Chapter 30
The next morning, Marc wasn’t there when Merritt showed up at the studio. After an hour or so of noodling around with one of the other songs, Sadie got a call from Audrey that she put on speaker for both of them to listen in.
Audrey informed them in clipped tones that Marc had been called away on a personal emergency and would no longer be working on the album.
The look of relief that crossed Sadie’s face dissolved the last of Merritt’s lingering doubts that she’d done the right thing.
Unfortunately, that meant their sessions would be canceled indefinitely until they could find a suitable replacement, which would likely not be until after Merritt was gone.
“I mean…” Merritt glanced over, meeting Sadie’s eyes. “I could take over, if you’re comfortable with that.”
Sadie’s eyes widened until Merritt could see a full ring of white around her dark irises. “Really? You’d produce it?”
“Well, I could finish this song, and maybe we’d have time to get to a good place on the next one. But, yeah. I’d love to.”
Sadie beamed.
Between spending most of her days in the studio and then coming home to Niko at night, Merritt couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this fulfilled—professionally, artistically, personally.
The knowledge it was fleeting only heightened the pleasure, like biting into the last nectarine of the season, sweet and tart and overwhelmingly juicy.
The morning of Sadie’s party, they paid a successful visit to Natasha’s Closet. Merritt was delighted to find Natasha herself behind the register, who immediately leapt to her feet to wrap Merritt in a hug before sending her into the dressing room with several options.
Catching glimpses of herself in the mirror as she changed, Merritt felt self-consciousness creep over her.
She was undeniably happier now that she’d stopped fighting for a body that had been attainable only when she was barely out of puberty and eating cigarettes and amphetamines for breakfast, but that didn’t mean she was thrilled about showing up to a party full of people who preferred her that way.
That feeling was compounded when she stepped out to show off the first few options, none of which were met with much enthusiasm.
Once she put on the last one, though—black and slinky, with a generous hint of the cleavage she was still a little surprised she had—she was shocked how confident she felt in it, her hip cocking involuntarily as she checked herself out in the mirror.
When she walked out of the dressing room, both Niko’s and Natasha’s jaws dropped.
“That’s the one,” they said in unison, and she couldn’t argue with that.
They went out to a late dinner beforehand, showing up to the party when it was already in full swing.
Merritt had vaguely recognized the address, but she didn’t realize until they pulled up that the house belonged to one of the label executives—a house that had hosted more than a few parties in her own honor.
She shook off her unease as they left the car with the valet, immediately heading for one of the bars.
She coaxed Niko into getting the signature cocktail, the Sadie Rosé, a candy-pink confection garnished with a strawberry, so she could live vicariously through him while she was stuck with sparkling water and lime.
As soon as he took a sip, his eyes widened, any pretense of objection gone, and she laughed, stealing a sticky-sweet kiss.
While they waited in line, Merritt spotted several familiar faces in the crowd—most of whom she’d be thrilled to leave in her past. Once they got their drinks, she threaded her arm through Niko’s, ducking her head to slip unnoticed between an executive who’d called her an ungrateful little bitch for trying to negotiate a less grueling tour schedule and another who’d drunkenly propositioned her for a threesome with his wife at Merritt’s own eighteenth birthday party.
Unfortunately, she was so focused on her attempt to avoid them that she didn’t notice Alan Hardwicke until she’d practically bumped right into him.
She plastered on a wide smile, even as she swore internally. “Alan! Great to see you.”
He leaned in to kiss her cheek, which she allowed, even as she fought not to balk. When he pulled away, his eyes flicked to Niko in a territorial once-over.
“This is Niko,” she said, hesitating, then ultimately deciding against adding any further context.
It must have been obvious that there was some kind of history between her and Alan, because the two of them exchanged one of the least friendly handshakes Merritt had ever seen, the tension palpable.
“I didn’t know you were in town,” Alan said, his eyes still on Niko, the subtext clear: And I see why you didn’t tell me.
“Only for the week,” Merritt said, stirring the ice in her glass nervously. “I’m working with Sadie on a couple songs for her new album. She invited me. Us.”
His eyes met hers again with genuine interest. “You’re working again?”
She shrugged. “Just dipping my toe in.”
“How’s the water?”
“Still shark infested as ever.”
