In Harmony

by JN Welsh

  He sat up from his ejaculation fog. “Everything okay?”

  “I fucked up.” She sounded shaken.

  “Can I help?” He smacked himself upside the head. What the hell was he going to do from LA?

  “No. I have to go.”

  “I’m back in NY on Monday. I guess we’ll catch up then.”

  Click.

  He didn’t know what had happened but whatever it was didn’t sound good.

  * * *

  Nyah had no time to talk to Tommy. She threw off her clothes while simultaneously scrubbing makeup off her face. She swiped through the clothes in her closet for a performance outfit, which would normally be placed out on her bed. Not today. “How the fuck did I let this happen?”

  Here’s how...

  It had started out when she received a call from Trinidad, a well-known classical musician that she’d played with over the years, who coincidentally had a spot at Artistique and wanted to collaborate with her at one of the art installations. She had accepted, which prompted her to reevaluate whether or not she’d actually needed to become Tommy’s client. She then justified that going into the festival as Nyah Monroe with a well-known, agented, classical musician was different from going in on her own as Queen Roe.

  One of the bartenders at Rebel texted her to do a quick spot at the park that evening. Floating off the high of her luck, she was in. She’d played Rebel the night before and slept in on her day off. She had finished practicing, and with no other plans, was down to spend it with the crew from Rebel for a little fun. Excited to play an impromptu set outdoors in the park with Trinket, she had quickly donned her Queen Roe attire and headed for a long overdue day on the grass and under the spring sun. There were hours of drinks, a little smoke, and a lot of irresponsibility on her part once her guard had fallen. She had been too spontaneous and hadn’t double-checked her calendar in two days. All hell broke loose when she got a call from Gladys around seven.

  “Where the fuck are you? You missed call time and Martin is freaking out. You better be hospitalized or dead. If neither one of those things applies, then your ass better be limping, bloody or both when you arrive.”

  “I’m supposed to be at the concert hall?” Nyah had been too fucked up to look at her calendar to see just exactly how she’d gotten her weeks mixed up. Drunk or stoned, she had always got it right—except that one time when she’d gotten halfway to the elevator, and dragging her bass behind her, before she realized she had on psychedelic booty shorts and platform Dr. Martens.

  She had always made it, had always caught herself before disaster struck. She had never dropped a fucking ball.

  “I gotta go,” she announced vapidly to Frisbee tossers in the distance.

  “Where’re you going, Queen?” Oscar had asked her.

  “I gotta be somewhere.”

  Trinket had hurried over.

  “You good?”

  Nyah shook her head. “I’m supposed to be at the concert hall. Fuck! This is the worst possible fuckup of all fuckups.”

  “No!” Trinket had said, sloppily, still drunk and high.

  “I can’t go like this. I gotta get home, change, sober up, and—”

  “Yeah, go. Call if you need anything.”

  Nyah had grabbed a Lyft back to her apartment and now, as she tried to get herself together to get to the concert hall before intermission, her stomach flipped and her heart raced. This was bad. Really, really bad.

  She packed her bass and clamped it shut, throwing random plucks of Kleenex and candy into the side pocket. When she realized that made no sense she started on her hair. With each comb through her strands, her shoulders sagged lower to the ground with the time-consuming activity. Her phone chimed.

  Gladys: Martin is piiiiiiiiiiiissssed

  Though Gladys had been giving her the play by play, the expletive text was way less than helpful.

  Nyah: Heading over now

  The lie made her feel better but she still smelled like the park, her hair was a mess and she had that alert type of buzz that made her nauseous.

  Gladys: Intermission is over

  Nyah’s shoulders slumped. Any chance of redemption for tonight had passed. How was she going to explain this? She paced until she tired herself out and plopped into a chair, where she stayed for what felt like an hour but had likely been ten minutes.

  She jumped up to get her phone so she could check her calendar. Her performance wasn’t in its normal place. “What the fuck?” She clicked into today’s box and saw an entry from Tommy. Back in LA and on to Vegas—Back in NY on Monday. The location of the entry was lengthy enough to hide her philharmonic event because of the other standing appointments in the box.

  She threw her phone, hard, into the couch. Her hands flew to her mouth and she blew into her hands. The heat on her face burned so much that she went to the bathroom to rinse her skin and cursed Tommy the whole way.

  This was his fault.

  Chapter Twelve

  Tommy met Nyah at the café across from her apartment. Her no-frills text response to his request to connect had felt dry, but he reminded himself that this was about business and he needed to stay focused on what he wanted. A coffee and a little persuasion to steer her toward Oh Ship rested at the top of his agenda. Right under it was Sunburst.

  His breath hitched in his chest when he saw her. She wore a matching pair of off-white sweats, black-and-white-striped shower slides, and white socks. Her hair was a full-blown Afro with no accoutrements like her usual headbands or scarves and she looked like she hadn’t slept well. She stopped before him with arms crossed.

  “Uh...hey,” he tentatively greeted her.

  She dropped into the chair across from him at the round wood table. “Hello.”

  Given her formality, he knew something was up. “How’s it going?”

  Her sigh was like a light whistle right before a kettle screamed for attention. “I’ve been better.”

