Page 12 of On the Power Play

"Goodnight, Tony." Delia threw her phone on the bed, then walked to the closet to pull out her carry-on. She needed to talk to Mary, but outfits had to come first. She needed something new for tomorrow night, which meant a little research since she didn’t want to pay for a stylist.

Clothing had always been an extension of her songwriting. A mood. A piece of herself that she displayed for public consumption. Mary always helped with her show fits, but this time it wouldn’t be just the two of them in the green room. She needed something that would communicate her feelings to Jack loud and clear.

Business only.

The title of her non-existent sex tape.

Chapter Four

Delia walked down her dark front steps wrapped in the cocoon of a thick, oversized sweater. She never knew what to wear to the airport. She could count on the plane being either the approximate temperature of the sun, with the flight attendants instructing them to please leave the window shades open so they could be roasted and blinded, or a meat locker, where no combination of layers would keep her toes from turning into ice-cubes. She'd settled on a tank top under her chunky sweater, then a puffy jacket rolled up and stowed in her backpack for the half-frozen ham hock scenario.

On top of all that, she had to take recognition into account. It had only been within the past few months that she’d started to make a stir when she left her house. It had been shocking at first, then flattering, and then a little disconcerting. Typically if she could hide her hair, she was golden. Today’s accessory would be a flat brimmed Hello Kitty hat with her hair pulled up.

Delia hauled her carry-on and guitar case to the back of the car that waited for her at the curb under the frosted glow of the streetlight. Mary was already in the passenger seat. The rideshare driver got out and loaded her case and bag into the boot. Delia checked the license plate just to make sure Mary hadn't been hoodwinked, then watched their driver close the trunk. Just in case he forgot to add one of her items and it was left sitting on the curb.

Delia got in the backseat and settled her leather backpack next to her before fastening her seatbelt.

"Early morning flight, eh?" the driver asked.

Delia groaned internally. Please, Uber Gods, don't let this man be chatty at five thirty in the morning. Thankfully Mary was feeling more chipper than she was. As usual.

"Yep, on our way to Calgary." Mary shot a look to the backseat that said, do you think he'll recognize you? Delia pointed to the hat, and Mary snorted.

IndieLake had suggested she start using a private driver, but that cost more money than she was willing to pay. Yes, her popularity was growing, but she wasn't yet a household face. Especially not with the fifty-plus crowd, which this man with his grey hair and lined face seemed to belong to. Until it became a major inconvenience, she was happy to save money and get to the airport like everyone else.

Delia fixed her gaze on the blurring cityscape and breathed in the faint scent of mothballs mixed with sweat as a familiar knot tightened in her stomach. Airports. She hated the noise, the pissed-off travellers, the TSA agents that had long ago been converted to the belief that all humans were, in fact, idiots. And all of that happened before they were crammed into seats that were three-quarters the size of average chairs with backs that couldn’t be angled at anything greater than ninety degrees.

She popped in her ear buds and opened the latest message from IndieLake.

What do you think?

X Christian

It was a stupid question because Christian didn’t give a damn what she thought about new song concepts. She could write back, “This sounds like a jazzercise back up track, and I couldn’t loathe it more,” and Christian would respond with, “I forgot all about jazzercise! Super popular in the eighties.” Or her personal favourite, “I bet it will grow on you.”

Any response from him translated to one sentiment: learn to love it because it’s going on your next album.

Delia pressed play on the attachment and, after thirty seconds, determined it wasn’t the worst thing he’d sent over. She turned up the volume to drown out her rising panic as the car turned onto the highway.

The warped entrance to the chorus was intriguing. It sounded like someone had their fingers on a transposition slider. Like they thought about changing keys but then changed their mind at the last second. Fun. Almost whimsical.

But she hated the drums. It was trendy in pop songs to drop in a straight up soprano drum pad after the first stanza, but it grated. She had yet to hear a track where it enhanced the overall composition of a song. That track was no exception.

Delia blew out a breath. Hopefully the lyrics would be better than the last few, though it couldn’t possibly beat repeating the phrase, “Fool me once, shame on you,” twelve times plus in one song (not including the back up vocals fade out in the final measures). Thankfully, Christian had bent on that one, and it was currently sitting in Canada’s Pop Top 100. Which Delia made sure to casually mention every time they were together.

“Isn’t that in Terminal 1? Or is it Terminal 3?” Mary asked.

Delia blinked. “Sorry, Mares. I wasn’t listening.”

“Oh, I know, I was talking to Arpit.” Mary waved her off and tilted her head toward their driver with an apologetic smile. “She’s not a morning person.”

That was generous. A more truthful statement would’ve been, Delia enjoys people in very specific situations only. Summer music festival? Yes. Restaurant week? No. Art in the Park or open mic night? Hell, yes. Maple Leafs game or the grocery store at six o’clock when everyone stops on their way home from work? Hell, no. A piano in an alcove at the airport where someone sits down and starts playing as you’re passing by with your carry on? Conflicted.

They pulled up to the curb at Toronto Pearson International Airport at six fifteen in the morning, and it was already bustling. They walked into the terminal to travellers draped over their luggage and Delia’s mind jumped to panic over flights being canceled. In the line to check their bags, she scoured the signs and couldn’t find any delays. At least none that would affect their route to Calgary.

After checking in, Delia led Mary to the Tim Horton’s where they each grabbed a coffee.

“You getting anything to eat?” Mary asked.

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