Page 65 of Full Tilt
“You know, it’s gonna cost me a small fortune to fix up my green room.”
“Sorry about that,” I muttered.
Jimmy turned our way. “Come on, Phil. Let’s not jump right into business without a little pleasure first, right?” He slung his arm around me, his hand grazing my bare arm. I was wearing a silk tank top layered over another, tighter tank top, both low cut. Phil’s gaze seemed permanently glued to my cleavage. “Kacey likes to have fun, is all. Sometimes a little too much fun.”
The Pony Club’s owner chewed on the wet mouth of his cigar. “Hell, I can’t blame you, sweetheart. I like to have fun too.” His right hand landed on my thigh over my leather pants. I brushed it off, humiliation and anger heating my face.
Phil and Jimmy exchanged a look I didn’t like, and then Jimmy whispered in my ear. “A lawsuit would be really bad right now, kitten. Our label doesn’t have the deep pockets of a Sony or Interscope.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze. “You’d be doing us all a big favor if you put Phil Miller in a really good mood.”
My head turned toward him slowly. “And how, exactly, would you like me to do that, Jimmy?”
He leaned back a little, laughing. “What’s with the blue steel glare? Just…have a few drinks with him. Maybe a dance or two. See what happens.”
“See what happens.”
Suddenly, sitting in that booth, surrounded by people in a crowded club, I felt utterly alone.If Jonah were here, he’d break Jimmy’s nose and Phil’s grabby fingers. That’s what would happen.
But he wasn’t here. I had to stand up for myself.
I didn’t punch Jimmy in the nose—I didn’t want to hurt myown hand that I needed to play guitar and write songs. Instead, I grabbed Jimmy’s gin and tonic and tossed it in his face. The others at the table ceased their shouty conversations and went silent under the pulsing music, staring at us, or—in the case of the guys from the opening act—laughing.
Jimmy pulled out a handkerchief. Small ice cubes and gin glittered on the lapels of his coat. “That was a little hasty, kitten…”
“It was overdue,” I said, and shouldered my small purse. I climbed onto my chair, my boot heels digging sharp furrows in the upholstery, and then onto the table. Glass toppled and spilled as I picked my way across.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m quitting, what’s it look like I’m doing?” I hopped off the table and landed without breaking an ankle, which would have put a serious damper on my exit and strode out of the club. Voices shouted after me, Lola the loudest, but I kept going without looking back.
I left the club and hailed a taxi. The ride to the hotel felt like ages, minutes ticking by, more time spent out of touch with Jonah. Not a word in nine days, or even a text. My muted phone lit up with texts galore from Lola, from Jimmy, and then phone calls from both. I ignored all of them.
In my suite, with the door shut and locked, I sat on the bed, my heart pounding. Phone in hand, I looked to the purple glass bottle on my nightstand. It now held a few ounces of my favorite perfume.
I inhaled as my finger picked out Jonah’s number, but my finger hovered over the call button. It was two in the morning on a Friday.
He might still be at work. He might not be able to talk. I could text instead.
What if he was doing better now? Maybe he’d moved on, gotten back to his schedule, focused and on-track without me to distract him.
Maybe he meant what he said about it being better if I didn’t contact him again?
My gaze returned to the perfume bottle—a tiny little blob of glass, but it had been my talisman of strength and will power these last nine days. I had to tell Jonah I quit the band, but I’d give him an out: a text was easy to ignore, and if he did, I wouldn’t send another.
I quit the band. I hope you are well. <3 Kacey
I hit send before I could rethink the heart emoji. I watched as the text’s status read ‘delivered’ then ‘read.’ No little rolling dots of an answering text came in.
“Okay. That’s fine,” I said, my voice shaking, and then I let out a startled cry as my phone lit up with Jonah’s number.
“Hi,” I said, blinking through the strange and sudden tears in my eyes.
“Are you okay?” His deep voice full of concern and—I was sure of it—happiness.
“I am. I’m really good. I did it. I quit the band. Just now. Tonight. Jimmy tried to pimp me out to the Pony Club guy—”
“Hewhat?”
“—but I threw a drink in his face. For real. It felt amazing.”
