Page 37 of The Déjà Glitch

Jack almost stumbled, suddenly looking like he was the one who needed support. He looked down at their hands clasped together and his smile broke out. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

•••

Gemma sat acrossfrom Nigel Black in the recording booth. They both wore enormous headphones. She had positioned herself at an angle so that she could see his face rather than the microphone hanging in front of him.

After a round of introductions—Gemma having managed to both maintain consciousness and not throw up on a famous rock star—they had entered the booth. Now, from the inside, Gemma discreetly eyed Carmen, Hugo, and much to her unexpected pleasure, Jack on the other side of the glass. He gave her a silent thumbs-up. Nigel had brought two people: one a burly man in all black who looked like he’d give Hugo a run for his money in a brawl, and a woman with flaming red hair who’d had enough plastic surgery to preserve her face at least twenty years younger than her age. She introduced herself as Nigel’s publicist, Bridget, and reminded everyone they had thirty minutes for the interview and not a second longer.

Those thirty minutes had cost the radio station an exorbitant amount of money and several favors that Gemma proudly didnotdrop her father’s name to get. She had the music industry at her fingertips, given her heritage, but she refused to take advantage. She had always been determined to make it on her own.

Nigel watched her from across the table. His famous ice blue eyes twinkled. He had the face of a rock legend, a manwho had seen decades of tours and adoring fans, and it went perfectly with the gravelly sound of his voice. And the British accent, well, that didn’t hurt either.

The truth was, he reminded Gemma of her father. Not in appearance, but because she and her dad used to listen to his songs together, singing all the lyrics, back before their family had fallen apart. It was the one sweet memory she allowed herself to hold on to.

She glanced up at the redOn Airlight shining like a beacon. Then she took a breath and spoke into her microphone.

“This is Gemma Peters in the studio today with Nigel Black. I have to say, what a tremendous honor it is to have you with us.”

“Thanks, love.”

Gemma tried not to swoon.

“You’re in L.A. for one night as part of this comeback tour. How did you select your tour stops for this once-in-a-lifetime event?”

“Ah, well, I love Los Angeles. She’s a tough old broad, but one of my favorite places on earth. Always sunny, everyone running around trying to be famous. Never a dull moment.”

Gemma found herself under his spell, and at the same time she was totally in a groove. The interview flowed seamlessly. She hardly had to look at her script because conversation with Nigel Black was everything she hoped it would be.

He told a scandalous story about the first time he played the Hollywood Bowl back in the eighties, the same location of his show that night, that left everyone in the studio laughing. He spoke of his favorite songs from his most recent album, and hinted that he was writing something new. Heswore he would retire only when he was dead, and Gemma hoped he wasn’t exaggerating.

“Who are your favorite artists today? Is there anyone you’re excited about for the future?” Gemma asked.

Nigel stroked his scruffy chin. He wore a black tee shirt and tattered leather bands around his wrist. He’d clipped his sunglasses to his collar. The question was one of her favorites that she’d written because she knew whoever he named would feel like they’d received a blessing from on high. “Oh, there are plenty of acts out there today doing really exciting things. Our openers on this tour are all excellent. In fact, we just added a new one tonight. Bridge, what are they called?” He leaned away from his mic and waved at his publicist through the glass.

Gemma glanced at their rapt audience through the window. Carmen and Hugo were all business, and Jack watched with wide eyes and a smile. Bridget mouthed something they of course couldn’t hear.

At the sound of it, Hugo jerked his neck back and glanced at Carmen. The two of them had a silent argument resulting in a thrown elbow and Carmen swatting Hugo’s big hand, which he’d braced over the switch that would allow Gemma and Nigel to hear them.

Bridget’s voice came through, straight into Gemma’s ears in a sharp, nasally tone that made her heart dive off a cliff. “Azalea.”

“Right, that’s it,” Nigel said. “Azalea. They were a last-minute add for this stop; not sure it’s even been announced yet, but they rip. I can’t wait to see what they do next.”

Gemma suddenly understood what the silent argument had been about. Her tongue glued itself to the roof of hermouth. She pried it loose with a clucking sound she hoped didn’t deafen her listeners. “Yep. Definitely heard of them.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m real excited about them. They’re local too, right?”

Too local, Gemma thought.

She wanted to scream. How dare Nick come anywhere near Nigel Black. She knew she had no claim over a global superstar, but damn it, theone thingshe cherished, and he had to come stomping in and tarnish it too.

She took a breath and kept her composure. “They sure are. So, what’s next after this tour? Back in the studio?”

Nigel didn’t miss a beat. He shared more about his new project and the different direction he was taking with his next album. He name-dropped some serious talent he’d be collaborating with, and even mentioned he was meeting with a famous director while he was in town to talk about a small part in an upcoming film.

By the end of it, Gemma’s spirits had been restored. He was back on her favorite pedestal. She was staring at him with stars in her eyes like she was still seven years old. She gave her outro on air and waited for Carmen to signal that they were off before she slipped her headphones from her ears.

“That was excellent. Thank you so much,” she said.

They both stood, and he shook her hand. “My pleasure, Gemma. Hey, you’re Roger’s kid, aren’t you? I remember you from when you were this big,” he said, and held his hand near his hip. She thought for a mortifying second that he was going to recall her freeze-up of shame, but he softly smiled instead. “All grown up now. How’s that old shit doing these days?”

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