Brooke paused for a minute, unsure what to do, and the girl smiled. “Really, it’s fine. There’s nothing more annoying than not being able to get hair off your face. Although if I had your hair, I’d never tie it back.”
“Thanks,” Brooke said, accepting the tie and immediately twisting it into her ponytail. She was going to say something more, maybe something self-deprecating about how she wouldn’t wish being a redhead on anyone, but at that moment Julian took his seat at the piano, and she heard his voice, a little shaky, thanking everyone for coming.
The girl took a swig from the bottle of beer she was holding and asked, “Have you ever heard him before?”
Brooke could only nod and pray the girl would stop talking. She didn’t want to miss a single moment, and she was totally preoccupied wondering if anyone else could hear the slight wobble in Julian’s voice.
“Because if not, you’re really in for something. He is the sexiest singer I’ve ever seen.”
This caught her attention. “What?” she asked, turning to the girl.
“Julian Alter,” the girl said, waving toward the piano. “I’ve heard him a couple times in different venues around the city. He has a few regular gigs. And I’m telling you, he’s ridiculously good. Makes John Mayer look like amateur hour.”
Julian had begun to play “For the Lost,” a soulful song about a young boy who loses his older brother, and she felt Trent glance in her direction—he was probably the only other person in the entire room who knew what truly inspired that song. Julian himself was an only child, but Brooke knew he often thought of the brother who had died of SIDS before Julian was born. To this day the Alters never discussed James, but Julian had gone through a stage where he wondered, sometimes obsessively, what James would’ve been like today, how different life might have been with an older brother.
His hands moved across the piano keys, producing the first haunting notes that would eventually build to a powerful crescendo, but Brooke couldn’t focus on anything but the girl beside her. She wanted to hug her and slap her all at the same time. It was disconcerting to hear this perfectly attractive girl rave about Julian’s sexiness—no matter how long they’d been together, she never got used to that aspect—but it was so rare to hear a totally honest and unfiltered opinion.
“You think so?” Brooke asked, suddenly desperate for the girl to agree.
“Oh, definitely. I tried to tell my boss, like, a dozen times, but Sony got him first.” The girl’s attention to Brooke started to wane as Julian’s volume increased, and by the time he tilted his head and sang out the raw, emotional chorus, she was fixated only on him. Brooke wondered if she noticed Julian’s wedding band through the haze of worship.
Brooke turned to watch, and it was all she could do not to sing along. She knew every word by heart.
They say Texas is the promised landIn the highway’s dust you become a manBlind and blue, lonely in loveScars on your hands, broken above
He was a mother’s dream, he was a fist of sandMy brother, you slipped away with the second handLike parallel lines that never crossFor the lost, for the lost
The woman sits alone in a roomAlone in a house like a silent tombThe man counts every jewel in his crownWhat can’t be saved is measured in pounds
He was a father’s dream, he was a fist of sandMy brother, you slipped away with the second handLike parallel lines that never crossFor the lost, for the lost
In my dreams the voices from beyond the doorI remember them saying you weren’t coming no moreYou wouldn’t believe how quiet it’s becomeThe heart obscure fills with shame
He was a brother’s dream, he was a fist of sandMy brother, you slipped away with the second handLike parallel lines that never crossFor the lost, for the lost
He finished the song to rousing applause—genuine, enthusiastic applause—and moved effortlessly into the second. He had hit his stride, and there wasn’t a single sign of any anxiety. Just that familiar sheen across his forearms and the furrowed brow of concentration as he sang the words he had spent months, sometimes years, perfecting. The second song was over in a flash, and then the third, and before she realized what was happening, the crowd was ecstatically cheering and calling for an encore. Julian looked pleased and a little confused—his instructions to play three songs in under twelve minutes couldn’t have been clearer—but he must’ve gotten the green light from someone offstage, because he smiled and nodded and eased right into one of his more upbeat songs. The crowd roared their approval.
By the time he pushed back the piano bench and took a modest bow, the air in the room had changed. More than the loud cheering and clapping and whistles, there was that electrified feeling of having been part of something important. Brooke stood, hemmed in on all sides by her husband’s admirers, when Leo approached. He gruffly greeted the hair-tie girl by name—Umi—but she immediately rolled her eyes and walked away. Before Brooke could process that, Leo grabbed her arm a little too tightly and leaned in so close she wondered for the briefest second if he was going to kiss her.
“Get ready, Brooke. Get ready for one fucking crazy ride. Tonight is only the start, and it’s going to be insane.”
4
A Toast to Hot Redheads
“KAYLIE, sweetheart, I don’t know how else to say it: you do not need to lose weight. Look at your statistics; look at this chart. You are absolutely perfect just the way you are.”
“No one else here looks like me,” Kaylie said, lowering her eyes. The girl absently twisted her limp brown hair in circles around her forefinger, methodically wrapping and turning, wrapping and turning. Her face was filled with anxiety.
“What do you mean?” Brooke asked, although she knew exactly what Kaylie meant.
“I just . . . I never felt fat until I came here. At public school, I was totally normal, maybe even on the skinny side! And then this year rolls around and they stick me in this weird place because it’s supposed to be so fancy and special, and suddenly I’m obese.” The girl’s voice cracked at the last word, and it was all Brooke could do not to hug her.
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re no such thing! Come here, look at this chart. One hundred twenty-five pounds at five-one is well within the healthy range.” Brooke held out her laminated chart showing the huge range of normal weights, but Kaylie barely glanced at it.