Encore to an Empty Room by Kevin Emerson

were supposed to be in Cleveland.”
    While saying this reveals that I’ve been tracking Postcards tour dates, which might make it sound like I care, it’s the only thing I’ve got because I am damn well not going to just stand here and make small talk about freakin’ bath salts.
    â€œYeah . . . it got rescheduled.” Ethan’s face scrunches and as much as I want to categorize that as another calculation, I did know him to make genuine faces now and then and this is one of them. Disappointment is a feeling that musicians never have trouble feeling, especially about their own success. “Actually, the whole winter leg has been postponed.”
    â€œOh.” I’d figured as much when I noticed last week that all the dates on their site had suddenly changed.
    â€œHey,” says Maya, arriving beside me. She takes up a defensive stance, angling her shoulder in Ethan’s direction. It’s funny to see her chipper face try to look tough, but I appreciate the effort. “Find everything?”
    â€œHi, Maya,” says Ethan.
    Maya keeps looking at me until I nod.
    â€œHello,” she says out of the corner of her mouth.
    â€œIt’s Ethan,” says Ethan.
    â€œI’m aware of that,” Maya says thinly. “Ready to go?”
    â€œYeah,” I say. Maya turns to leave.
    Nice, I think to myself. Don’t give him any more.
    Except then I’m asking: “So what happened to the show dates?”
    Oh, Summer. Go ahead and tell yourself it’s a business question and you’re just interested in how Candy Shell operates. More likely it’s because you can hear in his tone of voice that Ethan has fallen down a peg or two. Of course, maybe that’s how he means to sound. Ugh, whatever! Morethan not talking to Ethan, I don’t want to let him drive me crazy either. There’s nothing wrong with me checking in on my former band, and I can still keep my internal shields at maximum power, to let none of his charms through.
    â€œWell . . . ,” says Ethan, rounding the table and walking beside me. I smell the musty tinge of his suede coat, the same one he’s been wearing every winter now for three years. The same one I wore sometimes, even while Christmas shopping in these very stores. “You’ll probably say I told you so. ”
    I make a mental note, more like a vivid spray paint scrawl, not to say that.
    â€œWe didn’t have much buzz on the last leg,” Ethan continues, “and the album hasn’t been getting the kind of traction we wanted. Jason thinks we need a fresher sound, so we’re actually going back in the studio to do a new EP that will maybe have a bigger impact.”
    I’m furious at what Ethan has just told me, not that I’m going to show it. “I’d say, just in my non professional opinion, that your first EP sounded pretty great”— though not as good as the version we’d made ourselves a year ago —“and that Candy Shell didn’t put any effort into actually getting you guys some exposure in those towns. No local radio shows or blogs, no giveaways or promo appearances, no spark.”
    Ethan shrugs. “That sounds like a more professional opinion than anything we’ve heard lately.”
    â€œIs that because Jason is too busy with All Hail Minions!?”
    Ethan rolls his eyes. “Don’t even get me started on the Minions.”
    I feel his eyes reaching for mine, and I know that sort of sympathetic soul-mate stare he’s so good at so I make sure to avoid it. Still, it bothers me that he’s hurting. It also bothers me that it bothers me, but I think as long as I keep shields in the fully on and locked position, I can handle this.
    Also, it occurs to me now that Ethan Myers might be of some use to us in his current wounded state. If I play this conversation right, it might help out Dangerheart.
    â€œWho knows?” Ethan is saying as we