Page 7 of Worth Every Game
“You brought a date?” She holds out her hand without waiting for Jack to confirm, and she and Lydia start going through introductions.
Jack strokes his jaw from his ear to his chin, his elbow propped on the table as the two women talk.
A lock of hair so dark it’s almost black falls across his forehead, looking artful and casually perfect. He really is unfairly good looking. I want to ruffle my fingers through his hair and mess it all up, just to annoy him. He pushes the wayward lock back, and the motion distracts me from my thoughts. He side-eyes me like he’s checking to see if I’m still there. Perhaps suspicious that I’ve been watching him, ogling his bone structure.Damn him and his gorgeous face.
“Can I have a coke, El?” Kate says.
Jack’s still watching me as I add it to the order.Is it hot in here?It’s normally not this warm in the basement, and I am sweating tonight.
“Elly’s got the most beautiful voice,” Kate says to Lydia. “Jack doesn’t believe me.” She nudges Jack. “You’ll find out tonight, eh?”
Surprise lights Lydia’s eyes, and she turns to me. “You’re performing?”
“I’m on at eleven.”
Her forehead wrinkles. “We can’t stay that long.” She stretches across the table, laying her hand over Jack’s again.How many times has she touched him?“I thought we were only here to see the comedy. It’s my client’s opening night at the Shaftesbury Theatre. We’re meeting her after the show.” She turns to me, her hand still covering Jack’s. “I’m in PR. I deal with a lot of famous faces, and I have to be there.”
A slow curl of anger wraps itself around the disappointment in my stomach.Why the hell did Jack show up at all, if he wasn’t going to stay?
Kate leans back in her chair and crosses her arms, death staring her brother. “You’re leaving? But that was the whole point. To hear Elly perform—”
“Jack doesn’t need to be here. I don’t need to prove anything,” I interrupt.
Lydia claps her hands together. “Fabulous.” Her glee stokes my rage. “Because there’s a party after the show. Some big names in British film are popping in.”
Oh, shut up, Lydia. It's unlike me to be this irritated by a woman I don't know, but tonight I can't help it. I tuck the iPad under my arm and then, just because I’m pissed off, I lean into Jack on my way past the table and whisper, “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
I sense him stiffen at my proximity. I don’t turn around to catch his reaction as I head back to the bar, but I’m pretty sure I can feel him staring.
I spend the rest of the evening waiting tables, trying to ignore Jack Lansen and his date. I don’t know why he bothers me so much. He’s a typical money man… only interested in business and cash and all that shit I don’t care about. I don’t think he has a creative bone in his body. I’d never be interested in someone like him. Too corporate. I doubt he has a soul beneath his suit.
At ten thirty, he and Lydia get up to leave. Kate stays alone, and it ignites a spark of anger that Jack’s ditching his sister. When they’ve left, I head back to her table.
“It’s late,” I say. “You don’t have to stay. You’ve heard me play loads. Don’t sit here alone just for me.”
Kate's mouth distorts with a barely concealed yawn, which she covers with the back of her hand. “Oh, Elly… are you sure? I’ve had a tough week at work. I could really use an early night. I’m sorry about Jack. He didn’t tell me he had a date tonight.”
“Doesn’t he always have a date?”
Kate yawns again, but it’s interrupted by a laugh. “True. He has a short attention span.”
I put my hand on Kate’s shoulder. “Go home. I’ll see you later.”
“Actually, I’ll be at Nico’s tonight. You’ll be okay getting back? It’s supposed to rain. Take a cab.”
She’s already lifting her coat, shrugging into it as she stands. She gives me a quick hug. “Break a leg.”
When she’s gone, I clear the table, and there, beneath Jack’s beer bottle, is a pile of fifty-pound notes. My fingers tremble as I count them.Ten. Five hundred quid. It’s the biggest tip I’ve ever received.
But what does it mean?Is it an apology for leaving early, or is he just in the habit of leaving this much cash everywhere he goes, like a bird shitting when it takes off?
It’s probably the latter.
I take the money to Marcia to add it to tonight’s tip pot, tormented by the idea that, despite the enormity of the tip and how pleased everyone will be by it, I would have preferred him to stay and hear me sing.
My set goes well, or as well as I could hope. Turns out not many people stayed after the comedy had finished, but that’s not new. Most of the time, I’m playing to an almost empty room, or a couple of drunks in the corner. Tonight, I played some covers and some of my own stuff. All acoustic guitar, but my buzz had kinda been killed by Jack Lansen showing up only to bail before I’d sung a note.
I stay until closing, helping to clear everything away, and there’s a lock-in afterwards for a few of the regulars, so I join them for a couple of drinks. No need to rush home to an empty house. A tinge of sadness hits me at the thought, but I shove it away.