“Okay,” I say, surveying the scene in front of me. “I think I’m ready.”
The small round table that Juni helped me lug from the storage area has been placed perfectly in the center of the room. The size and shape give a friendly, conversational vibe like two old friends chatting away, and microphones just happen to sit in front of them. I kept my signature canary-yellow chairs and placed them across from each other. I fought a finance bro over those when I first started working at Canoodle. Screwball thought he could just waltz in and claim ownership of my furniture because he liked it.
He learned a lesson that day, courtesy of moi.
“Now to find some lip gloss and we’ll be good to go,” I mumble, reaching for my bag. But just as my hand hits the strap, my phone glows with an incoming text.
Audrey: Good luck today! I’m tuned in and cheering for you. I know you’re going to do great.
Astrid: I just kicked Gray and Brooks out of the cabin so I can listen. SO excited for you, Gianna.
The way they remember little things that are important to me never ceases to amaze me.
My thumbs dance on the screen as I tap out my response.
Me: I didn’t sleep at all last night, so I overcompensated in the caffeine department. Three cups of coffee and an energy drink, and now I’m jittery. I’m not sure if I have too much confidence for this interview or if I’m in way over my head. I also don’t know whether wearing a Wildfire concert tee was a smart or cheesy choice, but I did it anyway. I mean, I look good, but is it too pick me?
Audrey: It’s a great idea. It’ll likely make Mercy feel more relaxed, and if nothing else, it’ll be a great icebreaker. You can tell her that you saw her in Atlanta last year. That will form a connection.
Astrid: I agree with Miss Smarty Pants over there.
I grin as my shoulders slump in relief. Even if they’re just telling me what I want to hear, because there’s no time to changeif this was the wrong choice, I’m grateful. The validation feels good.
Me: Do you have any questions that you want me to ask Mercy? I might be able to slide in a couple of requests.
Astrid: I’m guessing backstage passes for her next show isn’t what you mean.
Audrey: Please ask her if she feels like she has an ethical responsibility for how her work is interpreted. Or does she feel that once she releases the music that it no longer belongs to her, so the burden of interpretation doesn’t either?
Typical Audrey.Snorting, I type out my response.
Me: I was thinking more like—What rock star is the best fuck? But I guess we can get philosophical.
Astrid: Of course, you were.
Audrey: Whatever you ask her will be brilliant, just like you.
“Oh, sweet Auddie,” I say because even though it reads like she’s full of shit, she’s not. She actually believes I’m brilliant and Astrid is a genius and we’re both goddesses. Audrey Van is the best of the best.
Me: I love you guys. Thanks for hyping me up.
Astrid: We’re just telling you the truth. Now go crush this interview.
Audrey: And text us when it’s over. Good luck!
Me:
I set my phone to Do Not Disturb and toss it in my bag. For a moment, I peer into its depths and consider rappelling to the bottom for my lip gloss.It’s not worth it.
Francine walks past the windows overlooking the hallway and waves before entering the room. “Hey, you. How are you feeling?”
“Buzzed on caffeine, battling impostor syndrome, and simultaneously on the verge of puking and needing a hamburger. You?”
She laughs, swinging a set of headphones from her index finger. “I can have a burger waiting on you when you finish, if you’d like.”
“Why are you so nice to me, Francine?”
“Not that it’s tit for tat, but I do remember someone throwing me a surprise party for my birthday last month,” she says. “That person also got a signed Royals jersey for me to give to my husband for our anniversary and refused to take any money for it, and she also?—”
