How exactly could we be ready for something like this?
“I guess so.” I unhook my seat belt.
Judas looks out the window. “Should we be wearin’ bulletproof vests?”
“Omigosh stop.” Cinny laughs. “Paparazzi is Italian for low-life, human roach, trying to avoid getting a real job. Ignore them.”
We pile out of the car, and the voices shouting Cinny’s name are instantly amplified to such a volume that my ears start to ring. It’s chaos as the photographers clamor to make it to the front of the pack. Cinny grabs my hand as her security guard ushers all three of us into the restaurant.
* * *
We’re sitting in a quiet corner. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I can see the human “roaches,” as Cinny so eloquently referred to them, taking photos of us as we sip water.
“So like, y’all know they’re taking pictures of you?” Judas is mesmerized with the whole spectacle.
“Of course we know,” Cinny replies, a slight irritation to her voice.
“Isn’t it awkward?” Judas continues with his questions, oblivious to the fact that Cinny isn’t exactly receptive to them. I kick him under the table. “Ow.” He glares at me.
“You get used to pretending you don’t see them. And sometimes they’re so damn sneaky you don’t see them. I hate when that happens.” She studies the menu. “You guys are gonna love their crab legs.”
I note the price next to the crab leg lunch—115 dollars!
“Are these Sebastian’s crab legs?” Judas asks.
Cinny looks up from her menu. “Who’s Sebastian?”
“You know. From The Little Mermaid?” He grins. “Trying to rationalize the cost here.”
Oh, God. Judas is so embarrassing. Except, Cinny cracks up laughing like he should be headlining at the Funny Bone.
“Judas.” I turn to him. “Be normal.”
“It’s fine.” Cinny smiles at Judas. “He’s adorable.”
“See, sis? I’m adorable.”
Judas is many things. Adorable is not one of them.
“But on the real, Cinny.” He crosses his legs and leans back to stare at the ceiling, and I brace myself. This is typically the position he assumes when he’s about to go on an “information tangent,” as I like to call them. “To make a profit...”
Yep. Here we go.
“...restaurants charge about a three hundred percent markup,” he explains. “This Gush pricing is more like a three thousand percent markup. That sort of price gouging should be illegal. I’m gonna get the cheapest thing here. Just to spite them.”
Cinny snatches the menu out of Judas’s hand. “You’re so silly. Besides, I already called ahead and ordered for all of us, since we don’t have a ton of time. And lunch is on me. Also. I’m a millionaire. So like...don’t sweat the small stuff.”
“Thank you,” Judas replies. “But Corporate America is depending on you millionaires to waste your money to feed unnecessarily into the American economy. It’s why we’re staring down the barrel of a recession.”
“I’m sorry about him,” I say. “He wasn’t dropped on his head as a baby. I think that’s the problem. The good news? He’s going away to college soon.”
“University of Pennsylvania, baby!” Judas pops the collar of his shirt.
“You both are too cute for words. I wish I had a sibling. Hang out with me tonight. There’s a new Slate opening a few blocks from Times Square. It’s all glass. There’s a six-lane bowling alley. Pool tables. Game rooms. The place is pretty dope. I’m doing a set for the opening. Come be my guests of honor.”
“An industry party?” Judas looks like a starving pup who spotted a meaty bone. I swear he’s salivating. “I’ve never been to one of those.”
“I’m going out with Damon and Angel. Remember, Cinny?”
“Oh yeah.” Cinny frowns. “I forgot.” She drums her long nails on the table. “They have a karaoke room at Slate. I’ll put Damon and Angel on the list. You guys can sing boring old Lynyrd Skynyrd songs in a much cooler environment. Besides, there’s gonna be soooo many celebs there tonight.” Cinny sighs. “I wonder if the Smiths are still coming?”
“Willow and Jaden?” Judas repeats.
“I can introduce you,” Cinny offers sweetly.
Judas turns to me. “Sis. Let your boys know. We’re going to Slate. Discussion over.”
“Yay.” Cinny claps her hands. “It’s official. I’ll have my manager put everyone on the list. This’ll be way more fun!”
