Amina

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One week was all it took for me to record seven songs for my debut album.

Violet was so busy with the new singers that she’d managed to convince Bach to sign to his label that she had no idea what I was doing until we pulled her into the recording studio, set her down, and pressed play on my track.

She listened to the whole thing without saying a word. Her palm covered her mouth; I couldn’t tell if she was frowning or smiling. I don’t think she even blinked. When it was over, she looked me directly in the eye and asked, “Are you even human?”

I’d laughed and laughed and laughed. Then she’d scolded Bach for letting me work so hard, while praising me for doing the same. That was how I ended up agreeing to this silly wrap party for an album that no one else had heard yet.

Violet rented the entire top floor of a swanky restaurant in downtown LA called the Cloud Bar. It was nice to be celebrating, but I wasn’t expecting so many people. Staring at the crowd, I partially hid behind Violet as she led me onto the roof. “Who did you invite?” I hissed in her ear.

Violet pointed to a group. “That’s Mina Minx, one of our new singers. Oh, and that’s Delarize Shawn, she’s head of marketing for Video Parade. And that’s Sammy Tito, runs a hot music blog.” She must have seen the anxiety in my face, because she squared off with me, grabbing my shoulders. “Relax. You aren’t going to be quizzed on this, just grab a drink and have fun.”

I’d have more fun back at the house soaking in the pool. Especially if Bach wore one of his super tight swim trunks. I scanned the busy crowd once more. Bach hadn’t driven with us because he’d needed to finish a meeting with one of the agents beating down his door.

Violet pursed her lips. “He’ll be here soon.”

“Oh,” I blurted, going pink. “I’m not—I don’t know who you mean.”

Rolling her eyes, she nudged me towards the bar. “I’ll pretend you’re not salivating for Bach’s presence if you go and get a damn drink.”

“You’re not mad?”

“How can I be? The album you two finished together is astounding.” She started to say something, then sighed. “Whatever my feelings on Bach mixing work and play, it’s obvious you both are making this...” she waved her hands, like this was the only word for what Bach and I had, “...work.”

“Thank you,” I said. “That means a lot.”

“Thinking about him makes you smile.” I bit my lip to try and control it, now that she’d pointed it out. “Use that good vibe to mingle. These people are your people. You’re going to see a lot of them, and events like these, once your debut launches.”

Feeling better, I headed towards the brightly lit bar. My kitten heels tapped on the hard floor, but the buzz of conversation muffled the noise. I’d almost worn flats, but on a lark, decided to try to recreate the feel of dressing up for the gala. I wasn’t able to doll myself up with the same eye Alexis had, but I was still proud of my efforts.

Adjusting my tight white cocktail dress, I sat on a stool. The bartender caught my eye and hurried over. “What can I get you?”

“Something that doesn’t taste like alcohol,” I said.

He snapped his fingers, then quickly mixed some ingredients in a metal shaker. I marveled at how he flipped the glass, performing for the people who were gathered nearby. He lifted his arms over his head, filling a high-ball glass from several feet above.

“Wow,” I laughed. “Impressive. What do I owe you?”

He made a face. “Not a cent. Open bar. Didn’t anyone tell you?”

“No, but I won’t complain.” I took the drink from him.

He wiped the bar top down as he winked at me. “These big parties run by bigwigs are always open. That’s half the reason people even come.”

My mood deflated a hair. “You don’t say.”

“Sure. I mean, the majority of people here don’t know what the event’s for.”

I sat a bit taller on the stool. “Do you know?”

“Not a clue.” He said it with a giant grin, like he was proud to be clueless. “I do hundreds of these. That’s life out here in LA, having fun with strangers.”

He has no clue this is my wrap party. He has no clue who I am. It was like reliving the day Korine dropped me at the airport. Only this time, I did expect people would know who I was. Was it arrogant? Was I getting an ego?

I drank deep from my glass. “This is delicious. Thanks.” He waved me off, busying himself with other guests. I was already forgotten.

Weaving through the crowd, I ended up hitting a dead-end: the edge of the roof. Below, the tall, brightly lit buildings of downtown LA glittered. Was that guy right? Was this whole city full of fakes? Did anyone here know my name?

“Hey, there she is, the woman of the evening.” I looked up and saw Roshio approaching. His hair was the same spiky blue and orange, but he’d done something to it. “Glitter,” he said, noticing how I was squinting. He fluffed his hair laughed. “I like to spice it up for parties. It looks great in the right lighting.”

“Neat,” I said.

“Yeah, neat.” He gestured out at the party. “Quite a crowd, huh?”

“I guess.”

“Not used to these things?”

“God, no. Can't someone become a singer without having to do so much socializing?”

