Page 3 of On the Power Play

"Dels?"

Delia's head snapped up. "Hmm?"

Mary exhaled and held out the two tea packets. "Throat Coat or Echinacea?"

Delia pointed at the Throat Coat, then slumped onto the stool in front of the row of mirrors and exposed bulbs. "Thanks, Mary. Sorry, I'm out of it."

"When are you going to stop apologizing? You're always dead inside after a show."

"I wish I wasn't." Delia grabbed a makeup wipe and started scrubbing her face, pushing her auburn waves behind her ears. Shouldn’t she be one of those singers who got amped after all the cheers? Who wanted to party, French kiss men she barely knew, and make headlines with her antics until the wee hours of the morning?

"It's just who you are." Mary ripped open the packet of tea.

"But wouldn't I be easier to work with if I was extroverted? Or, I don't know, able to remember where I put my phone?"

"Did you lose it again?"

Delia gave her a guilty look as she swiped the wipe over her lips. "I thought it was down here on the counter, but now I'm wondering if I took it up and set it on that little table on stage right."

Mary laughed and poured hot water from the collapsible kettle she always brought to shows. She handed Delia the disposable coffee cup with the tea bag already steeping. "I'll go check."

"I can?—"

"I'll go."

Delia smiled weakly as Mary exited the room, then pulled on the string and watched the bag of herbs bob up and down in the steaming water, inhaling the scent of warm spice. Heels scraped on the wooden floor above them, and post-show music wafted through the vents.

If she had to guess, there had probably been five hundred people there, and ticket prices were fifty-five a piece. She wasn't exactly sure what they'd contracted to pay the venue, but the last time they'd played there, it had been ten percent. Then they had to take out the production costs, advertising, and the contracted amount for IndieLake, which meant—if she’d done the math in her head right—she’d be left with around twelve grand personally. That she'd never see.

Not never. It only seemed like never since she was still hundreds of thousands of dollars away from earning out her advance. All of it had been her choice. When she'd met with IndieLake, she could've asked for a lower advance and higher royalty rates, but at the end of last summer, she'd been paying seven hundred a month for a shared room in a shitty apartment, and her mom didn't have hot water.

Delia tossed the makeup wipe in the trash, then stood and wet her microfiber face cloth in the sink. She held the cloth over her eyes and let the hot water seep into her skin. That windfall of three hundred grand had given her the ability to buy a house and keep money in the bank so she could work full-time as an artist. No more working as an administrative assistant. All of that was beyond her wildest dreams, but the real win was having her mom move in with her. She didn’t think she’d ever forget the look on her mom’s face when she beheld her very own master bath.

Delia dropped the cloth just as Mary walked back into the room, holding out her phone. "Where was it?"

"On the floor next to the rat's nest of electrical cords."

Delia's memory snapped into focus. "I had to tie my shoe, I must have set it there." She reached out and took it, then swiped up to find two messages from Tony. Her brow furrowed.

"What does he want?" Mary asked.

"Emergency strategy session?"

"Like, tonight?"

Delia started texting. "I don't know, he just . . ." she trailed off, not able to type and verbalize at the same time.

Finished. Show went well. When did you want to talk?

Within thirty seconds, a call came through from Tony's number. She waved the screen at Mary, who nodded and motioned for her to answer.

Delia hit the green button, then immediately put her publicist on speakerphone. "Hey, Tony."

"Delia! Is Mary there?"

"Yep, right here. You’re on speaker."

"Good show?"

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