  He wasn’t meeting her for a game of riddles, but he’d play. “What’s up?”

  “Besides the fact that I missed my philharmonic performance, nothing at all.”

  His body hit the backrest as if the news had traveled on the physical plane. “Oh shit. What happened?” He rushed to pull up her calendar on his phone.

  She flattened her palms on the table and leaned in. “Your entry on my calendar fucked me up.”

  He stopped scrolling and his eyes lifted to the accusation on her face. “Me? What? How?” If he had anything to do with ruining her schedule and her performances, he’d lose her—not to mention feel absolutely horrible.

  “I’m sure you think it’s great, letting me know your comings and goings, but your entry blocked my performance event.”

  He squinted, trying to figure out exactly what she meant. Being a detail-oriented kind of guy, he wanted to undo whatever he’d done and prevent it from happening again. He needed her to know he’d never do anything to hurt either of her careers. “I don’t understand. Did I delete your philharmonic entry?”

  She tilted her head and her Afro followed. “Well, no, but moved it down.”

  “Moved it down?” he parroted.

  She nodded.

  “Okay, so did you check your calendar?” he asked.

  She frowned and chewed her lip. “I know my schedule but I got my weeks confused.”

  “So you’re the one who didn’t look at your calendar.”

  “I did. Well, I glanced at it, and my performance wasn’t visible but your travel plans were.”

  “You glanced at it. Did you have an alert?”

  “No.” She sputtered. “Why are you cross-examining me? I told you what happened.”

  “I’m gathering the facts.” He knew he sounded detached but right now he didn’t need to add the gas of his own emotions to the fire.

  “I told
you the facts.”

  “Okay, so explain to me again how this is my fault?”

  “The entries you put on my calendar moved my events below the content box, so I couldn’t see it.” She huffed.

  “But you know how to scroll, right? You have two careers and have even created a fake employee named Nancy. You’re telling me that you don’t know how to check your schedule beyond what’s there.”

  “Of course I do.” Her agitation grew with every move, which wasn’t his goal, but he also didn’t want to claim fault unless fault was due.

  “Nyah, help me out here. I put entries on your calendar with your permission. So far, it’s been fine.”

  “Yeah, but your entry screwed things up.” She rubbed her reddening eyes.

  “How? I’m sorry if the entry confused you but your performance is right here.” He showed her the calendar.

  “It doesn’t even matter. I missed my performance and I don’t know what that means because I’ve never screwed up like this. I always have things separate and organized, so I can manage them. I meet with Martin tomorrow and I don’t know what to tell him. He...” She choked.

  She guzzled down some water.

  He knew how much classical music meant to her, so the prospect of losing her place in the philharmonic couldn’t be easy. He was meant to focus on their business relationship, but how could he when she was clearly upset. “I’m sorry. This must be stressful. How can I help?”

  “You can’t. No one can. I’m the one who’ll have to sit across from Martin and explain myself.” He didn’t think it was possible for her to sink lower into her chair but she somehow managed to do it.

  He scooted his chair over to her and took her hand and warmed it between his. “It’ll be okay.”

  “How can you say that? Are you a fly on Martin’s unruly hair now, too?” She tilted her head.

  Though in despair, a bit of the firecracker he knew shined through. “Because you’re talented and amazing and they’d be fools to let you go.”

  She stared at him for a few seconds and looked down at his hands wrapped around hers.

  He released her hand but stayed by her side. “Let’s get you something warm to drink,” he said and called over the waitress.

  Nyah ordered a ginger mint tea with lemon.

  “Be right back,” their waitress said.

  “So,” he ventured. “What were you doing that day?” He doubted she’d forget her performance for just any random thing.

  “I met up with the Rebel crew. Played a small set in the park with Trinket. I was having fun and enjoying my day off.” She air-quoted.

  The idea that she’d lost herself in her DJ life confirmed what he already knew even if she didn’t. Though she may enjoy her classical career, she lost herself in her DJ life. Her tea arrived and she dunked the tea bag a few times before taking quiet sips as the steam rose up to her forehead.

  “Maybe it’s what you needed. I know that doesn’t help your situation, but you’re human,” he said.

  “You mean I’m not a super badass bitch who has all her shit together. No!” She poured drama over every word.

  “You’re a badass bitch that is fallible. Welcome to the club.”

  She smiled for the first time since they’d met up and the joy it gave him was also troublesome.

  “Hey, I have to head to Brooklyn in a bit, but I wanted to touch base with you about Oh Ship. Have you given it any more thought?”

  She shook her head “This weekend really threw me and, honestly, Tommy, I won’t be able to think straight until I meet with Martin.”

  Her answer wasn’t a straight no. “I understand,” he said, but wished he could close this deal sooner rather than later. He’d just have to hold off any confirmation until she gave him a firm answer.

  “I’ll let you know,” she said.

  “Do you feel a little better?”

  She pinched her fingers together.

  “A little is better than nothing,” he returned. “Also, do you want me to clear your calendar of any of my events? I’d hate for this to cause a problem in the future.”

  Her cheeks reddened. “For now it’s okay. I just need to double-check the days.”

