Harmony Sonora is going to be the death of me.
The Truth May Vary
HARMONY
Theoceangleamslikesilver from the Terrace, a seaside venue with—you guessed it—a huge terrace that extends out onto the beach. Strings of lights hang between posts that line the railing, unlit for the moment as the evening sun has yet to set. The stage takes up most of one side. The remaining space is filled with tables decorated with fine linens, crystal glasses, a few sprigs of greenery, and flickering tea candles. Above all that, a banner sways gently in the breeze, bearing the Coastal Hearts Benefit logo.
Servers weave through with champagne bottles and hors d’oeuvres as guests trickle in. I spot some lesser-known actors and a few other musicians but none I’m familiar enough with to greet.
I run my hands over the black chiffon skirt of my dress and all its little gold flecks and take a deep breath of the salty air.
“You had to wear that one,” Stef mutters as she side-eyes my attire.
She made me promise to book a few events that would be good PR—a noble cause, nothing feud related, something pure andconflict free—but I agreed only on the condition that I still get to appear absolutely stellar.
Even though I will not be performing “Absolutely Stellar.”
It wouldn’t make sense for an event like this. This is a time and place for something uplifting for the community as a whole. So the benefit organizers have asked me to perform my lastLucky Starsnumber, “Brightly Burning,” one of those positive, empowerment type songs. I don’t like performing anything that FM Sound can profit from, but it’s a good song. It also happens to fit the star theme, so I can’t be too mad about it.
What I can be mad about, though, is how Stefanie found “Lip Sync” in my Notes app and brought it to the attention of the other songwriters, who then decided to adapt it to be a duet and use it as a demo to help me find a collaborative partner.
“We probably won’t end up using it on a record,” Stefanie insisted last week, “but it’s a great starting point.”
So I’ve been stuck rehearsing something that I should have deleted months ago, which means it’s my own damn fault. If I’m going to think about Riff, I’d rather it be in a negative light. And ideally, I’d rather not think about him at all. Unfortunately I’ve made it very difficult to escape him. Every interview, it’s “What’s your next Riff song going to be?” or “What’s your response to him calling you ‘a thousand degrees Fahrenheit’ and not in a good way?” Somehow he’s my whole personality now. Frankly, I’m looking forward to a night off—and, as Stef said, some good press. For once, I can sing something that has nothing to do with him
I look around and I’m surprised how many cameras are here, although I guess I shouldn’t be. Despite the fact that it’s a relatively intimate event, PR really wants me to protect my image lately. I’m sure Stef and the team made arrangements to get extra eyes on me tonight.
Most of the guests are local politicians, socialites, or older philanthropists with money to burn, but there are also tech moguls, models, influencers, and reality TV personalities.
I do the requisite photos in front of the step-and-repeat, then take some photos with a few people who wanted to meet me and a few more when I’m feeling like a bit of a fangirl myself—I adore Carly Brazzleton fromLove Fest, and I’ve also been dying to meet the home organization gurus fromDivide & Conquer.
It’s only after a half hour or so (and near the end of the slideshow presentation showing everything Coastal Hearts has accomplished with donor money this past year) that I glance over and my blood runs cold.
Riff is standing across the terrace wearing a black tux with a black dress shirt and black necktie. The lapels and necktie are velvet. A Stetson Diamante is angled perfectly on his head, while his full-caiman Tony Lama cowboy boots gleam in the lights.
I nudge Stefanie. “Did you know he was going to be here?”
Riff looks up from his red wine glass, which he cradles in his palm with the stem between his fingers. He narrows his sparkling brown eyes at me, then leans over and whispers something to his manager. (Probably: “Did you know she was going to be here?”)
Stefanie forces a smile. “Don’t be upset, okay?”
“What do you mean ‘Don’t be upset’? Of course I’m upset. This place isn’t crowded enough for me to avoid him all night. There’s press here. It’s one thing to release songs at each other; it’s another to have to face him when everyone’s watching.” I analyze her expression and the line that forms between her brows. “Wait—youdidknow.”
“I did. But there was no way I would have been able to get you to come if I’d told you ahead of time.”
I frown. “That’s true. What’s the point of this, though? At best it’s going to be awkward; at worst …”
The emcee’s voice comes smooth and bright through the amplifiers. “Thank you all for joining us here at the Terrace. It’s always so good to see our generous donors.” He goes on to explain how the organization supports rural California communities after natural disasters (for anyone who is new here) and also summarizes a little bit of what we just saw on the slideshow, then thanks some specific people who have donated extra-large amounts of money, talks about a few goals Coastal Hearts has for the coming year, and eventually starts to wind down in favor of the entertainment. “Now that we’ve covered everything related to the benefit, we want to convey our gratitude with a special musical performance. For probably nine or ten months now most of you may have been aware of some conflict between two celebrity artists …”
That earns a chuckle from the audience. People look around and get a visual lock on either me or Riff; a few look back and forth between us and whisper while I try to keep a straight face.
I’m not keen on the idea of performing in front of him. I mean, I know it’s not like he’s never seen me onstage before in videos or whatnot, but never in person—and certainly not within the context of our growing enmity.
“But as we all know,” the emcee continues, “when it comes to serving our community, we have to set our differences aside. Let bygones be bygones. Agree to disagree. Sometimes we even find, working side by side, that those we once misunderstood may turn out to be some of our closest friends. In rare cases,morethan friends.”
The crowd is eerily silent for a moment as everyone tries to parse meaning from those words.
A sick feeling crests in my stomach.
