Chapter 33 Just Trust Me, You’ll Be Fine #2
“Yeah … uh … I just …” I’m about to make some excuse to walk away, because I have an irresistible urge to talk to Griffin before I give my speech.
I can’t go up to the mic without telling him I’m sorry for being MIA all week, for leaving without warning.
It wasn’t fair to him, but I hope he understands. “Maybe we can continue this another—”
Sudden applause cuts me off. Guests stop talking. Light shifts to focus somewhere behind me.
I turn to see that Charles has taken the stage. God only knows when he got here, and now he’s chosen a terrible moment to kick things off.
Charles pantomimes his appreciation until the applause dies down, then says, “Thank you all for being here tonight. We’re so excited to celebrate two incredible records, as well as a very unique extended play: Harmony Sonora’s My Lucky Stars, Riff Hurley’s There Goes The Sun, and the EP that encompasses tonight’s spectacular theme, Night + Day.
It’s been a good year for Glambam, during which two of our more prominent artists came together and put their sometimes-night-and-day differences aside to make a pretty stellar playlist for us.
We hope you enjoy the festivities while we watch the countdown.
” He gestures to a large timer clock. “Glambam could not be more proud of the talent we represent, and we can’t wait for you all to hear what they’ve created. ”
The applause is louder this time, with whistles and cheers mixed in. Goosebumps rise on my arms.
“Before we let you get back to the party though,” Charles adds, “one of our guests of honor has a few words she’d like to say. Harmony Sonora, everybody!”
With all eyes on me now, I ascend the stage, forcing smiles and nodding my thanks for the noise people make for me. I spot Griffin on the stage now too, having snuck in from the back side it seems and finding a spot next to Charles, who shakes his hand in silent greeting.
That’s odd, I think. When did they become so familiar?
Never mind. It doesn’t matter. What matters are my trembling hands, the teleprompter full of words I have to speak in front of all these people.
I clear my throat as the words appear line by line.
“As many of you know,” I begin, “I’ve been involved in an ongoing effort to reclaim the master recordings of my first two albums, Brightly Burning and Nebulous.
This is the music of my young adulthood, the evidence of everything I did and felt during those years.
I wrote those songs as I sat on IKEA furniture in my first apartment …
while my neighbors pounded on the thin walls for me to shut up.
” A few people chuckle. “I scribbled the lyrics in notebooks as I sat on park benches and beach blankets and bus seats. Whenever I felt physically captive—waiting in line somewhere or stuck at some boring event—I mentally tested phrases and melodies and stashed them in my head for later. Those songs have been a source of pride and joy, of release and redemption, of sorrow and solace. And I wouldn’t be where I am today without them. But …”
But.
The worst word. The water that freezes in the cracks of a rock and splits it wide open. It seems so inert, and yet it can break something you once thought was solid enough to hold up under pressure.
“Yet that was only a small fraction of my life,” I continue, my voice choked, my eyes burning with the tears I’m trying to contain.
“Since then, I have fought and failed, loved and lost, and built a longstanding career that allows me to keep pursuing my passion and share it with all of you. Since then I have grown into someone new, a person I once feared because I feared change. I was afraid to get older, afraid to be a different size, afraid to want different things. Well … I don’t fear any of that anymore; now I welcome it, all the wrinkles and scars and calluses, because every mark is a sign of a life well lived. And I’m not done yet.
“With that in mind …”
The text ends abruptly.
I wait, but there doesn’t seem to be anything else.
Shit, shit, shit.
Where’s the rest of it?
The entire second half of my speech is gone—the “leave the past in the past” and the “masters will stay with my first label,” the “no Harmony’s Versions,” along with “those songs are mine and no document can change that,” “I have nothing to prove,” and “the best is yet to come.”
Did I delete it by accident before I sent it to Stefanie to send to the teleprompter op?
My heart starts thrumming and my legs shake and I look up at everyone who’s watching me.
Okay. I just have to stay calm.
I’ve read this speech so many times; if I focus I can piece together what comes next.
“Um,” I say, “with that it mind, I …”
Breathe.
The word appears on the screen out of nowhere.
What the hell?