  “You’re sure?” he persisted.

  “It’s fine, Tommy,” she said. “Thanks for the tea.”

  “Anytime.”

  He left for his meeting more stressed than before he’d met with her. He didn’t know how her meeting with her conductor would pan out but he prayed that whatever happened steered her toward a festive cruise.

  * * *

  Nyah’s mouth hung open for about five seconds before she spoke. “I’m what?”

  “You’re suspended,” Martin repeated.

  “I...but... No, I mean...” She sighed and swallowed the thick saliva in her mouth. Suspensions were things that happened to other musicians. Not her. “For how long?”

  “Two weeks.”

  She blinked in disbelief and to clear her tear-blurred vision. She’d expected to be reprimanded but a full suspension sounded horrible. Had she ever been suspended? For anything?

  Martin had expressed his disappointment, especially when she told him the truth that she’d just forgotten. What else was she going to tell him? That she’d been in the park deejaying, drunk, and faded?

  “Use your time to reevaluate your commitment to the philharmonic. The only reason why you won’t be replaced is because I believe in your talent. Until recently, you’ve always been a reliable musician with untapped potential. It’s your choice as to how you want to move forward, but should this ever happen again, Nyah, you will lose your chair.”

  Her inner gasp was louder than the ones heard upon a mystery reveal. “Yes, sir.”

  She left Martin’s office and headed home. On her way she texted the headline to Gladys, who responded with many sad face emojis.

  Gladys: On my way to practice. Talk later?

  Nyah gave her a thumbs-up. On low battery mode, she walked to her apartment with the agony of defeat. What she wouldn’t give to undo all of this.

  “What the hell am I going to do for two weeks?” she asked her living room.

  She opened her computer in an attempt to be productive, but she scrolled and clicked on autopilot because her mind remained overstimulated from her conversation with Martin. Maybe her chaotic mind needed more chaos to calm down. She typed into a search box and clicked on the official website for Oh Ship.

  Nyah’s thumb glided back and forth gently against her bottom lip. Her thoughts drifted as she clicked through videos and images of the cruise. “I can’t believe I’m actually considering this.”

  Sure, the event was on a cruise ship, but when they docked, masses of fans crawled the beaches. Tommy said she wouldn’t be headlining and could safely avoid super large crowds if she did a ship performance and maybe a day party on the beach. If she agreed, which she hadn’t decided, she’d make that part crystal clear.

  She went over Tommy’s email, which listed the terms, as well as encouraging her to request what she needed to give her best performance. That is, if she agreed to perform. She stretched her arms and back. With nothing but her thoughts and her suspension to pine over, she fooled herself into believing that a cruise out of New York to overdose on sun wasn’t a good idea. “More like a stars-fucking-aligned type of idea,” she muttered.

  Her phone rang and when she saw Gladys’s number, she put it on speaker.

  “Whatcha doing?” Gladys cooed.

  “Wallowing in self-pity, how about you?” Nyah asked and waited for Gladys to present an alternative.

  “You and I are getting some dinner at seven,” Gladys said. “I mean, unless you and Tommy are hooking up.”

  Nyah smothered her face with her hand. “He’s out of town, so an opportunity to get out of the house for food sounds perfect?
” All true, but eventually, Nyah would have to give up the jig.

  “Good, because you need some cheering up and some comradery—my specialty—especially after what happened today,” Gladys said.

  Nyah groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

  “Meet up with you in a few.”

  After they hung up, Nyah went back to her evaluation of Oh Ship. She had to admit that the depression from being suspended might be influencing her decision but so what if it was? Should she stay home and take her punishment, agonize over not being at the concert hall and replay her fun day with the Rebel crew as some sort of penance, or just wild out? Even now she still had to weigh the pros and cons of going for her DJ career. She’d been subsisting on guilt and needed a real meal.

  A few hours later, Nyah met Gladys at Miss Lily’s in Soho for some Jamaican fusion. Gladys squeezed her like she hadn’t seen her in months. “I’m sorry this is happening.”

  Contrary to Nyah’s mood, the familiar reggae and dancehall music livened up the red and yellow diner. The place offered a pleasant departure from the classical music they played and also from the dance music of Queen Roe.

  “I’m so glad you agreed to come out,” Gladys said, as she munched on her jerk chicken and rice and peas.

  “I needed this. For real.” Nyah rolled her shoulders. “I just can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Do you know if you have to let CeCe know for London?” Gladys asked.

  “Shit! I didn’t even think about that.” Nyah dropped her fork. “I’m going to go with no.”

  “I feel like I’m stressing you out more. I’m normally better at this.”

  “I know you mean well.” Nyah knew Gladys worried about her career as much as she did, so it was no surprise that Gladys gave the situation a 360-degree perspective.

  “Let’s just enjoy ourselves and fuck the philharmonic,” Gladys said.

  That made Nyah laugh. “Yeh, mon! Fuck the philharmonic. For now, anyway.” Nyah sucked on a piece of her curried shrimp, and the bright flavor of peppers and jasmine rice exploded in her mouth. “Okay, here’s your second shot at taking my mind off today. Tell me what else is going on.”