“Right,” I say, and my whole body is buzzing. I itch with the need to talk to her, to share this moment with her.
“And that’s not all,” Martin says. “They want you to perform. You and Cassie.”
“What?” My mouth hangs open like a fool.
“They want a live performance.”
“Well, fuck,” Jon says, and his foot finds mine under the table, gives me a gentle nudge.
“Yeah, fuck,” I agree.
“Are you going to do it?” Jakob asks, and I turn to him.
“Well, yeah, I mean…” I trail off. What if Cassie doesn’t want to? “I need to speak to Cassie.”
“Pia…” Martin says with a slight edge to his tone.
“I need to know if she wants to. I’ll only do it if she wants to,” I say firmly.
“Noted,” he says with a nod. “I’ll make contact with Kev … I mean, Kevin.”
Our food arrives, and there are more drink orders, requests for mustard (me), ketchup (Jon) and mayonnaise (Geert), and then we start to eat.
“Next order of business,” Martin says with his mouth full. “The next album.”
Geert and Jakob groan, which is ridiculous because they contribute the least to our songwriting process.
“We need to talk about this, whether you like it or not. I need to book the studio and Dylan and his team.”
“We have enough songs,” Jon says. “Or Pia does.”
“But they’re not our … usual style,” I add.
“Go on,” Martin takes another bite.
“There are more … slow tempo numbers,” I explain. “And Jon’s been doing more with synths and the keyboard.”
“Synths? What are we, a fucking disco band now?” Geert asks, laughing in borderline disgust.
“No.” Jon pushes him hard enough to knock him into Jakob, who pushes him back against Jon, like a ping-pong ball. “But discoisdoing well right now.”
“It’s been doing well for years,” Martin chimes in. “But is it Femme Fatale?”
Once more, I feel all their eyes on me.
“I think … it’s okay for us to…change. To not only move with the times but also innovate. We can evolve, and we can come up with something new and fresh in the process.”
Geert points his knife at me across the table. “Who are you, and what have you done with Pia?”
“Fuck off, Geert,” I say before blowing him a kiss.
“Play me some of the songs,” Martin says. “We’ll do a demo next week, and then I’ll take it to Silver Waters.”
I roll my eyes again. “So that they can call it all crap, great.”
“And there she is,” Geert says. “Ourlievepessimistic Pia!”
Jon rubs his fist on my hair, messing it up as the others chatter and laugh. I dig into my food, and Martin is distracted when the man from the reception desk brings him a stack of newspapers. Martin is quick to create space so he can flick through them.
