Page 34 of Ring My Bell

“Like you’ve got room to talk,” someone else shot back before Iggy or I could respond. “You and your fucking six thousand dollars of parking tickets and the shoplifting charge.”

Still, Iggy scooted closer. We clung to one another like scared kids on the first day of school until our turn finally, finally came.

We pushed our way past the crowd in the green room and were led to the stage by another volunteer. Someone had pushed the Schimmel out to center stage. past the coils of cords and stacks of equipment littering stage left, barely outside of the stage light’s reach.

Iggy turned to me suddenly and pressed a needy, soft kiss to my lips. “We got this,” he said quietly. “No matter what. You remember the order?”

I nodded. “‘Baby Shark’ first, right?”

He stared at me, unblinking. “Oh my god. Don’t be funny right now.”

“Sorry. You’re right. First song is ‘Octopus’s Garden.’”

“Jokes. He’s got jokes…” Another quick kiss, and he jogged out to center stage.

I followed, sitting at the piano, as the announcer gave our names and the brief bio Gerald had ginned up for us. Finally, everything was quiet. Iggy cut me a glance, gave a tiny nod, and I smiled back at him.

For four songs, the audience was quiet. Or maybe it was just the blood rushing in my ears from the anxiety and adrenaline making everything seem quiet, battened under cotton wool. Iggy was flawless, and I… was too, frankly. The songs we’d chosen were simple enough I didn’t have to worry about complicated runs or fingering, and Iggy knew the words by heart before we’d even met.

And it was fucking magic, the way his voice and my playing melded together. Iggy had a real knack for not just singing but performing the songs, making them his. And when he pulled out his violin for the folk-pop number, I could see the boy he’d been before Raymond got his claws in him, before his mother decided he was her golden goose. He played as passionately as he sang, even though it was a rollicking bit of a deceptively simple tune.

By the time we wrapped our set, the quiet audience roared, applauding wildly and whistling. Iggy blushed, but he bowed and gestured for me to join him. The emcee bustled back out on stage, and we headed for stage left, to exit.

Gerald and Paige were waiting, grinning widely. Paige flung themself at us for hugs. “Are you okay with things?” I asked them. “I know you’d planned on playing when we left California.”

They shook their head. “This isn’t my style. When the time’s right, I’ll get back to performing, But,” they paused, cutting a glance at Gerald and smiling shyly, “I’m kind of liking this end of things, too. It’s been a trip, figuring shit out as we go along.”

Gerald nodded, opened his mouth to speak, and then made a strangled little noise in the back of his throat.

“Ger-bear?” Paige asked, frowning.

“Oh my god…”

I turned, following the direction of Gerald’s wide-eyed stare. On the scrim suspended behind the stage itself was a picture of Raymond Montaine, projected from out in the audience somewhere. Across the bottom of the image were the words, Raymond Montaine is a lying, cheating, abusive asshole who ruins lives.

“Holy shit,” Iggy gasped.

“Hello, everyone,” Monty’s voice piped out over the audience. The picture changed, and a video of Monty popped up. “My name’s Manuel Rivera and, until a few days ago, I worked for Raymond Montaine. Welcome to my first movie. It’s called Fuck You, Raymond Montaine.”

Chapter Fourteen

IGGY

I couldn’t believe it. I mean, objectively I could because it was happening right in front of me but… What the actual hell?

“Did you do this?” I hissed at Mathis. He shook his head. “You?” Paige shook theirs. “Gerald?”

He slowly nodded. “No. But I wish I had.”

On the screen behind the judges was security camera footage of Raymond and I arguing, of Raymond threatening me, threatening a younger Mathis years before.

But also snippets of security footage from back in LA. Raymond putting his hands on me outside his office on that last, awful day.

“Monty,” I breathed. “That text… He said he had something for me. This must be it.”

Older footage of Mathis, of people I’d never met, confronting and being confronted by Raymond.

Of Raymond at his worst, which was to say his normal.

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