“They already do.”
“And your answer so far has been that you’re focused on the album.”
“I am focused on the album.”
“Good. Keep saying that.”
I looked from her to Richard.
“For how long?”
Neither of them answered immediately.
Rachel did.
“That’s the question.”
Richard exhaled.
“No one can predict the future. We’re talking about now. This moment. This album.”
“This tour,” Sophie added. “This audience.”
I sat very still.
At the time, Claire Reed and I had been together for nine months.
She was an assistant costume designer on a television series filming in Atlanta. She had dark hair, an alarming collection of ceramic birds, and an ability to fall asleep during any movie regardless of explosions, plot, or volume.
She also had a toothbrush in my bathroom.
A drawer in my bedroom.
A key to my apartment.
None of that appeared on Sophie’s slides.
“What exactly am I supposed to say if someone asks?” I said.
“That you’re single,” Richard replied.
Rachel’s pen hit the table.
“You just said you weren’t asking her to lie.”
Richard’s expression tightened.
“Then say she’s private.”
“She isn’t single.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
The room finally went quiet.
Richard was not a cruel man.
