by Laura Carter
‘Did you bring Calvin?’ Sofia asked, less than her usual chilled self. Rosalie and Hannah separated to give Sofia sight of Calvin behind them.
‘Hey, Calvin,’ Sofia called to him. ‘This is the track you’re going to be playing to death next week.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ Calvin said in return.
And Rosalie told him, ‘You know we will.’
Rosalie would remind him of the helping hand she gave his younger sister when she started NYU and desperately wanted to make a complete U-turn on her gothic look to go preppy. His sister became head of the cheer squad and now had a sweet pad overlooking Central Park, where she lived with the starting quarterback for the Jets, all thanks to Rosalie’s wardrobe overhaul, a few foils and some major laser hair removal.
When Calvin dropped his head back, laughing good-humouredly, Rosalie’s wide, signature smile broke, showing her perfectly straight teeth beneath red-painted lips. She winked at Sofia, who finally seemed to relax.
Andrea and Sofia looked alike in many ways – they had similar features and the same green eyes. But Rosalie had always found Sofia’s look more beautiful. She had softer angles, her frame was daintier and less imposing, and she had the sweetest creases at the sides of her mouth to match the small dimple in her chin.
In fact, Sofia’s personality was all-round sweeter and more relaxed, though she and Andrea could come to blows big-style. It was rare but they had been at loggerheads a couple of times since Rosalie had known them.
The first time was when Sofia wanted to rush into marrying Jay – in honesty, Andrea was right about him. Jay had fooled everyone at first but soon his own insecurities were clear and it became obvious that he would put Sofia down to make himself feel better.
The second time was when Andrea ditched Sanfia Records to move to XM Music Group, though they disguised the truth of that argument behind something much less meaningful, so meaningless Rosalie couldn’t even remember what it was.
‘So, why did we run here?’ Hannah asked.
Right then, the arena lights went down and they were standing in near blackness, looking at a dark stage. Rosalie could just about make out figures moving around. A guy with a guitar she assumed and hoped was Seth approached the central microphone.
They stood in a row – Andrea, Rosalie, Hannah and Sofia. Rosalie watched Sofia take a deep breath – had she pulled this off? – then her attention was drawn to the stage as the sound of a piano began to play. The melody was pretty – slow but not melancholy, just how the guys had rehearsed in the studio.
The stage lights came up. As two lights streamed the audience, Rosalie noticed the arena was already half-full and growing, ready for the headline acts. On the stage, the man she had seen moving as a silhouette with a guitar was now standing under a central spotlight, his guitar strapped across his shoulder. Seth had discarded his jacket and wore simply his jeans and plain black T-shirt that allowed her to see that he was toned – muscly in fact. He had facial hair but didn’t look as ragged as the others on the stage – Billy, playing piano, Frankie, playing lead guitar, and the secret weapon she persuaded to help out his younger brother was playing electric guitar. Her heart fluttered with excitement and satisfaction.
Hannah leaned toward Sofia and asked, ‘Is that Randy Jonson?’
Sofia’s gaze was fixed on the man at the front of the stage, who was staring back at her as he began to play his guitar. Sofia nodded and Rosalie wondered if the gesture was in response to Hannah’s question or to reassure her artist on stage. It was a move that reminded Rosalie that, as ever, she was just the helper on the periphery of someone else’s story.
As the melody picked up, an indication lyrics were imminent, Rosalie felt Sofia stiffen beside her and wondered whether Andrea might put an arm around her sister. True to form, she didn’t. Andrea was great at a lot of things but she was completely emotionally inept.
Then all other thoughts left Rosalie’s mind as Seth started to sing.
Maybe I was wrong.
Maybe I fell for you when we were too young.
But we both learned from a broken heart
and now we can move on.
I’ll never forget that first kiss.
You know I will always remember.
Baby I was crazy about you.
But you aren’t here no more.
