by JN Welsh
Nyah shook her head. “People are going to want to experience a moment that I’ll never be able to recreate.”
“Aww, Nyah. All you can do is your best. I’ve seen you do it here week after week. So have many of the regulars and the media that have been following you all this time.”
“I don’t know—”
“Bitch, you are going to get your ass out there and give them a Queen Roe show. No inhibitions. No apologies. You do what you do best. Tear the roof off!” Trinket jumped up from the couch. “Right?”
“Well...”
“Don’t give me that wack doubtful shit. Get your ass up and give me that energy that makes everybody here at Rebel gravitate to you.” Trinket pulled her up from the couch. “Come on. The kingdom awaits you.”
Nyah rose to her feet and shook her shoulders. The action didn’t quite release the bundle of nerves in her stomach, the tightness in her neck. Her hands were cold, but she was a true performer; she’d do what she came to do. Honor those who attended the Rebel royal court.
“Light it up,” Nyah said.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”
* * *
I’m not going to make it. Tommy glanced at his watch as he ran toward the taxi stand, carryon in hand. “Fuck.” The earliest flight Yaz had found for him landed at JFK around midnight. The cool spring night in the city did little to stop the tiny droplets of perspiration on his forehead as he ran to the car that waited for him.
He wished his notifications had been locked out in airplane mode, because the constant buzzing did nothing but raise his anxiety while the plane caged him in air. Several media alerts with Queen Roe and Rebel in the headlines, including texts from Oscar, who was thrilled that the club was packed and Yaz, who informed him of every new update. His confined space closed in on him when all he wanted to do was get to Nyah. He’d sent her several texts once he got wind of the flood of people at Rebel, but with no response. He was too late. She’d be performing or getting ready to. Any message from him was too late.
Now, as the driver navigated through Midtown Tunnel, Tommy stared at the live streamed broadcast from Rebel Nightclub, and the masses that assembled outside the venue. For all his other clients, a crowd quadrupling in size would be reason for celebration. Not for a classical musician with a double identity as an electronic dance music DJ who tried to keep her career fluttering under the radar, permanently.
“Fuck.” He cursed himself this time and replayed all the mistakes he’d made. Herman had told him about the video trending. He could have easily texted Nyah at that time to give her a heads-up. A call would have been even better, given how anxious he’d been to hear her voice and be close to her again. Then why hadn’t he?
He’d wanted to meet up with her in person during his stay in the city, to gently introduce the possibility of her playing the Sunburst Festival. After her success on the cruise and the reasons she had confessed to staying away from bigger stages, he wanted to contribute to helping her overcome her fear, as well as to finally get one of his artists on the festival’s stage. With her video blowing up to this degree, his current mode of operation? Damage control.
His car stopped in front of his hotel. “Keep the meter running,” Tommy said.
“Yes, sir,” the driver responded.
Tommy zipped through the vacant lobby, checked in, and left his luggage at concierge before hopping back into the yellow cab and on his way to Rebel Nightclub. He checked his watch. Three a.m. He called Nyah in vain, because she was still performing. Downtown traffic on a perfect spring Saturday night could give a shit about the urgency of his travel to Alphabet City.
He arrived at Rebel and the club still crawled with people exiting the club. He had completely missed the performance. He entered the club and saw Oscar standing by the crowded bar where Tommy had met Nyah a few months ago.
“Hermano,” Tommy said and slapped palms with his cousin.
“What up, bro,” Oscar returned. “You missed a good show. Queen did her thing. The place was packed. We couldn’t fit them all in here, but from what we could, we made bank.”
Great for business, bad for Nyah. “Where’s my client?”
“I think she’s still in back with Trinket.” Oscar tilted his head in the direction he spoke of while still evaluating the club.
“Let me hit you up later.” Tommy gave Oscar a dap and wiggled sideways through the sea of bodies grooving on the dance floor, to find Nyah.
Backstage lacked chatter and the space felt vacant in comparison to the crowd outside its doors. Nyah was nowhere in sight.
Trinket, however, greeted him with hands on hips and a frown that morphed her whole face. “Oh, it’s you,” she said.
He prepared for a Dutch oven-sized pot of attitude that he deserved. “Is she here?” he asked.
“She bounced. It was crazy in here since her video on Oh Ship dropped.” Trinket swung the dreadlock tendrils that had slipped out of her messy bun over her shoulder. “Something her agent should have warned her about.”
The shade Trinket threw his way was cooler than lake-effect snow in winter. He didn’t know if Nyah had gone to the bar to just have a post-show drink or home to call it a night. “Is she okay?”
“She got mobbed at the bar. The regulars let her be but everyone else just wanted a piece of her. Even with extra security in the club, she gave up.” Trinket flapped her arms. “Why didn’t you give her a heads-up?”
He had no real answers so he gave her what he had in the hopes that she’d drop Nyah’s location. “I thought the news would be better in person.”
“How’d that work out for you?”
“I got here as soon as I could,” he snapped then adjusted his tone when Trinket whipped her head at him like his mother did when he tried to back-talk her as a child. “Look, I know I’m on your shit list. Maybe hers too, but I really need to see her. Do you know where she went?”
