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Then, she pressed a finger to the bud in her ear and hissed, “Where is Ms. King?” She pursed her lips as she waited, then replied, “Well, tell her manager we need her out herenow. I can’t keep these people waiting forever.”
Dave sighed from beside me and tipped his mouth to my ear. “How many times do you think she’ll say Ms. King before the woman actually graces us with her presence? Like, is there a magic number or something?”
“Who the hell knows?” I grumbled, unamused and equally sick of waiting.
From behind me, Simon, my best friend and pianist, whispered, “Candyman,Candyman,Candyman, Candyman, Candyman,” and Greyson, our drummer, burst with a snorted laugh that he quickly hid behind the palm of his hand. Dave grinned and waited for my reaction, but I was too tired to laugh.
I had been exhausted since before we entered the theater in Manhattan, with little desire to withstand yet another award show despite Mitch, our manager and longtime friend, insisting it would be good to revive our dying career. But now, after listening to Chastity apologize seventeen times since we had come to rehearsal, I was ready to crawl into my hotel bed and sleep for a century.
Chastity tapped the toe of her shiny gold shoe against the hardwood stage, shaking her head and checking her watch. This woman was about as impatient as I was drained of energy, and with an agitated huff, she turned to Big Petey—some rapper I vaguely recognized. He stood at the other side of the stage with a crew of buddies, all wearing a uniform of baggy clothes and gold chains, looking about as bored as my band and me.
“B.P., if you could just take a seat, that would be great,” Chastity ordered in a dismissive tone.
Agitated, he groaned and shook his head. “Come on, man. We’ve been standing here for, like, thirty minutes now. Can’t we just go first? I’m sure these guys wouldn’t mind.”
“Nope,” Simon chimed in, speaking for all of us. “We’re cool with that.”
Chastity didn’t even attempt to look apologetic as she glanced in Petey’s direction, then headed back toward me, talking all the way. “We can’t rehearse out of order. Ms. King and Angels go first, and then it’s your turn. I'll call you when you're up.”
“But I ain't waiting on anybody,” he disputed, shooting a sour look across the stage at me, as if it were my fault Ms. King apparently needed an eternity to pass before showing her face.
“Please, take a seat,” Chastity practically growled over her shoulder.
“This is unbelievable, man,” Big Petey whined to his closest pal—a guy at least half a foot taller than him. “I could be getting a burger at Shake Shack instead of wasting my time on this shit.”
Man, I felt that.
There were about a thousand things I would’ve preferred to be doing at noon on a Sunday other than be at an award show rehearsal. I could’ve been at home on Long Island, hanging out with my folks or jamming in my studio. I could’ve been checking out Legoland upstate. Hell, I could’ve spent the whole day lounging in bed, watching crappy porn and eating my weight in amazing pizza.
But no. I was wasting a nice day in the city on this shit. Waiting for some diva to get her ass out of her dressing room or wherever the hell she was.
I’m getting too old for this crap.
“What the fuck is she doing?” Greyson muttered from beside me.
“Who the hell knows?” Simon replied with a flippant lift of his hand.
“Who is she anyway?” Dave asked.
“You’re kidding, right?” Simon laughed, incredulous. “You don’t know Tarryn King?”
Dave scoffed, like Simon had some nerve, asking such a moronic question. “Uh, no …”
“Get the hell out of here,” Greyson replied, just as disbelieving as Simon. “Do you live under a fucking rock?”
David Lee did in fact live under a fucking rock.
Kind of.
He hadn’t watched a single television show or movie in about six years since he had gotten sober and found God. He spent his time appreciating nature, reading his Bible quotes, doing yoga, and whatever the hell else it was Dave did. The guy might as well have lived under a rock, and they all knew it. But I didn’t say as much. Instead, I kept my mouth shut altogether.
I usually did nowadays.
“I don’t know who she is,” Dave answered with a shrug and a shake of his head. “Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Because she’s one of the biggest freakin’ actresses in the world right now,” Simon said, still laughing. “And even if you’ve never heard of her, you’ve definitelyseenher. She’s fuckin’ hot as—”
“Shh,” Greyson hissed as the telltale sound of high heels clacking rapidly against the stage floor drowned out the drone of my own thoughts.
