Page 86 of Shapes of Love
“Sasha! Sasha! I hope you win tonight!” A guy my age points a phone at my face. He’s live, struggling to stand his ground as the mob of journalists drags him around, pushing him against the fence. He rearranges the shoulder pads of his tuxedo jacket, looking both elated and absolutely out of place among the throng of fortysomething photographers. “When can we expect new music?”
I fix the hem of my dress and wave at the screen. “Tonight.”
Tonight, everything changes.
A cacophony of screams echoes from outside the venue. Some of my fans are out there, filling the streets to the brim, but I wasn’t allowed to sign autographs due to security concerns. They must be following the red carpet via the Live.
“Sassy, to your left.”
Flash.
“Sassy, over here. Have you talked to Kai?”
The mention of Kai sends a pang through my chest. I walk away from the red carpet, the rest of the photographers’ questions drowned under a sea of light and noise. My ears ring as I’m waved into an indoor area by the staff, welcoming the darkness after the flash storm.
Sassy this, Sassy that. If only they knew they came to witness her funeral.
“Mia! Did Asher cheat on you, too?”
I turn around to watch Mia pose next. I wasn’t expecting her to get any questions, but she looks unfazed, flipping her hair with a grin.
“Asher and I never dated. I am single and not looking to mingle. Leave me alone.”
“Sweetheart, give us something, huh? You’re just a nobody.” The same photographer is shouting. “Who are you wearing?”
“Your mama.” She waves at them and struts away. Which, iconic.
“Sasha, what message do you have for your fans who’ve come here to support you?” The guy doing the Live manages to break away from the journalists and photographers and sprints toward me. He looks thrilled, his eyes sparkling with awe as he scans the place, like he can’t believe he’s here.
“That I’m thankful for their love, and that I hope they continue supporting me after tonight.” I turn to him. “Who are you with? A news outlet?”
“No, no. I’m a creator on social media. I was invited. It’s my first time at this event—or well, at any event.” He beams. “I can’t believe I’m talking to you. I’m your biggest fan. I… I don’t know if you’ve seen it, but I made that audio with your song that went viral, with the—”
“With the animation! I saw that! You’re so talented.”
“Thanks. I’m Peter.”
“Peter, nice to meet you. Thanks for your hard work.” When I give him a hug, he shakes in my arms. He reminds me a little bit of myself when I started. When it was justme and my camera in my bedroom. “Listen, I don’t know if you got tickets for the awards ceremony, but if you ask that person over there, the one with the badges, she’ll give you a pass. Tell her I sent you.”
Peter squeals and thanks me before taking off toward the coordinator. Mia is escorted to our seats inside, and I’m whisked away into a quieter area where different outlets are allowed to ask me a few questions before the ceremony begins.
“Are you open to finding love again, Sassy, or are you taking a break from dating?” a man in his thirties asks me. “Your love life fueled the success of your first album. Do you have a new muse?”
I can almost hear Marissa’s touch in his question. I know she’s looking for ways to get back at me, and even though it’s only been a few days since I fired her, she might have fed the journalists questions.
“I have more than enough love in my life,” I reply. “I know this isn’t your fault, but that’s sort of a stupid question to ask. Do you really want people to derive their sense of worth from whether or not they’re dating someone? My music is nominated tonight. Not my relationship. And you’re wrong. My love life did not inspire my first album.”
The reporter’s face falls. I don’t wait to see his reaction as I move inside the auditorium, where Shirley and Mia are waiting for me.
Shirley and I are both nominees, since they’re up for Producer of the Year and Record of the Year, so the three of us are at a table right by the stage. A surge of nerves and anticipationcourses through me as I look at the stage. It’s bathed in warm lighting, which casts shadows that dance across the floor. Soon I’ll be up there, performing for… I crane my neck to look at the end of the room. It seems endless, seats and tables stretching into every corner of the space.
“How are you feeling? Ready for your big night?” Shirley asks. They look amazing in their designer pants and blazer with a loose salmon bowtie.
“Yeah.” My hands are shaking, which isn’t good. I’ll be performing in less than thirty minutes. Fuck—I can’t afford to ruin this.
“Remember, it’s just you and the piano,” they say. “If you get nervous, look for me in the audience. Pretend we’re at the studio, okay?” They give me a hug, and I slump against their shoulders, letting out a sigh of relief.
“I’d wish you good luck, but you’re going to be awesome, and you’re going to win everything you’re nominated for,” Mia tells me, before joining the hug until I’m uncomfortably squished between them. I laugh, pushing them both off me.