“I don’t think she’s in the mood for visitors.” Trinket’s pursed lips accompanied her appraisal.
“I’ll take my chances,” he said. When Trinket didn’t jump to give him the information he requested, he gave it one last shot. “Trinket, my flight just landed and with the exception of stopping at my hotel to check in so I had a place to sleep and drop my shit off, so that my cabbie didn’t drive off with my luggage, I came right over. I really need to see her.”
Trinket softened for the first time since he had arrived backstage searching.
“She went home.”
He went to squeeze Trinket in a brief hug but she stopped him. “Nah-uh. My loyalty lies with the Queen. She forgives you? I forgive you,” she said.
Tommy nodded and appreciated Trinket even more. “No doubt. Wish me luck?”
“Luck and all that,” Trinket returned flippantly. Tommy chuckled. He needed whatever good vibes thrown his way because he had no idea what state he’d find Nyah in. He just hoped she’d let him see her.
Boombox: In NY...on my way to your apt
He texted her but got no response. Still, he took a chance and hopped in a Lyft uptown to her apartment. Her building loomed like a fortress holding Rapunzel, but this time instead of keeping her in, it kept him out. Inside, he announced himself to the doorman. He half expected the gray uniformed man to turn him away when he called Nyah.
“You can go on up,” the doorman said.
Relief spread through Tommy and he sped to the elevator for fear the doorman would stop him to relay that Nyah had changed her mind. He took the longest elevator ride up to her apartment and rang the doorbell. He could see movement and light in the peephole.
Come on, angel. Open the door.
A few seconds later, she swung the barrier between them open. “Hey.” She held a beer mug filled with amber liquid that looked like cognac, mixed with something fruity by the smell of it.
“He
y.” He entered with tentative steps and stopped by the door, taking his shoes off and leaving them on her multicolored welcome mat.
“What are you doing here?” A plush yellow robe decorated with stars wrapped her in a cozy nest.
He followed her as she walked into the kitchen area. He’d been all over the city and washed his hands in her sink. “I wanted to see how you were.”
She scoffed. “Why?”
“Because of what happened at Rebel tonight?” He heard her gulp her drink in the quiet of the apartment. Her contemptuous smile raised his caution flag. “What happened at Rebel tonight?” she inquired.
He treaded carefully like he wore eggshells instead of soles. “I saw the crowd and—”
“Oh, that.” She tsked, and he braced for a blowup that was sure to come. “Apparently, there’s some highlight video of my performance from Oh Ship that’s trending? No. Excuse me. It’s kind of viral now.”
“Nyah—”
“I have an agent and I can’t figure out why, for the life of me, he didn’t warn me.” The exaggerated way she pondered dripped with sarcasm.
“That’s why I came to New York.”
The intensity of her scrunched-up features looked painful. “There are several forms of communication that would have gotten here faster than you: email, a text or a phone call.” She placed the mug heavily on the counter and the liquid sloshed around like a contained mini wave, suggesting that perhaps this wasn’t her first glass.
“I texted, but you were performing by then and—”
“The point is to warn your client before the shit storm?”
He sighed and avoided the bait. “How was your performance tonight?”
She tightened the robe around her and he wanted to be the material holding her. “I had no idea what I walked into. My hands...” She spoke as if in a daze, fisting and releasing her fingers. “They were so cold. I couldn’t stop shaking. I was so scared I barely got the headphones over my head to play.” Her uneasy laugh sent chills up his spine and over his shoulder like the wings tattooed on his skin. “I needed you.”
The pain in her voice elbowed him in the gut and he saw how much he’d let her down. “I found out about the video two days ago when I got back to the office. I should have said something but I figured I’d get here, we’d talk about it and some other things, and then it wouldn’t be a big deal. The alerts about Rebel came through on my flight here and...” His shoulders hunched. Surrender in his muscles. “I know it’s an excuse but it’s the only one I got.”
“Fucking Nancy! You know... I blame myself. I’ve been handling things, but then I got lazy. I started to depend on you. I should have known about this. Regardless of you, my job is to take care of my own shit,” she explained as if an epiphany had whacked her upside the head.
That she referred to her third identity was another sign that perhaps she may have had much more than her usual post-show drink. He had worked tirelessly to earn her trust. Now she didn’t think he was dependable.
He took a step toward her and she held him at bay with one movement of her palm.
“The crowd just wouldn’t quit. I couldn’t even have a drink in peace because they kept pawing at me.” She shivered as if she felt the confinement created by the suffocating masses. “You left me out there. That’s some shit Carlo would do.”
The comparison hit him like an uppercut to his jaw. “Come again?” His frown gave him a headache, as did the constant dance and readjustment he did to communicate with her.
“I haven’t heard from you since the cruise and now you’re at my apartment? I don’t need you here. I needed you when I was backstage freaking the fuck out.” She yanked her drink off the counter and it splashed with a slap on the linoleum kitchen floor as she walked into the living area, circling around the glass coffee table. “Why don’t you just go back to LA?”
