by Lisa Lace
“That’s not really true though, is it? Jane and I are a team, and she just wants to get somewhere for once. I can’t say I blame her.”
Lucas fixes me with a contemplative stare. “Would you ever think about going it alone? Solo?”
I laugh. I know I’d never get anywhere on my own. Jane’s the one with all the energy and persistence. She’s the one who’ll knock on every door until we get somewhere. She’s the one who has relentless, unshakable faith in us. Without her, I’d still be doing no more than singing in the shower and wistfully sighing out the window.
“No. Jane and I are not just musical partners, we’re best friends. She’s practically my sister. I don’t think anything would feel the same if I wasn’t sharing it with her.”
“You think she feels the same?”
“I know she does.”
We reach the subway entrance, and I descend confidently into the dark, flickering belly of the station. Lucas skips down the steps beside me, looking in the glass frame of an advertising poster to straighten his tie.
“I bet it’s been a while since you’ve been on the subway in Los Angeles.”
Lucas chuckles. “It’s weird, right? We’re all married to our cars. I used to love it, though.”
“You did?”
“I used to hop on it and go from stop to stop, exploring the whole of LA, looking for any bar with karaoke or an open mic night, scouting talent. That was before I was officially working for the label. Even then, I was desperate to discover rising stars.” He laughs at himself. “I used to sit or stand in the front row of any place I went with my little notepad and pen like I was Simon Cowell. I’d collect the business cards or CDs of anyone I thought was good and bring them home to my father.”
I smile at the thought of a young Lucas trying to impress his dad, touring LA in an effort to prove himself.
“Did you ever find a star?”
“Not back then,” Lucas tells me. “My father never listened to any of the CDs, never followed up on any of the cards. He ignored all my efforts.”
“That’s kind of sad.”
“What’s really sad is the one time he did.”
“What happened?”
“He’d had enough of me giving him all this ‘trash,’ as he called it, so he sat me down and made me listen to CD after CD. Through every track, he’d tell me why the artist was no good, really ripping those poor folks apart. He told me I was tone deaf, and I should stop wasting his time.”
“I’d have thought he’d encourage you to follow in his footsteps.”
Lucas laughs. It comes out as a bark of disdain. “Not at all. I’ve had to prove myself every step of the way. It’s been a fight to get where I am. I think my father views me more as competition than a chip off the old block. He makes sure to point out every mistake I make so I never forget he’s the big name in the business, not me.”
“Is that why you do whatever he tells you?”
He frowns. “I don’t do whatever he tells me.”
A train rushes into the station and comes to a stop. I step in, followed by Lucas, and we hold on to the same bar, standing in the jostling car. With every lurch of the train, I fall against him. He doesn’t budge an inch. He’s completely solid. I remember how strong his arms felt when they wrapped around me the night of the masquerade. When the movement of the train throws me against him and I catch the scent of his cologne, I wish they were around me again.
He doesn’t even look that out of place down here, really. He loosens his tie as we travel and runs his hands through his hair. He could be any disheveled businessman on his way home from a day at the office.
Why did I once think he was a god?
“Then why didn’t you fight for me and Jane? I know you don’t agree with him about changing our style. I’ve seen your vinyl. You like music with soul. Why would you want to make us just like any other pair of girls?”
“It’s got nothing to do with my father. It’s business.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Everyone in this business has to compromise. Without exception.”
“Compromise is both parties keeping something they want.”
Lucas frowns, glancing across at me. “I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I said I did my best for you in there. He wanted to make more changes. In the world of Harvey Fox, this is a compromise.”
“This has nothing to do with what happened the other night?” I say. “You’re not…mad at me?”
He scoffs. “I am mad at you, Ivy, but that has got nothing to do with this. I said I don’t mix business with pleasure, and I don’t. If you want my honest opinion, I think what you and Jane have got to offer is the best thing the music industry has seen in years, and, if you were left to your own devices and given the right support, you’d be iconic.”
His compliment takes me by surprise. It touches me. I can tell he means it, and I sense he’s battling with himself. There’s a kind of anger beneath his voice, but I don’t think it has anything to do with me.
“As it is,” he continues, “I don’t own the label, and I, too, have to compromise. You might not believe me, but I’m disappointed. I wanted more for you two, and I wouldn’t blame you if you looked for another label.”
I lift my face to gaze up into his. “Do you think we should?”
He slides his fingers down the pole until they close around mine. “Maybe. But I wish you’d stay.”
Lucas
We get off at the corner of East Fifth Street and Towne Avenue. The first thing I notice is the stink of garbage, followed by the sight of mounds of trash spilling out of cans and piling onto the street. Ivy doesn’t seem to notice. She strides ahead down Fifth. There are tents everywhere. There’s a whole neighborhood living on the streets. Some of the homeless wander around with all their possessions on their backs, looking beaten down and worn out.
There’s a mural running along a wall, showing a Navajo woman in tears. Above the mural are the words: What I see can be me. I think of the lyrics in Ivy’s songs, and I feel tingles down my spine. More than music.