His voice was velvet – old, familiar and smooth. It wrapped around her like a warm bath and made her want to sink down under luxury brand bubbles. Rosalie wasn’t as talented as Andrea and Sofia when it came to music but she had been around it all her life, first with her dad, endlessly listening to vinyls at home. Then with the many musicians she had dated – a member of Randy Jonson’s Armstrung included (if you could call it dating). And latterly because of Andrea, Sofia and Hannah. So, she felt qualified enough to know that the man on stage – his voice, the way his fingers effortlessly commanded his guitar, the lyrics, which were no doubt his own if he was working with Sofia, the whole look – had it all.
If her own opinion wasn’t enough, when she looked to her left and saw Andrea’s wide eyes and slightly open mouth, she had back-up. When she saw the glazed look in Sofia’s eyes and the way she shivered when Seth dropped into his lower register, she knew Sofia thought he was the real deal.
Rosalie leaned into Sofia’s ear and told her, ‘You can stop holding your breath now.’
Sofia’s lips broke into a smile, then a laugh. Then she shook her head and quickly swiped a rogue tear from under her eye.
If Andrea wouldn’t show any emotion, Rosalie certainly could. Instinctively, she wrapped an arm around Sofia’s waist and they pressed their heads together long enough for Sofia to regain some composure. Sometimes, people just needed to feel loved and lately, Rosalie felt like she had more love inside her than she was able to give.
As the track built to a crescendo, Randy Jonson announced through his microphone, ‘Madison Square Gardens, meet Seth Young.’
The ever-growing crowd roared and Seth did what most artists forgot to do, he paused for a moment and took it all in. As far as Rosalie could tell, he would have to get used to people screaming his name very quickly.
Her hips swayed and she tapped her foot in her fine high-heeled shoe as she stood among her friends.
‘Sofia, Seth is fantastic, well done, you,’ she shouted above the roaring crowd and her own applause as the track ended.
Sofia was beaming. ‘Thanks, but it’s mostly him, I assure you. He’s incredible – voice, lyrics, guy.’ Sofia shook her head as she looked at the stage Seth was leaving, seemingly in awe.
As the noise in the arena calmed, Rosalie saw Andrea place an almost rigid hand on Sofia’s shoulder and tell her, ‘He is good. With the right support, he could be really something.’
Well, that was about as close to an endorsement as Andrea was likely to give – a tiny chink in her otherwise imperishable armour.
Sofia didn’t have a chance to respond before Calvin Richards raised his closed fist for her to bump.
‘I’ll be more than happy to give him airtime, Soph. Send over the track. I want an exclusive.’
Rosalie watched as Sofia’s mouth curved into yet another smile. ‘It’s yours,’ she told Calvin.
Then, with a gentle but large hand pressed to her shoulder, Rosalie was politely asked to move aside by none other than Seth Young – who suddenly seemed taller, broader and even more ruggedly handsome than he had appeared to her before.
When Seth spoke to Sofia, the southern twang that decorated his voice when he sang was even stronger.
‘I was once told that a man should never argue with a woman because women are always right,’ he said.
Sofia blushed, uncommonly so, Rosalie silently mused. ‘I don’t know about that but a good producer always knows what’s best for her clients.’
Seth laughed – a soft, rich laugh – as he rubbed the light covering of stubble around his jaw. ‘Yeah, all right, I’ll give you that. Thank you.’
> Rosalie held her breath, grinning as she waited for Seth and Sofia’s gratitude. It had, after all, been her initiative that got Seth a slot and her sharp thinking that got Randy Jonson up on the stage with him – something she knew would bring Seth countless hits on social media and pictures in the rags as showbiz columns wrote about the newest face in country rock.
‘You were great up there, Seth,’ she gushed.
Seth turned to her with a scowl as Sofia said, ‘I’m not sure if that was brave or ridiculous, Ros, and I don’t know whether to thank you or curse you.’
Oh. If Sofia hadn’t shaken her head with a glint in her eye, Rosalie might have felt the exact opposite of praised.
But Seth didn’t offer a smile as he folded his big arms across his chest and said, ‘You know, Sofia may forgive you for putting us in that situation but I won’t thank you. It was a stupid thing to do, way before I was ready for it, and it could have ruined my career before it even got started. Not just that but Sofia knew, because she is my producer, not you, that I don’t want to ride on the back of my big brother. Hell, I didn’t want anyone to know he’s my brother, not if that’s going to be the thing that gets me on the stage over my own music. But I guess this is how your life of pretty things and parties works, right? Be seen with all the right people. Daddy gifting you record labels you have no clue how to run. Prancing around in high heels and sparkly dresses and acting like life isn’t real.’
