it.”
“No B. And it’s Jam-i-son.”
“No B?”
“Rett. Short for Loretta.”
“Should I say Loretta?” Snap, snap, pop.
God forbid. “She knows me by Rett.”
“Rrrrrett Jamison, I goddit.”
She made the secretary repeat the numbers and hung up with a sinking feeling that she was never going to hear from Angel. She had serious doubts that her Angel and Angelique Sinson were even the same woman she was not that lucky. With one day off a week for the next three weeks, flying home to go out to UCLA seemed extravagantly obsessive. By the time she got back to L.A., classes would be over for the summer. It was very frustrating.
Maybe she’ll call me. Maybe she’ll ask Monica for my number. I’m in the book maybe she’ll look me up. Rett crossed her fingers briefly
From San Francisco they went to Portland for three weeknight performances, then on to Seattle to open Friday night and appear through the following Sunday, just as they had in San Francisco. Vancouver was after that, for appearances Thursday through Sunday.
The time flew by. There wasn’t enough time to explore every city in any depth, but in Seattle almost everyone made the effort to see the new Jimi Hendrix museum. The building alone was amazing it was sculpted like Hendrix’s guitar and the Seattle monorail went right through it.
She and Zip spent a lot of time together. It was Zip’s considered opinion that Angel had been a ship in the night and that Rett really ought to go to her high school reunion and boff the prom queen so Rett could get on with her life.
“It’s too short to worry about what you could have done or should have done.” Rett sprawled on the bed and Zip looked up from cleaning her sax. “Sex is sex and love is love. They’re not the same thing, never were, never will be.”
“You’re wrong,” Rett answered.
“Prove it. Sleep with me and we’ll see if it’s just sex or really L-O-V-E.”
Rett had rolled her eyes. “One of these days you’re going to fall in love and you’ll find out it’s not as clear-cut as you think.”
“Yes, Mother.” She easily ducked the pillow Rett threw at her.
Their last performance came too quickly. Rett could hardly believe it. The sophisticated stage outfits were second nature and she continued to marvel at how nice everyone was. She studied her reflection after she drew on her gloves.
They think you’re a star on the rise, she thought suddenly. The idea was seductive. Don’t you go thinking that way, she warned herself, then stopped. Was that the voice of her mother, telling her she could never amount to anything? That she would never be a star?
The muffled sound of her cell phone ringing interrupted her thoughts. Naomi was the only person who had called her lately. Angel had never called.
“I just had the most interesting discussion with Jerry Orland,” Naomi said.
“He’s right across the hall, I think.”
“Probably telling Henry what I told him.” Naomi sounded excited in a guarded way.
“Which was?”
“That if he wants you to sign for the next three years touring and any recording and the Vegas gigs, they’ll have to come up with a signing bonus.”
Rett dropped into the chair at the makeup table. She thought for a moment she would faint. Finally, she managed, “Could you repeat that?”
“Happy birthday, sweetie!” Naomi was exultant. “Henry Connors wants you, Rett, wants you lock, stock and barrel. He wants to incorporate Rett Jamison’s vocals into his entire sound. ‘Featuring Rett Jamison’ sounds pretty damned nice, I must say.”
“Holy shit,” Rett breathed.
“Vancouver and Seattle were sellouts after you joined on. I think I made an excellent case for your box-office appeal because of the critical push. You’re a serious musician, not some lightweight bimbo using her assets to cover a lack of talent. If you start doing interviews with Henry, get some feature press in the mags you’ll be a very positive
“No B. And it’s Jam-i-son.”
“No B?”
“Rett. Short for Loretta.”
“Should I say Loretta?” Snap, snap, pop.
God forbid. “She knows me by Rett.”
“Rrrrrett Jamison, I goddit.”
She made the secretary repeat the numbers and hung up with a sinking feeling that she was never going to hear from Angel. She had serious doubts that her Angel and Angelique Sinson were even the same woman she was not that lucky. With one day off a week for the next three weeks, flying home to go out to UCLA seemed extravagantly obsessive. By the time she got back to L.A., classes would be over for the summer. It was very frustrating.
Maybe she’ll call me. Maybe she’ll ask Monica for my number. I’m in the book maybe she’ll look me up. Rett crossed her fingers briefly
From San Francisco they went to Portland for three weeknight performances, then on to Seattle to open Friday night and appear through the following Sunday, just as they had in San Francisco. Vancouver was after that, for appearances Thursday through Sunday.
The time flew by. There wasn’t enough time to explore every city in any depth, but in Seattle almost everyone made the effort to see the new Jimi Hendrix museum. The building alone was amazing it was sculpted like Hendrix’s guitar and the Seattle monorail went right through it.
She and Zip spent a lot of time together. It was Zip’s considered opinion that Angel had been a ship in the night and that Rett really ought to go to her high school reunion and boff the prom queen so Rett could get on with her life.
“It’s too short to worry about what you could have done or should have done.” Rett sprawled on the bed and Zip looked up from cleaning her sax. “Sex is sex and love is love. They’re not the same thing, never were, never will be.”
“You’re wrong,” Rett answered.
“Prove it. Sleep with me and we’ll see if it’s just sex or really L-O-V-E.”
Rett had rolled her eyes. “One of these days you’re going to fall in love and you’ll find out it’s not as clear-cut as you think.”
“Yes, Mother.” She easily ducked the pillow Rett threw at her.
Their last performance came too quickly. Rett could hardly believe it. The sophisticated stage outfits were second nature and she continued to marvel at how nice everyone was. She studied her reflection after she drew on her gloves.
They think you’re a star on the rise, she thought suddenly. The idea was seductive. Don’t you go thinking that way, she warned herself, then stopped. Was that the voice of her mother, telling her she could never amount to anything? That she would never be a star?
The muffled sound of her cell phone ringing interrupted her thoughts. Naomi was the only person who had called her lately. Angel had never called.
“I just had the most interesting discussion with Jerry Orland,” Naomi said.
“He’s right across the hall, I think.”
“Probably telling Henry what I told him.” Naomi sounded excited in a guarded way.
“Which was?”
“That if he wants you to sign for the next three years touring and any recording and the Vegas gigs, they’ll have to come up with a signing bonus.”
Rett dropped into the chair at the makeup table. She thought for a moment she would faint. Finally, she managed, “Could you repeat that?”
“Happy birthday, sweetie!” Naomi was exultant. “Henry Connors wants you, Rett, wants you lock, stock and barrel. He wants to incorporate Rett Jamison’s vocals into his entire sound. ‘Featuring Rett Jamison’ sounds pretty damned nice, I must say.”
“Holy shit,” Rett breathed.
“Vancouver and Seattle were sellouts after you joined on. I think I made an excellent case for your box-office appeal because of the critical push. You’re a serious musician, not some lightweight bimbo using her assets to cover a lack of talent. If you start doing interviews with Henry, get some feature press in the mags you’ll be a very positive
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