It felt like a harness. I’d drop it at Hotel K after my session. My phone danced on the passenger seat. It could be Jonathan, but it wasn’t as though he was the only thing I had going on. I was really glad I looked at it—WDE.“Hey, Monica.” Trudie said. “Yeah, I’m on my way up there.”“We had a change. The set’s at DownDawg in Culver City, not Burbank.”“Oh. Did you call Gabby?”“Yeah, I talked to her. Here, let me give you the address.”I pulled over and wrote it down. I was glad I didn’t need to call Gabby because it would probably take me an hour to get there without yacking with my pianist for twenty minutes, dissecting all the possible reasons for the venue change.I did take a second to scroll through my recents. Nothing from Jonathan. Both my relief and disappointment were palpable. Then the phone dinged and buzzed in my hand.—I’m calling you now. Answer.— Oh, wasn’t that just a juicy command? Answer the phone. Spread your legs. What was the difference?When my cell rang, I rejected the call and sent a text.—I have to go to Culver City.
What do You think about Submit (Songs Of Submission)?
