Page 17 of Caught in a Storm
“Oh, fuck off,” she says.
Margot was content to have the past remain firmly in the past, but then Netflix fucked everything up. Some faceless kid on the phone asked, “Do you, like, miss it?” and now she’s in a hotel room in Baltimore pining for the music she used to make.
And then she hears her name. Two muffled voices. One is Rebecca’s. It takes her a moment to recognize the other one, but when she does it’s unmistakable. Axl Albee.
The door next to the minibar is one of those pass-throughs that divide conjoined hotel rooms. It’s probably supposed to be locked, but when Margot gently turns the handle, it gives. She risks a glance and sees Rebecca’s laptop open to a video call. Axl’s hair is more salt than pepper now, but it’s still long and pulled back. “You said you got this all on film?” he asks.
“Yeah,” says Rebecca. “Todd was persistent.”
Axl laughs, dismissive. “Keep it. We’ll play it at the holiday party. The troops’ll love it. Now get back to New York. Return Margot to her depressing loft and put her out of your mind forever.”
Margot grips the doorjamb.
“That’s it?” Rebecca asks.
“For Margot it is. For you, you pitch me another idea Monday. And then another one Tuesday. That’s how this works. Next time maybe focus on one of our artists who people care about, though. Might improve your chances.”
It feels like something being torn open, but Margot wills her eyes not to fill.
“Do you know if she’s still making music?” Rebecca asks.
“Is she what?” Axl sounds annoyed.
“She had instruments. Her place, it was like a little studio.”
“It doesn’t matter, Rebecca,” says Axl. “Margot doesn’t matter. She hasn’t for years. The most interesting thing about her is that she managed to get knocked up by a movie star. End of story.”
Margot holds the cheap hotel wineglass, unable to get a full breath.
Axl brought her flowers when the band officially broke up. He showed up at her apartment door with a big bouquet and a bottle of wine. Lawson had moved out and the apartment felt big and empty. He told her how talented she was. He told her that he still believed in her, even if she didn’t believe in herself. But no, Margot isn’t going to cry. Not for this fucker.
* * *
—
“Whoa there, you okay, miss?”
The bellhop is a tall, slightly stooped man with gray tufts of hair above his ears.
“I’m looking for a bar,” she says.
He laughs, like, Aren’t we all? “Well, you’re in luck, miss. There’s a whole city full of them out there.”
“No, a specific one.” She stands in her unlaced boots trying to remember details of the bar she saw earlier. She looks back at the hotel entrance. She’s never run away before, and she imagines Rebecca coming after her, fists clenched. “I don’t know,” she says. “It had horse in the name, I think.”
“Okay. Could be a couple different ones. You know which neighborhood?”
She remembers Billy rattling things off. “Fells something,” she says. “Fells Point?”
The bellhop smiles and whistles at an approaching cab. “Look at us, coupla masters of communication, you and me.” A yellow car squeaks to a stop at the curb. He opens the door and gives Margot a little wink. “Take this young lady to the Horse You Came In On,” he says. “And make it quick. Looks like she could use a drink.”
Chapter 10
Billy is at the Steinway back in his apartment trying to figure out how to play “Power Pink” on the piano. It isn’t an obvious song for keys, what with all the power chords and rage-drumming, but in his experience you can play anything on the piano if you sit with it long enough, because the piano is the greatest instrument ever made.
Lately, his go-to song to teach his beginners has been “She’s a Rainbow” by the Rolling Stones, because Billy always gets a kick out of hearing kids slowly work through those perfect opening notes. Maybe it’s time to change it up, though, switch to something more raucous.
Saturdays are the only days Billy doesn’t have lessons. His weekdays are full, Sundays half full. No one has been more surprised by the success of Beats by Billy than Billy himself. It started on a whim after he and Robyn broke up—a way of filling the time—and it took off from there. His accidental career.
