Egor Snail was the lead. A clever, slightly vain aesthete who was struggling to accept his sexuality and largely defined by his relationship to his mother, an emotional terrorist. As suggested by the rest of the class, a thinly veiled version of Gorman as a younger man. At Gilbert’s age.
Was it a fit? Gilbert certainly wasn’t a physical match—in his youth, Gorman had the kind of face one couldn’t decide was fantastically handsome or frightfully ugly. Gilbert held no such paradox. And Gorman had no idea if he could act or not. But perhaps that didn’t matter. Possibility edged over the horizon, changing the black night sky to a subtler but distinctly lighter gray.
Gorman pushed his wineglass aside and leaned forward on his elbows. “You’d be absolutely perfect.”
22
Darlene gaped at her bandmate. Why the hell had he just told his family they were in love?
“It’s true, isn’t it, darling?” Zach gave her shoulder another tight squeeze. “Beautiful, really. All this time playing together and what I was really looking for was right in front of me.”
This was absurd. No: humiliating. Half the restaurant was staring, unsure if this was a grand romantic gesture or a joke. Their gazes closed around her like a trap. Darlene tried to wriggle away. “But—”
“I know we said we’d keep it a secret while we figured out our feelings, but I’m sorry, I want the world to know.” Zach’s voice rose in declaration. “I’m in love with Darlene Mitchell!”
For the second time that evening, they were the center of everyone’s attention. Mark and Catherine looked speechless. Their blindingly white alarm at her presence beside their son exploded inside Darlene as fury and, embarrassingly, shame.
“Zach.” She kept her voice firm. “I have no idea why—”
“We work as a couple, yes, I know, it surprised me too. I’m me and you’re”—Zach glanced at her; Darlene glared back—“well, you’re you, aren’t you, darling? So sensible. Responsible. And it’s really rubbing off on me.” He addressed a passing man in a suit. “Put this dinner on my tab, will you?”
Catherine’s gaze lingered on Darlene, even as she addressed Zach. “That wasn’t a waiter, and you don’t have a tab here.”
“How long has this been going on?” asked Zach’s father. Mark had always been polite enough to Darlene, but now he was frowning, his entire body tense.
“Yes, tell us your love story.” Imogene made her voice swoony—she obviously believed this as much as Darlene did. “You’re just like Harry and Meghan.”
“You’re right,” said Catherine. “Especially how Meghan is so…”
Darlene braced herself, preparing for the worst.
“American.”
Zach slapped his hand to his forehead.
Darlene pushed herself from Zach’s grip. “I actually have to get going.”
Zach spluttered, “No, darling. Sit down, stay for a drink.”
“I have an early start,” Darlene replied, her voice edged. “Good night, everyone. Goodbye, Zach.” She moved swiftly back through the dining room, being sure to keep her head high.
Zach was on her heels. “Darlene, baby, wait!”
He followed her out of Babbo, onto Waverly Place, chasing her to the other side of the street.
“What the hell, Zach?” She spun on him, confusion solidifying into anger. “Did you lose a bet or something?”
“Darlene, I’m sorry. My parents threatened to withhold my trust unless I ‘got my act together’ and was in a ‘solid relationship.’ If they think you and I are together…”
Oh. Of course. “You get paid.”
“Exactly. On my twenty-seventh birthday, which is only a teeny-tiny five months away.”
“Five months?” She moved past him, raising her hand to hail a yellow taxi. “No way.”
“Please?”
The taxi pulled up. “You’re insane.”
“I’ll pay you!” He was back in front of her. “Ten thousand dollars.”
Ten thousand dollars? That would pay for half the recording costs of an EP. “Twenty-five.”
“Ha!” Zach saw she was serious. “Twenty.”
The cab honked at her.
Darlene barely heard it. “Twenty-five.”
“Okay, fine. Twenty-five thousand dollars for five months of dating. Done.”
The number billowed in front of her. It took her a few moments to catch up to it, and what had just happened. Twenty-five thousand. Dollars. It’d be the most amount of money she’d ever make in one go. Her tongue ran over her bottom lip, a nervous habit. “You better not be playing.”
Zach’s gaze was on her mouth. He caught himself staring and refocused. “I’m not.”
The taxi drove off. Darlene backed up. “No. No. I’m not some thing to be paraded around in front of your— Sorry, Zach, but it’s obvious what your family thinks about people like me.”
“They think you’re amazing. As do I.”
Zach was always the first person to tell bookers, clients, his friends how brilliant she was. A few weeks ago, someone had mistaken him for the singer and her for backup, and he’d gotten so outraged on her behalf the tops of his ears went red.
Still, she gave him a look. “And why would I want to help you?”
“Because I’m Zach! Your musical better half. And the trust will help me play music, with you, without getting a real job.”
Annoyingly, there was some truth to that. Other musicians had to plan around day jobs. Zach was always available. “Music is my real job.”
“Of course it is! And this will help me help you do that job. Please?” he begged. “I know it’s not the best plan.”
“It’s not a ‘plan’ at all! Who would believe you and I are a couple?”
“C’mon, Mitchell. We’ve got a thing going. Onstage,” he clarified. “That’s why we work so well together.” He took a step toward her, his eyebrows raised. “You know what I mean.”
Blood heated her cheeks. “Chemistry,” she allowed. “But that’s just a performance.”
“So is this! Think of it as the easiest, best-paid gig ever.”
That could very well be true. Her next question was one she’d wondered about. “Have you ever even dated a Black woman?”
“As a matter of fact I have. Safiyah.” His eyes went a little starry. “She was a premed student from Nigeria. We dated for six months after uni.”
“Oh.” Darlene didn’t expect this. Six months was a significant amount of time. Zach would’ve walked down the street with Safiyah. Heard any comments people made. He would’ve watched her get ready for bed.
“Safi was awesome.” Zach smiled at a mental picture in his head. “Smart and talented and sexy.” His gaze landed back on Darlene. “Like you.”
Weirdly, Darlene almost felt jealous of this smart, cool med student who put such a smile on Zach’s face.
Twenty-five thousand dollars would pay for an entire EP without bootstrapping it: quality recording, great production, marketing budget, a DIY tour, everything. And a well-produced album was the first step to becoming an artist. Her own songs. Her way.