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“What about you, Harper? Tell me something about you.”
“Well now, do you want the answer I give interviewers or the real me?”
Mia gave her a look.
“Alright, alright…but don’t go blabbing to the press. What can I say? I was raised by my mother and step-dad. The biological father ran off when he learned my mom was pregnant, the sweetheart, and my mom thought she was going to have to raise me herself. Luckily for her, a man in her team at the gallery she worked for had been crazy about her for years and they were already great friends, so a love blossomed between them naturally. On my birth certificate, I had my birth fathers name for all of a week before my mother had it scrapped and had my now step-father’s name added instead. His name was Lee Nightingale. My mother called me Harper after Harper Lee—she saw it as a sign that my step-dad was meant to be in my life because like in To Kill a Mockingbird, a white man proved he could be an ally to a black person and support them through everything. She also loved the idea of my surname being Nightingale as it made her think of Florence Nightingale and Maya Angelou, one a fierce woman pioneering her industry with her skill in a world dominated by men and the other who wrote about a caged bird and made people realize it had a voice.”
“Your family is deep.”
“We’re a family of artists, of course we are.”
The two women laughed again, and the lights dimmed further. A second spotlight clicked on from somewhere and showed a man next to the bar with a saxophone. The band didn’t stop, but their sound quietened to a sizzle of percussion and strings. Over the top of the gentle hissing of the snare, the saxophone weaved a solemn tune, one that told a story of loss but also the strength of the player’s heart and devotion to what he lost. Harper leaned forward throughout, barely aware of Mia for that short moment. The spotlights reflected in her eyes with a twinkle. This wasn’t just a job for Harper, Mia realized, music was love to her. She was one of the lucky few who got paid to be a part of what they loved and seeing this in her eyes made Mia start to wonder if Harper would let herself be loved in the same way.
Mia turned to the saxophonist now and tried to hear what Harper heard. She felt the pull of each note and heard the moments his breath strained over a breathy note, she saw the beads of water run down his cheek as he played, some rolled into the creases at his eyes, making Mia uncertain which were sweat and which might be tears. Her own eyes began to sting, uncertain whether from the smoke or the music, but as she held back tears of her own, she felt she understood what Harper was hearing.
“You know, your music could have the same power on people.”
“You think so?”
“It’s actually the reason I brought you here. If I wanted to take you on a swanky date, I could have gotten us a seat anywhere in Hollywood, but the blues is where most of modern music comes from and that soul seems to live in your voice…You could do great things with that ability.”
Mia took Harper’s hand in hers and brought it up to kiss the back of it.
“What was that for?”
“Because I wanted to. It’s hard to stay professional around you when you look at me that way.”
“Well, is it a problem if I like it when you’re not professional either?”
Mia laughed, “No, not a problem at all.”
The two women paused for a moment as the lights came back on a little and talk commenced properly again.
“God, I’m gonna need a drink or two if we are getting deep this early!”
Mia slapped her wrist but found the show of bravado endearing.
The food started arriving at the table and the lights turned up a fraction more. Mia could make out the plates now at the very least, but anything in a sauce just looked dark and mysterious. The smells that her nosed picked out seemingly easier in the dark were deep ginger notes and warm chili. She smelled mint from somewhere and the gamey juiciness of lamb along with the zest of lime and the air of something floral.
With the lights a little higher, a couple of people walked by the booth as the curtains were still open, all seemingly knowing Harper. She expertly briefly introduced Mia and gave a few pleasantries before signaling ever so politely that they should leave. As each one left, she would whisper who they were and a tiny secret about them all.
“He’s the owner of a big oil field in Texas; his hair is a toupee. She is trying to start a makeup brand from money she got from an accidental ginormous jackpot in Vegas, however she has had most of her makeup tattooed permanently on.”
Mia liked these quirky tidbits and felt as if Hollywood was finally accepting her and inviting her in. Suddenly an overly campy guy came over, talking louder than all the tables combined. Mia shrank in her seat in embarrassment.
“Oh my Goodness, Harper Nightingale! How are you? Where have you been hiding!”
“No way, I can’t believe it!” replied Harper, in a much more muted version of his excitement. She stood up and kissed him on both cheeks as he drew closer. “You know, the jetsetter life of Hollywood and all… How about you, what are you doing these days?”
“Urgh, I hate you, you bitch!” They both laughed and Harper slapped his arm. “You know, same old, same old—being everyone’s little runner between sets even though I’m meant to be a producer… Honestly Har, if I’d have known what a pain in the ass being a producer would be, I would’ve stuck to directing pornos.”
“Well, that job only sounded fun for the first few weeks.”
“You’re not wrong there, once you’ve seen one schlong, you’ve seen them all!”
Mia wanted to die at how loud this guy spoke, several shadows looked as though they turned their heads at the shouting of the word schlong… Who even called them that?
“I wouldn’t know,” joked Harper, and they both laughed again.
