10. Avery
Avery
T he next day, Kendal comes to Atlanta to film shots of the reunion’s venue for the documentary, since it’s the first place Fool’s Gambit headlined.
It’s nice to have her around. Frankly, she’s become something like an assistant for me since she’s the only person I’ve been able to consistently work with without firing.
We spend our time in the city brainstorming ideas about the story. I knew from the start that it wasn’t just going to be about me—it’s a tangled thing. But the biggest knot, always and forever, will be Wes and me.
Which is probably why Kendal asks, “Why then? Why do you think this needs to start when you get to Caper? You obviously started playing music before then. You had your CDs, and from the sound of it, you and your dad went on all these adventures, so why not talk about those?”
She’s seated on the floor of my hotel suite with her notebook. I’ve considered finding another place to stay, but I like the sheets here and it would be a hassle.
“Things changed when I met Wes. Before him I enjoyed listening to and playing music, but never considered performing,” I say. A cop out that’s close to the truth.
She rolls her eyes and shoves the notebook to the side. “When you asked me to do this, you told me you liked that I could see through the bullshit. If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable.”
I slump back against the couch, and allow a fraction of the truth to come forward.
“Originally, I hated Caper. I thought it would be this pitstop on the way to something better, but it turned out to be the something better. Before then–” before Wes– “I floated from place to place, not willing to commit to anything in my life out of fear it would be torn away. In Caper, that changed, for a time.”
Kendal eyes me, but accepts my answer. I try not to think about what else she’ll manage to tear out of me because for the most part, it feels good to throw myself into this project.
We work awhile longer, mapping out early events, but only get as far as George’s diagnosis. Even talking about it now sets me on edge. She and I still talk, and she updates me on her checks, but after what happened with Dad and then later Wes and I? The distance between us makes it less painful.
But I guess the pain is part of this. If I want to tell the truth, there are some things I can’t avoid.
Including Lydia, who I meet at noon the next day.
I’m early for our reservation at Humphrey’s, a Michelin starred small plates restaurant in East Atlanta. Its whitewashed brick walls and mosaic tile accents cause the place to feel light and airy.
Originally, I avoided reaching out to her, but after multiple failures to find someone tolerable to work with, I bit the bullet and looked her up.
There are two types of talent managers I’ve met—those who are in it to make the most out of their 15 percent cut, and then there are the ones like Lydia. People who love music and do everything they can to support the artists who make it.
But there was a time when I didn’t care about good music or anything other than losing myself in the industry. I got what I wanted, and I lost Lydia because of it.
My eyes stay glued to the door, but after five minutes I check my phone.
I have a message, but it’s from Kendal, not Lydia.
Apparently, there’s another producer who wants in on the project.
Immediately, I have mixed feelings. Another producer means another person who has say over the documentary and I’d rather not have someone else dictating how I tell my story.
Still, this could be good for Kendal and her career.
I just wish she would have talked to me about it first.
“I was wondering when you’d call,” Lydia says, sliding into the chair across from me.
Her sudden appearance makes me drop my phone. It clatters onto the table, causing the cutlery to clink against the plates. I fumble to snag it and throw it into my purse.
“Do you need a moment?” She cocks an impeccable brow.
Lydia is a Black woman in her late thirties and probably the most effortlessly stylish person I’ve ever met.
She’s dressed in an oversized sweater layered over a button down.
A gold cuff hugs one of her ears. Her natural curls are secured up in a poof.
“No, it’s nothing that can’t wait. Just a message from someone I’m collaborating with.”
“Taking on projects and a tour? God, you’ve been busy.”
A waiter comes up to the edge of our table. “Hello, welcome. What can I get you to drink?”
“We’re actually ready to order,” Lydia says. “We’ll be taking the caviar service and two of whatever is the most popular.”
“Are you—” The waiter starts.
Lydia gathers the menus and holds them out. “It’s not every day I get treated by a client, and I’ll be taking full advantage.”
“Here’s my card. I don’t even want to know the total.” I hold out the card then nearly drop it as her words register. “Client?”
“It took you nearly ten years to realize you were wrong. You’re going to buy me a nice meal and tell me what Emilia’s face looked like when you told her to kiss your ass.”
“How do you know I told her to kiss my ass?”
“You’re back, and the real Avery Sloane tells everyone exactly what she thinks. There’s no way you didn’t. And I’m also going to need you to tell me exactly how much of what happened at The Excavator’s premiere was exaggerated.”
“What would you think if I said none of it?”
“That I wish I was there to watch from the sidelines.”
“Does this mean you’re good to work together again?
Because I need a manager and I hate everyone else.
” I’m hoping I’m not misunderstanding her.
Working with her is exactly what I need.
Someone I can trust without second guessing her motives.