Before Rosalie had a chance to even process her shock, Seth had been pulled into another conversation, leaving Rosalie feeling winded.
The feel of Sofia’s hand on her now cold skin reminded Rosalie to breathe. ‘He’s still wired from the show. Try not to take it to heart. But he does have a point, Ros. Next time, maybe you could ask first and act once we’ve all thought it through?’
As tears welled behind her eyes, Rosalie offered her brightest smile and nodded. ‘Of course. I’m sorry. Silly me, always acting before thinking.’
9
Andrea
It was nearly one a.m. when Andrea, Hannah, Sofia and Rosalie took up seats around the corner of a kitchen bar in East Village. It lacked lustre and finesse. The choice of wine and beer was limited to whatever they had decided to stock that week. The walls were decorated in old music posters that had been stuck right onto the plaster, rather than put into frames, and were, consequently, worn and discoloured. Andrea had always suspected that the low lighting was more for disguise than mood-setting.
In fact, this was far from what Andrea wanted to be doing right now. She would have ranked bed, preparing for tomorrow’s presentation to her board, or wallowing over the fact she had been having an affair with a married man and had to endure his romance with his wife at the concert tonight, as priorities far outweighing sitting at this bar.
But this was tradition. After a big concert, Andrea, Hannah, Rosalie and occasionally Sofia, would come to this very bar for the very best sliders in Manhattan. And tonight, of all nights, Andrea was considering where her true loyalties lay – to her family, to her friends, to her lover or to herself. She knew where they ought to lie and so, regardless of whether she wanted to be here or not, she had been unable to say no.
‘There’s something stuck on my knife,’ Rosalie said, holding the knife from atop her white paper napkin in front of her face. ‘Why do we always have to come here. Can’t we, just one time, break with the norm and go somewhere nice?’
Despite herself, Andrea smiled. Rosalie was as sweet as she was dumb, as smart as she was uppity. Rosalie wasn’t like an onion with lots of layers to be peeled, she was more like a banana, with just one layer. On the outside, she was all glamour and – for want of a better word – simple. She cared about clothes, shoes, fine dining. Spending on her father’s credit card whenever he did something to annoy her. Finding Prince Charming. But on the inside, she was smart. She had investments across Wall Street and private funds, Andrea knew. What had once been a healthy but not remarkable inheritance and trust fund income, Rosalie had turned into a gold mine. True, she had advisors, but Rosalie was no fool. Very few people knew that. Beneath her superficial exterior, another thing people didn’t see, was the size of Rosalie’s heart.
As Andrea looked at her friend now, laughing with Sofia and Hannah about the grubbiness of the bar they were sitting in, she felt a surge of guilt. What she and Hunter were doing was wrong. She had to stop it, she knew, but she didn’t know if she was strong enough – and that was not something she had ever thought before.
Hannah was right. Andrea did have feelings for Hunter. What had begun as an accident, then turned into an exciting affair, had somehow become something deeper. It had to end. She had to go back to her life before Hunter. Her. An apartment. A job. The strength of will to take on anything.
‘Andi… Andi?’
Andrea was pulled from her thoughts by Hannah, whose disappointment in her was clear in every look they exchanged.
‘Marco is asking what you want to drink.’
She looked up into the expectant eyes of the slightly shaggy-looking bartender, then looked along the row to see what the others were drinking – red wine, Hannah; white wine, Rosalie; bottled beer, Sofia. ‘I guess I’ll take a glass of white.’
‘What’s up with you, Andi? You seem out of sorts,’ Sofia said.
It always struck her as peculiar when Sofia asked how she was. It was as if their God-given roles were flipped on their heads. It had always been Andrea’s job to keep her younger sister safe.
She twisted her lips into a smile. ‘I’m fine. I was just thinking about work.’
