Chapter 11

11

T en days. It had been ten days since Mia had any contact with Harper at all. In fact, she had walked out on her at a show and hadn't seen her since.

At another photoshoot—god, she was sick to death of photoshoots—she tried to look as though she wasn't always looking around for somebody she knew. She had been posed in a stylish but screaming-tight PVC ensemble, and she learned quickly that not every stylist was as receptive to requests as Eli from MusicLife had been, so smiling and shutting her mouth was the order of the day.

She had been busy, and as much as she loved her new friends, she missed the cozy, welcoming atmosphere of the Indigo Lounge. She missed Esme and her fantastical drinks specials. She missed Ruby, her presence in the corner a welcome constant. She missed her room upstairs; she had been sleeping in hotels more often than her own bed and it was really getting to her. She missed having somewhere she could go and just exist in privacy. She missed Deborah, her infinite wisdom and wise-cracking and support. She missed real people.

She missed Harper.

She really missed Harper. The sense of safety she felt around her. The experience she knew Harper had served as a compass in situations where Mia didn't know what to do. Her guide and her companion in it all. She didn't know whoever this Huntress was, she only knew her Harper, who squeezed her hand and kissed her and smelled of roses and irises, oud lingering on her collarbones as the base note of her new signature perfume. Her Harper, who was quick to annoy but even quicker to melt and always, always had time for Mia.

The photographer asked her to make a "moody face" while hunched over in the chair they had sat her in, and as camera flashes went off in a halo around her head she knew one thing.

This was her fault. It really was. She had gotten too caught up in the parties and the networking and the 70 new contacts in her phone and, sure, she had 70 new contacts in her phone, but she hadn't texted Harper once. Harper had kept on organizing new things for her, and Mia had kept showing up, but the only time she saw her she didn't speak a word. The rising fame and stardom were taking over her soul. Something she always dreamed of so quickly became toxic.

A few days later, during a break in a slot on local radio, she briefly wondered why she had expected Harper to come to everything she was doing. Harper had other clients who she had been working with for a decade, one client in particular who she had known for twenty years. She was not new to this game at all.

A horrible thought crossed her mind: Did Harper do this with all of her clients?

Was the wining and dining, the affection, the promises of power in the industry all a ploy to keep her cut of whatever money Mia made? She dismissed the worry nearly as soon as she thought of it. Whatever was happening, however Harper was feeling, Mia knew that the connection that they had was real. However it ended (and this thought upset her further, because she didn't want it to end at all) she knew that it was genuine.

At a break in a recording session with her band, who she had nicknamed los cuates because they called each other "my guy" all the time, she couldn't get her mind off of Harper at all. The worst part of the whole situation, she thought, was that Harper was officially out of office.

At the end of every email update Mia got, there was a message attached at the end that stated that she was out of the country until the end of the month. If Mia was just able to talk to Harper, to apologize, maybe the distance between them wouldn't feel as cold. She knew things wouldn't be the same as they were, and the thought killed her, but she supposed she would rather have Harper in her life in only one way than not have her at all.

Instead of Harper, Mia had to get anything she would normally need from Carson, one of the assistants at the label. Carson was... fine , Mia supposed. He was always asking her for details about the bookings she had, even though he was the one giving her the information on Harper's behalf. She had absolutely worked with worse people. She really had no right to complain, but she was surprised at his complete lack of tact. Worst of all, he would ask her for gossip about people she had only bumped into once or twice. That seemed really unprofessional, and it was absolutely the kind of thing she would warn Harper about, if she could get in contact with her .

As the days went on and Mia was shuffled from interview to the studio to a photoshoot back to the studio, she began feeling completely helpless. She had no control over her own schedule, and any time she mentioned she might need to take time off to Carson he just laughed down the phone at her and told her Harper had filled out the schedule completely. She was able to call her family back home in Spain less and less, and while they had told her they were watching her interviews they still wanted to hear about any good news Mia had from her . She really missed speaking to her mom, too. She'd say something wise about the situation and then call a carousel a horse tornado or make a bad sex joke and Mia would be able to laugh and laugh.

