Wreck the Halls

“Thanks,” Melody murmured, because that single word was all she could muster.

This was far from the first time she’d worn a dress. Growing up, she’d attended countless honors ceremonies, awards shows, and festive parties at the penthouses of music producers. In fact, those events were the main reason Trina landed briefly in New York, before taking off again, leaving Melody with a rotating staff of nannies. The longer Steel Birds remained broken up, the more those events thinned out. Since turning eighteen and living on her own, it never occurred to her to make more than a cursory effort with her appearance, because when she’d done so in the past, it was usually met with criticism from the press. Or she’d open People magazine and see cringeworthy pictures of herself wide-eyed and shiny-faced coming or going from a restaurant. Was it any wonder she’d selected clothing that kept her the most well hidden?

This woman in the mirror, though . . . she was a far cry from the teenager who couldn’t seem to find a single piece of flattering clothing. The dress hugged her breasts and hips, accentuated her waist. Her skin was clear of the acne that had plagued her growing up. The hairdresser had trimmed her hair and left it falling softly around her neck, not a frizzy flyaway wisp to be seen. Who was this person?

“Oh.” Lola couldn’t hide her smug expression. “She’s speechless. This is satisfying.”

Danielle high-fived her. “You did good.”

A quick sniff. “Yes, I did.”

The phone buzzed in the producer’s hand and she checked the screen. “Beat is en route.” She took a few steps backward and craned her neck to address someone in the hallway. “He’s already mic’d?”

“Yes, the PA met us downstairs and wired him for sound,” came the deep-voiced, muffled reply. “Bases are covered, Dani.”

“Great.” Danielle looked momentarily thrown by the shortening of her name, but she beamed a smile at Lola. “Would you mind giving us a moment?”

“My work is done!” Lola sang on her way out the door. “I’m getting a drink.”

“Thank you,” Melody called after her, still observing herself in the mirror and feeling a little stunned. For the first time in her life, she could actually see the tiniest resemblance to Trina. “We’re going straight to the gala when Beat gets here?” she asked Danielle.

“Yes. We’re already broadcasting live, if you can believe it. Beat gave a confessional on the drive over. This is a good opportunity to bank one for you, too.”

“Confessional. Right.” Melody turned from the mirror to face Danielle. “You’re going to be asking me the questions this time?”

“Yes. Are you comfortable with Joseph entering the room?”

Melody nodded. “Sure.”

“Great.” Danielle leaned into the hallway and waved the cameraman forward. “Let’s do this standing so we don’t wrinkle your gown.”

The camera’s red light winked at Melody, her face staring back from the lens.

Live. This was live.

“H-how many people are watching this?”

“Right now? It’s in the low thousands, but we’ve only just started. It’s going to grow.”

Melody absorbed that. Low thousands. Okay, she could deal with that. Odds were, she’d never meet these faceless viewers in real life. She was nothing more than internet noise among louder internet noise that would eventually swallow her whole. They’d watch for a few minutes from their desks in Milwaukee or Bakersfield, then move on to something and someone more interesting, like a baby giraffe being born at the Bronx Zoo. No big deal.

This was no big deal.

Melody focused on Danielle and did her best to pretend the camera was invisible. “I’m ready when you are.”

Danielle shifted side to side and lifted her chin, giving Melody the impression that she was delivering her own mental pep talk. “We’ve been running your confessional with Beat for the last forty-eight hours and there is significantly more interest now. Our main request on the message boards has been for information about you.”

“About . . . me? The questions are normally about Steel Birds or Trina,” she muttered, smoothing the front of her dress unnecessarily. “I’m . . . well. I live in Brooklyn and I work in book restoration. Try not to die from excitement. I’m basically a shut-in, but once a week I play in a bocce league. I use the term ‘play’ loosely. It’s more like throwing the ball with my eyes closed and praying I don’t knock anyone unconscious. Um. I date myself. Is that . . . should I talk about that?”

Danielle nodded vigorously.

“Okay. I take myself on dates once a week. Sometimes thrifting, if there are no good movies playing and I’m feeling adventurous. But always to a new restaurant. It’s kind of a game where I never go to the same place twice. Has our viewer count dropped into the hundreds yet?”

The producer checked her phone but didn’t answer Melody’s question directly. “You have a partner in crime on this mission to reunite Steel Birds. Do you and Beat have a game plan?”

Hot sand filtered down from the top of Melody’s head to the soles of her feet, the pulse fluttering in the smalls of her wrists. At the mention of his name. Pathetic. “Yes.” Speak up. You sound breathless. “We’re going to gently approach our mothers about a reunion and probably have ourselves written out of their wills.”

The cameraman’s chest rumbled with mirth.

“How well do you know Beat?” Danielle asked, after a brief glance at Joseph.

“Not well. Not well at all.” Danielle didn’t ask a follow-up question and the silence stretched out so long that Melody felt compelled to fill it. “I-I mean, I feel like I know him. That doesn’t mean anything, does it? A lot of people probably feel like they know Beat, because he’s so personable. When he looks at you, everything just kind of fades away and . . .”

Danielle gave her a signal to keep going.

Going where, though? Melody hadn’t intended to say any of this out loud.

Not in her lifetime.

But the red light was blinking. People were watching, waiting for her to continue. “Yeah, everything just kind of fades away when he’s around, I guess. He’s kind and thoughtful and you’ve seen him. He’s . . . beautiful.” Her palms were beginning to sweat, head feeling light. “Is it possible to take a quick bathroom break—”

Beat rounded the corner into the room.

Joseph’s camera remained pointed at Melody—and she wished it wasn’t, because it captured the exact moment she saw Beat in a tuxedo for the first time. Somehow, the sight was superior even to sweaty shorts and a bare torso. Her brain sort of blubbered around for a few seconds, then slid out of her ear in a soupy substance. Had the tuxedo been constructed around his every muscle?

Yes, dum-dum. That’s called tailoring.

Briefly, she flashed back to the first afternoon they met, when he’d blown in out of the rain and charged the atmosphere with electricity. He still had that ability in spades, especially in that custom tuxedo, but it was subtler now. Like his spectacular energy had been depleted by his surroundings. Perhaps by whatever had caused him to need this show.