Page 19 of Hamartia
“Really?”
He nods, face warm and open. “Yes, we arrived three nights ago and I have not left the hotel and practice room. You must send me the details; I’ll try to make it.”
I’m not sure if he means he wants me to take him or go on his own but those are details I can work out later.
“I will, I will. Listen, I should get back to my table, I think our award is up in like five or something.”
“You are nominated?” He beams. “That is wonderful! Good luck. You deserve it.”
Even though I feel a bit deflated he didn’t know, there’s something so utterly genuine about it, so completely without the bullshit I’m used to hearing, that I can only stare at him a few long moments.
“Thanks, I appreciate it. You guys too. I’ll be rooting for you.”
He smiles before closing his eyes and lowering his head again. I think I say something like “Speak soon” before I’m moving away from him back towards our table. A glance over my shoulder has the guy talking in Jae’s ear again, except this time they’re both looking at me. One dark cold gaze, one warm and friendly, but fading a little.
My visit to the K:OS table seems to have gone entirely unnoticed by my own table because no one mentions a thing as I sit back down. They look relieved though, as if they half expected me to have passed out in the bathroom.
As they announce the presenter of our award, I realize that I’ve barely thought about it all night. It’s been there, right at the back of my head. But it’s been buried beneath this bigger, heavier, thing. This thing that confuses and scares me shitless. But that thing lumbers out the way now, moving surprisingly fucking fast as they read out the nominees. Names I don’t recognize right then. Names that sound like they’re being spoken in another language, even our own.
A breath. The beat of my heart. A high-pitched noise.
I think maybe I’ve misheard, or that the entire place is so unimpressed with what’s just happened they’re not cheering. But then the sound rushes back in and Mase is standing and coming around the table towards me. He pulls me up out of the chair and throws his arms around me and then I’m being dragged toward the stage. Everything feels slow and dulled, like I’m underwater and then I’m on the stage and the lights are far too bright from this angle and I’ve had far too much to drink. I’m going to throw up. If I open my mouth, I’m certain that’s what will come out, vomit. As the guys push Cleo towards the mic first, I try to stop the room tilting, attempting to focus on something to anchor me.
Then I see it.
The bright flash of lilac hair. Everything settles. Steadies. Calms. Not wanting to stare right in his direction, I keep that spot in my periphery as I suck a lungful of air in and let it out slowly. Then again. They’re moving out of the way to let me talk now and because I wasn’t listening, I’m not sure who they’ve thanked. It doesn’t matter because there’s only ever been one thing I wanted to say if I ever got to stand here. Only one person I ever wanted to thank.
“Thanks Mom, I love you.”
Fuck you, Finn.
It’s loud with the sound of people congratulating each other and themselves. I’ve already had people I know hate us come up and tell us how well deserved we are. A few even daring to mention Finn, but I’m too loose limbed and light-minded to care tonight.
We won. For an album I helped produce. For an album I wrote 90% of the songs for. For a direction I forced them down. I feel like a fucking king. We didn’t get record of the year—Haven Williams did, Jae cheering for her on his feet and loudly even though his own band had just lost out in the category before—but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except that I didn’t fail DP. I feel weightless from relief. The stress and anxiety I’d worn for months now shirked off. I feel a hundred pounds lighter. I also feel wasted.
They’d arrived to the afterparty about an hour after everyone else had. Changed, but somehow still coordinated as a group. Another set of designer suits with bright colored shirts underneath. This one is the pale grey of a rain-soaked Colorado sky, his top a sheer white silk with a high collar, his shoes white too. I’d sensed him as he’d walked in, the hairs on the back of my neck tilting up, my blood heating when he’d gotten closer. They’d passed our table to get to their own which was on a raised section further from the bar, but he didn’t make eye contact. Maybe didn’t see me.
Now, he’s standing with his back to me, talking behind his hand to a tall guy dressed in a white suit with black shirt. It’s one of his band, but I still don’t know their names. When he pats the guy gently on the shoulder and moves away down the stairs and in the direction of the bar, I’m standing. More than that, I’m following.
“Going to the bar,” I say to Cam. “You want something?”
She shakes her head. It’s table service, but the pace is slow and so she doesn’t question it. I make my way through the huddles in the vague direction I saw him go. I’ve already decided I’m gonna try the bathroom if he’s not at the bar. Maybe it could be our thing. A private joke about always meeting in bathrooms. Third time is a charm and all that.
But I see him before I get that far, attached to another small huddle, this time with Haven Williams, her tattooed English boyfriend, and another girl I recognize, but can’t name. Haven has her arm looped through Jae’s and is beaming up at him all sparkly-eyed and smiles. It’s her boyfriend that stops me as I’m pretending to pass without noticing them. He played guitar in Dervish and I’ve met him once or twice at a show. He came to see us in Chicago back in August, because he tagged me on Instagram story and so I know he’s being genuine when he puts his hand out and congratulates me.
“Raphael, mate!! Album of the fucking year—so well deserved. Truly.”
“Jack, man, thank you.” I shake my head as he pulls me into a one-armed hug and starts up about the album, sincere in his praise of it. From our chats before, he’s always struck me as a guy who likes music, likereallylikes music. He knows stuff about obscure British bands that I’ve only vaguely heard of. He’s talented too. I’m certain he’s a fan of Finn also, but he’s never mentioned him to me and that’s always raised him in my estimations. He’d split from Dervish about a year ago and is working on his first solo album. So, I guess I shouldn’t be entirely surprised when he asks me to work on something with him.
“Seriously? Wow, I’m flattered, dude, but the timing might be an issue right now,” I tell him honestly.
I’m half distracted because Jae still hasn’t noticed me, completely enraptured by whatever Haven is telling him. Something funny by the looks of it because he’s laughing. Perfect, neat body shaking with laughter I can’t hear because of the noise in this sound-muffling vacuum of a basement club area.
“I’m back in LA in a few weeks. How about I hit you up then?”
“Sounds perfect! Yes!” He beams at me and I nod.
As we swap numbers, I wonder how many contracts I’ve just breached. “Hey, you know Haven, right? She’s on your label. Hey, babe.” He taps Haven’s shoulder and she whips round, still clinging to Jae. “Hey, you know Raphael, don’t you? You’re both on Halcyon.”