Page 72 of Play the Last Track
People in real fake relationships don’t fuck as much as we do. Is it real? Is what we have one of those lasting things like Ivy and Scott? Do Flynn and I have this inevitable thing tying us together, or am I setting myself up to settle once more for whatever is just in front of me?
Surely not. The man stocks his pantry with my favorite food. He cooks for me. Watches the shows I like with me, and he doesn’t complain. He respects my boundaries but also isn’t afraid to let me know when I’m not respecting his. He’s protective but in the ‘I’ll watch you fight it out, but I’m here if you need me to tap in’ sort of way.
That’s not nothing.
“Katie Murphy?” I spin at the sound of my name. A tall, skinny man in a blue suit stands on the other side of the bar. If a corporation had a poster boy, this guy would be it. There isn’t a wrinkle in sight, and his hair is perfectly styled with what looks like half a jar of hair gel. He carries a soft briefcase by his side, and he smiles at me like I’m his next big paycheck.
I look around, picking up the towel sitting on the side of the bar just to have something to do with my hands. “Who’s asking?”
“Mark Madison. From Legends Entertainment.” He digs a hand into his briefcase, then holds a card out to me. I stare at the block letters. Legends Entertainment? As in the record label? That Legends?
I take the card without saying anything and turn it over in my hands. Sure enough, yep. It’sthatLegends. I look up, confusion written all over my face. “How do you know my name?”
“We discovered your YouTube channel. You’re a hard woman to find, Ms. Murphy.”
“You discovered … I’m sorry, what?”
“We at Legends pride ourselves on being up to date with new, up-and-coming talent. We are constantly on social media looking for hidden gems. We foundyou.” He leans on the bar, gesturing at the card still in my hand. “We want you to come and record a demo for us. Do you do original songs?”
“Yes—I mean, yes, but not since college. I don’t—” I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. “I don’t understand. How did you even find me? My channel has been up for years, and not a single person has ever even noticed. My mom doesn’t even know.”
“You’re a true hidden talent, Ms. Murphy. I recognize that.” He nods at himself, a hand planted on his chest. God, this guy is an idiot.
“How the hell did you find me?”
“Oh,” he says, his shoulders falling. “Well, someone sort of, tweeted you.”
“They … what?”
“I logged in last week, and they had DM’d me every single one of your video links on YouTube. Nothing else. Just all your video links and your name, Katie Murphy.” He rubs a hand on the back of his neck.
My heart stops beating. Someone knows it’s me. I run through all the possibilities in my head. My mom and dad haven’t paid enough attention, and definitely don’t know how to use Twitter,let alone know how to share all those links. Ivy thinks I gave music up in college.
Flynn?
No. It was only two nights ago that I was curled up in his bed, surrounded by his scent as he told me about the channel. He found it on his own. He would’ve just asked if it were me if he had known. Right?
So, it was someone else. Someone else knows and has taken it upon themselves to send all my videos to a label? What the actual fuck?
“Can I see the messages?” I ask, my hand stretching out and placing the business card on the bartop between us.
“Oh.” Mark Maidson digs in his bag again and pulls out his phone. He swipes on the screen a few times, then turns it around to face me. “Here you go. Some account calledfantastyaccountant11.”
Oh my god. My chest feels as though it’s cracking in two. Like my world and all those careful walls I built have been taken to with a wrecking ball. I spent so long building a place where I was safe and myself. I didn’t let anyone in. Except him. I let him in—by accident—in the early days.
He remembered.
He ruined it.
Grant.
***
“I’m quitting teaching,” I say as soon as I walk in, placing my bag on the kitchen counter and my hands on my hips. I take a steadyingbreath and fortify my emotions. Today has been … well, uneasy. But I chose to leave it behind in the bar, and I will think about it later. When I feel like it.
Now, it’s replaced the memories of Italy in the small box in my mind.
It’s locked up. And, for good measure, I used an extra padlock.
