His hand meets mine as he puts the napkin back down on the table.
“There you are,” John says to Alexander, champagne glass in hand. “Good to see you, Christopher.” John nods briefly, acknowledging me.
“Connie needs you to do some interviews with the media in the press room.”
John places his hand firmly on Alexander’s back and pushes him forward.
“I’ll be back in ten, enjoy the next performance,” he shouts back at me and weaves his way between the tables to the door next to the stage. He smiles and shakes people’s hands as he passes.
I’m starting to see why Harrison decided to stay home as I pick up the used napkin and twiddle with it. I smile at the two random people on the other side of the table and feel like I’ve crashed a party, but there’s no one here I know.
29.Alexander
Saturday
The voice of God echoing above me from the speakers ignites a fury inside of me.
“Great, thank you. That’s a wrap on Alexander Morgan.”
I’m not ready to wrap.
I’ll tell them when I’m ready to wrap.
They’ve given me ten minutes and two run-throughs ofMy Anchor. Yet the rest of the performers in today’s Grammy rehearsals have gotten double that, given their extravagant set designs.
My leg starts to twitch.
Maybe they want me to fail. Maybe they want another VMA moment for their viewing figures.
The thought poisons my mood and leaves me sick to the stomach.
John comes marching onstage directly to me, Lucy following behind.
“Do you want to run it one more time?”
The tech crew is already onstage and are poised to wheel off the band setup, to get ready for the next performance, which has been shrouded in mystery.
“Yes,” I say emphatically.
The producers sitting at one of the tables on the floor exchange words and look back at us.
“We’re not done here,” John says, holding up his hand to stop the crew from moving anything off stage. My band stays put on their stands, unsure what to do. “We need to run it through one more time.”
A bald-headed producer picks up the microphone from the table.
“We’re already behind schedule. Your slot is finished.” His English accent adds an extra stamp of seriousness and authority to his words.
“And who’s fault is that?” John snaps back.
Disgruntled faces stare up at us.
Ever since John became my manager and not just my lawyer, I’ve noticed a shift in him and myself. He’s like a lioness. Me his cub. He protects me from others, but also makes sure my needs are met. He’s encouraged me to speak up and out for what I need, rather than conforming to what everyone asks or expects of me.
“Guys, get back to your instruments.” John motions to the band, ignoring the producers below, and walks over to the sound engineer at the side of the stage.
I guess I will get that third run through after all.
The last time we were all around this table, it ended in rupture and despair, but since my dad’s apology via text for his behavior, things have been better, even if my parents are still getting a divorce.
