“This conversation again?” asked Cord. The same one had come up at Lander and Barbara’s engagement party. “Marriage wouldn’t be so bad with the right person.”
“This isn’t the fifties, Cord. Not everyone gets married.” Leaving him to chew on that, and having satisfied her mission of checking in, Brit breezed out of the room.
“Oh, Sweetheart!”
Brit cringed, expecting her father to ask her more about last night.
“Vincent Gordon is going to be in town tomorrow. Would you mind showing him around? We have a meeting at eleven, but he’ll be all yours after that.”
Brit made eye contact with Cord, daring him to say something. “I would be delighted. See you tomorrow, Dad. Cord.” She nodded and spun out of the room.
CHAPTER EIGHT
VINCENT GORDON, WHO hailed from Baltimore, had just made a bit of a name for himself in the States and was trying his hand on an international stage, starting with a few dates in Canada. Brit wouldn’t be surprised if he was also shopping for a new manager, making sure he played at a club so closely connected to Lander. She couldn’t blame him for trying, if that was his intention. Hopefully it would turn out to be a mutually beneficial visit for both of them.
Brit wandered into the club at almost 11:30, not wanting to seem too eager. However, she had told Daisy to meet her there at eleven. Brit had a perfectly good explanation for inviting Daisy, of course, lest anybody ask. Daisy had been born and raised in the city, unlike Brit or Vincent. If anyone knew where the locals hung out, it was Daisy.
So Brit was pleased to find her plan had worked. Sort of. Daisy had arrived first, but instead of waiting inside, she was outside, pacing back in forth in front of the door like a vagrant.
Brit grabbed her by the elbow. “Daisy...” she said with mock patience, “What are you doing outside? You can go in.”
“The door was locked.”
Brit pointed to the paging system to the left of the glass double doors. “It’s disconnected during events so that drunks don’t wear it out, but it works now. Cord would’ve let you in. Or Mike, if he’s actually here for once.”
“Mike?”
Brit rolled her eyes. “General manager and partial owner. Most of the time he’s out wooing investors rather than running the place though. Needless to say, my dad could use new management.”
“Maybe you could do it.”
Brit shrugged with a coy smile and a mock flip of her magenta hair. “He couldn’t afford me.”
Daisy giggled.
Brit linked her elbow in Daisy’s and led her into the club, peeking into her father’s office. It was vacant. They must be giving Vincent the tour. The two continued down the hall to the stage area. The house lights were up, but the stage lights were brighter, illuminating Vincent’s bleached tips of his black hair. Daisy and Vincent even had similar hair. This was a match made in musical heaven. Brit knew it.
Vincent shielded his pale eyes from the stage lights with one hand on his forehead. “Who are these lovely ladies in pink?”
Brit looked down. She was in all black except her hair, of course. Daisy had a pink triangular scarf tied around her back, creating a diamond-shaped crop top in front over her distressed jeans. She looked like the folksy beauty she was. With her soft-spoken raspiness, how could Vincent not fall for her?
Cord was the one giving the tour. Her dad must’ve split after their earlier meeting. Cord squinted and ended up mirroring Vincent to shield his pale blue eyes from the glare of the spotlights.
With Vincent on his heels, Cord stepped down the five stairs down to floor level.
“Daisy, Brit.” He nodded at Daisy, but his eyes lingered on Brit, waiting for her next move. He’d known her long enough to know that she had some sort of plan tucked in the back pocket of her high-rise black denim.
She stuck her hand out, and Vincent eagerly took it. “I’m Brit Byers. And you’re the Vincent Gordon. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s mine, Brit. Believe me.” His green-gray eyes sparkled like some rare gemstone in the dim house lights. “And you are?” He slipped his hand out of Brit’s and toward Daisy. Brit took this to be a good sign.
She laid her hand on the smaller girl’s shoulder. “This is Daisy Song.”
“No kidding. That’s your real name?”
“Yeah, it’s a pretty common Chinese name.”
“You’re Chinese. That’s cool. I’d always wanted to go to China.”
“Well, I’m Canadian. I’ve never been.”
