“For me?” I’m only half paying attention. The beets are a glorious purple red, and they’re calling my name. I grab a bundle of them and toss them into my bag with the romaine.
“You’re not going to believe this.”
She pauses for a moment, probably trying to build the suspense, but I’m already moving on, looking for the carrots I’ll need for my potato soup tonight.
“It was an agent . . . for Loaded God Complex.”
My search for the carrots stops abruptly.
Did I hear her right?
Loaded God Complex?
I know their music vaguely, just from hearing their songs on the radio during my commute to and from the concert hall. They’re a popular rock band with a lead singer who’s often on the front covers of those glossy magazines in the checkout lines.
“What do they want?” I ask, now standing stock-still in the middle of the aisle. A woman glares at me and wheels her cart around mine with a distinct air of frustration, and I quickly move to the side and out of the way.
“I don’t know. To talk to you, but they didn’t tell me what about. The agent gave me her number to give to you. Are you ready for it?”
“Oh, yeah, hang on.” I dig into my purse for a pen and an old business card from a lady who did my eyebrows once. “Go ahead.”
She reads off the number, and I jot it down, then slip the business card and pen back into my purse.
“Okay, thanks.”
“You’ll tell me what she has to say?” Meredith asks.
“Um, s-sure.”
She lets out an excited squeal, and then another phone rings somewhere behind her. “Hey, gotta go, but call her right away! Okay, bye!”
“Bye.”
The line clicks, and I stand there for a second, staring down at my phone in a stupor.
Loaded God Complex? Really? That can’t be right. Hopefully that isn’t right. What could they possibly want with a classical violinist?
I shove my phone back into my purse, then resume my search for the carrots, trying to put the whole thing out of my head for the time being.
BACK HOME, I UNLOAD THE groceries, crack open a coconut water, and stare at the number I jotted down on the business card.
This is just the agent, I remind myself. It’s not like I’ll be calling the band directly.
I’m the type of person who practices what I’m going to say to the guy at the curry restaurant before I call to place an order, but I have no idea what to expect with this phone call, no way to prepare for it.
I have to call though. Meredith will want to know what the agent had to say, and I am curious. How could I not be?
Taking a deep breath, I pick up my phone, dial the number, and double-check to make sure it’s right. Then I hit the call button, and my heart rate skyrockets.
It rings once, twice.
Maybe I’ll get to leave a message.
I love leaving messages. It’s so much easier than—
“Hi, this is Ashton Montgomery.”
My mouth goes dry. For a moment, I forget what I’m calling for. Then, pulling myself together, I stutter, “H-hi, my name’s Nora Miller. The LA Orchestra said—”
“Nora! Yes! God, I’m so glad you called.” Ashton’s voice is feminine and confident, and I can picture her walking on a treadmill while drinking a protein shake and making calls to all the big names in the industry. “I was at your concert last night, and that solo blew me away. God, I’m getting goose bumps just thinking about it.” She laughs, and I try to laugh too, but it sounds slightly forced, so I stop.
“Thank you,” I say, but I’m not sure what to say next, so I just leave it at that. This is usually where an awkward pause would happen, but Ashton jumps right in.
“So, here’s the thing. I work with Loaded God Complex, and we’re looking for a violinist to play strings on a new track. Hearing you last night, I think you’d be a perfect fit. You’d still need to come in and audition, of course, but the spot is as good as yours.”
She pauses, and maybe she thinks I’ll squeal or scream or faint or something, but I just sit there, mute, trying to process what she just said. After a moment, she laughs.
“Well, what do you think?”
What do I think? I don’t know what to think. My brain froze up as soon as she said “perfect fit.”
“You want me to play on the track?” I finally say, blinking as if coming out of a coma. “Are you sure?”
There’s that laugh again, so pretty and light and bubbly. I wish I laughed like that.
“I’m absolutely sure. But like I said, we’d need you to audition first. Would tomorrow work? Around noon?”
