Revolution - Jennifer Donnelly [112]
54
I’m hurrying down the Rue Oberkampf. It’s after eight. I’m late. They’ve probably already started.
I’m excited. I should know better but I can’t help it. I can’t wait to see him. Maybe I didn’t totally blow it after all. Maybe we can have a bowl of Rémy’s stew after we play, and talk. Or not talk. Like we did at Sacré-Coeur. Not talking would be very nice.
I open the door and smack into someone. The place is packed. I guess Sunday’s a big night here. I stand on my tiptoes, trying to see the stage. Virgil’s there. He’s rhyming. He’s swaggering up and down. The crowd loves it. They’re cheering him on in ten different languages. He’s most of the way through “I’m Shillin’.” I recognize it from his CD.
“… I’m not somebody
Till I’m wearing LV
A pony, a gator
A big shiny G
Call me a sellout
But I’ll make ya shell out
Buy this watch, drink that tea
You’ll be just like me
Selling sneakers, selling coffee
The money’s sweeter than toffee
Selling jewelry, selling cars
Yeah, it’s welfare for stars
She was the shit
Made arthouse a hit
Just ask Brad Pitt
Then she quit
Now she’s pimpin’ vitamin water
And tellin me I oughta
Buy a bottle of skunkjuice
From her girl Estée Lauder
He had the beats, had the swagger
He was more than a bragger
Sold his rhymes
Many times
Now he’s rich as Mick Jagger
He said, I had to get real
Make a deal Work my spiel
Get my face on the box
Of your kid’s Happy Meal
I bowed down to the clown
Cuz I wanted the crown
The silk dressing gown
The penthouse uptown
Now I’m a Bolivar smoker
Playing craps, playing poker
I’m a big power broker
And Diddy’s a joker
Sell your music, your art
Sell your soul, it’s okay
Don’t ever forget
Where there’s a shill, there’s a way.”
He takes a big arms-out bow and the audience goes wild.
Jules is behind him. And some other guys. They have gear tonight—mics, amps, guitars, a drum machine. They don’t see me. I’m way at the back with no idea how I’m going to make my way through the crowd.
I look left and right, trying to figure out a path. I look at the stage again and see someone I didn’t see before—a tall, beautiful girl with dark hair and light brown skin. She steps up, gives Virgil a towel and a glass of water. She turns to go, but he reaches for her, takes her hand and pulls her to him. He whispers something in her ear, then kisses her cheek. She laughs. Hugs him. Hops down off the stage.
Wow. That didn’t take long. Guess he was really broken up that it didn’t work out with me.
I duck out. Quick. Before anyone can see what a sad and sorry fool I am.
55
I’m trying to play “Norwegian Wood.” But it’s not working. I’m fumbling the chords. It’s a total mess. I give it up and try some Bach. But that doesn’t go well, either.
I’m playing to keep from thinking about things. Such as—Why did I think Virgil didn’t have a girlfriend? Two? Five? A dozen? Him, a hot hip-hop god? I thought there was something special between us. I was sure there was. But I guess I was wrong. Impaired judgment—another fabulous side effect of Qwellify.
I bungle the passacaille I’m trying to play. I tell myself it’s because my hands are cold. It’s windy out here on the Pont Neuf. There’s snow on the air. A few flakes are already swirling down. But I know the cold’s not the reason I’m playing badly. It’s the Qwell. I took more after Rémy’s. And now I’m slow and numb. I can’t feel a thing. I know it’s cold, but I can’t feel it. I know I’m heartbroken, but I can’t feel that, either.
I’m far away from Rémy’s now. Far away from G’s. After I saw Virgil, I didn’t want to go back to G’s. Lili might’ve returned from dinner. Dad might be back from the lab. And I don’t want to talk. Not to them. Not to anyone. All I want to do is play. To find that one note like Nathan told me to.
The wind blows my hair into my face. I brush it away and feel something on my cheeks. I wipe at it. My palm comes away covered with tiny frozen crystals. I think it’s tears.
My phone rings. I pull it out of my pocket and look at the number. It’s Virgil. I put it back.