Kiss Me Goodnight (13 page)

What does it say about me that I’m willing to sit here like a doormat and wait?

I can’t remember ever being this confused in my life. In this foggy state, I scraped the inside of my cheek and dropped the envelope into a mailbox on my way to work.

What the heck? The least I could do was to put his mind at ease.

Chapter Nine

Y
OU’RE
P
ROBABLY
W
ONDERING
what happened next between Dylan and me. I could put in some killer montage here, showing us hanging out at clubs and playing more softball and walking in the park and talking for hours. Those things definitely happened. At the end of it, I could show us kissing in the moonlight, then cut to us silhouetted in a bedroom. Dylan could lift my shirt over my head…I could fade to black or kiss and tell…

I’d like to be able to say he’d experienced some closure, and that he’d at least kissed me again, but I can’t. Well, I could, but I’d be lying. I don’t mind lying (as you know), but telling that one would just make me sad. The fantasies, though…Ahh…I’m blushing.

Over the next month, Dylan and I continued in the same manner that has marked the majority of our interactions. It was as if he’d never taken me to a stream at night, held my hand on the bank, and told me he liked me. I now had five original Kiss Me Goodnight songs on my iPod, but Dylan hadn’t tried to kiss me again, not even on the cheek.

A large manila envelope with a return address from a lab in Ann Arbor lay buried beneath file folders on my table. I hadn’t opened it, and I hadn’t texted Thomas. Just thinking about him confused me. I wanted to kiss him again. I wanted to spend more time with the man who seemed to just accept the compulsive lying problem I was trying to overcome. Or maybe he hadn’t believed me at all. The men in my life definitely bewilder me. Perhaps if Dylan would stop straddling the fence and move forward with whatever is or isn’t going on between us, I’d be able to clarify what and who I want a little better.

Even my dreams couldn’t make up their minds. Both men starred in my nighttime soap operas, sometimes taking turns and sometimes morphing into one another in the middle of the good parts. I also spent a lot of time with Simon and Jared. Davey has to be feeling neglected, but I can’t look at him without thinking about Dylan, and that tends to shove me off the Cliffs of Insanity. I haven’t lied in five months now, but the skin on my hands is perpetually red.

Dylan gave me a gift bag with some cream and gloves to wear at night. He didn’t comment, but sometimes when he sees me heading to the bathroom, he blocks my path or shakes his head in warning. I think he’s getting to the point where he might take drastic measures to stop me. If I want him to think of me as date material, I seriously need to stop washing my hands so often. This triggers his therapist instincts instead of appealing to his baser ones. I want the base ones. I want to unleash the guy who shoved me against a wall after his first performance and almost kissed me.

Today I have a meeting with the manager of The State Theater. They have frequent concerts and club nights, and they attract bigger names. This is the venue where I once saw AFI. Several years have passed, but my brain replays snippets of that night every now and again.

Mr. Hanover hasn’t tried to land this contract because it’s well known that the manager, Brooke Dorsey, has used the same liquor distributor since she took over eight years ago. I don’t know what their deal is, but when I called to beg for a meeting, she agreed. Undertones of impatience and irritation had come through in her voice, but I didn’t take it personally. That just meant I need to find out how to win her over. At least she agreed to see me.

The State Theater became part of the Live Nation franchise a few years ago, and also became The Fillmore. I use their new name with reluctance. Their Renaissance Revival architecture is being restored, and it’s gorgeous. It looks better every time I visit. But to me, this place will always be The State Theater. Perhaps it’s legal to rename historic landmarks, but I reject changes I don’t like. Likewise, Comerica Park will always be Tiger Stadium to me. (So what if it’s a completely different stadium in a different location?) I hope I don’t slip up and call The Fillmore by the wrong name during my meeting with Brooke.

The lobby was empty. I’ve become used to seeing places like this with nobody around, as daily operations are normally quiet. If a band is scheduled to play, they generally don’t show up until early evening. Now that Kiss Me Goodnight has five months of performances under their belts, they no longer show up twelve hours early to set up and practice.

I meandered toward the back of the lobby, admiring the progress they’ve made on the restorations. Filigree and ornate decorations lent weight to the history of this expansive space. I could close my eyes and hear an orchestra tuning and the rustle of ladies’ skirts as they rushed to find their seats.

Without signs pointing the way and nobody to direct me, I wandered the place, looking for a hallway that might take me to the offices. The sound of voices eventually drew me to the third level, where conversation drifted out an open door.

Please keep in mind that this transcript is highly paraphrased. There may have been some colorful language used, and I chose not to put it here. Call me a prude. Go ahead.

Male Voice One: We don’t need an opener.

Female Voice: People are expecting an opening band. We promoted it that way.

Male Voice One: They cancelled. Nothing we can do about it. Besides, it’s the headliner’s job to book an opener.

Male Voice Two: There are plenty of local acts who would jump at this.

Female Voice: Yeah, but the people coming tonight expect more than local talent. Walk the Moon has a national following. We can’t replace their opening act with some unknown alternative band.

Male Voice Two: My cousin’s band—

Male Voice One: Knows five songs.

Male Voice Two: You gotta listen to this.

As he finished speaking, a song started. I listened. The band was okay. They had a female lead who didn’t quite hit all the notes and a mix that was too guitar-heavy. The lead guitar overwhelmed the vocals. I wondered if that was a common mistake for newer bands.

After the song stopped, they went back to arguing. I paused in the hallway, uncertain as to whether or not it would hurt my cause to interrupt their problem-solving session to ask for directions to the manager’s office. I took a deep breath and prepared to knock on the open door.

