I dragged Darren through the lobby and into the galleries without telling him I was looking for Jonathan. I found Jonathan by our piece with three other people, including Kendall of the black turtleneck. The other man looked like Harry Enrich from Carnival, but he couldn’t be. Jonathan looked more relaxed and comfortable than he had been at the Eclipse show. More affable, somehow, better in his own skin, if that was even possible.
“I need a drink,” I whispered to Darren.
He nodded and pulled me back to the lobby. The string quartet and pianist, two women dressed in long black skirts and three men in tuxedos, played a Brahms’ Hungarian Dance like a dirge. It somehow worked. Gabby and I had taken a ton of gigs like this through high school and college. Little parties and big events full of wealthy people trying to act wealthy. They paid crap, but we figured we would have been practicing anyway.
“What are you having?” Darren asked, somewhat less comfortable in a suit and tie than Jonathan. He cast his eyes down to his phone.
“Whiskey rocks. Who’s texting? Kevin? Is he okay?”
“No.” He tapped the bar then shook his head as if a fly had landed on his hair. “No, I mean it’s not Kev.”
“Okay?”
“Adam has landed.”
“Is he coming?”
Darren rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know what I want.”
“Well, if he’s here and he came to see you, you’d better think of something fast. Like a piece of pie or a cookie. You don’t want him to waste the trip.”
Our drinks came with a flirty glance from the bartender to me. He had arched eyebrows and full lips, reminding me of Kevin..
Christian Rondo, one of the artists who had helped us that afternoon, introduced us to Donna Santonini. Meeting her made me blush because not only was her work unforgettable, it was also pornographic and arousing and high-minded, all at once. I loved her, told her so, and met seven other people in the next ten minutes.
My customer service smile was getting a workout. Everyone thought I was with Darren, and we fell naturally into a brother/sister routine we’d honed since we broke up. The musicians took a break, silencing the background noise. Our klatch of artists didn’t notice. We just kept talking about getting shafted, fucked, disrespected, kicked in the ass. Stuff we all had in common.
And Kevin. We talked about the missing status of Kevin Wainwright.
I felt Jonathan’s hand on my back. Even through my dress, I knew his touch. His fingertips just grazed me, and I wanted to melt under them.
“That dress makes me want to destroy you,” he said in my ear.
I faced him, and I noticed his hand left my back. I felt suddenly cold. “Missed your opportunity last night.”
“I’ll take you when you’re ready and not a minute sooner.” He pressed his lips together, looking at me as if he’d swallow me whole once the moment of readiness came. “I have someone here who swears he’s heard your voice on some scratch cut one of his acquisitions people brought him.”
I looked behind Jonathan and found the guy I thought was Harry Enrich talking to three other people I didn’t recognize. “The president of Carnival records?”
“Eddie’s boss.”
Jonathan and I stood together, looking at each other, no words passing between us. I saw the blue flecks in his eyes and the laugh lines at their corners.
“I could introduce you,” he said. “Or you could remind him of the cut he heard.” He glanced at the empty piano, then back at me.
“I could prove I’m not Bondage Girl?”
He nodded. “The song can be what you want. Sing it.”
“You’re releasing it?”
“Yes.”
“What if I sang something else?”
“Your call. I’ll never hold you back again.”
“Jonathan.” Leaning into him with my eyes half-closed, I whispered it so softly, I doubted he even heard me.
“Go,” he whispered just as softly. “Take what’s yours.”
He stepped back, and I felt at once totally alone and totally powerful.
Eleven steps to the piano.
I could do the new song, “Crave/n/” He’d recognize my voice, maybe, but I’d be Monica.
Six steps to the piano.
But if I did “Collared,” he’d know who I was right away.
Bondage Girl.
Two steps, and limited time to get the song out before the musicians came off their break.
I slid onto the bench and started with a B-flat scale, then my fingers decided the song for me.