Page 35 of Score
Working in the studio this semester has been mind-numbing. Somehow I’ve become the “it” engineer for several mediocre pop stars who’d never get played in public if not for the magic of knobs and levers. The musicians are generally pretty good, but they’re nowhere near the caliber of the band I play with Friday nights here at The Vibe.
When the bandleader Tony kicks it to me and the small stage’s spotlight swings over to the keys, I give the solo my full dedication. There’s an alchemy to jazz—the collaborative magic of playing with other musicians within a structure but with the freedom to improvise. To soar above and then fall back in line, yielding the sky to someone else with wings. And with great musicians like the ones here tonight, everyone flies.
“Thank you all for coming,” Tony says into the mic at the close of the set. “We’ll be back next Friday.”
The only thing I need more than good music is my girl. I search the dimly lit crowd for Verity’s pretty face and riot of curls, but I don’t see her yet. She told me she’d be at the library late, but she would make it by the end of my set. Between her regular class load and that screenwriting project, she’s been working around the clock and barely sleeping.
“You guys were on fire tonight,” Tony tells us. “I actually booked a last-minute thing I’m doing across town if you wanna roll.”
The trumpet and sax players eagerly accept, but I already know I’m not doing it.
“Nah.” I grin wolfishly. “Gotta see about a girl.”
“Alright now.” Ollie, the drummer, whistles and clacks his sticks together. “I known you since you was a freshman and ain’t ever heard you talk about a lil’ shortie like that.”
“This one’s special,” I say with no shame or self-consciousness.
I’d tell virtual strangers on the street how I feel about Verity. We’ve only been dating four months, but I know the real thing when I feel it. I didn’t think I would, or that after the catastrophe with my parents, I would so easily trust it, but I do. I trust Verity.
“A good woman waiting for you at home,” Tony chuckles, “beats hanging out with these ugly motherfuckers any day.”
“Look who’s talking,” Ollie lobs back. “Ringleader of the ugly motherfuckers.”
We all laugh, finish packing our gear, and leave the stage.
“See you next week then,” I call, pulling my phone out to check for missed calls. Not seeing anything from Verity, I text.
Me:Hey, babe. Where are you? I thought you were meeting me here at The Vibe?
No bubbles. No reply. Nothing.
Me:If you’re still at the library, I’ll come scoop you. I don’t want you walking across campus by yourself this late.
“Well, well, well,” a vaguely familiar voice drawls from behind me. “Look who we have here.”
I turn, surprised to find Petra and her girlfriend.
“Whassup, P?” I fist-pound her and turn a neutral smile to her girl. “Randi, right? We met at the party briefly.”
“Oh, I remember you.” She eyes me up and down, and I can’t tell if she wants to fuck me, slap me, or both. She’s definitely Petra’s type.
“Good to see you guys again.” I glance at the door, anxious to catch Verity before she walks here from the library. “Well, I better—”
“Wait a sec,” Petra cuts in. “Hey, sweetie, could you go check on our drinks? It’s been a minute since we ordered.”
Randi rolls her eyes, apparently seeing through Petra’s obvious ploy for some privacy.
“Sure thing,sweetie,” Randi says, squeaking when Petra gives her ass a little pat and kisses her temple.
Petra and I consider each other as Randi heads to the bar, weaving her way between tables packed with patrons.
“So I heard you’re with Verity now,” Petra says.
“Yeah,” I say, my brows dipping into a frown. “I am.”
“Don’t get all grumpy and jealous.” Petra chuckles. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“What am I thanking you for?”
