Сара Пинскер - A Song for a New Day

“Yeah, so, I found Luce Cannon. She’s playing here, under a different band name. She’s amazing.”

“Saving the best for last, huh? Wow. Nice job, Rosemary.” The management avatar shimmered a bit, like it was vibrating with excitement. “That was a killer song. We can build a whole mystique around her, like ‘whatever happened to… ?’ Then a rediscovery special, emphasize how she hasn’t played or released a song in years.”

“She has, though. Twice a week, every week, practically. She’s put out a ton of music on some weird platform.”

He wasn’t listening to her. “Not with us or anyplace else that matters. How do we reach her? And the rest of the bands you found?”

She hesitated. It felt wrong to make this connection without giving the musicians a heads-up, and she hadn’t collected contact info for any of them yet. A little lie wouldn’t hurt.

“Uh, most of them are noncomm. Do you know what that is?”

He sighed. “A pain in the ass. Why do they always have to be noncomm? Alright. You’re authorized to offer an audition to any of the rest, as long as you connect us with Luce Cannon. She’s a done deal. Tell the rest they have to un-noncomm long enough to talk to us, if they’re interested. Once you’ve signed them they have to borrow a phone, borrow a Hoodie, whatever it takes to get them in contact with Logistics. Do you have any videos?”

“A couple.” She sent them his way.

“Thanks. We’ll review those, but we assume they’ll back up what you’ve already said. Make sure they know we may have to discuss other band names for, oh, probably all of them. The Coffee Cake Situation. Saints preserve.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she stayed silent.

“Good job, Rosemary. We look forward to getting those contacts in the next few days.”

“How soon?” A new panic gripped her. She’d expected weeks to figure out how to make the approach.

“By the end of this weekend.” He paused, went still. Probably consulting with someone else. “Yeah. Tell them they have to give us a decision by the end of the weekend. No point in giving them longer.”

“Shouldn’t I have seen them each a few more times, though?”

“Do you think you need more time? Your descriptions make it sound like you’ve got a good handle on it already.”

The edge in his voice made her think more time was not advisable. “No, this weekend’s fine. Thank you for your trust.”

“We were surprised when you picked Baltimore. Most people pick something close to their home region for their first time out. This is better than expected.”

When the connection terminated and the grass faded from view, she was left with all the questions she hadn’t been willing to pose. How was she supposed to approach everyone by the weekend? What music had she missed in her own “home region”? Not to mention she no longer understood why anyone stayed in said home region when they had the option of going almost anywhere.

The bassist for the band that had been Aran Randall’s original Patent Medicine, the Handsome Mosquitoes, had said at the diner that they all worked on Thursdays, and the singer had worn a T-shirt for Blackner’s Lumber & Salvage, an odd thing to advertise if you weren’t an employee. An odd thing to wear for a rock show, really, unless maybe there was a point where you were cool enough that whatever you wore was cool by default. Or maybe it wasn’t strange at all, and she still didn’t know the rules, which was a distinct possibility. Rosemary looked up the location, which turned out to be a mile west of her hotel. The day looked inviting from her vantage point in the sky, and she decided to walk.

Walking made her wish she knew more about Baltimore. She’d chosen it based on Aran’s suggestion without researching further. She knew it had been a significant city at several points in history, but she couldn’t dredge up the whys from high school. Strolling the wide sidewalk, waving back to strangers who sat on their stoops, she wished she remembered the details. The picture in her head was so different from this friendly place. It had been put there by her parents and teachers, and it was nothing like reality.

She hadn’t caught the singer’s name, so she wound up asking if a tall, good-looking blond guy worked there, which won her a knowing look from the cashier. “If you want my advice, forget him. He’s a player. You’re not the first one to come here, though you’re not his usual type.”

Color rose to Rosemary’s cheeks. “No! I’m not… I just need to talk with him.”

Another look told her the cashier didn’t buy it, but she pressed an intercom button below her register and paged Josh diSouza. Rosemary stood awkwardly to the side, willing the other woman not to tell her any more. How awkward would it be if the person paged didn’t turn out to be him? Sorry, didn’t mean to bother you, but I hear you’re a hit with the ladies.

She was relieved when the tall blond guy walking from the back was the right tall blond guy. He wore the same T-shirt, or an identical one, and there were wood shavings in his tangled hair.

He glared at the cashier, then appraised Rosemary. “Do I know you?”

She spoke low, in case his band was a secret. “My name is Rosemary Laws. I was at your show last night, and then at the Heatwave. I hung out with the other guys from your band, but you’d left already, I think.”

He took her elbow, his grasp firm but not rough; it didn’t lend a favorable impression, since she hadn’t given him permission to touch her. He led her to an area that was outdoors but fenced in. She’d never been in a lumberyard, but she liked the sweet piney scent, the sawdust underfoot. It reminded her of her family’s barn.

“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t usually talk music here. How can I help you?”

“I’ve got a proposition for you. For your band, I mean. I didn’t know how to find the other guys.”

He sat on a stack of pallets and gestured for her to do the same. “A proposition.”

“Yeah. I… Are you familiar with StageHoloLive?”

“Of course.”

“I’m a… They call us artist recruiters. I travel the country looking for bands to bring into the SHL family.” After all the times she had practiced this in her head, it proved remarkably easy to say, at least to this guy. Maybe because she hadn’t talked to him before, so she hadn’t yet presented herself as anything else to him. Easier, too, to pretend he wasn’t the first one she had ever attempted to recruit. “I think you guys are the complete package, and I’m authorized to offer you a chance to audition for my bosses.”

“You’re kidding.” He stared at her. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Can I, uh, two of the other guys work here as well. That’s how I met them. Can I bring them in on this conversation? You’re making this offer to all of us, not only me?” He had gone from confident to all nerves.

“All of you. I know what happened with Patent Medicine.”

He looked relieved. “Be right back.”

She waited. Rosemary imagined herself vacuuming up all his confidence to use for her own. The power position.

He returned a moment later with the bassist, the one who had offered his flask the night before, and the octopus-drummer. Kenny and Marcus, if she remembered. Kenny looked entirely changed from the diner, his body language closed off, scarred arms folded across his chest. The drummer looked a little less tightly wound, but no less wary.

“You?” asked Kenny. “I shared my flask with you. Luce said you were cool.”

“Easy, Kenny,” said Marcus. “She never lied. We didn’t ask her what had brought her here, or what she did for a living.”