In Harmony

by JN Welsh

  He hoped he hadn’t fucked up as much as he thought. “Yeah,” he responded.

  “I like it.” She beamed and patted the space next to her. “Sit.”

  “Good.” He relaxed and finally sat down, knowing that he’d done the right thing for her. Their glasses were filled with water and a server came by with wine. They both selected red varietals.

  “Clyde seems like a character,” Nyah said at last.

  He brought his bowl-shaped wineglass to his lips and pulled a healthy sip. “That’s one way to describe him.”

  “It’s pretty cool that you can chop it up with your rival-friend-agent.” She raised a brow.

  He offered her a modest smile while his competition with Clyde, his desire for her and his business goals had a shoving match for priority within him. “It’s easy to shoot the shit. It’s festival season. When we talk about where our clients are playing throughout the year, we’re basically flexing our muscles on our closed deals from the previous year. Then we talk about next year, which is stating our goals. Sometimes we purposely misguide the other to distract from deals we want. It’s like a chess game.”

  She plucked her napkin off the plate and placed it across her lap. “Are your goals met for this year?”

  “No. I’m still trying to get my recently signed artist to play at a festival this year,” he admitted, yet omitted the details.

  “You mean me?” She pointed a thumb at herself.

  “Yes.”

  She blew raspberries. “Don’t hold your breath.”

  Additional servers circled the place offering various entrees and sides that they could either accept on their plates or pass. Nyah, an obvious fan of seafood, nodded excitedly when a medley came her way.

  “Tell me something. Why don’t you want the fame that you could get playing the big festivals? Most of these cats would be thrilled to have a father with strings he could easily pull for them. And an icon no less?” Tommy asked. Leona would have been proud of him for finally asking instead of assuming he knew Nyah’s intentions.

  “I know they would. I’m the poster child for ‘the grass is greener on the other side’ campaign.”

  “So what’s the story?”

  She slipped her glasses off and placed them on top of her clutch. She stared at him like he’d asked her to elope.

  “No one has ever really asked me that.” She stared up at the enchanted ceiling with crystal chandeliers.

  What kind of shitty agent doesn’t ask their client why they don’t want to perform at the big festivals, especially since that’s exactly what he needed Queen Roe to do? Imaginary fingers pointed at him from all sides.

  “When I bombed, it sucked.” She forked a grilled shrimp into her mouth.

  “That can’t be all,” he stated.

  “Allow me to define suck.” She placed her knife and fork on the white porcelain plate. “You can’t imagine what it’s like to be the daughter of an icon. It’s a lot to live up to. Before I even got up on that stage, I’d been compared countless times to Dad. Everyone wanted to see if I would be as good or better. I’m not allowed to be worse. When I bombed as a performer, the critiques destroyed me for not even meeting the minimum. Do you know how much pressure that is? I get no slack. I wasn’t prepared for it and so I let it go.”

  “And your agent? Didn’t he help you through it?”

  “Carlo.” Saying his name left a sour taste in her mouth.

  “I thought going with him would have made the difference, but Carlo had already made his icon. I was a pet project for him, not a client. He took me on to appease my father. Damage control for my career had been nonexistent.”

  When Pete had asked Tommy to agent Nyah back then, Tommy had declined. Perhaps Pete had seen something in the match between two young and hungry kids. Tommy hadn’t seen it that way. Neither had Nyah, when she rejected the suggestion, as well. Could their business union have always been fated to land here?

  “I love seeing the crowd get it. You know? When they break free of themselves and whatever is going on in their lives or their head and just let the music take over.” She fidgeted in her seat before reaching for her wine and gulping it. “I couldn’t make them do that because they needed me to help them get there. I was the fucking boring-est performer. I mean...” She spat a disgusted laugh as if she relived the moment. “I barely moved. I failed them and my father on a really big stage with all eyes watching and I couldn’t find the courage to put myself out there again.” A mournful chuckle escaped her. “I take responsibility for that, but Carlo was my agent and also managed my career. He’d been a family friend for decades. He didn’t help me through it, encourage me to try again, or offer constructive criticism. He was my agent/manager in name only. We didn’t even strategize a different approach. Our work relationship disintegrated and by the end I guess something inside me got broken.” Her voice cracked.

  I’m so fucked. This version of Nyah opened up to him, sucking him into her vortex, and he went freely. He reached for her hand under the table, and out of view, his thumb stroked, attempting to soothe. “I’m sorry that happened to you. You should always feel supported by those you work with, especially in this industry.”

  She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

  “Did your father know about what happened with you and Carlo?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Not really. When I dated, a lot of people, especially guys I dated, tried to get at my father through me. I thought complaining to him would make me be like one of them. I was an adult, so I handled it my way. Plus Carlo was a great agent for my dad. I didn’t want to ruin that.”

  Tommy had learned from watching the greats and Carlo had been one of them, but he hated what happened with Nyah because it was clear Carlo hadn’t done his best for her. He’d only heard her side of the story but that was enough for him to choose her side. “What did you do then?” he asked.