His laugh was too loud, like he was trying to impress me. “I get it. You prefer spending time more... intimately.” He grinned wolfishly, drawing attention to how we were alone in our corner, and my retreat was a one-way ticket to splat on the street below. “You haven't been here long, right?”

How did he know that? Maybe it was obvious. “Nope.”

“There's a perfect little Southwest restaurant down in El Segundo. Fuses chili and tacos, amazing.”

Shit. He was asking me on a date. “I'm not really into spicy food.”

“No problem. What about sushi?”

I looked off to the side. “I like it, but I doubt anywhere here is as good as my favorite place, and I hate to be disappointed, so...”

Roshio cocked his head, his smile becoming gentler. “Oh. I get it. You can tell me to back off, I won't be offended.”

Feeling relieved, I tipped my glass towards him. “Thanks for understanding.”

“Not a prob, not a prob.” He scanned the crowd. “Sooo... you sleeping with Bach?”

I nearly dropped my glass. “What? I—what? Who said that?”

“Chill out! Nobody said anything, I'm just good at putting clues together.” He studied my face carefully. “You blush super cute. Shame he's claimed you. What sealed the deal, money? Fame?”

“No! Would you be less loud?” I was burning up from humiliation.

“Sure, I'll quiet down. I'm just itching for some info.”

Pinching the bridge of my nose didn't help my new headache. “It's not about money. I just like him.”

“He must like you, too. Every time I tried to get in touch with the guy, Farrah told me he was busy working in his studio. How many songs on your album, seven? That's a lot of hours to spend together.”

“I guess,” I whispered.

“Well, I for one can't wait to hear it properly. Violet showed me a snippet after I begged her on my knees. Real good stuff.” He dropped his elbows on to the ledge next to me, reclining comfortably. “I remembered, by the way.”

“Remembered what?”

“Where I know you from.”

Furrowing my eyebrows, I took a small sip from my drink. “From the gala.”

“Nah. Does the name Pickadillie Records ring a bell?”

All of the acid in my stomach bubbled up at once. I couldn’t respond, I just stared at him.

Roshio smiled wider, keeping his attention on my face, like he was trying to guess all of my reactions before they happened. “Eight years is a long time. I don’t blame you for not remembering me, I hadn’t really grasped my whole image yet. My agent at the time wasn’t one of the best, and he loved to remind me how lucky I was that Pickadillie Records was giving me the time of day. That label sucked. That’s why you left them, right?”

Wetness touched my wrist; my drink it was spilling from how hard I was trembling. “You’re mistaken,” I whispered.

He blinked a few times. “No, I never forget a pretty face. Your hair was longer back then. I dig this short thing you have going.”

“Whoever you’re thinking of, that wasn’t me. Beats and Blast is the first label I’ve ever worked with.”

Something dark and disturbing crossed his face. He was looking at me like I was a tasty snack he wanted to devour in one bite. “That’s interesting,” he said softly.

I scanned the room desperately, speaking as I started to move. “I have to go now, sorry.” I half-ran, like I thought he was going to chase after me. He didn’t, he just stayed there by the ledge. I shot him a final look as I merged into the crowd.

Roshio was still watching me.

Smiling.

“There you are,” Bach said, catching my wrist. I’d nearly blown past him. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“Bach!” I went limp in relief. Crumbling in his arms, I welcomed his tight grip around my middle.

“Whoa, what’s wrong?”

Unable to answer... unsure if I even could... I buried my face into his chest. He hugged me until the noise of the party was overruled by the rumble of his heartbeat. Gently, he tilted my chin, so I had to look at him. “Sorry, everything is fine.”

“Everything isn’t fine,” Bach said seriously.

I gawked at him as my pulse began to race. Could he read my mind? Did he know what had me so worried?

“Everything,” he went on, scooping my hands in his, “Is fucking fantastic.”

“What?”

“Amina, take a second to enjoy yourself. You’ve done what uncountable people have dreamed of. Leaving your friends, your home, everything behind to strike it out in Hollywood? Working yourself to the bone to create a debut album that will blow the charts into pieces? And being lucky enough to get the attention of a catch like me?”

His playfulness calmed me down. “You’re right. Everything is amazing.” Remembering the bartender, then Roshio, I asked, “What if no one cares about my music? What if everything still manages to fall apart?”

His lips searched for mine, sealing them with a long kiss. When he spoke again, his vowels and syllables and everything in between went down my throat. “Can you honestly say that right now, with me here, you believe anything could ruin this?”

He was positive nothing could tear down the new, bright future we’d built. I didn’t trust my heart enough to believe the same. So instead, I took a leap... and I trusted him.

It was too bad he was wrong.