‘Are you sure I look all right?’ I say, winding the ends of my hair around my finger, curing them for about the hundredth time into place.
Evelyn places both hands supportively on my shoulders as though willing strength into me. ‘You look great, Clara. Seriously great.’
I nod but I don’t feel great. ‘I’m wearing the blue wrap dress I wore the first day I went up to the seventeenth floor. Maybe I should have bought something new, but I just felt I needed to keep it simple. I had this overwhelming idea to keep things comfortable, as familiar as possible. This was going to be difficult enough as it was. If I was to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure I even want to sing professionally anymore. I love singing with the choir and singing with friends. I had even loved my taster of working in the music industry. Well, loved it until it all went belly up. I guess my focus has shifted; this is all about clearing Marco’s name.
‘Clara,’ Evelyn says firmly, pulling me back to the here and now. ‘I’m not coming up, but Fitz will be there and you said you know Terry and Jeff. You know everyone. Just don’t let Betsy put you off.’
I feel sick. I can barely speak, let alone sing. ‘I won’t let Betsy get to me,’ I say, crossing my fingers behind my back.
Evelyn draws me into a hug before turning me around as though I’m a robot and pointing me towards the door. I see Stan’s smiling face.
‘You’ll be fine,’ Evelyn whispers into my ear, and off I set, walking across the landscaped entrance to the doors.
‘Hey,’ Stan calls out, a look of absolute delight on his face. ‘Jeez, we missed you. Are you back for good?’
‘Oh, Stan.’ I feel my calmness crumbling. ‘I’ve got to go and sing.’
‘About time, too,’ Stan says, swinging open the door.
‘But I’m terrified,’ I say. I can feel my shoulders rising. The tension is unbearable.
‘You’ve got to push yourself,’ he says as he walks me through the vast marble foyer. ‘Fitz has told me exactly what’s happening. That Betsy Miller, she’s a problem. If she gets control of the company, she’s going to asset strip. All the Delagado businesses, everything, will be sold off.’
‘No pressure then.’
He laughs. ‘You’re only doing what comes natural, songbird.’ He presses the golden button and the lift doors slide open. ‘Be here when you get down to earth.’ Then he does the sweetest thing. Stan takes my hand, squeezes it gently, and says, ‘Don’t worry how it goes. We got you.’
I stagger into the lift. For a long moment, the doors remain open, Stan on the outside looking in, grinning from ear to ear, me on the inside wishing I could make a run for it. As the lift whirs, the doors shut, and I can feel the mechanism outside pulling me up to the seventeenth floor. I feel sure that my knees are actually sinking. That I’m somehow going in the opposite direction. When they finally come to a halt, and when those knees finally come to a halt, the lift doors start to open and I allow myself a deep breath. I have to do this. It’s not just for Marco now; it’s for Stan, for Fitz, for Terry and Jeff, for everyone in the building.
‘Great,’ Betsy says. She’s standing outside the lift door and glances at her watch. ‘Well, at least you’re on time.’
‘Oh, stop fussing, Betsy,’ I hear Fitz drawl. ‘I took the stairs. Haven’t you ever heard of cardiovascular exercise? We said we would be here. We are.’
Betsy glances at her watch again. ‘All apart from Marco, it would seem.’
‘We’ll wait,’ Fitz says casually, flopping her Birkenstock bag down on the reception desk.
‘We can’t,’ Betsy says, folding her arms. She’s as inflexible as a buffalo grill.
‘Oh come on, Betsy,’ Fitz says, walking off toward the studio, flicking her hair into place. ‘Terry and Jeff won’t mind if Marco’s a bit late. He’ll get here…’ Suddenly, she stops. She’s looking into the studio. There’s a guy in there, one I don’t recognise, with the coolest looks and the fanciest diamond guitar. Fitz points one long finger towards the window. ‘Is that who I think it is?’
Betsy nods smugly. ‘Jackson Black.’
Fitz’s eyes practically ping-pong out of her head, as her mouth drops open. ‘Here, but what’s he…?’ Suddenly her elation cools. ‘And where are Terry and Jeff?’
Betsy narrows her eyes. ‘You just missed them.’
Fitz shoots back to the reception desk and digs out her phone. It’s full to the brim with messages. ‘I don’t…’ She flicks through them, a look of total confusion on her face.
My knees are still not functioning properly. I can’t cope with Jackson Black; the man is mega. I slump down on the red leather sofa.
‘No time to sit,’ Betsy says, waggling a hand towards me, indicating I should stand.
‘Betsy,’ Fitz says, her voice bubbling with suppressed anger. ‘What have you done?’
‘We’re going to have a proper recording session.’
‘But you can’t get rid of Jeff and Terry,’ Fitz says, her voice still sounding shell-shocked.
