Page 93 of The Maverick
Three hundred people.
The Piazza held maybe sixty on a full night. The Carolinian's lunch crowd had been half that.
Three hundred people in a real venue with a proper sound system.
"I—" I started.
"The bill is well-promoted. Good crowd, music people, some industry adjacent. And there's a door split for performers—you'd walk away with somewhere between two and four hundred dollars, depending on the night."
More than a waitressing shift. Potentially, much more.
"I'm working tonight," I said.
"Can you get out of it?"
I looked at the door to the kitchen.
I thought about Luis's face when he'd slid the business card across the bar. I thought abouthe seemed like he knew what he was doingwhen the flowers arrived. I thought aboutI'd like to put you on the schedule beginning next monthand the way his face had looked when he said it—a man making a long bet.
"Give me ten minutes," I said.
Luis heard me out without interrupting, which was how I knew he was taking it seriously.
When I finished, he looked at his reservation sheet. Then at me. Then at the sheet again.
"Three hundred capacity," he said.
"That's what she said."
"Industry adjacent crowd?"
"Those were her words."
He tapped his pen on the bar once. Twice. Three times.
"If you become someone people know," he said, slowly, like he was thinking it out loud, "and they know you play here?—"
"That's what I was thinking."
"I'd want it on the poster. The Carolinian, in the bio. That she plays here."
"I'll make sure of it."
He looked at me for a long moment. The manager look—the one that calculated risk and return and the math of a small business that ran on reputation.
"Go," he said. “Priya can cover your section. Don't make me regret this."
"I won't," I said. "Thank you, Luis."
"Go call her back before she gives your slot to someone else."
I went.
I texted Tommy from the alley.
I have a gig tonight. A real one. Three hundred people. Podcast producer connected me to an indie showcase. I'm terrified.
I stood there with my phone in my hand and looked at what I'd written and thought about the fight this morning and the edges still on it and sent it, anyway, because whatever we were working through, this felt like something he'd want to know.