  “I wimped out and the concert hall became my safe house. No one wanted to report that Pete Monroe’s daughter played with the philharmonic. If it wasn’t for classical, I don’t know if I would have been allowed the time to recover, heal, and try again. It took a lot for me to remember that I’m a good musician.”

  “You’re an awesome musician,” he corrected. “How long have you been playing instruments?”

  “I started playing at four.” She went for another sip of wine and returned it to its spot. “I need something stronger for this sad tale.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, again. What the fuck was he doing here with her? He felt his Adam’s apple bob in his throat.

  “Why? You didn’t fuck up back then.”

  “For not asking you about this sooner.”

  The memory of her ordeal still shone in her eyes. She shrugged. “When I decided to DJ again, I didn’t want prying eyes or judgment or comparison. Dance music is in my blood, I have to do it. I wanted to do it, but my way. I busted my ass building up stamina to dance my whole set. I poured my all into creating interesting music and a heart-pounding sound and promised myself I’d be the entertainer I knew I was in my heart.”

  “You’re exhausting to watch.” That made her smile. “I think that experience helped you to be the artist you are now.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “No.” He stopped himself from using her real name in earnest. “You’re incredible and growing in demand from your performances alone. Your father has to be proud.”

  “He doesn’t know I’m Queen Roe and doing the music that he plays, fulfilling his legacy. He just knows that back then, I gave it a shot and had some skills. Do you know they’re honoring him at Sunburst this year?”

  Holy fuck. He struggled to contain his composure. “I heard he’s being honored but I didn’t know all the details.”

  “He wants me to be onstage with him when he plays at this honorary ceremony b
ut I can’t. I just can’t do it.” Her body caved and her head hung. “It was the shittiest thing for me tell him no. He’d never tell me it hurt him, but I heard it in his voice.” She pressed on her chest as if also wounded. “But when do I stop doing things for my parents instead of what’s best for me and my well-being?”

  “Is it that you don’t want to do it or are you scared to do it?” He challenged her by using the s-word, but whether she liked it or not, she’d made a full recovery and become an artist in demand.

  Her chest heaved and she exhaled what felt like the weight of her world. “Maybe a bit of both. I don’t know how revealing Queen Roe will impact my classical career and that is still very important to me. I also don’t know if I can manage both if I got too big. I’d lose control over, well, everything.” Her chest moved quicker and he continued to caress her hand. He pushed a little further.

  “You can’t know unless you put yourself out there, Queen.”

  “Maybe you’re right, but I’m not ready to find out.” With her free hand she called over a server and asked for a cognac.

  He left it at that and focused on his meal. “Let’s eat.” He’d learned a lot. He was glad that she trusted him to tell him what happened. He’d have to change his strategy if he wanted to see her on the Sunburst stage. Maybe she just needed to know she could get up on a big stage again. The pool deck was a bigger stage than Rebel, even though it looked deceivingly smaller. It wasn’t a festival stage, per se, but it did have a festival feel. He’d survey the scene carefully. Nyah might just be ready to take that next step in time to help them both meet a milestone.

  “Hey, Tommy?”

  “Mmm,” he responded with a mouthful of food.

  “I, uh, I’m sorry I blamed you for missing my call time. My suspension from the philharmonic was on me.”

  He hurried to finish his food. “I didn’t expect that.”

  “Trust me. It’s not easy but it’s the truth. I messed up and I guess I wasn’t willing to admit that to myself,” she said.

  “I understand. I appreciate the apology,” he said. He felt lighter, as if the yard between them had chipped away to a mere foot. “I didn’t want to bring it up in case it was still a sore spot, but how are you doing with that? The suspension, I mean.”

  She rolled her tongue in her cheek. “I’m here. Living it up instead of flogging myself in repentance.”

  He laughed. Something she drew out of him so easily. “Good. Like I’ve said a thousand times, you should try to have some fun.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  They finished dinner and before they were even out of their seats the mood in the restaurant changed. The artists were excited to party, especially now that they’d been fed and plied with complimentary drinks.

  “I see people are trying to wild out but it’s been a long day with travel. I’m going to catch Rize’s set and then maybe take the long way back to the room and check out that spot we saw on our way here,” Nyah said as they headed toward the exit.

  “Cool. I have a little business left to conduct. I’ll probably call it an early night, as well. That is, if one can call one in the morning an early night. In our business, it’s literally the equivalent to five p.m.”

  They shared a laugh, one of many that night.

  “I’ll catch up with you.” He angled toward the opposite direction.

  She stopped him. “Thanks for listening, Tommy. I think I might have been wrong about you. You really do care.”

  “You’re welcome.” He placed a hand on his chest. “It was my honor to listen.” He did feel honored to hear her story, yet he grappled with the reasons why he felt gutted and guilty in the same breath. He did care for her, despite his work affirmations, and wanted the best for her, but the fact that he’d kept a key component from her started to gnaw at his core. They both could win, but if he fucked this up, he’d lose exponentially more than he’d bargained for.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The packed crowd on the main promenade cheered for Rize, their arms reaching for the sky as they jumped. Nyah wondered if anyone had lost their life on previous cruises. The fans teetered so close to the rails as the ship drove full steam ahead toward the next port. Sweat dripped from Rize’s dark skin and his blond, natural curls tightened further from perspiration. His energy had everyone dancing, including her. She could see the appeal of the cruise immediately. All attendees had to do was get wild, enjoy themselves, and then stumble to their rooms. No drunk drivers, 4:00 am streets to walk alone, or buddies to text that you got home safe.

