Page 138 of A Duet of Darkness and Dreams

“Right.”

“Like I toldyou the previous five times you’ve called, Mister Noblar, Mister Lewis isn’t available right now.”

“If he’s so unavailable, then how is he able to make final decisions on projects for his magazine without discussing them personally with the intern?”

She sighs into the speaker. “Again, Mister Lewis is a very busy man, and you should remember that before calling here again.”

The line goes dead and it takes all of my strength not to punch my fist through the greenroom wall.

“Still nothing?” Key asks.

I shake my head, looking around at my friends helplessly. After we got to the theater, we found Key and Joel passed out half naked on the couch with three girls who were also mostly naked. It took about fifteen minutes for everyone to get themselves decent and the girls to leave, then James filled them in on what happened while I calledEarworm.

“Maybeweshould all take a scandalous picture,” Joel says.

James throws up his hands. “How the fuck would that help?”

Joel shrugs. “I don’t know, man. Distract the masses with my giant dick?”

Key punches him in the arm. “You’re such a moron. We all know a naked picture of you would just embarrass the band.”

Joel flips him off and rubs his arm. “It was just a suggestion.”

“Wait,” I say, an idea forming in my head. “Maybe . . . Maybe Joel is on to something.”

“See?” Joel says, aggressively punching Key in the side.

“No, not us,” I say, a smile pulling on the corners of my lips. “That fucker who published the article.”

James frowns. “What are you talking about?”

My palms begin to sweat as the idea takes hold. I clap my hands together and bounce out of my seat. “I have—and, James, you’ll be happy about this—a nonviolent plan that will forever make that douchebag regret he evensawthat photo.”

When I openthe door to the motel room after rehearsal, I’m confused and surprised when I find Izzy sitting on the end of the bed with her suitcase.

“Hey,” I call out, closing the door behind me.

She looks up, her eyes still swollen despite her dry cheeks. “Hi,” she whispers.

“How are—actually maybe it’s a stupid question to ask, I know you’re not okay,” I say, walking over and sitting down next to her.

“It’s not stupid,” she says. “But you’re right. I’m not.”

I nod. For a moment, I consider telling her that I phonedEarworm Magazinea dozen times and nearly screamed at them half as many more, but it seems pointless. My eyes linger on the suitcase and my stomach tumbles.

“What’s with the bag?” I ask.

She takes a quick breath and looks away. “I’m going home.”

“Izzy, don’t leave. We’re all heading back on the bus after the Detroit shows this week anyway, just stay—”

“No, Dave, I mean . . . I’m going home. To Arizona. To my family.”

I lean back to look into her face. “What?”

“I just,” she starts, voice catching. “Maybe this isn’t what I’m meant to do.”

“Yes! It is. Izzy, we’re not giving up. You can’t let that asshole win.”

---