Wreck the Halls

He leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead in what seemed like an unconscious gesture. “Wait for the security team, okay?”

“We were just down there. It was fine.”

“You had your mask on. And Melody, I don’t think you realize you’re charming the pants off everybody.”

“Me?”

“Yes,” he said, exasperated, his gaze busy scanning the crowd. “You haven’t been in the public eye for a while, so maybe you don’t remember how it is. Sometimes people feel like they already know you, so they act . . . overfamiliar. Just stay close to me, okay?”

Melody thought maybe Beat was being a little paranoid but agreeing to stay close didn’t cost her anything. In fact, being near him was a huge reassurance in the midst of this unusual situation, so she nodded. “Sure.”

The security team arrived at the bottom of the stairs and they formed sort of a pathway for Beat and Melody that allowed them to follow Octavia out of the noisy gala, into a coatroom that was large enough to qualify as a studio apartment in Manhattan. The red-jacketed attendant stared wide-eyed at the sudden intrusion of the guest of honor—and it wasn’t lost on Melody that the coat check employee was watching the live stream on her phone. Melody could literally see herself on the screen and closed her gaping mouth as a result.

The attendant bolted from the room, leaving Octavia, Beat, Mel, Joseph, and Danielle, who managed to sneak in just before the security team closed the door.

“Well,” Octavia began, turning on a heel and sending everyone a smile that Melody could only define as pleasantly murderous. “My annual, famous holiday charity bash has been hijacked. I hope you’re all happy.”

Beat started to speak, but Danielle launched in quickly, holding up a finger with her clipboard hand. “I don’t mind taking point on this.”

“And just who the fuck are you?” Octavia asked, without dimming her smile.

“Wow,” Melody breathed.

Beat squeezed her hand.

“Executive producer of Wreck the Halls, among other shows on Applause Network. Danielle Doolin.” She seemed to weigh the pros and cons of attempting to shake Octavia’s hand and visibly decided against it. “It’s a true pleasure to meet you.”

Octavia blinked. “I’m sorry I can’t say the same.”

“That’s fair enough.”

“The badassery of the women in this room is unparalleled,” Melody whispered to Beat. “I bet neither of them have ever been knocked down by a spotlight.”

“That’s not true, dear,” Octavia said, her gaze cutting away from Danielle to land on Melody. “At the first stadium show for Steel Birds—Dallas, I believe—I was so startled by the spotlight that I tripped backward and nearly concussed myself on the drums. Those motherfuckers pack a punch.” She tilted her head, her eyes tracing Beat’s arm where it wrapped around Melody’s waist like the harness on a roller coaster. “Son, why are you trying to squeeze the girl to death?”

Two seconds ticked by. “I don’t know.”

“I see.” Octavia blew out a breath. “Oh Lord. Let’s get on with this.”

Beat cleared his throat. “As we spoke about earlier, the goal of the show is—”

The door of the coatroom flew open and in walked a man smoking a cigar in a an abominable snowman sweater with glowing LED eyes and Louis Vuitton slippers. Rudy, Beat’s father. “Oh, I see, this is where the party is.” He sauntered over to Octavia’s side, observing everyone through mirthful blue eyes. “Why does everyone look like Santa Claus just crossed the rainbow bridge?”

“Allow me to bring you up to speed, my love.” Octavia sighed, tapping her cheek and waiting for the robed man to lean over and kiss the spot noisily. “Our son is filming a reality show with Trina’s daughter—wave at the camera—” He saluted it, instead, cigar ash fluttering downward. “They are on a crusade to reunite Steel Birds.”

“On Christmas Eve,” Danielle added. “Onstage at Rockefeller Center.”

Instead of being shocked by that explanation, Rudy merely looked impressed. “Really, son. How industrious of you. Where do you find the time?”

Melody watched fondness soften the lines around Beat’s mouth. “Hello, Dad.”

“Looking forward to the spring when we can get back out on the green. A reality show? Really?” He puffed his cigar. “Shame your mother would rather swim in shark-infested waters than get back onstage with Trina.” He directed his next question at Melody. “How is the mistress of mayhem doing these days?”

“Still mayheming and mistressing, as far as I know,” Melody answered. “I see her every February, so it has been a while.”

Octavia pounced on that. “But you said she requested the reunion.”

“Over the phone. Zoom, actually. We Zoom,” Melody blurted. She knew she was doing that thing people did when they lie—adding too many details—and she couldn’t help it. “She had a lovely cat eye going on last time we spoke. Yes. It was two and a half days ago when she said, ‘You’re right, Mel. It’s time. It’s time to get the band back together. It’s time to shred once more.’ And she cried. Right there on Zoom.”

No one said anything.

Melody elbowed Beat subtly in the ribs.

“Right there on Zoom,” he corroborated. “She wept. Openly.”

Octavia narrowed her eyes. “That doesn’t sound like Trina.”

“She has changed a lot over the years. Matured like a fine wine.” Now that was the biggest lie Melody had told tonight. If anything, Trina had regressed since the days of yore. “Mrs. Dawkins—”

“Oh, you might as well call me Octavia, dear.” She crossed her arms delicately. “It’s only fair since my son is trying his best to stuff you into his pocket.”

Heat bloomed in Melody’s cheeks. Beat wasn’t trying to stuff her into his pocket. That was an exaggeration. Though he’d hauled her so close that only one of her feet was fully balanced on the ground. Was he simply nervous about the whole ordeal?

“Are they dating?” Beat’s father asked, followed by a hearty laugh that filled the coat check closet. “Wouldn’t that be a kick in the ass?”

“We’re not,” Melody said as quickly as possible. Mainly, because she didn’t want to hear a vehement denial from Beat. She wiggled and ducked until she’d extricated herself from his hold, noticing that Beat only looked perplexed over the way he’d been hanging on to her in the first place. “We’re not dating, but we are on a mutual mission.”

Speaking in front of such an intimidating group made her feel as though she could break out in a million hives at any second, but Melody forged ahead. After all, she’d been the one to spout the lie about Trina requesting the reunion. She’d steered the adventure in a whole new direction, she couldn’t very well let go of the wheel now, could she?

“There are thousands of people watching, Octavia,” Melody started.