Page 39 of Ring My Bell

When I spoke, each word was weighted, heavy between my clenched teeth. “And you didn’t think about mentioning you have an in with a lawyer who specializes in this sort of thing before now?”

With a wink, Paige pushed off the wall, stepping backwards into the guest room where Gerald had segued into “Muskrat Love.” “Didn’t want to abuse the privilege, you know? Besides, I kinda wanted to see Raymond get publicly embarrassed first. I texted Mom earlier—she’s expecting you guys to call soon. Talking about a class-action suit or something, I dunno.” They flashed a peace sign at me and, spinning away, joined in on the chorus with Gerald in the guest room.

* * *

We called Pepper before Paige’s mom, whose contact info they’d left on a sticky note on top of the box of leftovers in the fridge.

“Guys, I have to admit, I try to steer away from scandal and drama as much as possible,” she sighed. “But in this case, I’m kind of loving it. If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it till Doomsday, but seeing Raymond damn near pee himself all over the internet was kind of magical.”

Iggy snorted. “I’m glad you can’t tell how close I came myself.” Leaning against my side, he peered at my phone screen, where Pepper was already in bed. “We can call you back tomorrow if that’s better?”

“No, no. I wasn’t able to sleep, waiting to hear how this all went down. So…?” She raised her brows expectantly.

“The performance was… It was…” I shook my head. “It was amazing. It went off without a hitch.”

Iggy nodded enthusiastically. “I was worried the pickup gigs on the way here had all been a fluke or maybe just wistful thinking, but oh my god, Pepper!”

She smiled. “I knew you guys would be awesome. Guy was in the audience and said you handled what came after well, too.”

“Ah.” Iggy and I exchanged glances. “That,” I said, “wasn’t us.”

“I figured as much,” Pepper sighed. “Well, the word’s out that not only are you unique talents and an absolutely amazing duo, you bring extra value with the drama.”

I winced. “That’s not going to be a regular occurrence.”

“Thank god,” she said, then yawned wide. “Look, we all know this is a done deal. Let me get some rest, and tomorrow, we’ll hash out details. Do you have a lawyer?”

Iggy nodded. “Well. Kind of? Paige’s mom…”

“Caroline Dobrowski? She’s great,” Pepper said enthusiastically. “We’ll do a group video thingy, whatever they’re called now. Get some rest. You both look like shit. And a little bird told me you guys are going to get asked to perform at the closing show on Sunday, so be sure to play nice with the others until then at least. Is Gerald around?”

“Er, he’s kind of drunk,” I said. He’d stopped singing some time before but was laughing loudly at whatever Paige was talking about in the guest room. “I’m not sure he’s even going to remember tonight by the time he wakes up.”

Pepper shook her head fondly. ‘Might be for the best. Plausible deniability and all that jazz. Get some rest, guys. Talk soon.”

I disconnected on our end and sat back on the sofa with Iggy. “This has been such a weird day,” he said after a long few moments. “Are you all right?”

“For certain values of the word, yes.”

He chuckled. “So now what?”

“Now…” I tucked him against my side, closing my eyes. “Now, we sleep. And tomorrow we call our shiny new lawyer and put her in touch with our shiny new management team. And then…”

Iggy was already snoring against my chest.

“And then we take a fucking vacation,” I yawned. “Maybe see if Gerald can convince the owners to let us officially rent this place for a bit.”

Iggy didn’t answer, but I took his burrowing into my shoulder for a yes.

* * *

Iggy didn’t wake when my phone rang (a bit too aggressively, if you ask me) around four in the morning. The screen flashed with an unknown number and being the sleepy dumbass that I was, I answered instead of ignoring it. “If this is a reporter, blogger, vlogger, Twitcher, or anyone else wanting a statement at the ass-crack of dawn, I will find you and I will make you apologize to my face for waking me up at this ungodly hour.”

There was a beat of silence, then a slightly wobbly giggle. “You’re funny,” Gerald pronounced. “And a little scary. And hot. Did Iggy tell you you’re hot? He should. Because you are. Oh! And really good at piano stuff!”

“Gerald, what the hell, man? Are you okay?” I sat up, carefully dislodging Iggy’s arm from around my waist and scooting to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I’m fantastic!” Except the way he said it, tongue heavy with drink, was fantashtick. “Hey. So. I have a really terribly awesome idea. Do you, Mathis Reisner, want to be the anti-Raymond?”

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