He smiles at me then. “No, it wasn’t all bad. I learnt a lot. I feel … in a better position to really steer a ship so it can stay on the right path, if you catch my drift.”
“I catch your drift.” I smile with him. “You really want to change the world, huh?”
He nods a few times before responding. “I think so. And by the looks of it, so do you.”
I hold his gaze, but then wipe the smile off my face. “Right now,” I sigh, “I just want Pia to get here.”
“I know,” Kevin says, and his eyes go unusually soft. “I’m pretty sure that’s all she wants, too. And if there’s one thing I know about Pia Lindberg?—”
“She always gets what she wants,” I finish for him.
CHAPTER 43
PIA
“Go, Pia, go!” Martin barks at me as we pull up to the stage door. Mickey is there, waiting, and as soon as my feet hit the ground, he has a hand on my elbow. Taking long strides, he ushers me through the throng of photographers and fans and straight inside the back entrance of Shrine Auditorium.
“Your dressing room is this way,” he says, still with a firm grip on my arm.
“How long do I have?” I ask, thinking maybe I should ditch getting changed and just go on like this, in jeans and one of Cassie’s sweaters I stole. Even though I haven’t washed it since I took it because I wanted to savour every last possible atom of her scent.
“You have about fifteen minutes,” he says, glancing at his watch.
“Okay, I can work with that,” I tell him and myself.
“Hair and make-up are already there, waiting.”
“And Cassie?” I say, and that has his head swinging back to me.
“I … I don’t know,” he says with a small frown. “But I assume she’ll see you on stage.”
“Oh,” I say, disappointment heavy in my stomach. “Fine.”
“Do you need me to get a message to her?” he asks, and I wonder how much he knows. I wonder how much anybody who works behind the scenes knows. In that moment, Iwanthim to know.
“Yes, please,” I say, and then we’re at my dressing room door and he’s holding it open. I stop before stepping inside because I know as soon as I do I’ll be getting poked and prodded by hair and make-up. “Tell her I’m here. That I’m sorry I’m late. And I can’t wait to sing with her on that stage.”
Mickey nods. “Roger that.”
“Oh, and do you know where we’ll be sitting in the auditorium?”
Confusion flashes across his face. “Well, you’re sitting on a table with Martin and the rest of Femme Fatale,” he says. “I … I don’t know about Cassie.”
“Right,” I say, hoping he doesn’t see just how foolish I feel for thinking, no,assumingthat Cassie and I would be sitting together. Because why would they sit two rivals next to each other, even if they are in the running for an award together?
“Okay, thanks Mickey,” I say, and then I head inside to the chaos.
Much to everybody’s surprise, I’m ready before the knock on my door. So ready that it’s me who answers the door to the shocked-looking stagehand who then leads me to the performance area.
As we move through the burrow that is backstage, I am oblivious to the noise and movement around. There are people everywhere. Some call out my name, a few reach out a hand to touch me, others no doubt give me a wide berth or a heavy scowl. But I don’t notice any of them. My focus is on the back of the stagehand’s head because that is the person who is leading me to Cassie.
We come to a standstill on the side of the stage, hidden by thick curtains made of red velvet. Lots of people are busy on the still-hidden stage, setting up two microphones on a small circular platform, and someone else comes up to me with an earpiece in their hands. He instinctively goes for my left ear, which is closest to him, but I stop him, reveal my hearing aid by pulling back my hair, and then offer him my right ear. I don’t look at him to see what he thinks of this. I don’t give a crap. It’s made my life infinitely easier, and fuck anyone who tries to make me feel shame for that.
As the man fiddles with my earpiece and receiver, I take a moment to check my dress, a short black mini dress covered in silver spikes that I had specially designed. You might choose to describe the silver metal spikes as a kind of armour, or a weapon of sorts. Maybe, yes, it is protection. Or maybe it’s just a fuck-off dress, because I believe every woman needs one of those.
And yes, I absolutely plan to take it off as soon as Cassie and I are alone.
Once the person fitting my earpiece has finished, I look around, searching.