Someone who knows that success isn’t just having good numbers.
“On one condition.” Her voice goes deadly serious. “Catch me up on everything.”
“Nosy.”
“If you want me on my A game, I need to know what I’m getting myself into. And you do have a tendency of getting in the most interesting messes.”
Our lunch turns into an early dinner as we attempt to cover the last ten years in a single afternoon. At first, the wait staff eyes us but after I hand over an extra two hundred, they leave us alone.
Eventually, we do leave because Lydia has plans to meet up with another client, a promising young rapper she swears will be everywhere in the next year.
It’s good to see her and her business thriving.
After I sign for the bill, she drives me back to my hotel since it’s on the way to where she’s headed.
“There’s one last thing—Wesley. How are you two really? I’m assuming you two aren’t in the midst of a torrid love affair?” she asks with all the intensity of someone who witnessed the events as they happened and comforted me in the wreckage.
“He wishes.” I huff. “We’re cordial? At the very least, on speaking terms.”
“Not friends?” she pushes, weaving across three lanes to take our exit.
“There’s a long way to go before I’d consider that. And honestly, if everything goes well with this tour I won’t have to deal with him ever again.”
Though, I’m not sure how true that is. It’s an exercise in restraint to not message him. Replying to him over Christmas? That was a gift for me. Because after I got off that stage, I had to go home alone to an apartment I didn’t even bother decorating.
“Explain.”
“You remember how I used my inheritance to produce my debut album?”
“How one day you had no deal and zero dollars to your name?”
“I had more than that,” I protest.
“And the next, millions. Yeah, that rings a bell.”
“To access it, there was a condition I needed Wes’s help to meet.”
“You’re not telling me.”
“We took a trip to a little white chapel, and he’ll only sign the divorce papers once the tour is over.”
The car pulls to a stop under the awning of the hotel’s entrance. She releases the wheel and leans all the way back in her seat as she digests my confession.
“Well, fuck.” She cocks her head as her lips tip into a smile. “Working with you never gets boring, does it?”
“You know you missed it.”
“Fine. I did.”
I exit the car and ride the elevator to the floor Kendal is staying on so I can learn more about the new producer she texted me about.
But before I do that, there’s someone I want to talk to first. The one person who would understand what a reconciliation with Lydia means to me.
He picks up on the first ring. “Is everything okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” I ask, watching the elevator numbers light up as the cabin climbs higher.
“Because the only scenarios I can imagine calling me for are apocalyptic at best.”
“Is that why you answered so quickly? It sounds like you’re at the venue.”
“Yeah, final rehearsal. But I have your number set to a specific ringtone, so I told them to take a break.”
Is he saying that he only picked up because it’s me? What an idiot.
“It’s not the end of the world. Actually, it’s good news.” I catch a warped reflection of myself grinning like a fool in the polished elevator walls. There’s something about telling someone about good news that makes it better.
“Don’t leave me hanging.”
“I met with Lydia and she’s willing to put up with me again.”
“Put up with you? It’s a damn privilege to work with Avery Sloane!” He whoops, and I easily picture him jumping with excitement.
Somewhere in the background I hear, “God, that’s Avery? Tell her you’ll call her back. You’re just as bad as you used to be.”
“Garrett?” I ask.
“Yeah, you know how he gets, I should go. But when I get back to the hotel tonight, let’s celebrate. What room are you in? I’ll come up when I’m done.” It’s impossible to ignore the hope laced in his request.
“I have something I need to do.” That, and I’m not sure I can handle being in such a private space with him.
The hotel bar and studio were fine, but if it’s just the two of us somewhere secluded, I’m scared I’ll forget myself.
“But what if I stop by the venue early tomorrow and meet you in your dressing room?”
“Sounds like a plan.” The smile in his voice causes my lips to twitch. “I’m coming!” I expect him to hang up but then he adds, “I’m really happy you called. Goodnight, Ave.”
I locate Kendal’s room near the end of the hall. She answers wearing pajamas and a clay face mask that’s hardened against her skin. Some of the clay flakes off as her lips curve.
“So, who’s this mystery producer?” I ask as I enter. Somehow the warmth in my chest burns brighter.
I’m getting my life back in order and helping Kendal feels like I’m getting a second chance to do things right.
“Don’t act like you had nothing to do with it,” she says, cocking a brow. “I’m seriously grateful though.”
“Why would I have anything to do with it?”
“You talked to him about it and must have planted the idea that he should reach out. There’s no point denying it.”
“I’m sorry, I’m still a bit lost.”
“Wesley Hart. He said you told him everything.”
“I did.” It’s just like him to insert himself. I asked him to be in the project, not take partial control over it.
It’s not like how we used to be, fighting on the same team, sharing wins.