“She’s more Canadian than I am,” Brit cut in. “My mom’s Dutch. You said your grandparents came here from China right?”
“Great grandparents.”
“So awesome. I love your dreads. I see we both have good taste in hair color.” He ran his hand over the very top of his textured hair to prevent it from flattening. “The pink is fly, too.”
Brit could almost physically feel Cord bristling at his compliment.
“You ready to do some sightseeing?” asked Brit.
“Your dad has some work he needs me to get done,” said Cord.
“Don’t worry about it. Daisy and I can show Vincent around.”
“Hey, thanks for the tour, man.” Vincent shook Cord’s hand and brought him in for a quick man hug with a hearty slap on the back. Cord stiffly hinged at the waist to accommodate the shorter man.
Brit noticed she and Vincent were about eye level. On the other hand, the top of Daisy’s head came to about Vincent’s eyebrows. Perfect match.
The summer air was muggy, which was typical for summer in Toronto—Brit should’ve known better. Although Brit was wearing a tank top tucked into her jeans, she was regretting the choice of ankle boots.
Vincent was also in jeans, but his were neatly cuffed unlike Daisy’s more relaxed boyfriend-style denim. On top, he wore a jaunty pale purple dress shirt with a checkered pattern. The sleeves were cuffed above his elbows to match his jeans. Rube would be proud if he were here.
“So Vincent, tell me how you got started. Did you always know you wanted to be a musician?” Brit knew part of the story, but she mostly asked for Daisy’s sake.
“Are you trying to prepare me for my press tour?” he teased. “Nah, it’s a good question. I got started in my church’s choir singing gospel music, and my current manager happened to hear me in church one Sunday.”
“That kind of big break is the dream,” Daisy said with awe. She smiled, and Brit was pleased to see two deep dimples pop out on her cheeks.
“Where are you taking me first?”
Brit had some ideas in mind, but she wanted to include Daisy. “Daisy, what do you think? You’re the hometown girl.”
She looked up shyly, but it only made her look more attractive. “Have you had lunch? I know a little spot in Chinatown that’s nice.”
“Chinatown is a perfect spot to start,” agreed Brit.
“Ahem.”
Brit put the brakes on, the rubber soles of her boots grinding to a halt against the pavement. Vincent hadn’t moved yet.
“One of my bros told me the aquarium is a can’t miss.”
“The...aquarium?” Brit exchanged a blank look with Daisy. “I don’t think I’ve been there since it opened like five years ago. They had an event there. Your bro told you that?”
“Well, my mom did, but my buddy agreed with her.”
Brit tried to dismiss the idea with a wave. “That area of town is going to be crawling with tourists this time of year.”
“I am a tourist,” Vincent reminded her.
For a moment, Vincent resembled a little boy, insisting that his parents take him to the zoo instead of an educational museum. Suddenly, his little shirt and ankle-length trendy jeans looked like boy clothes that a man tried to stuff himself into. But, maybe she was being unreasonable. It was his first time in Canada, after all. Ugh, but the aquarium?
After a beat or two of silence, Daisy shrugged. “I’d be OK with the aquarium. I love the jellyfish ar
ea there. I did some promo photos there about a year ago.”
“Fine, at least it’s air conditioned.”
AS BRIT PREDICTED, the streets teemed with tourists, mostly Asians with big sun hats or pale Caucasians with shiny, sunburnt cheeks and foreheads, tensely clutching maps and gaping open-mouthed in every direction. Some yelled in frustration in English, and some muttered in languages Brit only vaguely recognized. Even in the packs of people, Brit felt exposed with her garish hair and wished for a hat herself. The chance of someone recognizing her in this crowd was about as good as the chance of someone recognizing Vincent—slim—but still...
Once inside, Vincent reached for his back pocket, but Brit stopped him. “This is on me. You’re our guest.” Instead of standing at the long ticket counter lines, Brit opted for a kiosk. With tickets in hand, she tried to rush them past the photographer in front of the cardboard seascape background, but Vincent hung back.
“Please?” This time, his puffed out bottom lip and exaggerated big eyes read cute to Brit, and she softened.