Who’s doing this? How am I supposed to breathe when I’ve apparently been hacked? This is—
The word “breathe” scrolls away and a new paragraph takes its place.
I am pleased to announce that Glambam Records has acquired my masters and placed them in an artist-controlled trust, with a reversion clause.
Without thinking, I turn my head abruptly to look at Charles.
What? How?
This isn’t possible. A matter of days ago, not only was I explicitly forbidden from letting Glambam try to buy my masters, I was also at risk of having my career and Griffin’s publicly blown up.
And yet, Charles only nods—and gestures for me to go on.
Griffin nods too, like he’s in on this. God I hope he hasn’t made a huge mistake. I hope he didn’t do something that’s going to get the truth about us leaked.
Not sure what else to do, I shakily read the words. “I am … pleased to announce that … Glambam Records has acquired my masters …”
People start to cheer but I keep going, elevating my voice over the sound, because it’s only pronouncing one syllable after the next that stops me from spiraling.
This can’t be real.
But Charles wouldn’t prank me like this, and definitely not in front of a crowd with press mixed in.
Another new paragraph appears.
It suddenly occurs to me that I might have started my speech document from within my shared lyrics folder … which I gave Griffin access to not long after we made our feelings known to each other. Which means he probably saw everything I wrote for tonight in advance—and had the ability to edit it.
Not wanting to look stupid again, I read these new words without hesitation, but secretly worry that they’re sealing a terrible fate—one in which FM Sound finds out about this and decides to unleash chaos.
“As I embrace a new era, I will cherish my legal ownership of the music that got me started, but I want to make clear that it does not define me. Nothing I did or said or wore or was … defines me.” Are those Griffin’s not-so-subtle words?
“There are those who wanted to hold my music hostage in order to force me to cooperate, believing that I couldn’t move on without closure.
Unfortunately for them, I was ready and willing to walk away.
When it came down to what matters most, I chose peace.
Because of that choice, Glambam wants me to have justice too. ”
Now I am helpless to withhold my tears. I don’t know what Griffin means by “justice,” but that word hits me right in the chest.
He comes to my side and puts an arm around me, whispering in my ear, “Almost done” as he points to the last teleprompter line.
“So,” I read, “let’s celebrate what Riff and I have done this year, and always remember: The best is yet to come.”
As the crowd erupts before us, he embraces me without reservation. I sink into him, still lost, but grateful to have him with me, letting my tears soak his shirt.
Maybe this will all fall apart later, but for the moment, I’m safe. And he isn’t angry with me.
Releasing me, though, he steps up to the microphone. “I have something to say as well.”
The guests settle.
Griff exhales once, sharply, and looks me—really looks at me—before he looks out at everyone else.
“A lot of people think they know what this is … what we’ve got going on between us,” he says, gesturing to me and himself.
“They think it’s a marketing ploy or a fabricated story or …
or a performance.” He huffs a laugh. “What’s ironic though, is that, for a minute there, we thought we were faking it too.
We thought we were just making some music together, writing a couple of songs everyone might like, and that we’d endure it and it would be over and we’d go our separate ways.
Instead, we found something we didn’t even know we were looking for.
Something real—so real that it honestly scares me.
Except … it’s a good kind of scared, like catching a really big wave in the swell.
The kind of thing where I’m not sure I’m cut out for it, like I’m not badass enough for this, but …
I’m also not going to back down, because it’s the chance to do something amazing.
Making music with Harmony means I get to do my favorite thing, with my favorite person.
The thing I love … with the woman I love. ”
My lips part and I swear my heart actually skips a beat.
“Harm, you don’t have to say anything,” he clarifies as he turns to me, his voice dampened for the audience now that he’s not talking directly into the mic. “I just have to speak my truth. I love you. And if you don’t—”
“I love you too."
People gasp throughout the venue, or murmur comments.
One corner of Griffin’s mouth slowly rises. “Yeah?”
I nod.
For a moment we just stare at each other like no one else is watching, ignoring the whispers that break out around us. I reach up and draw his face down close to mine.
“To the moon and back,” I say.
He kisses me with full force.
