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Authors: Susan Elizabeth Phillips
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glint of expensive watches at their wrists.
Benny nearly knocked over his drums when he spotted them. As they finished "Heart of Stone," he whispered, "Those are the dudes from Azday records. I recognize the old guy
—he's Mo Geller. Come on, everybody. Don't fuck up! This is it!"
Conti looked over at her, a panicked expression on his face. She felt surprisingly calm, given the importance of the event, and she gave him a reassuring smile. Benny hit the downbeat and the band kicked in. As she felt the beat of the song, she whipped her head to the side, letting her hair fly. It caught the lights so that it looked as if shimmering golden flames were leaping up from her head. She shook it again. Conti turned toward her as he sang. A wildness seemed to hit him, and he laughed at her—a sexual dare. She caught his mood as he picked up the beat. His hips moved and she laughed back at him—
then stuck out her lip in a sexy, taunting pout. He came over to her, not missing a beat of the music, and leaned into her. She whipped him with her hair. They did a frenzied, dirty dance while the other band members called out encouragement. When the number ended, they got more applause than they had received in months.
The two men stayed through the rest of the set, and afterward bought them all drinks.
"You kids generate a lot of excitement," Mo Geller said, clinking the ice cubes in his glass. "Got any material of your own?"
Benny assured him that they did, and the Doves took the stage again, performing two songs that their bass player had written. When they were done, Mo handed them one of his cards. "It's early to be talking about a contract, but I'm definitely impressed. We'll be in touch."
All of the Doves went to Conti and Paige's place afterward to celebrate. They smoked grass, told stupid jokes, and drank cheap wine. Conti started to talk about how much all of them meant to him and dissolved into sentimental tears. They were giddy and silly, high on pot and their first brush with success. By the time dawn lightened the sky, the men had curled into various corners of the apartment and fallen asleep. Paige, however, was sitting wide awake in a chair by the window.
At six o'clock she slipped out of the apartment and made her way down the littered hallway to the pay phone that hung near the front door. Digging a coin from the pocket of her jeans, she pushed it into the slot and, after a few moment's hesitation, dialed.
Susannah would still be in bed, and the housekeeper shouldn't be in until eight. Unless her father was out of town, he would pick up the phone himself.
"Yes?" He answered brusquely, as if he were speaking into his office intercom.
She tangled the dirty, stretched-out telephone cord through her fingers. "Daddy, it's Paige."
There was a moment's silence. "It's six o'clock, Paige. I'm just getting dressed. What do you want?"
"Look, I'm sorry I couldn't make it to your birthday party. I—something came up."
"I wasn't aware that you'd been invited."
Her mouth twisted bitterly. She should have known that Saint Susannah was responsible for the invitation. "Yeah, well, I was."
"I see."
She turned to face the grimy wall. Her words came quickly, fiercely. "Listen, I just thought you might like to know that a man from Azday Records came to hear us play last night, and he wants to talk to us about a contract."
She squeezed her eyes shut, barely breathing as she waited for his response. She wanted to frame the words for him so he would say what she needed to hear—words of enthusiasm, of praise.
"I see," he repeated.
Leaning her forehead against the wall, she gripped the receiver so tightly that her knuckles turned pale. "It's no big deal or anything. Azday is an important company. They listen to a lot of bands, and it might fall through."
Joel sighed. "I don't know why you've called to tell me this, Paige. You surely don't expect my blessing. When are you going to start acting like an adult?"
She winced and set
Benny nearly knocked over his drums when he spotted them. As they finished "Heart of Stone," he whispered, "Those are the dudes from Azday records. I recognize the old guy
—he's Mo Geller. Come on, everybody. Don't fuck up! This is it!"
Conti looked over at her, a panicked expression on his face. She felt surprisingly calm, given the importance of the event, and she gave him a reassuring smile. Benny hit the downbeat and the band kicked in. As she felt the beat of the song, she whipped her head to the side, letting her hair fly. It caught the lights so that it looked as if shimmering golden flames were leaping up from her head. She shook it again. Conti turned toward her as he sang. A wildness seemed to hit him, and he laughed at her—a sexual dare. She caught his mood as he picked up the beat. His hips moved and she laughed back at him—
then stuck out her lip in a sexy, taunting pout. He came over to her, not missing a beat of the music, and leaned into her. She whipped him with her hair. They did a frenzied, dirty dance while the other band members called out encouragement. When the number ended, they got more applause than they had received in months.
The two men stayed through the rest of the set, and afterward bought them all drinks.
"You kids generate a lot of excitement," Mo Geller said, clinking the ice cubes in his glass. "Got any material of your own?"
Benny assured him that they did, and the Doves took the stage again, performing two songs that their bass player had written. When they were done, Mo handed them one of his cards. "It's early to be talking about a contract, but I'm definitely impressed. We'll be in touch."
All of the Doves went to Conti and Paige's place afterward to celebrate. They smoked grass, told stupid jokes, and drank cheap wine. Conti started to talk about how much all of them meant to him and dissolved into sentimental tears. They were giddy and silly, high on pot and their first brush with success. By the time dawn lightened the sky, the men had curled into various corners of the apartment and fallen asleep. Paige, however, was sitting wide awake in a chair by the window.
At six o'clock she slipped out of the apartment and made her way down the littered hallway to the pay phone that hung near the front door. Digging a coin from the pocket of her jeans, she pushed it into the slot and, after a few moment's hesitation, dialed.
Susannah would still be in bed, and the housekeeper shouldn't be in until eight. Unless her father was out of town, he would pick up the phone himself.
"Yes?" He answered brusquely, as if he were speaking into his office intercom.
She tangled the dirty, stretched-out telephone cord through her fingers. "Daddy, it's Paige."
There was a moment's silence. "It's six o'clock, Paige. I'm just getting dressed. What do you want?"
"Look, I'm sorry I couldn't make it to your birthday party. I—something came up."
"I wasn't aware that you'd been invited."
Her mouth twisted bitterly. She should have known that Saint Susannah was responsible for the invitation. "Yeah, well, I was."
"I see."
She turned to face the grimy wall. Her words came quickly, fiercely. "Listen, I just thought you might like to know that a man from Azday Records came to hear us play last night, and he wants to talk to us about a contract."
She squeezed her eyes shut, barely breathing as she waited for his response. She wanted to frame the words for him so he would say what she needed to hear—words of enthusiasm, of praise.
"I see," he repeated.
Leaning her forehead against the wall, she gripped the receiver so tightly that her knuckles turned pale. "It's no big deal or anything. Azday is an important company. They listen to a lot of bands, and it might fall through."
Joel sighed. "I don't know why you've called to tell me this, Paige. You surely don't expect my blessing. When are you going to start acting like an adult?"
She winced and set
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