Page 42 of Down Beat
Still, I can’t place how I’m going to feel about this one-night stand in the next five, ten, or fifteen years. Will I look back on this with warmth, happy that I got to experience something that will probably never happen again? Or will I look back on it with regret, wishing I had been ruthless and pushed for more through the kinds of connections a band like Dark Tide has?
Easy answer, Tab. I’ve never been an opportunist. Success born from somebody else’s hard work always seems like such a cop-out. Yes, people can openly offer to help and I won’t turn it down, but I’m not the kind to blatantly shove my agenda into somebody else’s schedule.
I have to earn this myself. I have to become who I dream to be through my own hard graft, otherwise the victory seems hollow.
“Um, Tab?” Kendall stops on the landing for our apartment, blocking my view of our door. “You should see this. You’ve got a gift.”
I take the last step and then move around her to search out what she cranes her neck at. Holy shit. A bouquet of flowers—no, not just flowers: long-stem red roses—sit in a glossy white ceramic vase.
“They’re probably for you, you doofus.” Makes the most sense that Toby would be trying to woo her after the way she’s been throwing herself at him.
I carefully lean over the arrangement to punch our code in while Kendall stoops to pluck the card from its plastic sleeve. She gathers the arrangement in her arms and follows me in.
“Nope. Most definitely for you.”
I frown as I set my purse down. “Who from?” Maybe my parents are finally coming around to the idea that their daughter can make a living from music. No way. Nope. Even if they had found out about the concert, they’re not the kind to send flowers.
“One, two, three….” Kendall’s counting fades as she bops her pointer finger above each bloom. “Man, this must have cost a packet. There are twenty of the little critters.” She lets out a low whistle and passes the card over.
I lean my hip against the kitchen counter and flick it open.
Maybe next time I’ll do it traditionally and throw them on stage one by one when you’re done.
- R
“R?” My heart pitter-patters as I set the card down on the counter. “Do you think these are from Rey?”
Kendall shrugs with a silly smile on her face.
“No.” I shake my head. “Has to be their manager, Rick.”
“Awfully personal for him, isn’t it?” she sasses as she heads up the hallway.
“Awfully personal for any of them,” I call after her. “I mean, red roses?”
“Yeah,” she shouts from her bedroom. “He said in the card about doing it traditional. I bet he’s thinking about opera and stuff, how they toss the roses at the singer.”
“Oh.” Ohh…. “What the hell do I make of this?” I dart up the hallway and swing into her room to find her halfway into her sleepwear already. “Don’t abandon me with something like this. I need help.” I fall onto her bed and stare up at the ceiling.
“Jesus, woman. You’re twenty-what? And you still need help deciphering boys?”
“Twenty-four,” I answer. “And he’s not exactly a boy at our age.” I narrow my eyes on her. “How old is he?”
She shrugs before tugging her tank top on. “Fucked if I’d know.” Her arms twist as she sheds her bra from underneath. “Google it.”
I slide off the bed and onto the floor in true dramatic style and then get to my feet to retrieve my phone. A quick search pulls up his date of birth as three years before mine.
“How old is he then?” Kendall walks into the kitchen, suitably dressed for bed. Even her makeup has been removed.
“It really takes you no time at all to go into comfort mode, huh?”
She winks as she pulls a mug from the cabinet. “Girl, I love to go out. Don’t get me wrong. But you know how much I love to bum around as well.”
“True.” She’s spent as much time tearing up a dance floor since we met as she has bingeing TV on the sofa.
“So? Age.”
“Oh.” I check my phone again and redo the math in my head to be sure. “Twenty-seven. His birthday is the tenth of December.”