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FREE FROM THE JUDGMENT of the executive staff in the main office, Brit wandered into the back room where the lower rung of the business took their breaks. One vending machine that had been there since the club’s heyday in the eighties provided the staff with quick-fix snacks. A vintage Zotz candy package, likely also from the eighties, was jammed into one of the compartments. Employees through the years had left it there for posterity, and it had become a running gag. One year, general manager Mike had made “Club Zotza” T-shirts as a funny take on Club Stanza. It was the only time she had known Mike to have a sense of humor. Brit still used her T-shirt as a sleep shirt sometimes even though there was a tiny hole in the collar now.
Everyone ate like crap at the club with candy in the break room, salty snacks behind the bar, and mimosas for breakfast in the meeting rooms. But everyone felt like they needed to look good all the time, which left Brit with her curves challenged and her appetite conflicted.
Since Brit wasn’t on the payroll, she felt weird buying the employees’ snacks anyway. She eyed the glass of the vending machine wistfully. Her hand went to her Fendi crossbody bag in search of quarters when the door opened.
Her heart dropped into her guilty stomach, but it was only Cord.
His full lips turned up in a mocking smile. “Were you about to buy that eighties candy?”
“Someday I’m going to do it. Out of spite.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Brit smirked. “Nah, you’re right. I wouldn’t.”
Brit went back to look for some coins in her bag, but she only had plastic. With her head down, she heard the clang of money drop into the machine.
“Hey, I was just about to do that!”
Cord shrunk back like a child being scolded by the teacher, and she felt bad for yelling at him for a second. But he could clearly see that she was standing right there. Why would he go ahead of her like that?
“I was doing it for you,” he said shyly.
Brit was still trying to figure Cord out. When Cord was in meetings, he was so confident. Outside of meetings, though, he seemed a little too eager to be liked. She couldn’t decide yet if it was an attractive quality or not.
Brit made a move to leave. “I shouldn’t be eating this crap anyway.” His face looked so hurt that she sighed, pivoted, and punched the button for the Reese’s Peanut Butter cups. His face lifted again.
“You like the Reese’s, eh?”
“It’s my favorite. And I’ll be wearing it on my hips later, so thanks for that.”
With his chivalry, she almost expected that he would grab her snack, unwrap it, and subsequently feed it to her, but he didn’t, so she hinged at the knee without bending her waist, thus avoiding flashing him under her miniskirt. With a passing nod and a mutual “see you later,” she stowed away to her favorite hiding spot in the club.
Club Stanza had been a landmark since Lonnie founded it in the eighties, but the building had been around since the twenties. Lonnie bought it because it was built to be a speakeasy. It had been revamped throughout the years, but a couple of the doorframes were still original, small, and narrow. Including the one just outside the coatroom in the lobby. The rickety door opened into a stairway that led straight up to the roof. After a potential jumper incident years ago, Lonnie kept it locked, but he didn’t notice when Brit took the key. No one had any reason to come that way when it wasn’t a show night.
Brit ripped open the package of peanut butter cups and nibbled around the perimeter of the first cup while she swiped at her phone with the opposite hand. Her first stop was always YouTube. If someone was going to find new talent, she wanted it to be her.
They were between talent bookers right now, and Lonnie was considering a few people to bestow the responsibility on. Brit wasn’t sure she wanted to be on the payroll, but she had a strong idea of who she wanted this club to book as far as musicians.
In Brit’s suggested videos on YouTube, an attractive kid popped up. His look was generic—another swoopy-bang wannabe, but his dark brown eyes said more. This kid called himself J.J. Mack, which seemed a little pretentious to Brit. If they got him in there, they could find this kid some representation to do better by him as far as image. He sure had the good looks. She tapped the screen to make his most popular video play. He was a rapper, but also could play the violin. Brit was into the fusion thing lately. With Daisy and her hip-folk, and now this guy with his classical rap, they were exactly where she wanted the club to be going.
She had to have him. And even if he didn’t draw in the crowds, he would be nice to look at while he tried.
After finishing the first peanut butter cup, Brit licked the melted chocolate off the tips of her fingers and wiped them on her denim skirt. Stuffing the second cup into her purse, she pushed open the door. The door scraped against the frame and moved an inch without opening. With an unladylike shove with her shoulder, the door begrudgingly yawned open the rest of the way.
“They need to get that piece of junk fixed,” she muttered, fully aware that “they” was her father.
She needed to get back on a real computer to find J.J.’s contact info.
“Hey, Britnee.”
“It’s Brit,” she corrected before she turned around to see who had called her the wrong name.
“Right, sorry.”
She pivoted on her heel to find Isaiah Cox with one foot out the front door of the club. Employees never used the front doors outside of business hours, but vendors didn’t know any better.
“Coming or going, Isaiah? I thought we were all stocked up on your vodka.”
Isaiah smiled, his nice white teeth brilliant against dark skin. He let the door close behind him and leaned one elbow against the wall. “You are. I was making sure the place down the street was set for the party tomorrow. You coming?”
Brit had forgotten all about the Premiya vodka-sponsored bash tomorrow night. As one of Premiya’s best customers, a few of the Club Stanza VIPs had been invited by Isaiah. Of course, Brit had to go even though it had nothing to do with music. And she didn’t drink vodka. But the clubs had to support each other, and she wouldn’t mind a night of letting loose and dancing.
