Chapter 34

“What did you do?” asked Lou.

There was no hello, no how are you, just the urgent, irritated demand over the phone.

There were many ways to answer that question, thought Corey. She had told Kyle she had loved him and said yes to the Coast Guard Prom, which was actually just a ball at the Coast Guard Academy’s homecoming, which was also Kyle’s twenty-five year reunion. He tried to downplay it, but she wasn’t having it. She’d been to the Grammies, walked on red carpets, attended parties and after-parties—but she’d never been to a ball before. She’d never even been to her own prom, so it was a big deal to her.

But she knew that wasn’t what her manager was referring to. She only used that particular query and that particular tone when Corey did something particularly disastrous, usually having to do with her career.

Now Corey was afraid and replayed the last day-and-a-half in her mind.

She had returned to New York for another songwriting session with A-Game. It turned out they weren’t the best collaborators in that they were notoriously difficult to pin down. Not only with their opinions, but also their locations. They would all pick a date, but Brody would suddenly head off to Milan or RJ would jet off to Baja or something. It was like trying to wrangle very wealthy cats. And when their schedules did align, they came unprepared and none of them wrote very much in the room, expecting her to do it. Why mess with the winning formula? She was beginning to feel like she was the nerdy girl in the movie who the cool kids tricked into writing their term papers so they could party. Still, it didn’t matter. The plan—be indispensible and undeniable—was working. They all genuinely loved Apex, so much so that they adopted her vision wholesale: the song would be their lead single and the title of the album.

In fact, it was working so well that she didn’t even know what Professor Drop was talking about when he turned to her during their last, listless session and asked, “What about you?”

Brody was MIA, Deaver was out getting coffee, RJ was playing a video game, and Kriss was napping. At least she thought he was napping. He was wearing his sunglasses and was sitting completely still.

“What about me?”

“Like your career.”

Oh my God, thought Corey. This was it. Lou was a fucking genius. She had told Corey to be cool, to be of use, to be a team player…and she had.

And now Professor Drop leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees, and narrowed his eyes as if seeing her, really seeing her, for the first time. Corey’s heart slammed in her chest.

“Well, I, uh…I wouldn’t mind getting back in the game myself.”

“A-Game!” said RJ, still absorbed in his videogame.

She looked back at Drop, eager to continue the conversation. “I know my last record didn’t set on the world on fire, but I know I have more songs in me and with the right producer…”

“Apex is a banger,” said RJ, coming out of his videogame haze. “And you do have a bomb ass voice.”

“Yeah, but it takes more than that though,” said Drop, eyeing her. “Even with the right production these days, it takes something extra. A gimmick.”

“A gimmick?” said Corey.

“At your age? I’m thinking it would help.”

Corey felt a tiny stabbing pain. Like what, she thought?

“Like what?” said RJ, fully interested now.

“I call it the ‘bag over the head,’” said Drop.

“Excuse me?”

“Like with Sia and her hair and the bow,” said Drop. “Only the hair and the bow is her thing, you know? You need your own thing.”

Corey couldn’t believe her ears. “First of all, Sia did that for privacy. Second, and more importantly, you’re talking about putting a fucking bag over my head!”

“Easy,” said Drop, “it doesn’t have to be an actual bag. It’s more like a metaphorical bag.”

“Like a veil maybe,” said RJ.

“Or a luchador mask,” said Kriss.

Corey turned to him. “Now you talk?”

Professor Drop snapped his fingers. “Luchador mask. That’s hype, yo.”

Dozens of words fought to escape her throat, but all she could stutter was, “Are—are you fucking with me?”

“Check it, you wear, like, a low cut sexy dress or something, right? But because you’re wearing a mask, they’re staring at your body instead of your face, so they’re not objectifying you. Because they’re concentrating on the music.”

She took a deep breath. After a moment, she stood and smiled. “You know,” she said, digging into her pocket, “I think I just came up with your next single, guys.”

When she pulled her hand out of her pocket, she was waving her middle finger.

“It’s called ‘You Can Fuck All The Way Off.”

Not sure which one to hit first, she stormed out. Behind her, she heard Drop call after her. “What’s your problem? I’m complimenting you!”

She was marching toward the elevator when the doors opened, revealing Deaver with a cup of coffee. When he saw her, he said, “What’s the rush?”

“Those fucking…” She realized she was still balling her fists. “I can’t even…”

“Hey, come here.” He led her around the corner, out of view of the interns and engineers milling about the largely glass loft and watching her. He found a recording booth and opened the door. “What is it? Talk to me.”

Once inside, she growled a guttural, grating noise, as if her insides were being dragged across asphalt.

“That guy,” she said, pointing toward the door, “is supposed to be a genius?”

“Professor Drop?”

“His name is Craig and he most definitely does not possess a Master’s degree, but yes, that idiot plus your idiot friends just suggested I wear a fucking bag over my head!”

“Whoa, hold on. I’m sure it was a joke, a terrible joke, but…you know those guys, they’re boneheads. I’m sure they weren’t serious.”

“They were serious as Radiohead!”

Deaver shook his head. “I can’t understand why they would say such a thing…”

“You can’t? This was such a mistake, I knew it…”

Deaver put his hands on her shoulders. “This wasn’t a mistake. Don’t listen to them.” She folded her arms but he got in her eyeline. “Hey, it’s me.”

She exhaled a long breath.

“They just don’t see you the way I see you…” He moved closer and suddenly his arms were around her. Before she had even processed the embrace, she felt gentle kisses on her neck. “They don’t see what I’ve always seen. How sexy you are…”

She was surprised at first. Brody was the front man, RJ the bad boy, Kriss the inscrutable one, but Deaver was the earnest one. The one with the soulful eyes. The one you could trust with your secrets and bring home to your parents. The “I’m not like the other guys” one.

The one you never saw coming.

She clenched her jaw and her knee made a swift, forceful ascent into Deaver’s crotch.

“Get your fucking baby T-Rex arms off of me!”

He crumpled before she even finished the sentence, his hands clutching himself. He writhed on the floor. Through gritted teeth, he grunted, “You fucking cunt…I thought you were cool.”

She loomed over him and hissed.

“And you’re exactly as cool as I thought you’d be.”

She swung the door wide and stormed out.