She turns to her captive audience again. “It’s a shame that Nolan has such an early tee time tomorrow or we’d go,” Ivy laments.
Sure, his golf buddies are more important than this major career milestone for my fiancé!
I bite my tongue. It isn’t worth it.
When all the guests leave and the catering team emerges to clear the remnants of crab puffs and fresh squeezed mimosas, I all but sprint to my car.
I turn up the radio on my drive back to Manhattan. Salt is heavy in the ocean air. Traffic clogs the highway, the same way it will until Labor Day.
The song ends and the radio host’s articulate and upbeat voice filters through my speakers.“Some people are lucky and got tickets to the Fool’s Gambit reunion show in January. And some people are like me and will have to watch the livestream from their couch, wearing sweats and crying into a glass of pinot grigio. But in the meantime, here’s a song I’m desperately hoping will make the set list. Here’s ‘Ronnie.’”
I adjust my grip, strangling the wheel as the song starts.
It was two in the morning when we got the take that would later make it onto the album, everyone clutching disposable cups with cold coffee, and all eyes were on Wes and Garrett in the recording booth, embodying the song as they wielded their alternating lines. Their voices had this worn grit that raked you across the embers of their desperation to be chosen. They finished, and the entire studio held its breath as we played itback. Martin nodded his approval and the room vibrated as we erupted into cheers. Then Wes was there, arms tight around my middle, so close I felt his heart practically pounding out of his chest as he thanked me for staying until the end, for always staying until the end.
Back then we constantly pushed our bodies to the limit. And we always felt like it was worth it for the feeling of victory that came with the completion of a song. We’d ride the giddy sleepless high together until we collapsed, sleeping for a full day before doing it all over again. It never felt like a sacrifice. Relentless obsession drove us each step of the way.
Sometimes I feel that way now. Well, at best I get a diluted version. A moment with a producer when things just click and we try to work as fast as we can before the ideas slip away. Mostly, I just feel like an efficient machine, being told what to record and where to be, sometimes managing to feel some sense of accomplishment each time I tick off a task.
Engagement party? Done. Next on the list. Spend hours on hair and makeup to achieve a natural glow, because of course I shouldn’t look like I’m trying too hard.
By the time I arrive at the hotel room we’re using as home base for the night has been transformed into a dressing room, clothing racks of gowns and makeup spread throughout the suite. I nod off for a moment in my makeup chair and someone thrusts a cup of black coffee into my hand. After this morning and the drive back I’m going to need at least one more cup to make sure I don’t fall asleep during the movie.
“We’re anticipating questions about the engagement on the carpet tonight, so run with it. Play up the romance. You and Jamie have been trending for the last week, the soundtrack is hitting all of our initial streaming and sales goals,” Emilia, my manager, says, reading her notes off a tablet as I’m securedinto my first dress of the evening—a gunmetal gown with an iridescent gleam that reminds me of oil on water.
“Perfect. Is that everything?”
“For the premiere.” She looks toward the remaining people in the room. “Can we have the space for a moment?”
Hangers clatter and the zippers of makeup bags swish as everyone quickly finishes what they’re doing and leaves.
“Should I be worried?” I ask. To my knowledge everything is going fine. The press has been devouring Jamie and my appearances out in the city and during events. But Emilia has herlet’s get down to businessface that always sets me on edge.
“We’ve been approached with a great opportunity for a tour that might be a little out of your comfort zone. But withThe Excavatorswrapping up, it’s time to think about the next big thing.”
“I thought the next big thing was the wedding?” Adding something else on top of that right now, let alone a tour would be exhausting. But I should have expected this, it’s why I hired Emilia in the first place, to always push me toward the newest opportunity. To manufacture the high that used to come so naturally, and to out run the fact that I may never experience it the same way ever again.
“We’ll take care of that, but it would be a waste not to capitalize on the publicity we have, as well as the buzz from the Fool’s Gambit reunion, especially since you’ll have an appearance there.” I wanted to decline the tickets and requests for interviews, but it won’t just be Wesley there. I’m not close to the guys like I used to be, but it would be a shame to not support them because of Wesley.
“I’m sorry, why would the reunion matter? Is there someone opening for them? Or…” My brain finally catches up. “Wesley. You’re telling me this great opportunity is with Wesley Hart?” Iask slowly to make sure I’m not misunderstanding. Hoping that I am.
“I know in the past you made sure to avoid events with him in attendance.”
That’s putting it softly. I’ve had Harper make sure to get me the guest lists of any event he might show up to. Last year when he was nominated for a Grammy, I declined the opportunity to present an award. “But it’s been years and you’re both adults. Imagine the story, two friends finally burying the hatchet and reconciling to bring about one of the best music tours of the decade. If I were to draw a Venn diagram of your fan bases, it would damn near be a circle.”
“You can’t actually expect that this will go well.”
“No one said you have to be best friends. Just get through the tour. Our team is already projecting record breaking sales numbers.” And there it is, the real reason to present the idea to me in the first place.
The numbers.
I don’t usually mind all the talk of metrics and sales goals. I’m not just Avery Sloane; I’m a business that takes hundreds of people to run smoothly. But today I absolutely fucking mind.
This is a line I won’t cross.
“I don’t care. I won’t do it.”
“This note came with the initial contract,” she says, ignoring me as she holds out a sealed letter. “I already have a set of points I plan to negotiate if you change your mind.”
