“Remember a year after college, when I was completely aimless, and you got me an interview with your talent agent friend? Well, a few years after working with them,theyrecommended me to their friend in late night, and that’s how I became a producer here. All thanks to you being willing to help the girl who dumped you.” She squeezes my shoulder soI know she’s teasing, but still, something twinges inside me, an echo of that past sadness.
Hannah smiles. “That does sound like Theo.”
“Which part? Helping me or getting dumped?”
Hannah laughs, but thankfully Liv’s walkie-talkie crackles before they can dig any deeper into making fun of me. “Liv, we’re ready for the band.”
“I’m going to walk her to the stage,” she says to me, then turns to Hannah. “I hear you’re doing five with Jimmy after?”
Hannah nods. “Fingers crossed I don’t choke.”
“Don’t worry. He’s a pro. Come on, let’s hustle.” Liv turns to me. “Meet you offstage?”
“Definitely.” I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants and look at Hannah. “You good?” “Yep,” she says, surprisingly curt, looking between me and Liv. “You two enjoy the show.”
*
The second they disappear around the corner, I text Bryan.
THEO:You’ll never guess who I just ran into on the set of Kimmel
BRYAN:IF YOU MET BEYONCE WITHOUT ME I WILL HOLD IT AGAINST YOU FOR THE REST OF OUR LIVES
THEO:Probably should’ve offered more context. This is a normal person—Liv Christie.
BRYAN:Damn. Blast from the past. What’s she up to these days?
THEO:Apparently she’s a producer on the show
BRYAN:Was it awkward seeing her again? Did you tell her you moped around your apartment playing the Smiths and crying for weeks after you broke up? Did you beg for your Whitesnake T-shirt back?
THEO:I honestly forgot she had that. It wasn’t awkward. She seems happy, and that makes me happy.
BRYAN:SIGH
THEO:What
BRYAN:My best friend the martyr. Never met a sword he wouldn’t fall on or a wounded woman he wouldn’t fall in love with.
THEO:Slander
BRYAN:Tell both your wounded women I said what’s up. That’s Hannah and Liv, in case you were wondering.
THEO:Expect my lawyers to be in touch
*
Liv and I stand offstage where the cameras won’t catch us as the Future Saints get into position on the smallJimmy Kimmelstage. I’m trying to memorize everything—the lights, the crew, the audience—when Liv glances at me. “Do you get this nervous every time they perform?”
“More or less,” I admit. “The first band I ever managed, I was afraid they were going to forget their words halfway through a song. With the Saints, I’m more worried they’re gonna . . . ”
“Fall off the stage? Smash an expensive guitar?”
“I see you’ve spent time on the internet.”
“Hard to miss these days.”
The audience hushes as the lights sweep the stage, and the director’s assistant points at the band. They launch into “Lady Dirtbag,” a song Hannah swears is feminist because it’s about how women can suck as much as men. I study the crowd. They’re into the song immediately, which is particularly exciting because Hannah let me help write the opening hook. A minute in, Ripper muscles off his guitar and shifts to a piano in the corner, his long, tattooed fingers flying over the keys. Sadly, that showboat bastard can play the piano perfectly.
