Page 4 of Little Monster
I shove my phone back into my purse, then resume my search for the carrots, trying to put the whole thing out of my head for the time being.
BACK HOME, I UNLOAD THE groceries, crack open a coconut water, and stare at the number I jotted down on the business card.
This is just the agent, I remind myself. It’s not like I’ll be calling the band directly.
I’m the type of person who practices what I’m going to say to the guy at the curry restaurant before I call to place an order, but I have no idea what to expect with this phone call, no way to prepare for it.
I have to call though. Meredith will want to know what the agent had to say, and Iamcurious. How could I not be?
Taking a deep breath, I pick up my phone, dial the number, and double-check to make sure it’s right. Then I hit the call button, and my heart rate skyrockets.
It rings once, twice.
Maybe I’ll get to leave a message.
I love leaving messages. It’s so much easier than—
“Hi, this is Ashton Montgomery.”
My mouth goes dry. For a moment, I forget what I’m calling for. Then, pulling myself together, I stutter, “H-hi, my name’s Nora Miller. The LA Orchestra said—”
“Nora! Yes! God, I’m so glad you called.” Ashton’s voice is feminine and confident, and I can picture her walking on a treadmill while drinking a protein shake and making calls to all the big names in the industry. “I was at your concert last night, and that solo blew me away. God, I’m getting goose bumps just thinking about it.” She laughs, and I try to laugh too, but it sounds slightly forced, so I stop.
“Thank you,” I say, but I’m not sure what to say next, so I just leave it at that. This is usually where an awkward pause would happen, but Ashton jumps right in.
“So, here’s the thing. I work with Loaded God Complex, and we’re looking for a violinist to play strings on a new track. Hearing you last night, I think you’d be a perfect fit. You’d still need to come in and audition, of course, but the spot is as good as yours.”
She pauses, and maybe she thinks I’ll squeal or scream or faint or something, but I just sit there, mute, trying to process what she just said. After a moment, she laughs.
“Well, what do you think?”
What do I think? I don’t know what to think. My brain froze up as soon as she said “perfect fit.”
“You wantmeto play on the track?” I finally say, blinking as if coming out of a coma. “Are you sure?”
There’s that laugh again, so pretty and light and bubbly. I wish I laughedlike that.
“I’m absolutely sure. But like I said, we’d need you to audition first. Would tomorrow work? Around noon?”
This is the moment where most people would respond with an emphatic yes, but I can’t. I need to think about this, wrap my brain around the idea that I could possibly play strings on a track for the most popular rock band in the country.
“Um... Can I take some time to think about it?”
Now Ashtondoesgo quiet. A beat passes, then two, and I picture her looking down at the phone in confusion, probably wondering if I’ve lost my mind.
“Yeah, of course,” she finally says. “But things are moving fast, so can you let me know today?”
“Sure, I can do that.”
“Okay, great. Just give me a call back at this number. And you really were phenomenal last night. You’d be such a great fit!”
I let out another one of those forced laughs. “Okay, thank you. I’ll let you know.”
We say goodbye and hang up, and I slouch back in my chair as if I’ve just run a marathon.
Loaded God Complex. Me. On a track. In a studio.
Together.
