Opening Act by Dish Tillman Page A

could slam down on.
    As she lay in the warmth of her bed, enjoying the act of putting off her day, she wondered why she had bothered to set her alarm at all. Force of habit, probably. It wasn’t as if she had anything she had to get up for…any place to go, anyone to see, anything to do. And something about that utter emptiness caused a little wriggle of discontent in her breast that wouldn’t let her go back to sleep. It was a paradox: the pointlessness of getting up was upsetting her so much that she might as well get up.
    She sat on the side of her bed and looked at her phone. She had the urge to check her text messages and e-mails but was afraid there would be something from Byron, and she wasn’t sure what she’d say to him. She wasn’t even sure how she felt toward him. Was she still mad at him? Had she even been mad at him? Everything about last night was sort of hazy. That brain-scraping concert. That absurd party…
    She felt a sudden need to use the bathroom. She got up, opened her bedroom door, and went out into the apartment wearing just the oversize T-shirt she always slept in. She was just passing the couch when something on it moved, and she nearly leapt through the roof. She backed away and gave a startled shout.
    There was a man lying there. A big man. He was curled up with his face against the cushions, so she had no idea who it was. She was pretty sure she didn’t know anyone this beefy. Was he an intruder? It seemed unlikely. Why would anyone break in just to crash out on the sofa? Also, he was fully dressed, but he’d removed his shoes and set them by one of the couch legs. So, obviously no marauding thug.
    He’d stirred at the sound of her voice and now quarter-turned his head and looked at her.
    â€œOh, hi,” he said.
    And she did recognize him. That is, she realized she’d seen him before. And very recently. She just couldn’t remember where.
    â€œYou scared the hell out of me,” she said.
    â€œSorry,” he said, rolling all the way over with a grunt of effort. He sat up and scratched his head.
    â€œWho the hell are you?”
    He looked at her and sighed, as if tired of being the guy no one ever remembers. “Lockwood Mott,” he said. “You’re Loni, right? We met last night.”
    â€œOh,” she said, as it all came back to her. “Right. Sorry! What are you doing here?”
    â€œI just wanted to make sure your friend was okay. She was a little…shaky last night. I figured I’d stick around just in case.”
    â€œZee? Is she all right?” Before he could answer, she said, “Wait, wait…I really have to pee. Just hold that thought.” She hopped over to the bathroom and tried to turn the doorknob, but it had been locked. She rapped on the door. “Zee? You in there?”
    â€œUh-huh,” came the reply. “Getting ready for my follow-up interview.”
    â€œYou be out soon?”
    â€œCouple minutes.”
    â€œJust, kind of a pee emergency here, is all.”
    â€œI said, a couple minutes ,” she snapped through the door—and Loni was taken aback. She’d never heard Zee sound so abrasive before.
    She went back to the living room, where Lockwood Mott was slipping on his shoes. “I heard that,” he said. “She’s obviously fine. I’ll just head out.”
    â€œNo, wait,” she said, gesturing for him to stay. “I’m sure she wants to thank you.”
    He smiled at her like she was naive or something. “You’re sure of that, huh?”
    Loni glanced back at the bathroom door, then looked back at him. “What happened last night?”
    â€œNothing,” he said, finishing tying his laces.
    She blinked. “Nothing? She got upset over nothing?”
    â€œThe worst kind of nothing,” he said, sitting up again.
    Loni sat down in the chair across the coffee table from him. “Oh,” she said.