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I was drinking more coffee than usual, which was saying a lot. My stomach had shriveled into a steel ball about the size of a walnut. Nothing would go into it.
Even Peter noticed, a few days after the Bonnie Blair gig, in their hotel room.
“God, Nance, you’re as white as a sheet,” he said, frowning.
Enid hastened to get her two cents in. “And you’ve got dark marks under your eyes. And your pants are hanging right off your butt.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said, glancing at the mirror. They were right. I looked like hell. I had a brief, bittersweet fantasy of what Liam would say. How he would scold me for not eating, and then make me a big, fragrant stack of pancakes.
The fantasy made my stomach cramp painfully.
“Seriously, Nance,” Enid said. “Are you getting the flu?”
“God, no,” Peter muttered. “Don’t get sick, Nance. You could give it to me or Enid, and we’re way too busy for the flu.” He strummed an angry sounding chord. “You’re not starving yourself or anything dumb like that, are you? You’re no use to us if you collapse, you know.”
A stab of anger straightened my spine and gave me a zing of energy. “Yeah? Well, God forbid I should fail to be useful to you.”
Peter strummed another harsh chord, squinting at my sharp tone. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“That’s all you care about,” I said. “That’s all you’ve ever cared about.”
Peter looked bewildered. “Huh?”
“I could be lying in the road, bleeding out, and all you’d say would be, “How inconvenient, Nance. You’re no use to me lying there bleeding.” I was almost carried away in a music case a few days ago, to be tortured, probably murdered. That would have been really fucking inconvenient for you, Peter. Did you ever think of that?”
He looked horrified. “What’s come over you? Calm down already!”
“I work myself to the bone for you two,” I went on. “I went to unheard-of lengths to ensure your success. And all I ever get from you is whining and bitching.”
“Nance, that’s not true,” Enid broke in. “We do appreciate?—”
“And you!” I rounded on her. “I introduced you to my fiancé, and you stole him!”
“Nancy!” Peter looked outraged.
“And I forgave you. I put it behind me. And I truly do believe it was for the best, but at the time, neither one of you gave a damn about how I felt.”
Peter and Enid exchanged panicked glances in the silence.
“So, uh … what does all this mean?” Peter asked.
My anger deserted me as quickly as it had come, and only the flat, unlovely truth was left in its wake. “I can’t go on like this,” I said. “I’m done. With you two.”
Enid’s eyes went huge with alarm. “Like, done being our manager? Right now? Nance, no way! You’ve got to be kidding!”
I shook my head. “No. My credit cards are maxed out after advancing your conference registration fees. To say nothing of all the mailings and the demo recordings I produced at my own expense. I’m burned out. Tapped out. Fed up. I’m cutting you both loose, but you’re in a good place now. I left you much better than I found you. You’ll have no problem finding good management.”
“But now is not the time for us to be looking for management!” Peter bellowed. “We have to strike while the iron is hot! We need you out there fighting for us, like you always have!”
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m all out of fight. At least for you two. The cupboard is bare.”
Enid’s big blue eyes narrowed speculatively. “Wait,” she said. “Is this a love thing, Nance? Is it because of the dreamboat?”
“Dreamboat? Who? Are you talking about that rude, arrogant jerk who came to the conference?” Peter was aghast. “But he’s just a?—”
“Not another word,” I snarled.
“Cool it, Petey, baby,” Enid said sharply.