Page 11 of On the Power Play

“Oh, you won’t meet him till after the show.”

“The show?”

“Right, I gave Mary the details. I called in a favour and got you a slot for your acoustic set at the Jukebox. You only need to pack your guitar, they’ve got the rest.”

Delia clenched her jaw. She used to love last-minute gigs, but now there was so much more at stake. It was a miracle that people were finally paying attention. And also terrifying that people were finally paying attention. She no longer had to worry about jumping into a line-up and having nobody show, but her fans had expectations.

Thankfully, they’d done enough pop-up shows, people were used to her flying by the seat of her pants. They’d even come up with a secret code together on her socials. Every time she wanted to share info about a show, she posted about ice cream. She couldn't remember exactly how it had started, but it had caught on and stuck.

Delia put Tony on speakerphone and added a quick picture of the Humber Bay Bridge she'd taken the other night with the caption, "Just had the best ice cream for breakfast (don't judge). Yummy Yellowcake Confetti. Now to turn on the Jukebox and float till tomorrow." Delia grinned as she entered relevant hashtags, along with a few that had zero likelihood of being searched but brought her pure joy, like #coldoncold and #ithaseggssoitcounts.

"No comment?" Tony sounded beleaguered.

"Sorry, thank you. Just posting my ice cream code."

Tony laughed. "You found another fake flavour that corresponds with YYC? How have you not run out yet?"

"Well, if you'd stop booking me secret shows in Calgary, I wouldn't have to reach so far into the depths of my creativity. Can't you choose an airport code with a 'C' first? Cookies, Crumble, Cheesecake—the options would be endless."

"The double Y is problematic."

Analyzing letters helped her emotions settle. Until she remembered why she was going to YYC in the first place. The show was a bonus, but she had to be there to meet Jack Harrison. Her heart did a weird jumping bean thing, then dropped so fast, she got woozy.

Jack seemed like a nice guy, and he was intriguing for a hockey-playing car mechanic, but she'd done enough online dating to know that none of that surface-level stuff mattered. If she was going to pretend to date someone for a few months, he had to be tolerable. Yes, she wanted to boost her visibility and get more streams. But would she be willing to smile and hold hands with just anyone? Especially when she knew there were men out there who could seem completely normal and then start begging for pictures of you rubbing lotion on your feet?

No. She wouldn't do that. No matter how much Tony?—

The door to her bedroom cracked open, and her mom peeked in. "Mon chou, I'm heading to work." Her mother coughed. Delia hated it when she coughed.

She checked the time on her phone. Ten thirty.

"Is that Camille? Delia, say hello to your mother for me," Tony barked, and Delia held up her phone so Tony could see her through the camera.

Her mom laughed. "Allô, Tony. Comment?"

"Ah, super, surtout maintenant que je te vois."

Her mother blushed. "Tu me flatte, Tony."

Delia mouthed a "sorry" as she pulled the phone back, then deflated as her mom left for her night shift.

How long ago had Dr. Kemp told her mother she needed to slow down? Her Lupus had progressed to the point that she had permanent pleuritis—inflammation that couldn’t be managed purely by pain medication. Since her mother had called corticosteroids “Upjohn poison,” the only other option was stress management.

Okay, so maybe she'd agree to it. If Tony’s idea got her royalty statements pouring in so her mom could quit her jobs and live ten more years, she'd hold hands with pretty much anyone. Hell, she’d do more than that if she had to.

"Did you tell Camille about this yet?" Tony asked.

Delia scoffed. "When would I have told her about this? I've known for all of five minutes."

"Well, more like three hours, but I'll accept your use of hyperbole. You are an artiste, after all."

"How generous of you." Delia pushed up on the bed and swivelled so her feet were on the floor. "Will you be there tomorrow after the show?"

"Absolutely. Someone has to convince this guy he wants to fake date you, and it's sure as hell not going to be you or Mary."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Tony laughed. "See you in the morning. I'll wave from business class."

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