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“Andy’s the arrogant front man. Collin’s the unattainable guitarist. Barry’s the brooding percussionist.” She pointed to herself. “And I’m the mysterious bassist.”
“You’re a mystery, all right,” I muttered while taking the suit she thrust at me. “A mystery the way your convoluted mind works.”
“Go.” She pointed to the dressing room. “I’ll look for a top while you try that on.”
Sighing, I went to the back of the shop. The tiny dressing room only had a curtain for a door, and it smelled like dirty old socks inside.
Janet’s Design had been in the same spot on the Avenue forever. It had the best selection of clothes, but it was cheap for a reason. The staff was bare bones, and I was pretty sure they never cleaned the dressing room.
Stripping to my bra and panties, I was admiring the way the pencil-thin skirt looked with my chunky platform boots when Rachel pulled back the curtain.
“Scoot over, dressing-room hog.” She wedged herself inside the tiny space with me.
“Where’s the rest of that top?” I squinted at the crop top with spaghetti straps, which looked suspiciously like lingerie.
“Trust me.” She removed the top from the hanger. “Put it on.”
“Okay. For you.” I pursed my lips but put on the top.
She turned me so I was facing the age-spotted full-length mirror. “Let’s get the jacket on before you reject it.” She held it up so I could put one arm in a long sleeve and then the other. Smoothing the jacket across my shoulders, she met my eyes in the mirror. Pinching me lightly, she said, “Admit it.”
My lips parted as I stared at myself in the mirror. “I look cool.”
“You are cool. The suit fits like it was custom-made for you. The colors are good for you too. The hot pink pops with the black, and the lace is way sexy. Your boots make it rock ’n’ roll. Mary Timmons doesn’t look any better in her two-thousand-dollar Yves Saint Laurent suits.”
“Who?” I asked.
“The CEO of Black Cat Records.”
“Oh. Brutal Strength’s label.”
Rachel nodded. “You’d better start reading up on all the major players like Charles Morris from Zenith Productions, and Samuel Lesowski from Lesowski Entertainment. Andy says A&R reps from the major labels scout the weekend acts at Winston’s.”
Artist and repertoire reps? I waved a dismissive hand. “They’re looking for the next Nirvana.”
“Right. Seattle is the place to find the next big act in music.”
I tilted my head. “But ABCR isn’t Nirvana.”
“No, we’re not,” she said. “We’re something different. Something unique. You are too, Addy.”
“I’m nothing special.” I took her hand and squeezed it. “But thanks for thinking I am.”
She fluffed out my hair around my shoulders. “You’re beautiful with your expressive eyes and those kissable-looking lips. You’re strong and capable but vulnerable. Guys want to be your hero. Girls want to be your friend.”
“I don’t have that many friends.”
“You could if you let down your guard a bit.”
I gave her a look.
“Even in Southside, you can have friends. You have Barry, after all. Not that he wants to stay your friend.”
“Of course he wants to stay my friend. We’ll always be friends. He told me that just the other day.”
“Don’t get so defensive.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re too prickly on this subject. So is he. Makes me think where there’s smoke there might be fire,” she muttered.
“When did you talk to him?”
