Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
EchoZone – Private Message Thread
AlyEuphoriaEvents: Sorry I haven’t contacted you, but I’ve been waiting to hear from the Whittmore Gala organizers.
MustLoveMusic: I didn't make the cut for that gala.
AlyEuphoriaEvents: They’re going for a string quartet, but how did you know?
MustLoveMusic: It’s a long story. One I’d rather tell you in person. Preferably somewhere quiet. No event checklists around. Just . . . you and me.
AlyEuphoriaEvents: Intriguing.
MustLoveMusic: At what time does your Saturday event end?
AlyEuphoriaEvents: That’s actually why I wanted to chat. Can you be at a wedding? The guitarist’s wife had a baby this morning—he obviously can’t make it.
MustLoveMusic: I’ll be there. Just send me the details. Also, make sure you send him his cut instead of me. Let him buy something tiny and impractical for that baby.
AlyEuphoriaEvents: You still need to get paid. I don’t want you ending up in your parents’ basement, eating stale cereal, and composing breakup ballads in the dark.
MustLoveMusic: Relax. I’m good. I’m crashing at a friend’s place. Rent-free. I’d rather the new dad get the check. Babies are expensive, I hear.
AlyEuphoriaEvents: You’re too good. You know that?
MustLoveMusic: Only when I’m not being a disaster. Besides . . . you saying I’m good makes it hard to argue.
AlyEuphoriaEvents: Thank you for being so understanding. I owe you.
MustLoveMusic: You owe me? Now that sounds promising. What does this debt entail?
AlyEuphoriaEvents: If you ever need a favor, just cash it in. Preferably not anything criminal. Or emotionally scarring.
MustLoveMusic: You realize you owe me at least three favors now, right?
AlyEuphoriaEvents: Three? That's some fuzzy math. I heard musicians are good mathematicians. Obviously that’s a lie.
MustLoveMusic: I played for you last weekend and brought the house down. That’s two points, easy. This wedding makes three.
AlyEuphoriaEvents: I paid you for that gig.
MustLoveMusic: Did you? Because I never gave you my address. Pretty sure you just applauded and walked away.
AlyEuphoriaEvents: Damn it. How did I forget that?
MustLoveMusic: Not sure, but . . . I’ll cash when the time comes.
AlyEuphoriaEvents: That sounds suspiciously terrifying. Is this the part where you confess you’re a serial killer?
MustLoveMusic: Serial killers usually don’t give advance notice. They just show up in the middle of the night with duct tape and bad intentions.
AlyEuphoriaEvents: Not exactly reassuring.
MustLoveMusic: Don’t worry. I’m not kidnapping you . . . but I am taking you away for a couple of days. Pack a bag.
AlyEuphoriaEvents: You do realize how deeply concerning that sounds, right? Also, no thank you. I’d rather stay in my apartment—where my locks work and I know the exits.
MustLoveMusic: I’m cashing in a favor, Alybear.
AlyEuphoriaEvents: You’re giving me a nickname. That’s emotional manipulation.
MustLoveMusic: If I were manipulating you, I’d be playing you a song while I asked. Barefoot. Under soft lighting. With that look you pretend doesn't unravel you.
AlyEuphoriaEvents: . . . Are you sure you’re not dangerous?
MustLoveMusic: Only if you’re allergic to spontaneous adventures, bad gas station snacks, and really great playlists.
AlyEuphoriaEvents: I’ll think about it.
MustLoveMusic: That’s all I’m asking. See you Saturday.