then we can try to find a manager elsewhere who will fit your needs, or you can keep managing it yourself.”
She studied the ceiling and he hoped she at least evaluated the options he presented. “I don’t know.”
He knocked the table twice with his knuckles and leaned back. “You need some time to think about it. I don’t expect you to take this lightly, but I do suggest you don’t wait too long. I’m sure there’s a deadline. When is it?”
“Two weeks.”
“I’m heading back to LA on Sunday but you have my card. You can get me anytime. Will that work for you?” he asked.
She swallowed hard. “I guess.”
He touched her hand. “Nyah. This is your choice. It’s obvious to me that you want to stay in the driver’s seat, but a copilot or a backseat driver can come in handy sometimes. Think about it and let me know?”
Her shoulders thawed a bit and he took in her toned arms. He didn’t want to take his eyes off her. A dangerous thing, considering he courted her as his client. If she hired him they were already going to be arguing enough over her career choices and work/life balance without adding sex or emotions into the mix.
“You okay?” She waved at him.
“Yeah, why?”
“You’re staring at me weird.”
It was his turn to blush. “I’m good.”
“Well, thanks for meeting me today. I appreciate it.”
“My pleasure.” He stood up and straightened his clothes. “Take care, Nyah.”
He hated leaving her so undecided, because she needed him, but he wanted her as a client. She definitely made things interesting every time they met. Though she hadn’t jumped at a chance to sign with him, he had a strong feeling he’d hear from her very soon.
Chapter Seven
Nyah downed the last bits of her energy drink as she prepared to blow Rebel’s Saturday night crowd away. She jammed her belongings in her locker and slammed the door.
“Whoa! What did that locker ever do to you to treat it so very badly?” Trinket emerged from the bathroom.
A chill ran up Nyah’s spine and her muscles seized when Trinket materialized out of thin air. “Were you hiding in there?”
“Girl, no. I had to do my lady business. Though I must admit we have to stop meeting this way.” Bangles jingled and beads clinked with Trinket’s every move and the scent of woodsy patchouli and jasmine mixed with white musk grew stronger as she neared. The heavy fragrance should have brought Nyah down to a cushion for relaxation, but her stress level was beyond its pull. “What’s got your Afro puffs all tangled?” Trinket asked.
“I’m just having a day.” Nyah didn’t know what irritated her more. The fact that she needed Tommy or that images of his warm brown eyes smiling at her made her feel more trust than she’d ever had in Carlo.
“Obviously.”
Nyah had submitted her application for the London Symphony and celebrated with Gladys. After their Tuesday session with CeCe, even Martin had raved about the integrity of his musicians and their ability to r
ise to the opportunities. Her problem wasn’t with her day job. Since her meeting with Tommy, she’d been stewing about needing someone like him so she could DJ at Artistique.
“Arghh! You know, I don’t get why an agent needs to vouch for me. What good have they ever done for me?” Nyah complained. Trinket’s question unleashed a reservoir of Nyah’s damned emotions. “How the fuck do they think I delivered that package? I did that shit on my own. I’m a professional classical artist playing with the fucking New York Philharmonic. I don’t need a vouch,” she fumed, delivering the last bit in hushed tones.
“But no one is supposed to know that really, right?” Trinket offered.
Nyah’s back flattened against her locker and she banged the back of her head with a loud clack. “No.”
“You really want this, so maybe this time you suck it up and let an agent get you in and then bounce. I’m sure if you explain it to them, they can help you out.”
“It’s not that easy.” Nyah stood the length of her five-foot-eight-inch height. “Getting an agent is only going to bring more attention to me, especially if they’re someone who knows what they’re doing.”
“You mean like Boombox?”
“I mean exactly like Boombox. Don’t you think that being a client of his will bring unwanted attention to me? His reputation in the industry comes with some expectation, you know?”
“Yeah, but that also gives him some insight into how to avoid some of the problems you’re having in trying to balance your lives. I know you have me to talk to but you’re living this covert life and that only makes it harder for you to navigate through all this.”
“I’ve put my career and success in the hands of people before. People who either underestimated me or thought they knew what was best for me without listening to the vision I had for myself.” The truth was, Nyah was petrified of going through what she went through with Carlo again after working so hard to cultivate her near-model career.
“I get it and you know I’m here for whatever you need.”
“What would I do without you, Trinket? You’ve been solid. For real.”
“That’s me. At least in most things.” Trinket nibbled on her lower burgundy covered lip. “You’re still coming next week, right? The party’s gonna be hot.”
“Yeah. I play Boiler on Friday. So, I’ll be there after the concert.” Every few weeks the philharmonic was off on Fridays. With no classical performances or residency at Rebel, the freedom gave Nyah time to either have a life without performances or add on another gig. This week she’d be playing Boiler.
“Cool.” Trinket lingered. “Are you going to make the call to Boombox or what?”
Nyah had a half hour before she went on. “I guess I’ll bite this bullet. But if he thinks he’s running my career, he’s got another thing coming.”
“Das it!” Trinket exaggerated.
Nyah laughed as she pulled out her phone. “Can you stay for moral support or whatever?”
“Of course.” Trinket leaned against the lockers.
Nyah dialed Tommy’s number, each digit bringing her closer to surrendering a piece of what she’d worked hard for. Independence. Though she did it for Artistique, she had a strong feeling that nothing would ever be the same.
“Boombox.”
“Hi, it’s Nyah.”
“Hello. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.” His silky greeting almost made it worth calling.
“Well, the clock is ticking so...”