Her rejection unbalanced him and he shifted his stance. “You really want me to go?” he asked empty space until she came into view through the large opening between the kitchen and living room. “Nyah?” He raised his voice, demanding an answer.
She didn’t respond. Instead she placed her drink on the coffee table. She lay down, wrapping herself tighter in her plush yellow robe.
He already felt guilty for not communicating with her about the Oh Ship video. Maybe he’d fucked up but he was here, up front and present. He wanted to talk to her about it, to work it out and make things better, and she was pushing him away? He strode to the door, about to stuff his feet back into his shoes, when her sniffles stopped him in his tracks.
His body responded to her on a cellular level and the next few seconds were a blur until he found himself kneeling in front of her. He dared not touch her but even though she rejected his excuses, he couldn’t leave her. “I’m so sorry, angel. I should have reached out to you sooner. I fucked up. You needed me to protect you and I didn’t.” He meant every word and hated that anything he’d done had caused her pain.
He waited as if ready to receive a slap in his face, but when she reached for him and pulled him to her, he climbed over her and nestled her against him, spooning her from behind. She made space for him, and his arm cradled her and his legs draped over hers. His need for her to feel physically secured by him mattered more than the crowd at Rebel, his fuckup, her rejection. He needed her to know that with him she’d always be safe.
“I’m not crying.” She sniffled again. “I’m just slightly allergic to the white grape juice I put in my drink.”
“Got it.” He smiled in her hair. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here. I’m here for you now.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The aroma of fresh French Roast started to fill her apartment. Nyah had set the trusty timer on her coffee machine last night when she got home from the club, knowing that, after drinking the mugs of her way-over-proof version of a Long Island Iced Tea, she’d likely need coffee in the morning. Her phone chimed and she unraveled her body from Tommy’s to receive her regular Sunday morning call with her parents.
“I’m fine, Dad. I’m actually looking forward to time off from performing at the concert hall. I have some performances lined up so it’ll be fun until, hopefully, I get accepted for the symphony,” she responded to his question about her summer plans.
“Still no word from London, huh?”
“Not yet. The official announcement date is next week, so we should know by then.”
“I know you’ll get it, baby girl.” Her father paused. “You’re sure everything is okay? If something is up or you need anything, you can always tell me, and I’ll do what I can to help. Mom, too.”
Nyah hugged the phone. She’d never told her parents about her suspension because of all the questions that could pop up. It had been months since she’d seen them, and with the way last night’s events had unfolded, she could sure use their loving. “I’m good, Dad. I’m planning to come see you guys after I perform with Trinidad at Artistique,” she said.
“We’re looking forward to seeing you, sweetheart.” He switched gears. “I got the program for Sunburst. You’re still going to try to make it, right?”
Her stomach flipped. She knew her father wanted her to do more than just attend the honoree event. He wanted her to play with him. “I got it on the calendar, Dad. I don’t know if I’ll be in London by then.”
Nyah heard rustling outside her bedroom and softly entered the living room. Tommy’s disheveled hair and wrinkled shirt had “Walk of Shame” written all over him.
“I thought the performances didn’t start until August,” her father asked.
Nyah directed Tommy to the mugs by the coffee machine. She opened the fridge, pulled out a container of oat milk, and handed it to him. She’d seen Tommy have it in his coffee on occasion and the item had somehow made it into her cart when she went shopping last week.
“It doesn’t start until
August, but I’m not sure when I’ll have to be there to practice and all,” she responded to her father.
“Oh. Well, hopefully you’ll be able to make it,” he said. She could feel her father’s disappointment through the phone and her eyes watered. “I’ll do my best, Dad. I promise.”
“I know, baby girl.” He sighed. “Well, I’m going to go get your mom at the spa. We have a brunch date.”
Nyah wanted to say so much more to her father but what could she say? This dual identity thing was getting tricky and out of hand. “Give her my love,” Nyah said.
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” She ended the call. She tapped her cellphone against her palm, lost in her thoughts about the importance of family. Her father was being honored and she was fucking around with his joy. I’m such a coward.
“Good morning,” Tommy’s voice broke through her thoughts. “How’d you sleep?”
“I have a slight pain in my neck and when I woke up, I had one noodle-numb arm, but it was okay. You make a great pillow.” She blushed.
“Yeah, my arm cramped and my shirt was sweaty, but I liked it. It was nice.” He smiled. “Thanks for the coffee. I didn’t know you liked oat milk.”
Her face flared fever hot. “I don’t. It’s how you take your coffee, right?”
“Wait, so you’re saying you got it for me?” He toddled over to her.
“It was no big deal,” she mumbled.
“You made space for me in your fridge. I think that’s a pretty big deal,” he teased.
“Okay, whatever.” She quickly changed the subject. “About last night—”
“I’m sorry, Nyah. If something like that ever comes up again, I’ll text you and email and call you, even if I’m on my way to where you are. You should have known regardless of whether or not there was a huge showing at Rebel.”
She was glad that he had remorse over what happened, but she also had a clearer, Hennessy-free, head also. “I also overreacted. You should have let me know, but it wasn’t entirely your fault. I should have been taking care of my press responses and maybe I would have seen it and asked.”
