I clutch my heart and pretend to keel over. “Ladies and gentlemen, what a compliment!”
“Don’t let it go to your head. I just mean you’re not so bad, all things considered.”
“Well, you make it easy,” I say, and surprisingly, it doesn’t feel like a lie.
Chapter 23
Theo
Monday, May 13, 2024
Speaking as a connoisseur of backstages, theJimmy Kimmel Live!setup is top-notch. Each member of the band is given their own dressing room, and even I have an office, complete with a loaner laptop and tasteful arrangement of white roses. A sign on the door says “Theo Ford, Manager, The Future Saints” on an engraved placard rather than on a piece of printer paper someone’s taped to the wall. I’m thinking of stealing it.
Kimmel has a reputation as a stand-up guy, which is rare for comedians, especially those who were able to climb their way to the top. The band and I have haunted his soundstage for the past two days, trying to get in as much practice as possible, and I’ve been happy to see that his reputation seems to bear out. It makes me less nervous about the fact that, in a rare move, he’s asked to interview the band after they play. It will be the largest audience we’ve put them in front of to date, and it’s a live show, which means anything could happen.
I lean against the wall outside a door marked “Hannah Cortland,” waiting for her to emerge. I’ve been killing time by tapping the rhythm to the song they’re debuting tonight,“Lady Dirtbag,” against my leg. After eating, breathing, and drinking their music
for two months, Hannah’s voice essentially runs on a constant loop inside my head.
The door opens, and a hair and makeup artist ducks out. Hannah appears in the doorway, and the song in my head comes to a grinding halt. I’ve never seen her in a dress before. It’s simple, a black slip with two delicate straps, but it hangs on her well. Her thick hair’s brushed over her shoulders. The stylist has even put fake eyelashes on her. If she wasn’t wearing Doc Martens, I might not recognize her.
“No s-sleeping outside your door this time,” I stutter. “Just waiting to escort you to the stage.” I brace for Hannah’s eye roll, but it doesn’t come. She hasn’t moved, her hands still gripping the doorframe.
Her eyes travel the length of me. “You’re wearing an actual suit.”
I glance down at it. Dove gray and impeccably tailored, because I figured I shouldn’t show up to my first television show taping in anything less. But now my mistake hits me and I groan. “For the love of god, no Suit-in-a-suit jokes. I’m too on edge already.”
Down the hall, Kenny bursts out of Ripper’s dressing room, closely followed by Ripper himself. I point. “Even they’re dressed up.”
She squints. “Kind of.”
Kenny’s wearing one of those . . . Himalayan warrior robes we last saw on Dr. G in San Francisco. “He and Gunthy bought the robes together,” Hannah explains, catching my stare. “Obviously, ayahuasca was involved. I’m not sure what his excuse is for wearing it, though.”
“At least Ripper has a shirt on?” It’s a gimmicky T-shirt printed to look like the front of a tuxedo, but it will get past Standards and Practices.
“Theo Ford, as I live and breathe,” says a familiar voice. I turn, and there, of all people, is my college girlfriend, Liv Christie, striding down the hall holding a walkie-talkie.
“Liv?”
She throws out her arms. I run and sweep her into a hug. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She laughs against my chest. “I’m a producer, dipshit. Don’t you remember I moved to LA?”
I pull back, hands on her shoulders, looking her over. She still looks exactly like she did in college: dark, wavy hair; a megawatt smile; natural elegance. “I had no idea you were in TV.”
She slaps my shoulder. “You’re sort of the one who got me this job.”
“What? Please explain.” Then I remember Hannah standing next to me, doing nothing to disguise her curiosity. “But meet Hannah first. Hannah, this is Liv. Liv, Hannah.”
“Of course I know our musical guest,” Liv says, sticking out her hand. “I’m one of your producers tonight.” She winks at me. “And this guy’s dreaded ex.”
“Not dreaded,” I correct. Mourned for and longed for, maybe. But that was years ago.
“A woman who wears many hats.” Hannah accepts Liv’s handshake. “It’s a pleasure.”
“I’m normally a classical girl,” Liv says. “Total Bach-head. But I love your voice.”
I shake my head at Liv. “I can’t believe you’re actually here.How?”
