When Devils Sing(68)
Neera rose from the ground with shaky legs, going toward the sink. She braced her hands on the black porcelain and motioned for the sensors to turn on the faucet. She dabbed a damp paper towel on her neck, then cupped the water and funneled it down her throat.
Despite her performance, she didn’t feel well. She didn’t look well. In the mirror, her normally warm brown skin was almost gray in the soft light of the bathroom.
Distantly, the boom of the microphone filtered in through the walls, followed by Jason’s voice. “It’s time to announce our winner…”
Neera mumbled a curse, still bracing her hands against the sink. She needed to be out there—now. She gathered her guitar and canvas bag, then stumbled into the corridor of bathroom doors. The fluttering inside her chest was growing more noticeable, more frantic.
“And the winner of this year’s Cicada’s Song is…” Jason paused for an unbearable beat.
Neera found the nearest wall, leaning against it for much-needed support.
Come on, she thought anxiously. Just get it over with so I can be sick in peace.
“Neera Singh!”
Neera nearly toppled over. Without realizing what was happening, she felt hands find her at the edge of the crowd, pushing and propelling her forward onto the stage. The Tavern’s lights were suddenly brighter, every sound offensive to her ears. In a blur, she shook Jason’s hand, accepted a cicada-shaped trophy, mumbled a few words of appreciation into the microphone, then hurried off the stage.
Making a lap around the restaurant, Neera grew more disoriented. She couldn’t remember which way she came in or which way was out. She pushed out of the nearest door and found herself standing on the outer deck that overlooked the lake. The fresh air hit her like a wave, thankfully clearing away some of the fog in her head.
Clusters of Lake Clearwater residents sat around kerosene lamps on the deck, laughing and drinking together. Couples huddled close, legs and arms entwined beneath tables. Groups of men jeered over a football game on the outdoor television screens. Neera walked past them, feeling eyes on her as she moved. There were eyes everywhere. No one was as sly as they pretended to be.
As Neera made for the steps that led off the deck, a hand stopped her. She looked down at a table of thin-lipped white men with drunken smiles.
“Congratulations, kid,” Grant Langley said. “That was one hell of a performance.” Of all the people in the audience that night, he’d been the first person to cheer for her. When she’d opened her eyes to Grant’s whistle, for a heartbeat, she’d expected to see Ajay staring up at her from the crowd with a lopsided grin. Instead, all she had was the comfort of the Yamaha slung over her shoulder.
Neera didn’t know what to say other than a polite, “Thank you.”
“Apologies for my bluntness,” Grant said, rising from the chair. “But I couldn’t let you walk out of here without telling you how damn remarkable that song was.” The others who sat at the table watched her with steady gazes.
Grant Langley, CEO of Blue Mountain Records, was complimenting her, but Neera could barely move her mouth to reply. She only stared at the man standing between her and everything she had ever wanted. It took a moment to gather herself. “I appreciate that, Mr. Langley.”
“Call me Grant,” he said. “Do you have a minute to talk?”
The cicada fluttered in her chest. “Sure.”
Grant escorted her to a tall table overlooking the water, meant for sipping cocktails while standing. “I’m dying to know,” he began, “did your uncle really teach you to play like that? That fingerpicking style…” He mimed his fingers plucking at an invisible guitar neck. “It’s rare.”
It was a loaded question. “Ajay taught me the foundations, but I learned the rest on my own.”
By making a deal with the devil.
“A self-made musician then?” Grant’s gray eyes seemed to light up. The way he looked at her now was different than at the audition. “Well, as I’m sure you’re aware, I run this little competition here. You’ve now won, so you’ll get to keep that trophy and receive a nice little check. But, more importantly, you’ll get the opportunity to perform at the big concert during the Fourth party. Is that something you’re interested in?”
“Yes, sir.” Neera struggled to keep her expression neutral. To temper the desperate wanting that coursed through her veins. Her throat itched. She coughed, struggling to clear it in a way that wasn’t alarming. “That’s exactly why I’m here.”
“Fantastic.” Grant smirked. “If you keep performing like you did tonight, you may just have a real shot in this business, after all.”
The cicada quivered inside of her, faster and more frantic. It was as if Neera’s lungs were a trap, and the cicada was caught in the snare. She was afraid to speak, fearing she’d cough it up on the table between them. She swallowed hard. “I guess I have my work cut out for me, then.”
“I suppose so,” Grant said. Quietly, he added, “A voice like yours doesn’t come around here too often. Could make a lot of people nervous with that kind of talent.” He glanced around the patio, at the people who watched them from the corner of their eyes. “Here’s my business card. Don’t hesitate to give me a call if anyone gives you any trouble. I mean it.”