  Nyah watched Rize with a few other artists but with the loud music—and as those around her turned up their party with a pill, a spliff, or some snow—conversation was a challenge. She accepted a shot someone offered her and danced it off before Rize finished his set.

  “You heading down?” he asked, after she’d hugged and congratulated him on his set.

  “Yeah, I’m performing on the pool deck tomorrow and I want to go over my set. I’ll see you there, right?” she asked.

  “I’ll try. We’re going to keep this party going. No doubt it’ll be a late one. If you change your mind, text me and you can come to my suite,” he suggested.

  “Cool.” Nyah had no intentions of going to anyone’s suite when she had a banging stateroom of her own. Plus, she was well aware that as the hour grew later, so did the debauchery. Tempting as it may be, Tommy popped into her head, and going to a suite party didn’t entice her as much as it should.

  She took the long way to her room with the intention of finding the spot she and Tommy had seen on their way to dinner. They had talked about her failings when she first started out. She hadn’t meant to share so much with him, but those fucking brown eyes of his had often made her divulge more than she intended. They were eyes to the soul of a man she trusted more and more with each passing day. On her way, moans echoed from crevices and corners, and she caught glimpses of couples and thrupples who’d also sought semi-seclusion for kissing, canoodling, and copulating. She hoped no one occupied her spot. When she found it empty, she clapped excitedly as she gripped the rail and watched the white caps forming at the side of the ship. This was way better than being in her apartment sulking over her two-week hiatus from the philharmonic.

  Earlier when she’d heard Tommy moving around in the other suite, his nearness influenced her movements, the outfit she chose to wear, her heel height, the fragrance she misted, and the lotion she moisturized with. Tommy’s touch from when they held hands at the safety check and at dinner haunted her palm and fingers.

  Her phone buzzed and she checked her text.

  Boombox: Still partying?

  Nyah: It was wild. I left it to the fans. Hanging by that spot we saw earlier.

  Boombox: On my way.

  Nyah’s tummy flipped. How had three little words gained so much power? On my way. She leaned against the balcony and stared into the endless horizon and the starlit sky. The whoosh of the ship, gliding through the inky waters, soothed and invigorated at the same time. The music from the partying all over the ship thudded but added to the serene moment rather than destroying it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d stood still for this long.

  “Hey.” She heard Tommy’s soft greeting and her eyes followed the sound. He stood finer than the best packed cigars in his fitted khaki suit and crisp white shirt. His lean muscled thighs and his just-round-enough ass weren’t playing around, and Nyah was at their mercy.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He breathed out and moved to stand by her at the railing. “Just talked business and new opportunities. Plugged your performance.”

  “You can’t turn it off, can you?” She shook her head.

  He nudged her arms with his. “I can turn it off.”

  “Then do it.” She half expected to see beads of sweat on his forehead.

&nbs
p; “Now? I can’t do that. I’m literally on a business trip.”

  Nyah’s heart pinched a bit. So far, things felt like more than just business between them. Perhaps she, too, should stay realistic about the current situation. Tommy was a more than adequate bowl of spaghetti, and she’d love to twirl her fork into him on the regular. Not only was he charming but he wasn’t trying to slide into a relationship either. What was wrong with a little no-string sex to break her fast? This wasn’t a lovers’ getaway. She needed to remember that they’d both come on this cruise to work.

  “True, but I think you can take some of your own advice and relax.” She moseyed over to a raised large block covered in white paint, topped with a small rectangular tan cushion. She hopped to sit and Tommy joined her.

  “How’s this? I’m relaxing,” he said.

  “Yeah, yeah...we’ll see how long that lasts.”

  They sat in a few moments of silence, which was just as nice and chill as their conversation.

  “I heard you practicing earlier.” He stared down at his feet, then at her. “You sounded beautiful but made me want to hurl at the same time.”

  Laughter busted from her gut. “Vomit exercises. A classic technique.”

  “The way you were sliding those notes together.” He placed a palm on his stomach.

  “There are so many different versions but the hurly feel would be correct.”

  “Did you get in the hours you needed?” he asked. The gentle swinging of his feet knocked the seat.

  “Sort of. I didn’t do my breathing exercises for the bassoon. It’s not my primary instrument, but I try to stay consistent with everything so that I get better.”

  “Can you do them here?”

  “Why didn’t I think of that? I can, actually. Do you mind?”

  “Uh...why would I mind?” He smirked.

  She shrugged. “I normally do it with a balloon or the actual instrument. Obviously, the bassoon is not here and the balloons are in the pocket of my bass in the room. I can manipulate my hand to do it. It’s all about the diaphragm. The more air you can accommodate the better and—” She cut herself off. She driveled details and information that likely didn’t interest him. “This is probably boring for you.”