Page 97 of Crescendo

“Mm-hm. I’m sure I’ve earned it. How come?”

“You’re spending too much time with your girlfriend and not talking to me!” She leaned back in her chair—back in her own home, at least, and not bugging Melinda again. I guess Melinda really was in the middle of serious work. Natália didn’t look too good, herself, her eyes tired. “I’ve been pissed off because of Brett Downing still havingbig creative visionsabout this stupid scene and the deadlines are gettingreallytight and the only person I have to complain to is Meli, and… and… one person is not enough to bear the load of my complaining!”

“Natália, it’s only been two days since I saw you.”

She glowered at me before she crammed another ball of cheesy bready carbohydrates into her mouth and talked through it. “Okay, fine,” she muttered. “I’m just mad because he told meoff earlier today. Treating me like a little kid, inexperienced and stupid, and wanted to micromanage every part of this, and he doesn’t like the song, and it’s making me want to scream.”

“He still threw it back in your face after the latest round of revisions?”

She nodded gravely. “He said it’s missing character.”

“Missing character?” I snorted, shaking my head. Maybe I was just getting in Natália’s way. Maybe she was just having a difficult interaction with a difficult client, like every musician did at some point, and I was taking the experience away from her trying to step in and fix it when I didn’t even know how to compose in the first place. “What a jackass. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Me neither,” I admitted, which felt scarier than it should have. “Honestly, I’m kind of stuck with this dickwad. Have you been able to talk to anybody else around him, see if better sense prevails on anybody else’s front?”

“I tried. The director trusts his word on all this. You know—Brett worked with the original series author so much that they see him as above reproach. It’s fucking stupid.”

“Ugh… I’m sorry, Natália. I genuinely don’t know. I’ve put all I can into helping with this piece, and I don’t know what else it needs.Character.I don’t get it.”

Her face said outright despair, a hand to her temple. “Ifyoudon’t know what to do, how amIgoing to figure it out?”

“I’m nothing that special. You’ve got your own set of talents that are completely separate from mine.”

“Cala a boca, caralho. You are something special. You’re Lydia Howard Fox. Meu Deus.”

“And you’re Natália Torres. I don’t doubt for a secondyouhave it inside you to make something that’s just right. You just have to… you just have to love the art. Ifyoulove what you’re making, it’ll work.”

Her face crumpled. “I don’t know… I don’t know how to love what I’m making. I did for most of this project! But people telling you that you suck gets into your head.”

“It does. Yeah. But you don’t suck.” I paused. “If Melinda’s been telling you that you suck, let me know and I’ll fly over there to kill her right now.”

Natália laughed, some light coming back into her eyes. “Meli would never! She’s like a little angel.”

“In that she makes you drinks.”

“And I make her brigadeiros. It’s perfect.”

“Well, know that no matter what anybody says, I have never doubted you for one second, not since the day I first heard your music. So if Melinda believes in you too—which she’d better—then Brett’s outvoted two to one.”

She gave me a big, sappy smile. “This is why you need to call me more often! I feel better when you do.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” I laughed. “We’ve been working together on this a lot, but I might not have the answer. Go give it your own best shot. I’m excited to see what you come up with.”

“I’ll try. Okay,” she said, looking up, “I gotta go! Something’s come up! I’ll talk to you later! Beijinhos!”

“Oh—all right. Bye then,” I said, and she went to hit the end call button and missed, dropping the phone on the table and scooching her chair, getting up. Not in a million years could I have predicted the stomach-dropping horror of what came next, though, the part I had an unintended audience to, and that was Natália lighting up and saying,

“Hi, baby!”

She pushed around the table, and I thought I’d throw up when I heard Melinda’s voice as the one to respond. “Hey, hot stuff,” she said, her voice drifting from the background as I heard a door close. From off-screen, I heard Natália giggling.

“You look cute in that,” she said. “I bet it’d look cuter on the floor.”

“Oh, yeah?” Melinda said, when I desperately needed her not to. “Why don’t you show me your artistic vision for that?”

Oh, Jesus, I was going to throw up. I hung up the call, and with my blood boiling, I called Melinda. Predictably, she didn’t pick up, and I called again, and I paced around the room muttering curses until the third time I called, when she finally picked up, sounding out of breath.

---