Will it? I was actually looking forward to a more intimate night out, hanging with Damon and Angel and getting to know Lorin. “Wait. Lorin was coming, too.”
Cinny rolls her eyes. “Fine. I’ll get Lorin on the list, too. But nobody else. This isn’t a charity event.”
A waiter appears, pouring more water into our beautiful crystal glasses.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman. Chef Adalene is pleased to have you dining with us for lunch and has prepared three lunch specials, which include Chef’s original recipe for lobster bisque. Marinated in a crème fraîche and Dry Sack sherry with—”
“We don’t need to hear the details. We trust it’s good,” Cinny interrupts. “But can we get three lemon drops with sugared rims? You guys have Carbonadi, right?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Perf. Three lemon drops with Carbonadi. Stat.”
“Excellent.” The waiter retrieves our menus. “I’ll return with your items shortly.”
He moves off.
“What’s a lemon drop?” I ask.
“It’s so good. It’s like syrup, lemon juice, and vodka,” Cinny replies. “Perks of being a celebrity. Nobody ever cards you. Unless they’re assholes.”
“But we gotta go back to work,” I remind her.
“Trust me. Working with Tag? Being drunk is ideal. I swear, kissing him is like having to kiss one of my prepubescent, middle school fans.” She takes a big gulp from her goblet of water.
“Won’t the paparazzi say we were drinking?” I whisper, as if they can hear me from outside through a thick pane of glass. “Underage drinking?”
“I’ll put a pic on the Gram and add hashtag Nonalcoholic.” She holds up her phone and smiles. “Thank you, Instagram. Helping celebrities lie since 2010.” She sets her phone beside her on the table. “So, Jerzie. Tell me something about you I don’t know. I feel like you’re the biggest mystery.”
“Really?” I force out a weak smile. Me? Mysterious? “I can tell you something kinda bizarre.”
She takes another sip of her water. “Hell yeah. Tell me, girl.”
“How do you feel about ‘I Defy’?” I ask.
She groans. “Not one of Robbie’s greatest creations. The song has potential though. Something about it is weird to me.”
“I fixed the melody line!”
Her eyes narrow. “You did what?”
“At rehearsal today. I came up with a new melody line. Robbie loved it. So I’m gonna get credit for helping him write the song.”
“You lyin’.” Judas turns to me. “That really happened, Jerzie?”
“I swear. It happened right before lunch. I was listening in on him and Alan, and it came to me. They loved it.”
“Sing it. Right now,” Cinny demands.
“In the restaurant?” I shake my head. “No way.”
“Jerzie Jhames.” Cinny smacks her lips. “You wanna sing on Broadway in front of thousands of people, but you can’t sing to a nearly empty restaurant? Kinda sense does that make?”
I glance around the space. Quite a few tables surround us, but they’re all empty. It really does feel like we have the place to ourselves. At least in this section.
“Come on, Jerzie,” Judas urges. “I keep a box of earplugs next to my bed, you sing so much at home.”
Fine. Why not? I can do this. I sit up nice and tall in the booth, clear my throat and begin singing the new melody line. I sing as softly as I can, but my voice still reverberates, and a few people on the other side of the restaurant stop eating to look over at me.
“Daaaamn,” Cinny says when I finish. “That is way better. Robbie just got one-upped by a sixteen-year-old.” She laughs.
“Seventeen,” I correct her with a smile. “Today is my birthday. And I didn’t one-up him. The arrangement is flawless. That’s all him.”
“I didn’t know you wrote music.” She meddles with her phone. “Listen to this, Jerzie.” Music blares from her speakers. It’s a really cool and catchy beat. Me and Judas bob our heads along.
“Sick.” Judas nods. “This is dope.”
“It sounds like Spade,” I add.
Cinny claps her hands. “Dang, Jerzie. You’re good. It is Spade. He produced the track. It’s for a new song of mine. What would you sing over it?” Cinny asks. “We haven’t found a songwriter we like yet, and the label wants the song like, yesterday.”
Me and Judas exchange excited expressions. Is Cinny asking what I think she’s asking?
“Sing me something. Consider this your job interview.” Cinny slides the cell phone to the center of the table and starts the track over again.