When I looked inside, everybody’s backs were turned to me, and with my fist poised, I stalled. I could see the iPod dock on a table just inside. Though I hadn’t planned to see a concert this evening, I did enjoy the two songs I’d heard from Walk the Moon. They had a throwback sound that brought to mind the best of the eighties mixed with modern rock.

Plus, fans of that band were the kind of people who would like Kiss Me Goodnight’s sound. I extracted my iPod from my pocket, amazed that they hadn’t heard me yet. They were talking about a few of the local acts. It looked like they were leaning in that direction.

I pulled their device from the dock and put mine on in its place; Kiss Me Goodnight’s self-titled song cued up. I waited, but nobody looked in my direction. Taking a deep breath, I pressed play.

Daisy’s drums and Levi’s keyboards started slow. Now the two men and the woman turned toward the speaker. I smiled as Dylan’s haunting vocals filled the silence.

Male Voice One stood when he finally saw me. “Excuse me. We’re having a meeting here.” He came toward me, a menacing expression on his face.

He was attractive—tall, dark, and handsome, broad shoulders, mocha skin. Luma would be swooning. He was tempting, but I managed to hold myself together.

Female Voice said, “Wait. I kinda like this song.”

And just like that, I landed Kiss Me Goodnight an opening gig for Walk the Moon.

I wish.

Truthfully, they argued among themselves for a few more minutes. But by the time the next song came on, I was getting questions about the band and their ability to fill a thirty-minute slot.

Male Voice Two introduced himself. He was smallish and pasty, the type of man who went into accounting and finance. Because that’s my degree, I know exactly what I’m talking about.

“I’m Harold Watkins, financial manager for The Fillmore. Are you authorized to negotiate on behalf of the band?”

I shook his hand. “Lacey Hallem. I’m their manager.”

And just like that, five months of not lying came to a screeching halt. I could blame Harold for mentioning the word
manager
, but I think we all know by now how I respond to anxiety. I’d done something ballsy, and now I had to ride this out.

Female Voice rose and shook my hand. She had a much tighter grip than Harold. “Brooke Dorsey. I thought you were coming here to sell me beer.”

I gave her a friendly, easy smile. It was totally fake. Things were buzzing around inside my stomach that made me queasy. “I’m here to sell you the finest liquors, but when I overheard your problem, I felt compelled to offer a solution.”

At least that part was honest. I’m all about the compulsions.

Male Voice One also shook my hand, though rather reluctantly. “Darnell Long. I handle promotions.” His hand enveloped mine. He had a great grip, and his sensual lips radiated sin. Luma was going to die if I ever had a chance to introduce them.

“Kiss Me Goodnight can deliver a thirty-minute set of original music, or a forty-minute set that includes some cover songs. They like to play a few just to give audiences something familiar. It helps people connect with them and their music.”

Darnell narrowed his eyes. “Thirty minutes with two covers. They’ll be one of two opening acts. Let’s talk equipment and compensation.”

An hour later, I had a one-night contract for Kiss Me Goodnight. It listed me as their manager and included language for my six-percent take. I wasn’t sure how the band would react to that part, and I knew I had to go to them with my tail between my legs.

I did not manage to land a liquor contract. Brooke had sighed and shook her head when we finally got to that topic. “My brother-in-law has that contract. I can entertain a bid, but to be honest, I won’t seriously consider it. We’re getting one hell of a deal.”

No matter how much I insisted she talk numbers with me, she was only interested in discussing the band. And in her shoes, I might have acted the same way. Her problem was snaring an opening act, not plying patrons with drinks. But, either way, I had a foot in the door. And I can’t say I pushed the issue very hard either. Suddenly I was distracted by their need for an opening act as well. If this was going to happen for KMG, I needed to get to them right away so they could get themselves together. I could have called, but this was the kind of news that should be delivered in person.

Dylan was out when I stopped by the house. After his wife’s death, he’d moved back in with Daisy and Audra, occupying his old bedroom. I hadn’t been up there, but I knew Audra had recently helped him repaint it, so the room probably no longer hinted at the teenaged boy who’d once occupied it. Daisy answered the door in jeans and a button-down white shirt. I could tell she was ready to leave for her waitressing job, and from the expression on her face, she was not thrilled by that prospect.

“Daisy, I need you to get the band together right now. I have important news.”

She tilted her head and gave me an odd look. “What’s going on?”

“I want to tell all of you guys together.”

Shaking her head, she pushed the door wide and invited me in. “That’s not going to happen. Dylan took Monty to the movies. Levi is out to dinner with his girlfriend’s parents. Gavin has a date.”

I closed the door behind me, sealing in the cooler air as I followed her toward the kitchen. She packed plastic containers into a lunch bag, and I freaked out a little. Wringing my hands together, I begged. “Daisy, I have a contract for you guys to open for Walk the Moon at The Fillmore tonight, but you have to be there in three hours.”

She froze. “You’re shitting me.”

“No. You’re entirely too big for that. Ouch. There’s a catch, but it’s a paying gig in front of three thousand people. There’s no time to get CDs made, but I know you have a box of shirts in the basement.” It wasn’t an ideal marketing situation, but it was better than nothing. Opportunities like this did not grow on trees, and Daisy knew it.

“Lacey…”

I heard the hope in her voice. “Call the guys. You need this.”

She reached for her cell. “Audra is teaching a late class tonight. Can you watch Monty until she gets home?”

“I got him and Audra tickets to the concert.” I hoped I wasn’t overstepping my bounds, but if I was, that would be among the lesser offenses they’d nail me for. I’d also picked up tickets for Luma and Jane. The three of us had made plans to meet for dinner anyway.

She nodded, but when she spoke, it was to the person on the phone. “Dylan, get your skinny ass home. We got us a gig tonight.”