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“I’d like that,” she said, a bit quieter. “Oh, I can see the AT&T Building again! I can’t believe I didn’t notice the airport.”
They sat on the phone in silence for a few moments, staring at the same thing—the small but shining Nashville skyline. The AT&T Building dominated the view, but a handful of other buildings stretched into the sky. Nashville’s beauty wasn’t in the sky, though—it was on the ground, in the little ancient brick buildings with house bourbon and original hardwood stages. It wasn’t a thing like LA, where everything was clean and citrus and salt. Nashville was old in a way that made you want to settle into its woodwork just like the grit that never could be scrubbed away.
“Do you want to get breakfast?” Vivi asked. They were getting off the interstate now, drivers gently weaving down ramps so as not to jostle those sleeping in bunks.
“When?”
“Now.”
“Seriously?” Remy asked, stunned.
Vivi sighed and sounded like she could very easily be convinced this was a terrible idea. “If I want to go later, the whole security team will have to come, and there’ll be pictures and paps and…I don’t know. I just want to go to breakfast like a normal person, right now.”
Remy nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s go be normal, then.”
The buses turned left, and the arena—spaceship shaped and gray—loomed ahead of them in the dark. Police motorcycles were blocking the cross streets to allow them through; there wasn’t much point—there wasn’t a car in sight. Vivi’s bus pulled straight into the loading area; Remy’s pulled up directly beside it.
“Meet me here in five?” Vivi asked, sounding excited. Remy rose and looked out his window, trying to see into hers. It was all darkness and reflections until she suddenly flipped on the lights and came into view, standing, looking back at him. She was, as he’d guessed, wearing designer jeans and an artfully torn T-shirt. Her face was darkened a bit by the tint on the windows, but he squinted—she wasn’t wearing eyeliner or mascara, and it made her eyes look smaller but more like pinprick stars.
“Remy? Five minutes?” Vivi asked when he didn’t answer. Remy reached over and, without looking, flicked on his own light. Vivi smiled when he came into view.
He smiled back. “I’ll be there.”
***
“Here we go,” Vivi said warmly as a black SUV rolled up to her and Remy. They were standing on the curb outside the arena. The sky was still pitch-black, the world around them still, save the beeping of delivery trucks and the occasional whine of a police siren.
One of Vivi’s security guys was driving; he got out to hold the door open for Vivi, while Remy hurried around to the other side and got in on his own. Vivi had refreshed her makeup, and though she was wearing flat shoes, they were sparkly and had cherry-red soles that matched her lipstick. Remy, meanwhile, had hurriedly tried to flatten wrinkles out of a dress shirt and failed entirely, the finer points of wrinkle-free folding still a mystery to him.
“Loveless Cafe,” Vivi told him. “It’ll show up in the GPS. Thanks for driving us, Steve.”
“No problem, Miss Vivi,” Steve said. “They expecting you?”
“Yeah—Eddie should have called ahead. They won’t even be open, so it shouldn’t be a security problem.”
Steve nodded, pecked the name into his GPS, and they eased off. He turned the music up a bit, just enough that the car wasn’t awkwardly silent.
“They’re not open?” Remy asked.
“The cooks get there at two or three, though, since they make stuff that has to rise,” Vivi said reassuringly. Remy glanced at the clock—it was a quarter till four.
“They’re opening the restaurant for you,” Remy said, realizing.
“I’m Vivi Swan, remember? I’m the worst,” Vivi said, elbowing him playfully, and Remy snorted, shaking his head.
They wove back outside of Nashville, slicing through trees and squat buildings and massive houses on stately hills. The Loveless Cafe finally appeared, a restaurant built on the bones of an old, single-story hotel. The neon sign wasn’t on, but the lights inside were pouring out into the darkness like a beacon. Steve got the door for Vivi, leaving Remy to his own devices again. No sooner had his door slammed shut than a man in a nice shirt with a too-clean apron on appeared at the café door.
“Miss Swan,” he said warmly. “What a pleasure to have you again.”
Vivi walked forward in big, long steps. “Thanks so much for having us! I was afraid I wouldn’t get a chance to come by this trip.”
“Our pleasure. We’re here early anyhow,” he said, shaking her hand. He extended the same hand to Remy, smiling, face certain that this boy in the wrinkled shirt was every bit as important as Vivi.
“Remy Young,” he said.
“Michael Owens,” he—the manager, Remy reasoned—said.
“He’s a producer on my next single,” Vivi said swiftly.