“Yes, it is,” he confirmed.
“I’m calling to accept your offer, but I have a few things that I need to make clear.” She looked at Trinket, who pounded her fist in her palms and mouthed, “That’s right.”
“Shoot.”
She switched the phone to her other ear to adjust her headphones around her neck. She paced the small back room. “My two identities don’t overlap. Like I mentioned, not even my father knows. Secrecy is paramount. First sign of a leak and I’m out.”
“Your secret is safe with me and I’ll make sure it stays that way.”
We’ll see. “Also, I don’t mind you seeking out opportunities, but they get run by me first.”
“Sure thing,” Tommy said.
“And I don’t want to play the big festivals.”
“No big festivals? Not even one?” The drop in his intonation voiced doubt.
“None.” Lengthy silence followed on his part.
“But I can present any opportunity to you?”
“Yes.”
“Like a festival?” She could almost hear him grinning.
She rolled her eyes and Trinket mouthed, “What?” with an elaborate hand gesture.
“If that’s the way you want to waste both our energies so that I can say no, then yes.” Nyah couldn’t restrain her snark. Hadn’t she just said no to festivals?
“Okay.” He paused for long moment.
His voice deepens when challenged. Noted.
“I can email a contract to you before I leave the office today,” he continued. “When I get it back signed, sealed and delivered, I’ll work on Artistique. Like you said, the clock is ticking.”
She hoped she wasn’t making the worst mistake of her life.
No. She was sure she’d already done that with Carlo. “I’ll get it back to you tomorrow.”
“Send me your complete schedule for the next few months so I can review it and we can chat on the phone, or in person when I’m in New York next week.” She liked that he didn’t jump right into big ideas but rather wanted to get a sense of what she actually did.
“Okay, but I’ll warn you. It’s a lot.”
“I’m sure it is.” His silky laugh made her blush. Why the fuck am I blushing?
Trinket gave her the thumbs up and Nyah couldn’t meet her eye. It’s not like she and Tommy were kissing, or touching or... “Well thanks.”
“Nyah?”
“Yes?” she croaked. She really needed to stop thinking about Tommy kissing her.
“Welcome to the team.”
* * *
Gladys was so close to her that she could feel her breath on her ear. “Stop hovering.”
“Hit send already,” Gladys whispered.
Gladys’s teasing did nothing to lighten the weight of the moment. Nyah virtually signed her summer release from the orchestra so that she could go to Artistique and London. Her plans were moving forward, even though she’d only gotten a confirmation from Artistique that they’d received her resubmission via her agent.
Once she’d signed Tommy’s contract, he’d moved pretty quickly to get her application in for reconsideration to Artistique well before the deadline. Now she waited, hoping that the festival’s creative director hadn’t given away her time slot. She pressed send. Either way she was free from the philharmonic from June through August.
“Done.”
“London, here we come.”
“If I get it.” Nyah logged out from the library system and grabbed her stuff. They had a Wednesday performance that only happened every few weeks. With no performances and her set for Boiler the coming Friday, she used the time to catch up on her regular life duties, including her way-past-deadline paperwork.
“You’ll get it.” Gladys patted her shoulder. “I have a good feeling. I can’t be in London without you.”
“You were in LA without me and Chicago before that. No me.” Nyah batted her lashes.
Gladys pressed her palms over her wounded breast and with her best British accent delivered her line. “Now I cannot possibly live without you.”
Nyah laughed and draped her arm around her friend. “Come on. Let’s steal some chocolates off Martin’s desk before showtime. It’s our civic duty.”
A chocolate filled mason jar sat on Martin’s desk, proof of his addiction. Their conductor tossed back handf
uls of the stuff, especially on stressful days. On occasions, such as these, Nyah and Gladys snuck by his office to help him ingest less sugar and sample the international varieties.
“Yes...let’s.”
Later that night, when Nyah arrived home, she settled with a rare cup of tea. She streamed a few episodes of Schitt’s Creek and Tyler Perry’s First Wives Club as she tidied her apartment. Nights like these allowed her a moment to catch up on the steps forward she’d made. Her unconventional approach to success had its lonely periods, and doubts about her approach surfaced as they always did. She lost count of how many times she’d heard “If Pete Monroe was my father...” or “If I had your connections...” growing up. She had always been grateful for what she had and the family she’d been born into, but her parents had also taught her that they worked for the lifestyle they had and she wanted to do that, too. To do things her way and not just take, but create, buffed her bill with glimmering pride. Every time she got on either stage, she etched deeper grooves into her path and lined it with trees she had nourished to root. Now those trees flourished and shaded her journey from those who might knock her off course.
She liked Tommy and hoped that he’d honor her wishes and privacy, and wouldn’t turn out to be the latter, but she gambled with the chips of what she’d built. Only time would tell if she cashed in or went bust.
Chapter Eight
The Boiler displayed overhead in neon, devil red, blazed against the dark building. Graffiti, random pop culture stickers, old stamps, and photographs decorated the depressed entryway, and the crowd wrapped around the triangular block. Camouflaged in a hooded long trench coat, she followed Mike’s instructions and headed to the back entrance.
Someone exited, squeezing through the entrance. “It’s packed in there, I don’t know if they’re letting anyone else in.”
“They gotta let us in. Queen Roe will be on soon,” another person complained.
Her eyes widened and she walked a little faster. They were talking about seeing her and the line looked like it was getting longer. If the club was packed, all those people would get the shaft. She buzzed the ringer on the black-painted steel door and it cracked open. A sliver of a man in black attire was barely visible.
