“Ouch,” Callie agreed.
“Are you good with touring?” Neal asked, ignoring the insult.
“Whatever,” Juliet replied. “I have nowhere else to be.”
“We tour sober,” Axel said. “We rehearse sober, we record sober. No exceptions. Can you do that?”
She turned her black-lined gaze on him. “I quit the fun drugs a while ago,” she said, deadpan. “Now I only do the prescription kind that keep me from offing myself.”
“We don’t have a rule against those,” Axel shot back. “What about alcohol?”
Juliet shook her head. “Messes with the Lexapro.”
Attitude was an understatement with this woman. She had a chip on her shoulder the size of Alaska. But even I could see that at least part of it was an act, a sham. Juliet’s shoulders were tense, her stance braced as if she expected a hit. Her eyes gave her away. She was nervous. She was just good at hiding it.
It was Denver’s turn to speak. “Why are you in a shitty band?” he asked. “You’re experienced. I listened to The Muffins last night.”
“What?” The word came sharp and shocked from Juliet’s mouth. “You what?”
“I listened to your album,” Denver repeated patiently. “The only one you cut with your punk band.”
“That was a long time ago,” Juliet shot back. She might have been either angry or panicked. I thought maybe it was the second one. “Don’t listen to that shit.”
“Too late,” Denver replied. “You fronted that band as well as playing bass. You’ve been playing for shitty bands ever since they broke up, and you could do better. Why? Why don’t you front your own band instead?”
Juliet blinked, taking control of the panic. She shook her head. “There’s no fucking way I’d front a band ever again,” she said, right to Denver’s face. “Fronting isn’t my style. I hate the spotlight, and my voice isn’t good enough. At least when I’m in the back, I get fewer comments about my tits.” She looked around. “Speaking of which, you seem like nice enough guys, but you’re musicians, and I know musicians. I won’t be fucking any of you.”
Brit coughed. Callie put a hand over her mouth. Raine looked annoyed. Sienna looked amused.
Denver cocked an eyebrow, and when he spoke, his voice was mild. “Juliet, we’re in this to make good music. You and your tits are not an exception to the rule.”
Somehow, he was chiding her and reassuring her at the same time. Juliet’s shoulders lowered, and she let out a shaky breath. “Okay,” she said, and then she added, “Sorry.”
Denver waved her apology away. “You aren’t working with dirtbags anymore,” he explained. “We run things differently. You work hard, you play the best music you can possibly play. That’s it. It sounds simple, but I think you know it isn’t. The rest of the bullshit is easy. The music is the hardest thing.”
Juliet tilted her weight on one hip, and for the first time, she dropped the act and looked thoughtful. She looked like she wanted to believe Denver, but she wasn’t sure. I wondered how many bad experiences she’d had to be so jaded. How many broken promises had she heard? How many so-called nice guys had ended up making moves on her? It couldn’t be easy to be taken seriously as a female musician, even now. Music was still a boys’ club.
“I can play,” Juliet said. She scowled, as if annoyed at herself, then took a deep breath. “I’d like to play like that. Like you say. I’m good. And—okay, I’m tired of playing shit music. I’d like to be better. I’d like to make myself play the best I can.”
The guys in the band exchanged looks. They seemed to have a silent conversation without words.
“Stone, you motherfucker,” Neal said.
“I told you,” Stone replied.
“Fuck it,” Denver said. He stood up and turned toward the control room. “Everyone out,” he declared. “Don’t take it personally. We need to jam. Callie, I’ll be late. Raine, we’ll have Neal home by five.”
“Are they hiring her?” Amber asked. “She’s in the band?”
“I think so,” Raine said. “I hope they know what they’re doing.”
“They never know what they’re doing,” Angie said. “That’s part of the charm.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Luna
This time, when Will and I went away for the weekend, we went far away from my family. We booked a room on the coast, where we could sit on a balcony overlooking the water while ordering room service. There would be no hiking and no golf.