Not to mention hard work. To me, luck would be a lot easier.
"How so now?" I flex my fingers over the keyboard of the baby grand, getting ready to warm up for our gig. I run up and down doing some scales.
"You're heading back to The Edison next week, right?"
I nod, now plinking out the melody running through my head. It's been haunting me night and day. I've got to write it down soon so I can work on the lyrics to match. I scribble the notes on the back of the music we're using tonight, before replacing the paper on the piano. Now I just have to remember later that I did this and where I put it. My dad was forever writing down music and leaving it here and there. When my sister and I cleaned out the house, we found enough scraps of paper with indecipherable notes to fill a bookshelf.
I'm at least going to be organized about my indecipherable notes.
"This season is going to be lit. You're so lucky. You've got to get me tickets. I want to go on tour with them. Maybe you can get us in as their permanent backup band if they're doing another reunion. That would be dope."
His words rain down on me, not quite connected and definitely not making any sense. I need to pay more attention. "Say what now? What are you babbling about?"
"Tabby Cat."
I squint, trying to figure out what a cat has to do with me at The Edison. I mean, sometimes there are strays who wander around the property, but that really has nothing to do with anything. "Huh?"
He pulls out his phone and after a few taps, shoves it under my nose. "See? Tabby Cat is doing a show at The Edison. Youhaveto get us booked as the Sassy Cats backup band. Or at least me."
I scan through the article. "This is new." Grayson and Henderson never mentioned anything about it during our last team meeting. "Whatever. As long as she shows up. That's all I care about."
"You know she's like best friends with Angie Aliberti. And Mandy Calhoun too."
I stand up from the piano bench and clap my friend on the back. "I'm so proud that you know who the Sassy Cats are. Did you have their posters hanging in your room too? But why do I care about who she's friends with? It doesn't affect me in any way. I'm pretty sure she's not going to be asking who my drummer is and if we paint each other's nails every weekend."
D'von rolls his eyes. "Man, you gotta think outside the box. She's a legit star who has other legit stars as her friends. And they all have money. As in, money to produce your show … if you ever finish it."
Well, damn. D'von's got a point. I've only been working on this damn show for five years now.
"Hell, isn't that why we play all these stuffy Manhattan events? So you can get hooked up with these swanky rich people and someone will bankroll you?"
"More so that I can eat and pay rent. Not to mention play. None of it's worth doing if I can't play." I run my fingers up the ivory keys in a glissando.
D'von punctuates my statement on his set with a sting, the ba dum tss echoing through the marble banquet room. "Damn straight, bro. Damn straight."
"Hey, Josh. D'von. Sorry, I'm late." Mei bustles in with Mark, the bass player, close on her heels.
"Yeah, Mei and I ended up on the same train," Mark supplies, though neither one of us asked him.
"I mean, we're coming from the same area of SoHo, so it's not that unusual." She shrugs out of her long black coat and tosses it over the amp. She straightens and flips her long ebony hair over her shoulder. She smooths her fitted black gown over her narrow hips. "Does this look okay?" Mei turns in a slow circle for me.
I stand up, appreciating the view. "You shouldn't have worn that." Her face falls.Oh shit. Quickly, I correct. "Because no one's going to be looking at the bride."
"Yeah, Mei. You're smoking hot. I mean, you could always show a little more up top, but this is good. Just turn around a lot so people can see that fine ass."
It's a wonder Mark doesn't have a girlfriend. Mei glares at him.
I lean in and give her a quick peck on the lips. "You look beautiful, as always. Do you want to do some vocal warm-ups before the guests start arriving?" I look at my watch. We're due to start in about fifteen minutes. Mei and Mark were really cutting it close.
Good thing D'von and I were here with plenty of time to set up and get changed. If I didn't know better, I'd think Mark was late simply to avoid moving the gear. Since this ballroom has its own baby grand, I didn't have to haul my keyboard in. I'd much rather play on an actual piano any day.
Mark finally unpacks his bass and begins warming up. We only have a minute or so to tune before the frazzled-looking wedding planner's assistant comes rushing in. The wedding planners themselves never appear frazzled, but their poor staff are often sweating heavier than professional athletes in a sauna.
I smile as I sit down at the piano, ready to spend the next three hours serenading guests while they sip their top-shelf cocktails and snack on the fanciest hors d'oeuvres I've ever seen. There's another band coming in for after dinner. We get the first dance. They get the drunken fun.
Sometimes I watch the bride and groom, trying to see if they're really in love. Do they believe in it at all, or is all of this for show? Generally speaking, the fancier the wedding, the less true love there seems to be.
Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm a cynic. Maybe they already know that love can be vicious. I glance over at Mei, singing Sinatra with her throaty voice. Maybe love deserves a second chance.