Holy shit! She is.
“Uh, well.” I rub my hands together. “I’m not super on the spot. I’ve been listening to ‘I Defy’ for over a month. So for that, it was a little easier to come up with something.”
“Girl, it doesn’t have to be perfect. Make something up on the fly. Or don’t.” She drums her long nails on the screen of her cell phone. “I am trying to give you a shot here though.”
I look at Judas, and he flashes a smile in support. “You got this, sis.”
“Okay.” I exhale. “Play it again.”
Cinny starts the track again. I close my eyes, focusing on the baseline. Hearing the key changes. Memorizing the cadences. “It’s in 6/8,” I say more to myself than to Cinny. “I like the basic drum rhythm. But the guitar riff...” I nod. “Reminds me of Aerosmith. It’s like Spade was channeling Steven Tyler.”
“Who is Steven Tyler?” Cinny asks.
“Never mind.” I close my eyes. “It’s rock and roll.” I listen so intently, my heartbeat feels in sync with the track. I slowly open my eyes. “I’d get grimy with it. Make it like an R & B rock fusion. Yeah.” I start humming. “Okay. I don’t have lyrics in my head. But what about a melody line like this.” I sing the melody for Cinny. She’s barely moving a muscle as she listens, her eyes more focused than I’ve ever seen them.
“That’s what’s up.” Judas holds up his phone. “I could hear that comin’ up on my playlist for sure.”
I look at Cinny. “Well? I mean, I could do better if I had more time.”
She taps her phone to stop the track. “I mean it was cute for sure. Like, you’re crazy talented, Jerzie.”
“Really, Cinny?” I place my hands over my cheeks. They feel blazing hot.
“Maybe not exactly what we’re looking for though,” she adds with a sad shrug.
I deflate.
“No, don’t look like that.” She leans back in the booth, studying me. “I’m gonna do you a favor. A real big favor.”
“Yeah?” My ears perk up.
“I’m gonna set up a meeting for you with my manager. He has to meet you. You should bring a few of your original songs. You have music you can share, right?”
I can hardly breathe but manage a nod in reply.
“Good. Bring as much as you can. This industry needs more women songwriters. Especially women of color. Hell yeah. This has to happen.”
“Cinny?” I say her name like she’s got to be kidding me. “Are you being for real? Because this would be the most exciting thing to ever happen in my life.” I’m smiling so hard my vision is blurring. “You would do this for me?”
“Jerzie. I’m happy to do it.” She reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “Who knows? Maybe you might even write a song for me one day. My manager has all the connects.”
The waiter returns and sets three giant martini glasses in front of us, filled to the brim with a cloudy, yellow-tinted beverage. I stare at my nonalcoholic-alcoholic drink. I mean. It is my birthday.
“Will you tell on me if I drink this?” I turn to Judas. He’s already got lips to martini glass.
“Uh. Yeah, you good, sis.”
We both laugh.
He extends his glass in my direction. “Happy birthday, Jerzie.”
“Happy birthday, Jerzie!” Cinny chimes in.
We all clink glasses. I take a sip. It’s delicious, and within a few seconds I feel the cool drink turn warm in my stomach. I giggle.
Cinny’s cell buzzes in her hand. She checks the screen. “Oh, God. I wish he’d stop texting me.”
“Who’s that?” I ask, feeling so puffed up, I’m in danger of full-on combustion.
She sighs. “Zeppelin.”
It’s like a swift kick to the gut. The warm feeling in my tummy turns cold and now there’s an ache in my chest more powerful than all the good feels. My name somewhere beside Robert Christian Ruiz in the Playbill for Roman and Jewel, a meeting with one of the most sought-after managers in the music industry, and all I am is deflated. Like a shiny Mylar balloon days after the party, sagging in the corner of an empty room. Once the highlight of a grand celebration, now waiting for its next destination—the New York City landfill.
“He’s scaring me.” Cinny takes a photo of her drink. “Let me post this ‘nonalcoholic drink’ on Instagram quick before the roaches outside can sell their pictures and head to Starbucks to finish out their ‘workday.’”
