Page 22 of How to Get Lucky
“That sucks. I’m sorry you went through that. It’s terrible when people lie to each other and deceive each other. So what if she liked the dog walker? She should have just left to be with him.”
Yes! I want to shout it, exclamation point and all.
“Exactly! Sure, I cared about her and I loved her, but if she was done with the relationship, she could have just left it. Don’t cheat. Get out of it and live your life, and don’t be a liar. And don’t make a liar out of me and the life we had together,” I say.
London spoons another bite of ice cream and nods several times. “I completely agree. My situation isn’t exactly like that, but I dated someone in college, and we stayed together much longer than we should have. I think we were both afraid to end it, and we expended a lot of energy to try to make it work. And it didn’t. He was a great guy, and I really liked him, but we didn’t have that spark. That was a while ago though. I’ve been single for a long time.”
Her reflection on past relationships makes me think she’d be a considerate girlfriend, and that . . . that sounds terrific.
For someone else.
Not for me.
“Spark is pretty damn important,” I say, keeping my response broad. “Spark is definitely powerful, and it matters.”
Her eyes gleam with excitement and maybe understanding as they lock with mine while we walk. “It does. Spark is real. We have to listen to the spark. Well, sometimes,” she adds under her breath.
Perhaps that’s her reminder that we can’t act on this electricity between us.
My mind latches on to a comment she made last night. “Is he the reason you said things were complicated in Vegas?”
“Yes. He’s exactly why I said that. He moved there with me, and it didn’t work out. When we ended things, I started putting me first. Been married to my career ever since.”
Which raises an interesting point—one I’m damn curious about. “What’s the endgame for you? You know it’s not deejaying at a part-time all-male revue for me—what is it for you?”
We cross another block, and it’s hard to walk and watch her smile with anticipation and pride. “There’s this really fantastic producer that I want to work with, André Davies. I was telling my girlfriends about him the other night. He travels a ton, but he’s based out of LA. He’s incredibly innovative and cutting edge, with thought-provoking music videos plus these flash-mob-type TikTok videos. They’re so unexpected, and the dancing always looks familiar but new somehow.” Her voice is absolutely musical with excitement as she tells me more. “I’m assembling a portfolio of clips I’m calling The Unexpected. Hopefully once he sees it, he’ll know he needs to have someone with my vision on his team.”
“Well, then,” I say, finishing my cone as she tosses her cup and spoon into a recycling can. “Let’s create the unexpected.”
“And that starts with the music. Though, if it were entirely up to me, my life would be told to a soundtrack of Sam Smith,” she says, dipping her chin like she’s admitted something secret.
“Nothing wrong with Sam Smith. That dude is a seriously soulful crooner. But his songs are more like the soundtrack of those TV shows where people are constantly breaking up.”
A laugh bursts from her, and I love that sound, love how easily it comes. “True. But I like to dance to him, so he works for me. Who do you want to craft your background music?”
“I’m taking the deejay exemption. I won’t play favorites. I need all the music to soundtrack my life.”
“So greedy.”
“I’m musically gluttonous, and I’m owning it.”
“Very clever, pulling that deejay exemption card. You’ve got a lot going on in that pretty head of yours.” She playfully musses my hair, and goose bumps jump down my spine. Did she just call me pretty? I’m into that, but it’s best not to let on how much, so I get back to why we’re hanging out today. “So, are you going to use the dance you choreograph for Edge as an in with this Davies guy?”
“Yes. That’s the plan. I’ll shoot a video of the routine so I can include it with my portfolio. Shay Sloan, the woman I worked with in Vegas, is also keeping her eye open for opportunities for me, so I’ll send the video to her too. I need to find that perfect combination of my moves set to the right beat that gives that playful, fun, out-on-the-town vibe with a touch of the iconic. Millennial chic meets hipster fleek.”
“Do people still say ‘fleek’? I don’t think that’s a thing anymore,” I chide. Despite the jokes, this conversation underlines that going to Monopoly jail doesn’t protect only my career aspirations. London has goals too that extend beyond the club. They tap into her natural creativity, and I want to be able to help her.