“Might as well give him the whole Toronto experience, eh, Daisy?” She stood in her practiced red carpet stance in front of the photographer—three quarters turned to the camera, hand on hip, chin out and down slightly, shoulders back, chest out, tummy in. Beside her, Vincent looped one arm around her waist and one arm around Daisy’s, and the two of them hunched together. It would be a ridiculous picture, but at least they were having fun.
“Smile!” the blue-polo-shirted employee encouraged with his glossy groomed hair and too white, too big teeth.
Once past the bottleneck of the entrance, Brit relaxed in the dim lighting of the aquarium’s interior. There, she let herself lag behind, pretending to be interested in this colorful fish or that giant sea turtle while she watched the blond heads of Daisy and Vincent dart ahead of her like two excited teenagers, grasping each other’s arms and pointing. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
ON THEIR WAY OUT, VINCENT looked so excited, Brit wondered if she should surprise him with a plush sting ray from the gift shop and an ice cream cone.
“That was amazing. Thanks for doing that.”
“You know, it wasn’t so bad after all,” admitted Brit.
Daisy smiled, and her hands fluttered. “I forgot how inspiring that place is. I suddenly want to write a whole, ocean-themed album.”
With that idea, Brit’s mind raced with promotional possibilities. “Yes, you should! I’ll book studio space for you right now! You two could do a collaboration. What do you think, Vincent?”
His eyes wandered across the city, distracted. “That could be cool. I’ve been wanting to try to write my own stuff.”
“Wait, you don’t?” Daisy’s face scrunched in confusion.
Brit felt the need to intervene. She knew Daisy was an artist through and through, but she still didn’t think that was anything to hold against Vincent. “Using songwriters is pretty common practice, especially for pop stars just starting out. It’s a good way to learn from the professionals.”
Daisy mumbled at the sidewalk in front of them, her response too quiet for Brit to hear.
“You sound pretty knowledgeable about the biz, Brit.”
She shrugged. “Hard not to be with my upbringing. I do find it fascinating, but I prefer to be on the logistics side rather than the creative side. You create the artist, and I’ll help you put on the best, most well attended show possible.”
“I like that. Hey!” Vincent pointed up. “Can we do that next?”
At the sight of the looming CN Tower, Brit’s hope of a low-key day was dashed like a bungee jump gone wrong. “Seriously?”
“It would complete the Toronto experience.”
She wasn’t so sure about that, but she could work with this. “That’s all you guys. I’m not great with heights.” It wasn’t entirely true. She had a healthy respect for heights and small spaces, but she hoped to get Daisy and Vincent alone again.
Daisy, unfortunately, looked sick, her skin pale and waxy. She shook her head, putting her arms around herself and shivering, despite the heat.
“Daisy?” Brit reached her arm out and beckoned to the girl, but Daisy shook her head with even more force.
“I’m terrified of heights,” she said, just above a whisper. “There’s no way.”
“Vincent will be there to protect you. Everything will be fine.” Brit’s new plan of going to find a smoothie while the two of them canoodled was quickly fading as well. “Maybe we should skip this.”
“Can you go with me?” pleaded Vincent.
Brit expected him to be asking Daisy this, but his pitiful green-gray eyes were trained on her.
“You guys go. I’ll wait here.” Daisy inched toward a bench on the sidewalk and wedged herself between a mother with a stroller and an old woman clutching her handbag.
With no excuses left, Brit trudged toward the booth and plopped her credit card down again. Seventy dollars later, she had two tickets to something she didn’t want to do.
Vincent misread her expression as fear. “You can hold my hand if you get nervous.”
“I’ll be fine. I wish Daisy would’ve given this a try.”
The two joined the queue waiting for the attraction. To kill time, Brit checked her phone. She had to get Vincent talking about something, or this line was going to take forever.
A friendly female tour guide who was probably on break from university welcomed them into the elevator. A small glass panel on the floor showed them the world becoming smaller at their feet as the car sped upward. Brit watched out the side windows as Daisy became more and more ant-like herself.