About three seconds later, a BOOM reverberates in my bones and the next thing I know, huge metallic confetti flakes are floating through the air. Everyone is cheering again, louder than they have for anything all night.
Charles takes over the mic and says, “Thanks, friends! Happy listening!”
“Lip Sync” plays over the speakers like an anthem.
“How did you do it?” I ask Griffin, now that we’re safely hidden behind the stage and the party has resumed beyond us. “How did you handle everything with FM Sound?”
“I followed you to Saks,” he confesses. “I can see your location, remember? It didn’t make sense that you’d be at Rodeo—I heard you tell my niece you hate it there—so I went to see what was up, and I saw you with Dana Hatton.
I got the whole interaction on video. Even though I knew it wouldn’t be enough to hurt FM Sound legally, it gave me the idea to check security footage at the Wentworth bar where she first approached you.
Then I realized she had to have done this kind of thing before, so I started digging, and I found other formerly signed artists that had also been threatened.
After that, I scheduled a meeting with Charles under the guise of normal work stuff, told him everything, and he got Glambam legal involved—on the downest of lows—and they sent FM Sound a very stern letter, some official legal thing that basically says ‘We have some pattern evidence and some footage that puts you in jeopardy and shows intent to do harm to our client, so if you make good on your threats you’re going to be in for a world of hurt.
’ Needless to say, FM Sound backed off. I mean, I don’t know for sure, because they obviously wouldn’t admit to anything, and no one from Glambam is allowed to talk to any of their executives in case things get messy, but the firm assured me and Charles both that the matter has been dealt with; FM Sound understands that the repercussions for defamation would not be worth keeping your masters over, and that any leak would make them subject to a thorough investigation, the news of which alone would badly taint their reputation even if it came up empty.
Only, it wouldn’t come up empty, considering an in-house investigation at Glambam helped us find a PR intern named Aiden with some very shady files and messages on his devices. ”
It takes me a minute to process all this.
Griffin did all this for me, and actually pulled it off? Charles went to bat for me too? Our careers are thriving and no one is going to try and take that away from us now? And …
“My masters,” I say. “How did you get my masters?”
“Glambam bought them, just like Charles said they would. No need to back off the purchase when the leverage against you had been neutralized. Turns out FM Sound still didn’t want to look bad by pulling them, either.”
I gape. “Okay. Wow. That’s … amazing. But … our new albums don’t release to the general public until midnight tonight. We don’t have sales numbers yet.”
“Glambam made the purchase early.”
“I … I don’t understand …”
Charles, who had just been chatting with an A quit fucking around and get those masters for her. ’” He shrugs. “So I did.”
“I don’t know what to say, Charles. Thank you. Thank you so much. You have no idea what it means to me.”
“Oh, I think I do know.”
Teary-eyed, I throw my arms around him. He’s stiff at first, like a man who doesn’t know how to act around an overly friendly kid, but then he softens and pats me on the back.
“Don’t get used to it,” he adds. “Come Monday, I’ll have to be demanding and inflexible again. Can’t have people thinking I’m not a hardass all the time.”
I pull back and smile. “Or you could just be yourself. It’s cliche, but … it’s nice to have nothing to hide.”
“Sure.” Charles laughs. “Maybe after Griffin’s rebrand, we can talk about mine.”
Griffin raises an eyebrow. “Do you mean that?”
“I do not. Now get the hell out of here, both of you. Who do you think this party’s for?”
Taking Griffin’s hand, we head back to the party. Halfway to the bar, I stop.
“Wait,” I say to him. “Aren’t we still sort of … lying to everyone? We stopped the leak, and we didn’t confess.”
He shakes his head. “The only lies are the ones we told ourselves. Like, ‘No, I’m not falling in love with Harmony,’ or ‘Griffin’s jokes aren’t the funniest I’ve ever heard.’”
I roll my eyes as he slips an arm around my waist and draws me up against him.
“In all seriousness,” he says, “I was never acting—except when I was trying to play it cool and not let on how much I wanted you.”
“I guess I wasn’t ever acting either.”
“Then there’s nothing left to confess.”
When he kisses me, it is once again the perfect lip sync, but more importantly, it’s the expression of two hearts in harmony.