He laughed humorlessly, then turned his attention to Niko. “And what do you do?”
“He’s an artist,” said Merritt, without thinking. Niko glanced at her, and when she met his eyes, her stomach bottomed out at the hurt in them.
“I’m a contractor,” he said firmly, and she caught Alan’s smug expression before he composed himself, like something had clicked into place. “What about you?” She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Niko so guarded and spiky.
Alan shrugged, faux-humbly. “I created The River,” he said, referring to his multi-award-winning prestige drama from the previous decade—the success of which he’d never been able to replicate.
Niko’s brow furrowed. “Which river?”
Merritt was torn between laughing at the offended expression on Alan’s face and cringing at the mask of superiority that overtook it, so she hid behind a sip of her drink, murmuring, “It’s a TV show.”
“Oh, sorry. I’ve never seen it. I don’t really watch TV,” Niko said.
“That’s okay,” said Alan. “Plenty of people did.”
Merritt fought not to roll her eyes. She’d had enough of this. Thankfully, as soon as she opened her mouth to make an excuse to leave, a staff member appeared, herding them all into another room for Sadie’s performance.
A stage had been set up in the biggest of the house’s many living rooms, clearly temporary but anything but makeshift.
Once the room had filled, the head of A&R—the same one who had discovered Merritt—gave a brief but uncannily familiar introduction, thanking everyone for coming before gushing about Sadie’s talent, her fresh perspective, and how everyone in the room was going to be bragging about being here a year from now.
Shortly, Sadie came onstage to raucous applause. She slung her guitar over her shoulder, then stepped up to the mic, a little shyly, thanking everyone for coming.
“This is the most surreal birthday of my life,” she said with a disbelieving laugh before launching into the hit single from her first EP, “Late Last Night.”
Usually, industry events meant the worst audiences, everyone too wrapped up in themselves to have a good time, but by the end of the second song, there was a small crowd dancing up front—the youngest and coolest of the guests, probably Sadie’s actual friends.
Merritt grabbed Niko’s hand and pulled him into the center, and the two of them lost themselves in the heaving mass of bodies, her dress clinging to her lower back, his hands on her hips, the two of them exchanging brief but loaded looks.
It felt like an act of defiance, letting herself be this uninhibited in this crowd, unconcerned with who was watching and what they might think.
She was free, she was alive, and she was still fucking here.
She felt light and giddy, buoyed by the unexpected joy bubbling up inside her, like Niko’s hands on her hips were the only thing anchoring her to the ground. She pulled him in for a long kiss as Sadie and her band wrapped up another song.
When Merritt turned back around, she saw Sadie grinning at her before leaning over the stage, away from the microphone, and mouthing: Do you want to come up here?
Merritt shook her head, waving the question away. Sadie fake-pouted. Please? she mouthed. It’s my birthday.
Merritt hesitated, looking back at Niko for reassurance as he held one of her hands in both of his. He was smiling warmly down at her. Fuck it, she thought, and made her way to the stage, hiking up her dress so she wouldn’t trip on the stairs.
The crowd whooped in appreciation as she gave the beaming Sadie a hug before sitting down at the keyboard and adjusting the mic.
“I got the best birthday present this year,” said Sadie into her microphone, grinning ear to ear.
“The honor of working with the one and only Merritt Valentine.” The crowd dutifully applauded—louder than Merritt would’ve expected, considering her history with many of the people in it. “Here’s a little preview.”
They played “Something I Said,” and considering they’d never rehearsed it with a band, it went surprisingly well. During the applause that followed, Merritt stood up to leave, but Sadie turned to her, mouthing One more? Merritt shrugged and sat back down, unsure but game.
“This is the first song I ever taught myself to play,” said Sadie, then began the first verse of “Dirty Water,” the lead single off Merritt’s second album. Merritt blushed, but her fingers found the keys instinctually, like she’d last played it yesterday.
It wasn’t until she was halfway through the first chorus that it hit her.
She was doing something that, up until a few months ago, she thought she’d never do again: performing her own songs in front of an audience.
Gratitude rushed over her for Sadie, for pulling her up here without giving her the chance to overthink it.
She was up here because, years ago, this song had meant so much to a little girl that it had changed the trajectory of her life.