We walk down South San Pedro Street to the bar Ivy chose. From the outside, it looks bleak. It doesn’t even have a name or a sign. It’s just another faceless building with dusty windows.
Inside, it’s surprisingly bright. The light illuminates every single flaw. The floor is scuffed black-and-white-tile effect print. The bar is speckled with dull patches where patrons’ knees have worn away the lacquer, sitting on the torn red leather stools. The walls are a deep crimson and decorated with tin signs. There are several dartboards dotted around. You have to watch yourself as you walk to avoid a dart in the back of the head. It smells of smoke and hard liquor. There’s also the pungent odor of urine in the air.
Despite the dire surroundings, everyone seems to be having a good time. A group of merry drunks sits in a booth opposite the bar, chugging their beers and braying with laughter after every other word. Their raucous banter carries throughout the bar. At one of the dartboards, a skinny guy in a loose striped top and baggy jeans is throwing darts. He has shaggy hair under a dirty wool hat. His skin is pockmarked and dry. It wouldn’t surprise me to find track marks beneath those sleeves. He’s not bothering anyone, though. He fits into the scene.
A couple of middle-aged women wearing next to nothing stand by the bar, flirting with the bartender, who’s young and slim with a man bun and ginger stubble. He lifts his chin in a welcome nod when he spots Ivy.
“Our number one entertainer,” he says brightly. “The usual?”
“Please.”
He takes the cap off some cheap craft beer I’ve never heard of and slides it across the bar to her. “And him?”
“The same.”
I accept the brown bottle from him and try not to look too suspicious. I take a swig and it tastes like poison. It seems to be more bubbles than liquid. When the bitter fizz hits the back of my throat, it’s all I can do to not gag.
Ivy looks over at m
e and laughs. “It’s an acquired taste, but it grows on you. Tastes like Skid Row. Cheers.”
“Cheers.” I force down another sour mouthful.
Ivy takes us back to our earlier conversation without missing a beat. “You know, I could live with changing our fashion sense a little. I could live with a few more upbeat songs. I’m all about metaphor—I can have people partying to a song about poverty without them even knowing it. What really bothers me, though, is asking Jane to change her name.”
“It’s not like she’d have to get it changed by a legal petition or use Wite-Out on her birth certificate,” I say. “It’s a stage name. That’s all. Everybody does it.”
“It just feels—” Ivy shudders “—wrong.”
“Jane doesn’t mind.”
“I think she’s caught up in the excitement of it all.” Ivy sighs. “I just don’t want us to get five or six years down the line and wake up one day finding we’ve sold out.”
“Your father wasn’t in the industry long enough to know how cutthroat it gets, Ivy,” I tell her. “I know he’s a nice man. I know he painted a pretty picture of an industry that takes all types and gives without asking for anything in return, but that’s a fantasy. It’s harsh but true. Fox Records, or any other label, will ask you to do things you weren’t prepared to be asked to do.”
“Are you saying I should completely abandon everything I believe in?”
“I’m simply saying you need to go into this industry with your eyes open.”
“You’re saying I’m naïve.”
“Maybe a little.”
Ivy’s shoulders slump. “Maybe I am, then. I don’t know.”
She’s so beautiful. Today she’s wearing a white-and-brown floral dress cut to just above the knees with long bell sleeves that swish around every time she lifts an arm. It has a high neckline, revealing nothing of her cleavage. I picture her in some skimpy little number with everything on show, and I feel ashamed of myself. Ivy has enough talent that she shouldn’t need to sell out to be heard.
If she’d drop Jane, she wouldn’t need to.
“I’ll talk to my father again,” I promise. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Ivy nods slowly and smiles. “I appreciate that.”
“Does that mean you’re going to stay with Fox Records?”
She groans. “I don’t know. On the one hand, it’s what Jane wants, and I don’t want to hold her back. Then I think about how long we’ve been working at this, and I know this could be our only chance to break through. I don’t want to blow it either.
“On the other hand, all these changes make me feel dirty, somehow. I don’t know if I’d even recognize myself. And, of course, my dad would never approve, and I owe him so much.”
I smile. “You’re loyal, Ivy. I hope Jane and your father appreciate that.”
“They’ve been loyal to me.”
“It’s a rare virtue in this industry.”
“It’s rare anywhere.”
I take another sip of the vile beer and swallow, wondering what to say next. I want to take the conversation away from the label and focus instead on Ivy. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since our night together.
“You look beautiful tonight.”
“Lucas…”
“Ivy.” I look her straight in the eye and close my fingers over hers. “I hated that you walked out on me the other morning.”
“You know why.”
“Because you care more about what everyone else thinks than about what you want.”
“What makes you think you’re what I want?”
I lean forward to kiss her throat. She lets out a soft sigh as my lips touch her skin. Under the wave of her hair, I can smell her perfume, sweet and sensual. She buries her fingers briefly in my hair, bowing her head forward as though she might kiss me, too then pushes me away.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I promised Jane.”
Jane’s holding you back from a thousand good things.
