Page 178 of Perfect Pitch

Feeling better than I have in ages, I pull out a cinnamon-colored tulle dress with a stretch underdress. It slightly hugs my baby bump, but the full overdress shadows it enough I figure it’s safe to wear among strangers. I pair it with my Kensington signet ring and the Louboutin heels my mother gave me for Christmas. With my hair swept back away from my face and a dab of makeup on, “I don’t look half bad,” I tell the mirror.

“You look gorgeous, you sexy preggo bitch,” Fallon remarks from the doorway.

I chortle. “You’re one to talk.” She’s dressed in what she declares is her usual work outfit—a printed mesh tube top, a denim skirt, and a leather necklace wrapped around her neck multiple times to draw attention to the dip in her throat.

“Listen, I have tips to make,” she drawls as she moves closer.

I hook my arm through hers and stare at our reflection. “How about I make that a little easier?”

She jumps up and down in her platform heels. “You’re going to strip on stage? Woo-hoo!”

I slap her rear as I walk out of the bathroom. “Not for any amount of money.”

She follows. “What did you have in mind?”

I sit down and pick up my guitar. I point a finger at where hers is lying on the floor.

Dawning comprehension lights her face. “No freaking way, Austyn.”

“Hell yes, Fal. Who says I have to stay behind the booth? Especially here?” I begin to strum one of our favorite songs.

Like she’s in a trance, Fallon drops down next to me and joins in.

The night before, after chai, we’d pulled our guitars out and played all the old songs we’d played together in high school. From the depths of my soul, I sing, “Learn to respect.”

Fallon’s sweet soprano echoes before we join together for the next line.

I finish strumming and smile. “It’s how it should be. You and me together, Fal. Let’s blow the roof off Galileo’s tonight.”

Her hand reaches over and grabs mine. “It’s going to be a night we’ll never forget.”

“No, we never will.” I squeeze her fingers.

* * *

Hours later, I’m grinning like I haven’t in weeks as I sweat under the spotlight. Fallon and I are strumming our guitars for all we’re worth. We egg each other on toward the end of the Indigo Girls’ song “Fugitive.”

We wrap with a flourish and the crowd goes wild cheering. I murmur into the microphone, “I forgot what it was like to be in front of the spotlight.”

Fallon laughs breathlessly. “You still have perfect pitch.”

“So do you. Want to do another?”

“Maybe we should ask them?” She gestures to the crowd, who roars approvingly.

Charlie patrols the back of the mid-size bar. He taps his wrist to remind me of the time. I salute him and lean into the mic. “I hear you all have an anthem of sorts here.”

Through the mic, I ask the bartender, “Think I can buy a round for the house before I sing my finale? As much as I love Seven Virtues—” I pause for the noise to die down. “I’ve got to take this show on the road.”

The boos are just as loud as the cheers, especially the one from Fallon.

We give it a few minutes for the servers to wander around with fresh drinks while we drink heavily from the water bottles that have been propped on bar stools at our sides. I crook my finger at Charlie and whisper, “Make certain Fallon gets my money for tonight.”

He chuffs beneath my chin. “I knew I liked you, kid. I like you better with a smile on your face.”

I squeeze his shoulder. “For the first time in weeks, I feel good.”

“Let’s keep it that way.” He turns and heads in the direction of the owner.

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