Page 73 of Your Rhythm
“Iampaying attention, though.” She shifts so she can address us all. “I’ve seen you guys play. I’ve heard you talk about music. I’ve watched you practice together. I’ve written a lot of stories about a lot of bands in my time. Many of them were a lot more famous than you are, but none of them...”
She trails off as our waiter approaches and asks if we’re ready.
“A few more minutes,” I answer distractedly, as everyone else’s focus stays fixed on Kay.
“Look, when I first got told I was covering a story on you guys, I could barely drag myself to Sapin Noir. I thought you were the next big overrated thing, just a bunch of guys in sleeveless shirts posing for pictures, like half the roster Atlas Records cycles through every few years. You’re not, though. At least, you don’t have to be, but that’s what you’ll turn into if you keep acting like it.”
I expect one of the guys to tell her she’s out of line, but hearing this from a stranger, from someone who’s not involved with our history or our future, someone who’s looking at this thing from the outside in, seems to make it real for them in a way it never did coming from me.
“So why are you telling us this?” Cole asks her.
She fidgets with the edge of her menu, her face twisted in concentration, like she’s still trying to work the answer out herself.
“I went to my first concert when I was fifteen years old. It was the Foo Fighters, some big arena show in Toronto. I walked out of there promising myself that the day I turned eighteen, I’d get a tattoo of a quote from ‘Everlong,’ and I did.”
The guys all glance at me, echoing the shock I felt when I discovered those words inked on her ribcage.
“That feeling of being affected by some band or some song so much it changes the way you go through life—that’s what made me become a journalist in the first place. Music is a story that demands to be told. I think you guys have the potential to make it in this game, toreallymake it. I’m not interested in spreading rumours about you. I want something more than that. I want to tell your story.”
I’ve hardly ever heard her sound so earnest, so open and raw, in front of anyone but me. Even then she only talked like this in the darkness of the early hours. I don’t know what kind of revelation she’s had since the last time I saw her, but she’s practically blazing with determination.
I look around at the guys and watch them transition from surprise to skepticism to a grudging acceptance of the truth. We’ve been headed for a brick wall, and I think Kay just made us all realize how close we were to slamming into it at full speed.
“Ben là,” JP summarizes, “I don’t think we can argue with that.”
Our exasperated waiter shows up again, and this time we order. Somehow all the tension at the table has dissipated, replaced by a silent understanding. We joke around until the food arrives, still cautious with each other but sounding more like a band than we have in weeks. Kay pulls out her microphone and asks a few questions as we eat, although I don’t know how many answers the machine will pick up over the sound of four guys devouring burgers.
The storm hits just as we’re asking for our bills.
“Maybe this means it will be over by show time,” I say hopefully, as rain streaks the window beside us and people flee inside from the patio, trying to shield their plates of food.
“It better be,” Cole grumbles.
He, JP, and Ace all get an Uber to take them to our hotel, but I tell them I’ll catch up with them later. Kay and I stand in the entryway of the restaurant, peering out at the now-deserted street.
“I brought an umbrella,” she tells me, “if there’s anywhere you wanted to go.”
When I don’t answer she turns to face me. I clear my throat and try to speak, but it feels like there’s something lodged in my windpipe.
“Matt?”
I cup one of her cheeks in my palm.
“Thank you.” It comes out as a whisper. I cough and try again. “Thank you for whatever you did back there. I don’t know how you made them see what I couldn’t, but Kay... thank you.”
She reaches up to wrap her hand around mine.
“You getting emotional on me?” Her voice is teasing but soft. “I didn’t really do anything. I think I just kind of freaked them out.”
I shake my head. “They listened. I could tell. We still have a shit tonne of issues to work out, but this is the first time I’ve felt like we might actually be able to do it.”
“Speaking of issues to work out...”
She trails off and looks at the floor.
“Yeah?” I prompt.
“I was thinking—after my article is out, and we don’t have to be so on the down low about this anymore, would you maybe want to...try dating? Like for real?”