It had been the wrong thing to say; better than I was thinking about the affair I’ve been having with Rosalie’s dad, but not good. Andrea’s leaving Sanfia Records for the giant of XM Music Group had been swept under the carpet. In the first weeks, months even, after her switch, Sofia had avoided Andrea and Andrea had been too consumed by making a good impression to seek her out. Time passed and softened her sister’s anger but they had never truly resolved the conflict that Andrea’s move caused between them.
In Sofia’s eyes, Andrea had abandoned her family.
Perhaps she had. Perhaps she had wanted to do something for herself for the first time in her life. Or perhaps she was doing what she thought had been in her sister’s best interests at the time. Andrea didn’t like Jay. He manipulated Sofia, undermined her, made her question herself and her confidence. But he was ultimately Sofia’s choice and as a couple they wanted to have a family. That changed things. Andrea leaving Sanfia Records had been the only way she, Sofia and Jay could all exist harmoniously.
Sofia nodded. If there was any animosity left, she hid it. ‘How’s it going at Stellar?’
Andrea could have gone into her struggles, her need to prove herself to her executive board but wouldn’t that be weak? She was the big sister. She was supposed to be strong and successful, an example. ‘Fine. But I want to know more about Sanfia and that guy you put on stage tonight.’ There was no other option than to tell her sister, sincerely, ‘He’s a talent, Soph. He needs some fine-tuning but he’s got something.’
Sofia sipped from her bottle of beer, not hiding her turned-up lips. ‘I won’t argue with that.’
‘Does Sanfia have that kind of money?’ She regretted the question as soon as it left her mouth but she couldn’t take it back, and it was a legitimate question. Sanfia Records didn’t have the kind of budget an act like Seth Young deserved, or needed.
Sofia set her bottle down on the bar with a clunk. ‘I have a strategy.’ And with those four words, what she told Andrea was, It’s no longer any of your business.
Andrea itched to discuss it more. To understand how Sofia intended to promote Seth Young. From where she believed she could find the funding. But she respected her sister’s choices.
‘Well, you know where I am if you would like any… if you would like to chat through your ideas.’
‘And you know where I am when you want to talk about what’s real
ly eating you tonight,’ Sofia countered. Because, though she hated to admit it, there were very few people who had insights beneath her armour but Andrea was sitting in the presence of three of them.
Andrea picked up her wine, raising the glass toward her lips, and said, ‘touché.’
‘Where was Jay tonight, Soph?’ Hannah asked, breaking up the terse exchange.
Jay. The wedding of he and Sofia being possibly the biggest argument she and Sofia had ever had, putting place of employment aside. He was a waste of good air and a leech. The truth was, even if Sofia ever stopped loving him, she would stay with him because that was who she was – loyal to the end, through thick and thin. It was a trait Andrea had to respect in her sister but that she often thought was naïve and misplaced. Sofia thought that their mom had paid the ultimate sacrifice for her family – giving up cancer treatment to have Sofia and dying just months after her birth. Sofia felt like she should give her all to family, too. But what she failed to see was that their mom had decided to leave her husband and eight-year-old daughter to fend for themselves. She had sacrificed for Sofia but she did not sacrifice for all her family.
Sofia scratched at the white, unbranded label on her bottle of beer, that simply said ‘light beer’. ‘Well, Jay got overly acquainted with two of his old friends before the concert. I left him to sleep it off.’
Andrea bit down on her lip to stop herself from speaking in advance of processing her thoughts. Jay was an asshole regardless but the concoction of Jay, alcohol and drugs made for a demon.
‘Oh, don’t all look at me like that,’ Sofia said, swigging from her bottle again. ‘It’s not like last time. He’s had a couple of benders – work-related, I should add. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.’
Andrea’s scoff left her before she could stop it. ‘He’s an addict, Sofia. To add to his long list of undesirable qualities.’
Of course, she knew it was ironic to give her sister couples advice when her own love life was less than ideal.
‘For a bright woman, Sofia, you have let yourself get into a ridiculous situation.’ Just like her, Andrea thought. ‘You keep expecting Jay to change, to be an upstanding husband and start a glorious family with you, where he picks up the kids from daycare whilst you work your dream job. Leopards and spots, Soph. He won’t change.’