Page 93 of His Sound
23All These Things That I’ve Done || The Killers
MOLLY
Dario,one of my Metro Records co-workers, is making puppy dog eyes at me. The simpering expression looks hilariously out of place on his beefy, tattooed, six-foot-a-million-inches frame, and I find myself laughing even as I keep telling him no.
“I have too much work to catch up on,” I explain, as he leans against my desk and bats his eyelashes. “You guys go have fun without me. I’ll probably be here until eight at this point.”
“I keep telling Shayla she needs to hire you an assistant. She doesn’t think she’ll find anyone as good as you, though.”
It’s the Friday of my second week working full time at Metro Records. The label is gaining more traction by the hour, which means we’re all swamped, but the energy in this place is addictive. I haven’t regretted my decision to work here even once.
“I can handle it,” I reply, “although you’re not making it any easier by coming over here to bug me every five minutes.”
“I wouldn’t have to bug you if you just agreed to come to the show. It starts at seven-thirty. You could leave here around seven.”
The whole team is going out to some concert tonight. Dario told me it’s a charity fundraiser for ADHD awareness, probably just to guilt me into going, but I really am telling the truth. I’ve got way too much to get done before the weekend to even consider going out tonight.
“What if I do all your photocopies for you?” Dario continues. “And spoon feed you dinner so you don’t have to get up from your desk?”
“Jesus!” I respond. “You really want me to go to this concert, Dario.”
“Everyoneis going, Noelle.” He uses the nickname I’ve taken on around the office since Halloween. “Even Shayla. Come on, you can’t stay at this place later than Shayla. She’ll refuse to give up her overachiever crown. She’ll kick you out before she leaves.”
I groan. “You’re not going to give this up, are you?”
He flashes his toothy grin. “Nope.”
“I guess Icouldleave forty-five minutes earlier than planned,butyou really do have to do my photocopies,” I insist, before he can start to celebrate, “and you have to buy me a drink.”
He pounds my desk in victory. “Booyah! I’ll do you one more and pay your cover too.”
I shake my head. “What kind of monster would I be if I refused to pay my own cover at a charity event?”
True to his word, Dario gets all my photocopying done. The rest of the staff have filed out by six, heading home to get ready before we’re due to meet up at the bar where the show is happening. I’ll just be going straight there. Shayla’s office door is still closed at a quarter past seven when I’m throwing my things into my bag. I’m just about to head over and knock to see if she wants to leave together when she opens the door herself.
“Heading to the show?” she asks, shaking her green-tipped hair out of its messy bun.
“Yeah. Should we go together?”
She loops her arm through mine in an extremely un-Shayla-like initiation of physical contact. “Let’s.”
We head towards the nearest metro stop, and I realize she’s humming a Sherbrooke Station song under her breath. Shayla isnotthe humming type.
“You seem chipper,” I comment. “Good day today?”
“I’m just excited for this show. I think it’s going to be a good one.”
“I don’t even know who’s playing,” I admit.
Shayla gives me a weird smile. “I think you’re going to like him.”
Either she signed some major new band today, or she’s totally on drugs.
She’s oddly animated during the whole metro ride over, smiling at me every few minutes and telling me how glad she is I’m there. She takes my arm again as soon as we get out at our stop—Sherbrooke Station, of all places—and tugs me up the street, complaining about the fact that we’re already late.
“I mean, it’s a show, Shayla,” I protest, as she keeps pulling my arm while I stumble over my feet keeping up with her. “You’re allowed to turn up late.”
Clearly, she’s too punctual and organized to agree. We finally make it to the bar, its patio locked up for the season and dusted with a layer of snow. The inside is packed, though. Even from a few feet away, we can hear the crowd cheering and the muffled sounds of someone speaking into a microphone. I can’t see much past all the people with their backs pressed up against the windows. The chalkboard sign out on the sidewalk only advertises a ‘special event tonight.’
