I almost laugh. “Yes, DeeDee.”
“Okay.” She drops her finger and backs off. Youssef slumps against the wall like he’s been released from a chokehold as she bounces over to me. “Well, in that case, there’s this guy out there who says he wants to hire you to DJ at The Cube Room. The Cube Room, Paige! That place is the best. I told him to come get noodles with us so you guys could talk about it. You should come too.”
She directs the last part at Youssef as she picks up her tray again and carries it over to the dishwasher, side-stepping around the shards at my feet. He stares at her like he’s expecting her to lob one of the glasses at his head.
DeeDee is one of those people you quickly learn not to underestimate.
“Uh...” he begins after the silence stretches on for a second.
It’s the only thought my brain can produce too. This night has taken such an extreme turn for the unexpected I have whiplash.
“I’m gonna go pack up my shit,” I announce before doing what I do best in most social and emotional situations: leaving.
It’s only once I’m back out in the mostly-empty bar that the impact of what just happened truly hits.
Youssef Salah just showed up at Taverne Toulouse. He saw me play. He talked to me. He said words to me, and I said words to him, and then I left him standing in the kitchen.
Holyfuckingshit.
My hands are shaking as I start unplugging things and securing my gear back in its cases. I swear as my Ableton Push—AKA the object I love more dearly than most parents love their children—nearly slips out of my hands. Crouching down behind the booth to shield myself from the servers gathering up glasses and bottles, I ball my hands into fists inside the sleeves of my hoodie and make myself breathe.
He doesn’t get to do this to me. No one gets to do this to me. No one gets to make me feel out of control.
“Uh, hi. Chanly?”
“What do you want?” I snap my head up as a guy leans over the top of the booth to stare down at me.
His eyes go wide, and I realize I must look like a creepy little demon right now, crouched in a ball with my hood covering half my face, swathed by the black mass of my sweater.
“Uh, hi,” I try again, raising myself to my feet. “What’s up?”
“My name’s Nabil. I just, um—” He swallows, probably worried I might start speaking in the voice of Satan.
Honestly not a reputation I mind having.
“Well first off, you had an amazing set. Fucking fantastic. I saw you play at Piknic Électronik a few weeks ago, and it was killer, but this was like...lethal. So good.”
“Uh, thanks.”
My guard starts going up, my body tensing like I’m entering a fight. Men never compliment me unless they’re looking for something in return.
“So, I’m the manager of The Cube Room, on St-Catherine. It’s—”
“I know what it is.”
Which means I know who he is. There are outliers, but men in the music industry are pretty much all the same, and if you’re a girl—especially a girl DJ, andespeciallya girl DJ who isn’t white—it’s a lesson you have to learn quickly.
There’s no time for the benefit of the doubt. They will either treat you like you’re stupid, like you’re a snack, or like you’re a bitch.
So I always establish myself as the latter instead of giving them the choice.
“Cool. So, I’ll just get right to it. I would love to have you play the club—for an initial show, and possibly as a regular feature. Normally I’d be like ‘Let’s have my people talk to your people’ and shit, which I still will, but one of the bartenders said you guys are all going out for food, and that set definitely deserves celebrating, so if you’re interested in talking about The Cube Room...Well, you know they say the best business deals are always made eating noodles at two in the morning.”
He laughs, and I lift one corner of my mouth for half a second.
In my head, I’m already picturing it. A regular set at The Cube Room would be huge for me. I haven’t found a manager I trust enough to hire yet, so for now, it’s just me handling my bookings. The people-pleasing skills needed for that aren’t my strong suit, and I know my career has been suffering from all the times I’ve held back on putting myself out there.
This isn’t an opportunity I can afford to miss.
