May 8
Dear Journal,
So the wonderful man who is currently snoring across the room helped me put together a portfolio. So far I have several pages for each band member and a backstage section and one for live in concert. I also have a folder full of clips and photos that I can use later. We had to sort out the good from the bad, such as me ass-planting on the stage—I didn’t realize I’d taken a picture on the way down. Haha! And all of the incriminating stuff they don’t want in the book? I’ve hidden that away. There’s a lot of it. There’s actually more of that kind of material than stuff I can use. But that’s okay; no one has to know but me. Susan can gloat that it seems like I haven’t gotten much work done this week. I don’t care. If the finished product is garbage—and I guarantee it won’t be—then she can complain. Until then she can shut the fuck up.
Wow. Not sure where all this anger is coming from. I guess the high from smoking pot wears off quickly. Logan talked me into smoking a little. I don’t think I’ll do it again. It wasn’t as fun as I thought it would be. But food does taste really good. All I wanted to do was eat and lounge around. It was a good way to unwind after finishing the portfolio. And the sex afterwards was as good as always, but Logan fell asleep right after. He’s usually good to a go a few times before he crashes. I think he does need these off days to unwind.
The guys were great about answering Susan’s questions. They passed my laptop around and filled in the blanks as we drove from Salt Lake to Denver. I honestly can’t believe how good they are to me. I thought they’d treat me cordially at best or disdainfully at worst, but they make me feel like I’m a part of their group. Reagan says we’re going to go clothes shopping when we’re in New Orleans next week. I wonder if that’s her way of politely saying my wardrobe sucks.
Well, I’d better head to bed. Not sure if I’ll be able to sleep. I’m still a little worried that Mom will say I haven’t done enough work and let Susan take my place. I’m not sure how I’ll handle that situation. I’m not ready to leave yet. Those feelings have a lot to do with the job, but much more to do with Logan. Eventually this job will end and then what? Do we go our separate ways?
I don’t want to think about it today.
And unlike Scarlett O’Hara, I don’t want to think about it tomorrow either.
Good night. Wish me luck!
Toni
Twenty-Six
Toni answered her phone, glad it was her mother’s name on caller ID and not Susan. She had her presentation ready to go, but she was not ready to face the woman.
“We’re down in the lobby,” Mom said. “Why don’t you come meet us for breakfast?”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
Logan rubbed at the tension knot between her shoulders. “Your editor?”
Toni shook her head. “My mother. She wants me to come down for breakfast.”
“Am I invited?” Logan asked.
Toni smiled. “Do you want to be invited?”
“I’m not sure. Is she going to rip my balls off, toss them on the floor, and stomp on them?”
Toni covered his crotch with a hand. “I’ll protect you from her wrath.”
He laughed and kissed her cheek. “Just let me get my shoes.”
When they reached the hotel lobby a few minutes later, Toni didn’t have to bother searching the expansive area for her party. Birdie’s loud mantra of “Toni, Toni, Toni!” immediately alerted her to her mother and sister’s location.
She took a few steps in that direction, very conscious of the fact that her hand, which Logan was gripping rather tightly, was suddenly damp. She wasn’t sure if it was her nervousness or Logan’s resulting in a sweaty palm, but she didn’t have long to ponder it as Birdie dashed across the lobby and threw her arms around her waist, squeezing her breathless.
“Oh, Toni! I miss you. I miss you so much.”
“I miss you too, Buttercup,” Toni said, releasing Logan’s hand so she could give her sister a proper hug. Birdie tilted her face up to grin that winning smile of hers at Toni. Toni couldn’t help but smile back and give one of her light brown pigtails an affectionate tug. Birdie had a smudge of what was probably chocolate at the corner of her mouth, which Toni took to cleaning with her spit-moistened thumb. Birdie didn’t protest. She was used to Toni cleaning her face with spit. And tissues. And hems of T-shirts. The occasional dish towel.
Mom followed at a more socially appropriate pace. In heels and an expensive navy-blue pantsuit, she looked as well put together as she always did. Her silver hair was cut in a smart bob, and even in her midfifties, she was still turning heads.
When she reached the small group, she touched Toni’s shoulder and leaned in to kiss her cheek. Her gaze, however, was trained on the gorgeous man standing just behind Toni.
“You look familiar,” Mom said to Logan.
“He’s a rock star,” Birdie said helpfully. “But not the pretty one.”
Toni chuckled. When Toni had explained to Birdie why she was leaving for a while, she’d given Birdie a picture of Exodus End to familiarize her with the reason she was going. Birdie had immediately taken to Steve, who had long hair and thus was pretty.
“You don’t think I’m pretty?” Logan fluttered his eyelashes at her.
Birdie tucked in her chin and appraised him closely. “No. You’re a boy.”
“Steve is a boy too,” Toni said.
Birdie scowled as she tried to assimilate this information into her ideas of boys and girls.
“Don’t worry about it,” Logan said. “I mistake him for a girl all the time.”
Birdie beamed at him and took his hand in both of hers, instantly finding a new friend. “You are so funny.”
“So which one are you?” Mom asked.
Logan gave one of Birdie’s pigtails a tug—which made her giggle—and then lifted his gaze to Mom’s curious stare.
“I’m just the bassist,” Logan said with a heartthrob of a grin.
“This is Logan Schmidt,” Toni said. “This is my mother, Eloise Nichols, and my little sister, Bernadette.”
“Birdie!” Birdie corrected, staring up at Logan worshipfully. “I can’t say Birdadent right.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Nichols,” Logan said, lifting his left hand for a shake since Birdie was gripping his right. “And Birdadent.” He tugged her pigtail again.
Watching him interact with Birdie had Toni melting into a puddle of sentimental goo. So many people tried to ignore her because they were uncomfortable with her condition, but he’d already won Birdie’s heart. And her big sister’s too.
“You said it wrong,” Birdie said.
“That’s a hard name to say,” Logan said. “I think Birdie suits you better anyway. Can you whistle like a bird?”
Logan whistled a tune. And Birdie rounded her mouth and blew soundless air.
“Let’s go find a seat in the dining room,” Mom said. They turned in the direction of delicious breakfast smells—bacon, sausage, biscuits, and cinnamon.
Logan and Birdie ambled ahead, Logan offering instructions on whistling, Birdie too happy for his attention to get frustrated that it didn’t come easy for her.
“Are you seeing that man?” Mom asked, nodding in Logan’s direction.
“Sort of,” Toni said, realizing too late that she wasn’t prepared to answer questions about her undefined relationship with Logan.
“Does he have a degree?”
“You mean, like, college?”
“That’s exactly what I, like, mean.”
Toni resisted the urge to cringe. She’d been hanging around normal people too long. Her use of language had already slipped and her mother—being the CEO of a publishing company and having a Ph.D. in literature and a bachelor’s degree in English—had always been a stickler for the use of proper grammar. Like was like her least favorite modifier ever.