“Why should Jane care?”
“Because we are partners, and things get messy if one of us is sleeping with the producer.”
“And what if it was more than just sex?” I comb my fingers through one of her ringlets, letting it bounce when I release it, then trace my thumb across her forearm. “I’ve told you more than once I find you intriguing. I want to get to know you, Ivy. You should let me take you to dinner.”
“I…”
“After I’ve spoken to my father. We can talk more about the conditions.”
“Lucas…”
“Stop being a martyr, Ivy. We have chemistry. Pretend I’m not Lucas Fox. Pretend I’m anybody else. If I were anybody else, I know you wouldn’t hold back.”
She falters. “Dinner?”
“You, me, good food. You can even pick the place if you like. We could eat right here.”
She laughs and tucks that loose ringlet behind her ear. “They’re not known for their food. Last time I had a burger here, I was throwing up for days.”
“Uptown, then. Somewhere nice. A chance to talk.” I look her in the eye. “That’s all I want. A chance.”
Ivy
I arrive home and immediately shut the door behind me, leaning back against the chipped wood and letting out a long breath.
I’ve agreed to go out to dinner with Lucas Fox.
What was I thinking?
“Ivy?”
I jump when I hear my name. I look up to see my dad hobbling from the living room to the apartment door.
He narrows his eyes. “You’re back late. Where have you been?”
“An open mic night.”
“You left your guitar at home.”
I avoid his gaze, stepping past him into the apartment and going into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. “Jane was playing. I sang.”
Dad follows me to the kitchen, dragging his limp leg across the floor, leaning heavily on his cane. He smells of cheap beer.
“You just decided to change the way you perform after all this time?” He pauses, watching me intently. “You’re lying to me, Ivy. Why? Where were you?”
“What are you talking about, Dad?” I make my voice bright and breezy, but I feel panicked. I’ve managed to keep my dealings with the Foxes from Dad, but I should have known he’d guess something was up. “I’ve been singing with Jane downtown.”
“If you’re in some kind of trouble, you’d best tell me. We’ll figure it out.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What kind of trouble do you think I’m in?”
“I know how drugs get passed around in those sleazy bars. I know the sort of shady characters who hang around. If anyone’s taking advantage of you, if you’re in a tight spot—”
I cut him off. “I’m fine. It’s nothing like that.”
“What, then? You can talk to me, Ivy.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. My mouth is dry. I’ve never lied to my father before, and I can’t keep doing it. “It’s Fox Records,” I confess. “Jane and I recorded a demo. They’re going to sign us to the label.”
He purses his lips and sucks in a deep breath through his nose. “When were you planning on telling me?”
I hold up my hands. “I don’t know, Dad. You weren’t exactly thrilled with the idea.”
“For good reason! You can’t trust the Foxes.”
“I’m not dealing with Harvey. Lucas is different. He’s transparent and does his best for us.”
Dad scoffs. “He’ll ask you to change everything then kick you to the curb anyway.”
“You don’t know him.”
“They’ll do anything to make a quick buck. You’re nothing but a cash cow to them.”
“Is that what you think?”
“You need to work with a label that really appreciates you and your music.”
“Okay. Well, sign me up, Dad. Oh, wait—nobody else wants us.” I cast him a stern glare. “You make it sound like you snap your fingers and opportuniti
es magically materialize. It doesn’t work like that. These chances don’t come along very often. If you cared about me, you’d tell me to take hold of this one with both hands instead of letting your grudge against Harvey Fox hold me back!”
Dad grunts, shaking his head. “You think that’s what I’m doing? Being a selfish, bitter old man? You’re wrong. I’m trying to protect you because I know what they’ll do to you. You’re a trusting girl, Ivy. They’ll take advantage of that.”
“Let them. Better that than to live and die a nobody.”
“Not being famous doesn’t make you a nobody.”
“Doesn’t it?” I stare at him with tear-filled eyes. “Then why have you given up? Why do you act like it’s all over? If none of that matters, why did you stop taking care of yourself the second you couldn’t make it big?”
Dad goes back to the living room and slowly sinks down into his chair. When he turns to me, there’s a hurt look in his eyes that makes my insides tighten in shame. I’ve never spoken to him like this before.
“You’re right,” he says. “I did let everything fall to pieces after the label failed. I let my whole life revolve around that one big dream, and when it didn’t happen, it felt like the end of the world.” He blinks back tears. “I don’t want the same for you. I don’t want the Foxes to corrupt or steal your dream like they did mine.” He gestures around our ratty, meager apartment. “I want more than this for you.”
I kneel in front of him and place my hand on his knee. “I didn’t mean what I said. You’ve been a great dad. I’m simply scared my one chance is going to pass me by. Music is all I’ve ever known, and I think if I don’t make it now, I never will. I’m almost thirty. How many stars do you know who break into the industry at that age? This is probably my last chance.”
He sighs deeply, then puts his hand over mine. “You’re a grown woman, Ivy. You’ve got to make your own choices in life. Do what you need to do. Just go in with your eyes open.”