Chapter 17
Girls, They Wanna Have Fun
HARMONY
It’s been a week since the daXx party and I have managed to avoid Riff at all costs.
Stefanie and Braden tried to schedule another session for us in the writer’s lounge but I faked feeling “under the weather” and was able to get them to give me a few more days before I have to face the inevitable.
I’ve kept busy working on the last song for my upcoming album, which thankfully has nothing to do with romance (it’s called “Take Up Space").
It’s been all I can do not to think about Riff coming up to me in front of everyone and kissing me like that.
When he’d mentioned it before, I didn’t think he was serious—or that anything like that would happen so soon or so suddenly.
I forgot, for an instant, that it was for show, lost in the feeling of kissing him again.
When it was over and I realized it could only have been for Mikayla’s benefit, I felt like a complete fool.
I’m afraid if I see him again, he’ll bring it up, and I won’t be able to hide how much it stung.
I’m still grappling with the fact that it stung, in general.
Like, why? Less than two weeks ago I didn’t want him near me for a totally different reason.
Now I don’t want him near me because of how much I want him close to me.
It’s best not to get emotionally attached.
Avoiding him in person, however, hasn’t stopped me from doing more “research” about him online, namely reading a lot of the articles he wrote when he worked for The Goldrush Gazette.
"What independent music venues bring to California’s economy" by Griffin J. Hurley
"Take Note festival fills the summer with live music" by Griffin J. Hurley
"New local contest to showcase talent of aspiring young musicians" by Griffin J. Hurley
"Up-and-coming Orange County punk band makes waves" by Griffin J. Hurley
"Midtown concert venue Upstaged to open next month" by Griffin J. Hurley
It’s hard to believe that the eloquent, professional, and often quippy Griffin J. Hurley who wrote these is the same man who penned the words, “My roots go deep, unbounded, these boots gon’ keep me grounded.”
As the sun goes down this evening, I pop into the prep kitchen coming off my home theater suite to make sure the food (which I had my assistant order for a small gathering at my house) is set up nicely.
I stop in front of it and stare at the countertop.
It displays half a dozen mini bottles of wine and … a huge charcuterie spread.
Of course.
I should have been more specific, chosen something like a candy-shop assortment and fancy popcorn cups, or a nacho bar. Now all I can think about is Riff trying to make me the perfect layered bite. What even was it? Some sweet-and-tart cream cheese with … prosciutto? Or was it pancetta?
My phone pings.
DAISY: On my way. Can’t wait! Lauren said she and Alexa are riding together and they might be a few minutes late.
HARMONY: Sounds good. See you soon!
I sigh at the charcuterie with its salami roses and carved cheese. At least Riff taught me to put something together so I won’t look silly in front of my friends.
Claire arrives first, then Madison, then Daisy, then Alexa and Lauren.
We make ourselves perfect little plates (I make guesses as to what goes well together or mimic what the others do) and get our wine and sit in the first row of lounge chairs that face the giant screen, where we put on Madison’s latest movie Make Your Move (a rom-com about competing chess champions) that just released on Netflix today.
Madison cringes at her acting in certain parts, or laughs before the scenes fully unfold because she knows everything that went on during filming.
“Andrew could not keep it together for that shot,” she says, “and we had to do like twelve takes.”
Her co-star is the quirky and lovable Andrew LaBell, known for his iconic dimples.
“Oh! We shot this scene the day after I got food poisoning, so the look of disgust on my face is not acting—I was genuinely nauseated.”
Having a running commentary on the whole thing is actually perfect, considering the quality and pacing of the movie.
Madison pokes fun at the low-budget props and the script (and gives the rest of us permission to do so as well) knowing it’s all very cheesy but having had a great time making it nonetheless.
When it’s over, we migrate to my loving room and get the fireplace going. The weather has been unusually chilly the last couple days, and overcast, matching my mood, but the fire and the company help.
We drink more wine and I break out some Godiva chocolates as everyone but me and Daisy request music on my sound system—mostly my songs and Daisy’s so they can ask about what inspired each one.
I learn that a lot of Daisy’s music, like mine, is based on past relationships, she just likes to be cheeky about it, and blunt to the point where people think she can’t possibly be serious.
“You like to make people squirm,” Lauren points out.
Daisy smiles and shrugs one shoulder. “We’re all thinkin’ the same things, so why bother bein’ coy? Let’s just put it all out there.”
At first, I dread talking about my own work because, even though I have chosen (in a way) to share parts of my life with the public, it’s a lot more personal when someone asks me directly about a song’s meaning.
But as I tell these women my stories, I find myself relieved to be all the way open.
Even better, I find them sympathetic, empathic.
So many of our experiences seem to be universal.
Eventually the conversation shifts to working hours and entertainment industry pet peeves, and then we try on a bunch of my flashier clothes while belting Britney songs (because we are slightly drunk at this point) along with some Christina, Avril, Beyoncé, Shania, Carrie, and Taylor.
We end up back on the sofas, with Mean Girls playing on the regular TV (not the home theater) and I’m pretty sure every minky blanket I own is in here wrapped around one us.
I must have dimmed the lights but I forgot when, and finally, I leave the waking world.
“Being alone with my thoughts is … a lot right now.” That’s what I told Riff once. I remember how he understood, how he said he, too, often couldn’t sleep unless he had “some other noise going.”
“So your mind can focus on something trivial,” I said, “and you don’t mentally spiral yourself into an adrenaline rush that keeps you awake …”
And then he said, “Exactly.”
This night has been the perfect distraction, the best way to focus my mind elsewhere.
But it was anything but trivial.