That would have made things easier.
Cruel men were simple. You knew where to put them. You knew which songs to write afterward.
Richard had believed in me before most people did. He had fought for my first single when radio consultants called it too quiet. He knew the names of every member of my band and always asked about my mother’s garden.
He also knew exactly how many albums I needed to sell to justify the money the label had spent.
“I’m not telling you how to live,” he said. “I’m telling you the reality of the market we’re entering.”
“The market sounds nosy.”
“The market is always nosy.”
Sophie folded her hands.
“There’s another option. You don’t answer personal questions at all.”
“That seems subtle.”
“It is subtle.”
“It will make people ask more.”
“Yes,” Sophie admitted. “But they’ll have nothing to print.”
Rachel looked at me.
“You don’t have to decide anything today.”
Richard’s gaze flicked toward her.
“We have television next week.”
“She still doesn’t have to decide today.”
I stared at my face on the dark screen.
The girl next door.
Warm.
Relatable.
Available, apparently.
“What happens if somebody sees us?” I asked.
Richard’s answer came too quickly.
“Who?”
I laughed once.
It was not a particularly happy sound, but it was still a laugh.
“Claire. My girlfriend. The woman whose existence we’re discussing without saying her name.”
Richard nodded.
