I look up at Brando’s sympathetic eyes.
“He’s an asshole, right?”
Brando nods regretfully.
“I’m sorry. He kind of is. Do you think you’d ever want to meet him?”
“You know,” I say, taking Brando’s hand and leading him over to the couch, where we both drop ourselves next to each other, “it’s funny. Before all of this, the records, the tour, you, I would have done anything just to speak to him one time. Anything. But now…I dunno. I don’t really care. It is what it is, and I’m done pushing to change it.”
Brando smiles warmly as he brushes my hair back, his big, bloody arm stretched across the back of the couch.
“Maybe now that you’ve done so much on your own, you realize that you don’t need anyone else,” he says.
I laugh, and rub a hand up his thigh affectionately.
“None of that is true. I didn’t do it alone. And I definitely need a certain someone,” I say, my tongue on my teeth. “Rowland called me while you were gone. Told me that I’ve pretty much been dropped already – a ‘clean break,’ as he put it.”
“So we’re back to square one,” Brando says, grinning as he shuffles a little closer.
“We did it before though, didn’t we?”
“And this time we have a whole album.”
I sigh. “No we don’t. Majestic paid for the studio time – and for Josh. The album’s theirs.”
Brando’s brow creases. “Have they heard any of the songs?”
I shake my head. “No. They weren’t quite done yet.”
“Right.” He pauses, thinking. “Don’t forget, I’m the one who managed you for Majestic. They only paid for your studio time, nothing else. They’re only interested in finished products, and up until that point, they don’t care – for better and for worse. If I know Josh, he’s keeping those master tapes close to his chest, and he’d sooner burn them than hand them over to a label and screw an artist over.”
As I process Brando’s words, it starts to dawn on me. I’m not as screwed as I thought. “So does this mean … we can still release it ourselves?”
“Right,” Brando says, as his hand curls around my waist. “Just you and me again.”
“Oh my God! This is amazing!” I can’t help squealing as I climb up into Brando’s lap. “Do you still have that video camera?” I whisper huskily as I press my cheek against his.
“That depends on what you want it for,” Brando says, his voice soft in my ear. “Is this about music, or about us?”
“Oh, this time it’s about us. Absolutely.”
Epilogue
Brando
Even though we’re sitting in an auditorium of thousands, even though the biggest musicians in the world are here, even though there are cameras everywhere, even though I’ve been in this situation many times, I can’t take my eyes away from Haley sitting next to me.
Tonight, she’s ditched the leather jacket and tight black jeans for a slim-fitting, light blue dress that makes her look hot in a way I’ve never seen before, and which is driving me crazy with lust. She even wore her wild, crazy hair up tonight. I never thought I’d see her do that, but then again, this is the Grammys.
I pretend to pay attention to the stage a little more, but as soon as the audience starts clapping I push my hand toward the slit in her dress, fingers venturing between soft silk and even softer skin.
Haley pulls my hand away and continues clapping. Out of the corner of her mouth, barely moving her lips lest a camera settle on her, she speaks to me.
“Brando, I’m going to kill you when we get out of here!”
“I know,” I say, without trying to hide it, “and that dress is already torturing me.”
The clapping stops and the host cranks up into another introduction.
I turn from Haley to my other side, where Jax and Lizzie are sitting. The seats were reserved for Haley’s mom and Josh, but I should have known both of them would rather watch the Grammys on TV than attend it.
“Thanks for coming at such short notice, both of you.”
“Are you kidding?” Lizzie says, leaning across Jax. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world. I’m probably more excited than Haley!”
“You’ve come a long way, dude,” Jax adds, nodding slightly.
“It feels like we’re just starting.”
Jax and Lizzie look at each other, their eyes seeming to bounce light off each other.
“It always does,” Jax says.
Haley grabs my hand and squeezes it so hard I feel like she’s going to tear it off. I turn back toward her.
“I’m so fucking nervous,” she says with her weird, side-mouth, gritted-teeth ventriloquist’s smile.
It’s been a fast year. A roller coaster. And it still feels like we’re accelerating, pinned to our chairs at the Grammys, wondering how many more thrilling drops there are going to be. Even when I was hustling on the streets, things weren’t as hectic as managing Haley – if I can even call it management. Everything she’s touched has spun wildly out of control, beyond either of our expectations. It’s like watching a butterfly wing’s flap turn into a tornado before our very eyes.
Once the label dropped Haley, and Rex Bentley answered a question about their kinship with a ‘Haley Who?’ followed by saying he was ‘flattered, but clean enough during the eighties to remember something like that,’ we were in freefall for a while. Haley put the finishing touches on the album at Josh’s own house, while I set up a new independent label of my own (and managed to sign the band that covered for her in New York).
We put the album out, and another single using some cobbled-together footage of her in the studio and on tour. Then we took a long-needed weekend away at her mom’s (I found her mom’s album, eventually, using an old connection in New York – so that’s one parent who approves of me at least). On the Monday after, we returned to LA and turned our phones back on. That’s when we saw the record had gone gold. A few months later, it went platinum.
“Relax,” I urge her, leaning over. “You’re going to win. I just know you will.”
“That’s what I’m fucking nervous about!”
“You’ll be fine. Just don’t think too much about it.”
“I’m gonna stumble on the steps, I just know it! And I’m gonna sound so dumb during the speech. I’ll probably wet myself while I’m up there.”
As people start clapping wildly again, I put my hand on Haley’s cheek, and bring her face around to look at me.
“Haley, when you get up there, just find me, and keep your eyes on me. Okay? It’s just you and me – like always. Remember the showcase?”
“Of course.”
“Just like that.”
As if on cue, the clapping stops, and the host begins ramping up to one of Haley’s categories: Best New Artist.
After an intro that seems to go on forever, another singer coming on stage to present the award, a video reel of the nominations, and some more blather, the red envelope appears – and Haley crushes my hands with a strength that could crack a walnut.
“And so … the winner for Best New Artist is…” I hold my breath as the tuxedo-wearing host fumbles with the paper, and somehow feel like I’m about to suffocate when he finally calls out, “Haley Grace Cooke!”
We stand up and tightly clutch each other. I can feel the electric energy of Haley’s excitement emanating from her. She kisses me quickly, and exchanges a couple of quick hugs with Jax and Lizzie, before stepping out into the aisle and making her way to the stairs without a single misstep. I clap, almost absent-minded as I watch her. Haley is more beautiful than all the girls here combined, worth more than any award can truly show, stronger than anybody else in this entire auditorium will ever know. The audience goes wild with hooting and clapping, it sounds like the entire world is admiring her, and it’s still less than she deserves. I watch her take the final, last step and sigh with relief. I feel proud, and lucky, and like a miracle happened to put her in my life, to make her mine.