She wouldn't say horse tornado, actually. Her mom had sent Mia a video where a fellow Spanish-speaking lesbian said that was something her mom would say. Sheltering in a bathroom stall for a moment of quiet in the middle of a press day, Mia pulled the video up and allowed herself to laugh in order to keep from crying. Then, she scrolled down and saw a post from Harper.

She was in Florence. She had flown all the way to Italy without so much as a goodbye, and now Mia was crying in a bathroom stall in a TV studio.

How could she do this to me?

This was exactly what she had asked Harper not to do. This was exactly what Harper had promised not to do.

She needed to speak to her.

Right now, fuck the time difference.

She went into her contacts and called Harper. She noticed the foreign dial tone, another sign that they were far apart. It rang out for a minute, and Mia was about to hang up when Harper picked up.

"Hello?"

Mia didn't say anything.

"Hello, Mia? Can you hear me?"

She let out a single sob, realizing she had no idea what to say. She could hear music and shouting in the background. Harper was at a party.

Somebody on the other line called Harper's name, and she said, "Mia, I'm needed right now but call me back if it's urgent."

Was it urgent? When you haven't spoken to someone for over two weeks but you're not even sure if they'll want to talk to you, is "I miss you" urgent?

Somebody was knocking on the door.

"Miss Cortés? Is everything alright?"

She wiped her eyes.

I can't afford to cry anymore .

Harper was her representation. She was her agent. She was a foot in the door to opportunity, someone who coordinated events, nothing more, nothing less.

It was easy, at first. Mia had a lot to keep herself occupied. Sure, the shine had worn off. Interviews felt less like a novelty and more invasive than they used to. Photoshoots had become her least favorite part of press days. She wanted input, control over her image and how she presented herself. None of that mattered right now. They could ask her to pose naked behind a giant cactus and she would agree because it meant that she was busy.

Busy was good. Busy kept her occupied. If she had questions, she could direct them to Carson, and after answering several more she would get an answer. It dawned on her from the tone he used while talking to her that he didn't like Mia all that much. That was alright. Mia had become very good at keeping things professional.

At least, she was very good at keeping things professional until one night in a strange hotel in Joshua Tree National Park. Sleeping naked under nothing but a sheet, the night was dense with desert heat and Mia just couldn't settle down. She hadn't been allowed to think about anything but work, hadn't been allowed to think of anything period. Now that she wasn't distracted, or being yelled at by paparazzi, or recording a third line of backing vocals, her once-quiet brain had become loud.

Harper was in Italy, partying with her rich friends, and Mia was alone in a strange town surrounded by people she didn't really know. She wanted to go home, wanted to figure out where on Earth home was. She was far from the Indigo Lounge, further from Spain, and even further from Harper.

That was too much for her to handle. Knowing she was alone, knowing nobody but the wildlife could hear her, Mia allowed herself to cry. This was her first moment of real privacy in a while, and all she could bring herself to do was cry. She wanted Harper back in her orbit. She felt like a child, selfish and upset, but she couldn't help it.

Time passed slowly that night. Mia would sob in bursts, then sit up in bed in silence. The screens on the windows kept bugs out, so she got up and allowed the desert wind to fill the room. She knew she didn't have the heart to sleep, so she allowed herself to think clearly. She was being honest with herself for the first time in weeks. The truth was simple, and had been looking her in the face for a while.

The truth was that she wasn't happy. She wasn't. She could fool her co-workers, she could lie to her friends and family, but she couldn't lie to herself anymore.

She rolled over and grabbed her phone from the bedside locker, looking for something to listen to so she could pass the time. She had spent so much intense time in the trenches of the industry that her own love for music had subsided, but she knew it would make her feel…not better, exactly; it wouldn't make her feel better, but it would make her feel less alone.

As she was scrolling through her phone, she saw that she had an email from the label with a schedule update. She was tempted not to read it at all, to save it until the morning, but the temptation passed. She opened it. She had a small, intimate show the following week, followed by a questions-and-answers session. She smiled. Though sometimes they would be invasive, Mia had attracted a fanbase of understanding, kind people, made up particularly of other lesbians. Suddenly, a detail at the bottom of the email stopped her in her tracks.

It had been sent from Harper's email address, and her out-of-office message wasn't attached to the email.

She must be back in the country.

And then, the unavoidable.

I need to speak to her.