The speed of the ride set her stomach on edge. Vincent’s hand suddenly on her arm didn’t help either.
“Whoa,” he breathed.
The tour guide smiled at him. “It’s fast, right?”
“You must be used to this by now. How many times a day do you do this?”
“Over a hundred.”
“Whoa,” he said again.
The attendant let them off at the floor of the observation deck, and Brit stepped out on shaky legs. The perimeter of the deck was made of a floor of glass where brave tourists stepped out, taking pictures of each other with fake terrified expressions on their faces.
Brit toed the glass. “Does this ever, like, crack?”
A nearby employee chuckled and pointed to the sign. “It can withstand the weight of fourteen hippos. You’re completely safe.”
Vincent jumped on the glass, and Brit gritted her teeth, stepping to the center of the room again where the floor was solid and opaque.
They took another elevator up to the very top viewing area. Somehow, Brit was less afraid up here. “It feels like I’m in a helicopter. I’m oddly OK with this.” She pointed down to one of the many buildings. “I can almost see the club from here. That building is blocking it. And over there is my apartment building.”
“This is so romantic. If I ever propose to a girl, I’m coming back here.”
With that comment, Brit moved back to the elevator. “Back to Daisy then? She probably misses us.”
DAISY BEELINED FOR her moped when the group returned to the club and popped her helmet over her head before mounting her bike.
“Call you tomorrow!” Brit called after her.
Daisy’s smile was exhilarating, and Brit and Vincent watched as Daisy tucked her dreads into her black helmet and sped away.
“Thank you for a lovely day, Brit Byers.” Vincent’s hands swung like he wanted to take hold of one of Brit’s, but she instead tucked her own fingers in her back pockets.
“I had fun today. I think Daisy did too. She’s a trip, right? And so talented, you wouldn’t believe.” Brit wanted to suggest the girlfriend/opening act suggestion, but she held back. “You have a ride back to your hotel?”
“It’s nearby. I can walk.”
“Cool.”
By Vincent’s lack of movement, Brit could tell he really wanted her to
offer to walk him home, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction.
“We’ll see you at your show Thursday. Bye, Vincent.” And then she pivoted, leaving him staring after her, while she wondered if this day had been progress at all.
CHAPTER NINE
“WHAT’D YOU THINK?” Brit signaled to the waiter to come take Daisy’s order, who had just dropped her over-sized knit handbag on the ground and collapsed into the seat across from Brit the next day at lunch.
This lunch spot was Brit’s favorite. With its outdoor seating at small round, wrought-iron cafe tables, it reminded her of Paris. The waiter strode by with his white apron and tight-rolled faded jeans and poured water into the glass in front of Daisy.
“What can I get cha?” He adjusted his black thick-rimmed glasses with the knuckle from his free hand and awaited Daisy’s answer.
“Um, what’s good here?” She hunched her shoulders and cracked open the leather billfold menu in front of her.
“Everything, trust me.” Brit and the waiter exchanged mutually appreciative smiles. “I’ll have my usual.”
“I’ll have the hummus veggie pita.”
Brit barely waited until the waiter had stepped away from the table when she asked again, “What’d you think of Vincent?”
Daisy took a moment to ponder this, flipping a beaded blond dreadlock over her shoulder in the process. “I think Vincent liked the CN Tower best.”
Brit laughed. “Daisy!” She pretended to slap Daisy’s wrist but didn’t make contact. “I mean what did you think of him as a person? And I think you’re wrong anyway. He loved running around the aquarium with you.”
“That was his second favorite part, I bet.” Daisy took a sip of her water and averted her eyes.
“You’re avoiding the question.”
Daisy let her guard down and opened the dam on her emotions. Brit had to brace herself for the barrage that came next. “It’s not that I don’t like Vincent. He seems really cool and so stylish. And I like that he has a religious background, singing in a church, because I really don’t, but I’m open to that. I’m sure he’s wickedly talented. I did listen to some of his music yesterday, and I can see some similarities with the two of us. It’s just—”
Brit with the Pink Hair (The Rockin' Austen Series, #1) Page 5