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“You have three recording sessions next week; we’re hoping to have that song you recorded out as a single as soon as possible. The week after that, you’ll have a photoshoot for MusicLife magazine, and I’ve asked them to assign a stylist who... fits your personal fashion sense, shall we say.”
“So you’re not going to stick me in a sundress with a headscarf?” Mia said, looking relieved.
“Absolutely not!” said Harper. “You’re going to have input into what you wear for the shoot, and I know you’re fond of a more alternative style, so I’ll make sure we find someone to work with who understands that.”
Mia beamed, barely able to believe what she was hearing.
“It doesn’t end there,” said Deborah. “Harper called me a few days ago to ask for a minor favor. Two days after the photoshoot, the day before you’ll be featured in MusicLife, you’ll be the musical guest on Late Night Friday with Warren Murrey. The network has been looking for fresh talent to bring onstage, and Harper and I managed to convince them that you’d be a perfect fit.”
“Which you would be!” said Harper, squeezing Mia again.
Deborah continued.
“You’ll be doing a show at The Orchid immediately after, and we’ll have an after-party to celebrate once that’s done.”
Mia felt like she was floating. The Orchid was one of the most exclusive nightclubs in LA, with a waiting list for reservations a mile long and a VIP list that was nearly impossible to get on. The best of the best got to perform on its stage, and Mia was going to be one of them.
“This feels a little insane. It’s so much so soon, I really didn’t think I would ever get one of these opportunities, let alone all of them!” Mia was giddy, so obviously excited that when Esme came over with drinks for them she said,
“What’s gotten you so excited? Please don’t tell me you two are U-Hauling already, I can only handle so much.”
“They may as well be,” said Deborah. “These lovebirds are all excited for Mia’s big fixture on Late Night Friday.”
“Wait, how do you know?” Harper asked Esme suspiciously.
“I could tell from a mile off,” Esme said, shrugging. “Wait, Mia’s going to be on Late Night Friday?!”
“Like I said, subtle as a brick through a window,” joked Deborah. “Yeah, she is.”
“But honey, what are you going to wear?” asked Esme. “Showing up in a tartan skirt and fishnet top is all good here, but for national television?”
“I actually don’t know,” admitted Mia, looking to Harper. “Could you help me figure something out?”
“I’ll put you in contact with the stylist from MusicLife, they’re an absolute darling. They’ll help you put something together.”
“Thank you so much.” Mia felt like a golden light had planted itself in her chest. She was radiating excitement and began chatting to Esme about her options for styling.
“I can’t go out on national television looking basic, but if we’ll be travelling to The Orchid after I’ll need something pretty comfortable...”
“You’re playing The Orchid?!”
Harper seemed content to sit back and watch the two women excitedly discuss costuming options and looked over to Deborah, who was smiling to herself. Gently, Harper raised Mia’s hand to her mouth and kissed it. Turning to her, Mia mouthed, Thank you.
Harper, seemingly happy to drink in Mia’s overflowing joy, didn’t say anything at all.
9
“…That’s about all the time we have for tonight’s show, folks. Next week we’ll have Leon Addison in-studio talking about his recent Oscar win—yes, ladies, I’m excited too! We’ll also have Leah Braxton discussing her new novel, Death to the Wayside. Thank you so much to tonight’s incredible guests, our wonderful studio audience and thank you all so much for tuning in at home. No, really! To play us out this evening, Late Night Friday is proud to present the incredible Miss Mia Cortés!”
Standing off to the side of the stage, Harper mentally timed it. It only took thirty seconds of Mia’s voice being broadcast (taking the thirty-second delay into account) for her phone to start ringing.
Leaning out of an open fire escape, Harper took some deep breaths. She wasn’t going to lie, per se. Just drum up a little demand.
“Ah Mr. Johnson! How have you been, Stephen, how’s Anita doing? Well, we really appreciate the enthusiasm, but I’m afraid she’s fully booked for the next week. Yes, we would be available on the eighteenth but we would need a few days to make sure we could get all the resources for a show like that together...”
“Marie Andrews, as I live and breathe! Yes, it has been a while, how are—well, I’m sure she would be delighted to sing at the gala, but we would need at least a month’s notice. Yes, really, she already has a packed schedule, but I can talk to her about it, see if we can squeeze it in…”
“…Mr. Carpenter I’ve already told you, she’s fully booked. No, I’m afraid no amount of money will add extra days to the week—good day, Mr. Carpenter, talk to me like that again and I’ll put you in the kind of legal debt that requires selling a beach house. No, I am not ‘fucking with you’—who the hell do you think you’re talking to?”
