I felt myself deflate. “What about a consulting gig?”
There was a long, awkward pause. “I want to help, but . . . God, I feel like a dick. You and your dad are like family to me. But reputation is really important in this business. And right now, your dad’s is . . . I mean . . . Recommending him would be tricky for me. I’m sorry.”
I took a fistful of my own hair and tugged. I’d been stupid to ask.
“Yeah, no, I get it.”
Another long pause.
“Listen, I could probably get you a pay-to-play gig at the Tack & Saddle. The booker there owes me.”
I cringed. Pay-to-play gigs were the lowest form of employment. Essentially, the venue made you buy tickets to your own show and then sell them yourself.
Rico must have read my reaction in the silence, because he said, “I know it’s not ideal. But if he draws, maybe they’d hire him for some lounge shows, or an afternoon spot. You could probably capitalize on the whole Craig Rogan—”
“Even if we had the funds, he’d never go for it.” I took a deep breath. I was out of options. “I don’t suppose you could loan—”
But Rico cut in. “If you wanted to pick up some assistant work, I could definitely get you interviews. You’ve got the look. You’ve got more than adequate skills.”
“No,” I said, a little too quickly. “I mean, I can’t. I’ve got school.”
“Oh, right.”
I considered asking again for a loan, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I pivoted, asking about his sister and her career. The conversation rapidly devolved into awkward small talk; I knew Rico was just being polite, and he knew that I knew.
“I wish you’d reconsider the assistant stuff,” he said. “You could work nonstop out here.”
“Thanks,” I said. I didn’t want to talk anymore.
“If there’s anything else I can do for you, just call, okay?”
We said goodbye. I dropped the phone onto the bed and squeezed my eyes shut tight.
What were we going to do?
I wanted to hide in my room—but then I heard Dad moving around in the kitchen and decided I couldn’t stay in here any longer without making him worry. So I put on a fresh T-shirt and jeans and opened the door.
“There she is,” he said. “I was just about to make some breakfast. Are you hungry?”
“Just coffee,” I said. “I ate enough last night to choke a T. rex.”
“Just coffee it is.” He put on the electric kettle and nodded back toward my room. “Was that your young man on the phone?”
“No,” I said. “It was Rico.”
“And how is our young Master Vega?”
I poured some water into my coffee mug and took a drink, giving myself time to form an answer. Gig or no gig, I needed to persuade Dad to head west, and I had hoped my call to Rico would give us a legitimate reason. Since it hadn’t, I was forced to lie.
“He booked us a gig in Las Vegas.”
Dad turned to look at me now, his mouth slightly open. “Did he really?”
I shrugged. “It’s only two nights at the Tack & Saddle, but . . .”
I’d picked the Tack & Saddle because I knew it wouldn’t sound too good to be true. As expected, Dad’s mouth twisted as if he’d bitten into a lemon. I knew what he was going to say: downtown was for third-rate acts and has-beens. I didn’t want to remind him that’s exactly what we were.
“Downtown? Ellie, no. That’s—”
“I know,” I said. I got up, put my hand on his arm. I was surprised how easy it was to roll with the story. “But we need the money.”
His face went red. For a moment, I thought I’d made a mistake, that he would refuse to go, and we’d be back to square one. But then his shoulders sagged.
“You’re right.” The kettle whistled. Dad turned it off and reached for the canister of coffee. “Of course you’re right.”
The resignation in his voice made my chest ache, and all of a sudden I was desperate to take it back. To spill the truth, to tell him everything. But if I told him now, he would blow up. And then when his anger subsided, he would simply refuse to go. He would make me call Grace and cancel. But we couldn’t afford to cancel. We couldn’t afford Dad’s pride. So I had to hold on to the lie, at least for a little longer.