Page 54 of Severance

THERE’S NO COAT CHECK HERE!

I smile at her OCD. Tonight isn’t one of thosebeauty requires sacrificesnights, but she’s hard to convince otherwise.

The line inches forward and we move closer to the bar.

“DK! Hey!” I hear someone calling Dakota’s name and he spins toward the sound. There’s some handshaking, back patting, and a brief introduction. The guy’s a little older and his name is Eric. He looks to be in his mid-thirties and he’s wearing a whole lot of jewelry. But not the dark and simple kind that Dakota likes. His are flashy gold and he talks loud. If not for his clothes, you’d think he’s a politician or one of those guys who writes books on self-help and then travels the world to give lectures.

When the bartender finally gets our order, Eric slaps a hundred-dollar bill on the counter and tells us the drinks are on him.

“Thanks, man. The next one’s on me.” Dakota grabs his beer and my water and we step away from the bar. Eric catches up with us as soon as he gets his change.

“There’s a rumor that Brighthouse is going to pull the plug on their Seattle residency,” he says matter-of-factly. “I can get you that slot.”

Dakota tears his beer away from his mouth and I feel his grip tightening around my hand. I have no idea what Eric is talking about, but I sense it’s important, because Dakota’s eyes take on a spark. I’ve seen that glow before. On stage. “When?”

“February.” Eric’s gaze slides to my water and then back to Dakota’s face. “Consider it before the offer expires. It’s a hot slot. Going to get booked fast.”

“Can I have a couple of days? Wanna talk to the guys.”

Something inside me begins to tick when I see Mikah’s head floating in our direction. I didn’t think he’d be here. His hands are thrust into the pockets of his jacket, his eyes darting among the three of us. Skipping the formalities, he inserts himself between Eric and me, and the tension in the air is undeniable.

“How you doing, big man?” Eric extends his hand for a shake.

Keeping his hands in his pockets, Mikah growls out, “All right.” But it’s drowned out by all the noise.

I feel bad. I don’t know why. Maybe because whatever Eric’s talking about is important to Dakota, and Mikah’s being an ass.

The crowd begins to cheer and people move onto the balcony to grab their spots.

“Call me, DK!” Eric shouts over the music.

Dakota gives him a thumbs-up and nudges me in the direction of our group.

* * *

“We should do it,” Blaze says, twisting his straw. “I’m fucking done playing the same venues over and over again.

“I concur.” Luke nods, and his hand slips under the table and rests casually on Jess’s thigh.

Our group’s occupying the largest booth at the very back of the noisiest downtown restaurant I’ve ever been to. The glow of the Christmas lights gives the place a more intimate vibe, despite the rowdy crowd. Most of the people here are drunk, loud, and entertaining to watch. My father would probably have a heart attack if he knew where I really was. He still thinks I’m with Jess baking Christmas cupcakes for my holiday blog post.

Dakota’s arm is curled around my shoulder and he’s using his free hand to pick up french fries from the plate in front of him.

“You know what I think.” Mikah shrugs, the dull expression on his face speaking volumes. He’s sitting on the end next to the aisle, sliding his steak around the plate with his fork, and I’m wondering if he’s ever a people person.

There’s another guy and a girl with us at the table. They’re Luke’s friends, but their names are a bit muddy because I’ve been introduced to so many people tonight that my brain is over capacity to remember everyone at this point.

The band we saw earlier was amazing. I loved every second of it and I loved sharing all those moments with Dakota. But now that the high of the show is gone, the discussion at the table takes on a serious tone.

“The shit that happened with Coral War was blown out of proportion,” Blaze says, looking up from his straw. “They never had an offer in the first place. Jimmy’s just a douche who can’t play.”

Luke snorts out a laugh. “Did you see his last interview?” His voice goes from low to high. “We’re the future of alternative rock.”

Laughter erupts around the table.

“Who the hell cares what Jimmy says?” Mikah growls, shoving his plate aside. “He’s old news. Eric is fucking sketchy. No band he’s ever managed has gotten a record deal.”

“Because he’s never managed a decent band,” Dakota counters.

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