Page 67 of The Girl with No Name
“What’s with the Mia getup?”
“We’re doing a, a thing for the beginning of our set.”
“A dress-up-like-Pulp Fictionthing?”
She nods again, ending her dance. “Those are the words I was looking for. I’m actually shockingly bad at talking. All of my energy goes into singing.”
“This is crazy. I can’t believe I’m actually talking to Violet Benson!”
“You justdanced withViolet Benson.”
“Right. I love the album you guys made. And I, uh, have a girlfriend. I wasn’t flirting.”
“Suuure, you weren’t. Hey, Henry!” She yells over toward a crowd of guys standing about twenty feet away. “This guy’s trying to steal your girl!”
The tall, tattooed man in the group—dressed like John Travolta from said movie—turns and looks toward us with a cigarette between his lips.
Henry fucking Cooney. Violet’s superstar boyfriend.
“Holy shnikes,” I say as he walks over.
“Come meet my new friend Reed,” she says as he approaches. “I have to go to the bathroom. Be right back.”
“Reed.” He eyes me suspiciously. “Were you just dancing with my girl?”
“Uh? Me? Uh…it was the drugs.” My heart slams against my chest. “I barely even have free will.”
He laughs and slaps me on the shoulder. “I’m just kiddin’ around, man. Relax.”
“Oh, right. Me too.” I muster an awkward laugh.
“So what are you doing backstage? You friends with some of the band?”
“So, uh, that’s a funny story…”
He shrugs and looks at his wrist, which has no watch. “I’ve got some time. Twenty minutes before we go on stage. And I happen to like funny stories.”
This is it. This is my moment.
“I’m hoping my friend and I could sing the first song for the Red Lemons. Do you think you could make that happen?”
He laughs loudly.
I hold my dead-serious face, looking him in the eye.
“Wait. You’re serious?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He shakes his head. “You are here to ask us if you can get on stage and play with the band. Are you insane?”
“Well, I’m actually hoping my friend—uh, she’s over there somewhere—” I gesture in Luna’s general direction, “can go on with me for the first song. We’ll pretend to be you guys.”
His eyes narrow. “You, and a friend, want to sing a song as our band. As my band?”
“That’s correct.”
He guffaws. “That’s the ballsiest request anyone’s ever made of me.”