“Wouldn’t miss it. See you then, Isaiah.” She stood with her mouth in a straight line until Isaiah got the hint that it was time to go and ducked out the door.
***
DOWN A SHORT, DARK hallway from her father’s office was a spacious but empty office for Mike, the general manager of the club. He was hardly ever there. Mike was in charge of the day-to-day operation since Lonnie essentially retired. Although Mike was always reachable by phone, he let the team run itself. He came in once a week to figure out the schedule and address any issues that came up, and then he was out again to who knows where. Brit asked her father time and time again why he hadn’t fired Mike, but in the end, he always got things done. Somehow.
Brit settled behind the computer as someone peeked into the doorway and said quietly, “Oh, I thought you were Mike.”
Glancing up, Brit greeted who she thought was one of the new bartenders Mike had just hired. The gorgeous black girl looked more like someone who could’ve been in a print ad for the club rather than working in it. Brit wondered how Mike had scored her as an employee.
“Anything I can help you with...?” Brit paused, wanting to call the girl by name, but she didn’t know her name. She hoped the girl would say no.
“Something came up. I need to ask off for tomorrow night.”
“We’re going to be short-staffed tomorrow with the—” Brit stopped and shook her head. She didn’t know why she was doing Mike’s job for him. “You know what, send Mike a text. I don’t know how the schedule looks.” The schedule, Brit knew, was a mere turn of her head away, posted on the wall immediately to her left.
“Oh OK, good idea.” The girl turned halfway to leave, but then said, “Hey, you’re Brit, right? Brit Byers?”
Brit sighed.
“You probably get that a lot. Sorry. I’m Sharnita.”
Sharnita’s hopeful smile faded without a response from Brit.
“I’m sorry. I’m zoning out. That time of the month, you know?”
Sharnita exhaled in relief. “Yeah, totally.”
“Hey, Sharnita, have you heard of this J.J. Mack guy?”
“Yeah! He’s hella hot. And you know, talented, if you’re into that sort of thing.”
Brit laughed, and Sharnita’s eyes looked pleased.
“I’m going to get him to play here. We have to have him.”
“That’s awesome. I gotta get back to the bar, but it was nice meeting you, Brit.” Sharnita waved a hand with manicured long electric blue nails.
“Likewise.”
Brit expected a little more of a reaction, but no matter. She went back to J.J.’s video page and scoured it for contact info. She found it with ease. There was no way someone with that kind of talent went unrepresented for long. The name of the talent agency was familiar. Brit couldn’t believe her luck. Cord’s stepbrother, Lander, owned the joint.
Lander was his last name, but it’s what everyone called him. To the point that Brit couldn’t remember his first name even though he was engaged to her sister, Barbara.
Dialing her sister’s number first, Brit leaned back in the creaky, seldom used but somehow worn office chair. “Hey, Barbie.”
“Hey, Burt, what’s up?”
An early fascination with Sesame Street and an understandable inability to spell at the tender age of five gifted Brit with the nickname of Burt from her older sister, who never let her live it down. It helped that her sister, who worked as a model and was usually poised beyond belief, broke her composure for a moment to do the Ernie voice.
Brit laughed. “You’re such a dork. Hey, listen, is Lander around?”
“No, he works like normal people. You can call his office.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks, Barbie. Hey, are you going to the vodka thing tomorrow at Elysium?”
“You know that’s not my scene.”
“Why, ‘cause it’s not knitting club?”
“Oh, shut up. You’re terrible.”
“You need to get out more. You were the hot Byers sister. Never forget that. But then you settled down.”
“Hey now, you set me up with Lander!”
“That’s because he’s related to Cord, who seems nice and stable. Figured if his brother is half as lame as he is, he might be a good change from the grade A meat you usually bring home.” Brit allowed her voice to drip with the appropriate amount of sarcasm.
“You should talk, little sis. Not dating guys with adjectives for names from now on might be a good life lesson for you, too.”
“That’s some sweeping generalization you got there. Sure, Crazy was bad, but Pious seems like a catch.”
The line was silent for a moment.
“Barbie?”
“Tell me you aren’t dating a guy named Pious.”
“Barbara Anne Snickerdoodle Mariah Byers, come on.”
Barbara laughed at the lengthening of her name. “I just had to check!”
“Whatever, I’m off to call your man. Peace. Have fun at knitting club tomorrow.”
“Have fun with Pious. Don’t get pregnant.”
Brit was about to argue the irony of an imaginary guy named Pious impregnating a woman out of wedlock, but she let her sister’s joke hang in the air instead. She hit End and dialed Lander’s cell.
“Abednego Lander.”
Right, that’s why he went by Lander.
“Hi, it’s Brit.”
“Hey, sis. How you livin’?”
Brit rolled her eyes. “We’re not related until the ink’s dry. And you know Barbara could do better.”
Lander picked up on her teasing tone. “Should’ve thought about that sooner before you set her up with someone so irresistible. What’s up?”
“Have you heard of this kid called J.J. Mack?”
“Name sounds familiar. Does my company represent him?”
“Actually, yeah. Can you get him in here to do a gig?”
Lander groaned like he was about to play hardball. “He’s a pretty busy guy right now, but for you, I’ll see what I can do.”
“He’s just what we need. Trust me.”
“Brit knows best.”
“And if I ever take over Club Stanza, that’s exactly what my business cards will say. Just make it happen. Bye, Lander.”
“No promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”