Franny stopped in front of a two-story, white-framed house. Students swarmed the yard and front porch, and the Black Eyed Peas boomed through open windows. “Do you have a fake?”
Reese showed Franny the ID she’d purchased online over the summer. “I’ve never used it, though. Going to bars isn’t my thing.”
“This is a good one,” Franny said, studying the Georgia driver’s license. “You don’t want to lose it.” She gave the card back to Reese. “This house gets raided at least once a week. Don’t freak out if the police come. Just stick with me. I know the back way to campus.”
Reese gulped. Her parents would be mad as hell if she got in trouble with the police.
“Come on. Follow me.” Taking her by the hand, Franny led her up the porch steps. The house smelled of weed and stale beer as they made their way through the living room to the kitchen. When they exited the back door, Reese heard the band’s muffled thumping coming from inside a nearby detached garage.
Franny pounded on the garage’s side door, and a muscular mountain of a black man answered. When he saw Franny, he stepped out of the way to let them in.
“Noah, meet my friend Reese,” Franny said in a voice loud enough to be heard over the band.
Noah waved at Reese and she waved back.
Franny whispered loudly in her ear, “The guys don’t like to be disturbed while they’re practicing. They pay Noah to keep everyone out.”
Reese signified she understood with a thumbs-up. Franny grabbed two beers from a nearby cooler, handing one to Reese, and they went to stand in front of the band. Three guys with surfer-boy good looks—shoulder-length hair bleached and skin still golden from the summer sun—were jamming out to a Led Zeppelin song Reese recognized, but couldn’t recall the title.
Franny yelled, “That’s Pete on guitar with the baby face. Benny on bass with the bright-blue eyes. And Trey’s the drop-dead gorgeous one on the drums. His real name is Walker Preston McDaniel the third, but they call him Trey, as in the French pronunciation of the number three but spelled T-r-e-y. He’s the one from DC.”
When the song ended, Pete moved to the edge of the makeshift stage. “What say, Franny?” he asked with a gentle smile. “Is this the friend you were telling me about?”
Franny nodded and provided introductions.
Pete said, “Sing for us, Reese. Anything you’re in the mood for?”
Reese thought about what Professor Hunter had said earlier. I’d like to see you try some music from contemporary artists like Mariah Carey. “How about “Hello” by Adele?” She’d won the talent competition her junior year in high school with this selection, but the disappointed faces on the band members told her she’d made the wrong choice.
To his credit and her relief, Pete did not complain. “Adele it is,” he said, and offered her a hand onto the stage.
She found her way to the microphone and had only sung three lines of lyrics when Benny interrupted her. “No offense, babe, but I’m not feeling it. Do you have anything else for us?”
Panic gripped her chest, and her gaze shifted to Franny.
“Repeat your performance from class,” Franny said with an encouraging nod.
Strumming a few chords, Reese turned around to face the band, saying Tina Turner’s “Proud Mary” opener, “Every now and then, I kind of like to do something nice and easy.”
The three guys hooped, and Benny hollered, “Now we’re talking!”
Relaxing, she settled into her groove with the band. Near the end of her song, Franny jumped up on stage, and for the next hour, they rocked out.
Trey approached her afterward with an ice-cold beer. “That was fun,” he said, clinking her bottle.
“A lot of fun,” she agreed, taking a tentative sip of beer. Reese had never cared much for beer, but it tasted better coming from him.
He pointed his beer bottle at her. “You have a large voice for a little girl. Do you mind if I ask why you picked Adele to start?”
“I don’t know. Doesn’t everyone love Adele?”
His smile was both teasing and condescending. “No, Reese. Not everyone loves Adele. What’s the real reason you picked it?”
“Professor Hunter suggested I try more contemporary music.”
He slapped his thigh. “I was right. We’ve all heard the same thing from Hunter. Did he give you the Step-Outside-Your-Box speech?”
Reese laughed. “Pretty much, yeah.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I have great respect for Professor Hunter. And you should totally experiment in other genres. But, first and foremost, you should always remain true to yourself. Especially when you have an opportunity to sing to a new audience. You killed it up there tonight.”
Except that I wasn’t myself. I was impersonating Tina Turner.
He stood so close, the heat from his body made Reese feel lightheaded. Trey wasn’t like the good-looking boys she’d known in high school. He was handsome in a manly way with a square face and eyes the color of the brandy her father liked to drink after meals on special occasions.
“I have higher aspirations than being a wedding singer,” Reese said.
“Trust me, Reese. You have more soul than any wedding singer I’ve ever heard.”
“My goal is to one day perform my own music.” She’d never told anyone that before. Something about him made her feel she could trust him.
“Cool! Have you written any songs?”
“A whole notebook full of them,” Reese said, holding her head a little higher.
“I’d like to hear them. Why don’t you bring them with you the next time you come?”
Reese’s heart skipped a beat at the thought of next time. More than anything, she wanted there to be a next time.
Maggie
Maggie spends her first three days in Richmond settling into her new home and familiarizing herself with the neighborhood. In the frigid predawn hours before the streets become congested with morning traffic, Maggie, dressed in layers of sports apparel with her hair in a single braid down her back and a pink fleece beanie on her head, jogs over to Franklin Street, down to the state capitol, and back up Main Street through Monroe Park.
After showering and dressing, she walks three blocks to the neighboring campus of VCU—Virginia Commonwealth University. Maggie has tried a few of the many coffee shops and quaint restaurants, but she prefers the no-frills homey feel of the Village Cafe. She spends her mornings and early afternoons in a window booth, sipping steaming mugs of coffee while researching local news stories on her laptop in preparation for her job interview with the local ABC affiliate at the end of the week.
Eric comes home late most nights. The scope of the outdoor shopping center project he’s working on has grown, demanding more of his time than he originally anticipated. Maggie is proud of him for working so hard and has dinner waiting for him when he gets home, which sometimes isn’t until nearly nine o’clock. He tells her about his day, and she talks on about her upcoming interview. They have multiple discussions about the types of cars she wants to test drive when they go shopping on Saturday.
By the time Friday rolls around, Maggie feels as ready as she’ll ever be for her interview. She’s confident she can at least improvise her way through any question asked of her. Because this job is important to her, she’s still nervous and her hands shake as she fastens her hair into a low bun. Maggie prefers timeless clothing tailored from fine fabrics, which she purchases on sale at upscale designer boutiques. For her interview of a lifetime, she chooses a traditionally cut, charcoal-gray Armani pants suit and a cream-colored silk blouse with low-heeled black pumps. Seeing her professionally elegant reflection in the full-length mirror gives her a boost of confidence.