I watch as she posts the pic on Instagram, then sets her phone on the table. I know I shouldn’t ask. But the curiosity in me cannot be tamed.
“What, uh, did he say? Zeppelin, I mean.”
She grabs her phone and taps the screen. Then flips the cell around to show me. It’s one message. From Zeppelin Reid:
Cinny. Please talk to me. Please.
Oh. My. God. I reach for my lemon drop but quickly decide against it. With the way my head is already spinning, I need water. I grab the water glass and take a sip, careful not to show Cinny how the message has battered my already bruised and broken heart. I’m struggling to keep my hands steady, my eyes from watering, my voice from cracking.
“That doesn’t seem too scary,” I say evenly.
She runs her fingers through her perfectly straightened hair, pulling it over her shoulder. “Yesterday he texted me like, thirteen times. Honestly, I’m afraid he’s losing it at this point. He lost his job. He lost me for sure. And I guess he’s lost you. Though I’m not sure what you and him were about anyway.”
“I keep telling you,” I say softly. “Nothing.”
“And also, who’s gonna hire him after getting fired from a Robert Christian Ruiz musical? He’s done on Broadway. I hope he doesn’t try to kill himself or something like that. His messages are starting to sound kinda desperate. Yesterday he did mention that living seemed like an exercise in futility.”
Zeppelin, kill himself? No. No, Cinny is wrong. She’s wrong. “He really said that?” My hands ball into tight fists under the table.
“He said it. And don’t tell anybody I told you this.” She leans forward. “But I heard from Lorin, the chorus girl.”
“You mean the swing?” I correct her.
“Potato, pa-tah-toe.” She flips her hair over her shoulder. “Background girl. Anyway. I was chatting with her one day, and I guess her and Zeppelin were kinda friends. She was hoping for more. Trust me. Anyway, she said Zeppelin’s mom was a washed-up opera singer and couldn’t get a job. So she literally hurled herself off a bridge or something and...” Cinny shakes her head. “Never mind. I’
m sure Zeppelin wouldn’t do something like that. At least I hope not. Anyway.” She waves her hand as if swatting away a gnat. “New, nondepressing topic.”
What sort of situation could Zeppelin be in right now? Is he really suicidal? And what kind of asshole is Cinny to ignore it with a wave of her hand? Zeppelin was right about her. From fake Instagram posts to lies on national TV, ignoring the plight of her friends—or ex-boyfriend. Which. I raise an eyebrow.
“You spent time at Zeppelin’s apartment, right?” I say.
Cinny blinks. “Uh. Yeah. Of course.”
I’m taking a huge gamble. But here goes. “What did you think of how messy it was? When I was there for the few minutes I was...” I pause to take another drink of my water. “I couldn’t believe how...dirty...he is.”
“Soo dirty.” She nods. “I would always tell him to clean up. But you know how Zeppelin is.”
My eyes narrow. Yeah. I think I finally do know how Zeppelin is. But more important...I know how Cinny is, too.
She turns her attention to Judas. “So what kind of girls do you like, so I know who to introduce you to tonight?”
I tune out their conversation. I’ve been so focused on how I’m feeling, I’ve forgotten about Zeppelin’s feelings. The way the sadness can come over him so quickly. The way the light can dim so suddenly in his bright eyes. What he must be going through.
When I look up, the waiter has reappeared and is setting down perfectly plated fine dishes, bowls of soup decorated with basil and bright colorful spices, and baskets of steaming hot bread. I don’t have much of an appetite, so I push my plates aside. Cinny and Judas don’t notice I’m not eating—they’re too busy laughing and planning for tonight’s event.
I’m planning, too. I know my new road must include a quick detour. It really is all about perception. And from my viewpoint, this can’t be the end of the road for Zeppelin.
I won’t let it be.
“Who Bare My Letter Then, to Romeo?”
“I know what I want for my birthday,” I tell Judas as we stop in front of the doors of Forty-Second Street Studios. Cinny had to take a call (another one, that girl pretty much never gets off her phone) and is still sitting in her driver’s car. “Let me borrow your phone till rehearsal is over.”
Roman and Jewel Page 20
