October 19, 2004
New York City
"Roland! Hey, Roland!"
Daffodil walked through the empty nightclub, Rose following at a distance. It was eleven o’clock in the morning, and they had arrived in the city three hours earlier after two weeks of walking and hitching rides south.
"Roland!"
Rose winced at Daffodil’s shrill voice. It had taken them two hours to find their way there because Daffodil didn’t remember the exact location of the club, and in a city the size of New York, that could make finding a place difficult.
Finally, a scruffy-looking man of indeterminate age stepped out of his office, holding his head and glaring at them. "Who are you and what are you doing in here?"
Rose was a bit taken aback, wondering if Daffodil really knew him. Her unspoken question was answered a moment later, though, when he groaned and narrowed his eyes.
"Daffodil, what are you doing back here?"
"What do you mean, what am I doing back here? I haven’t seen you in over three years."
"Last time I saw you, I put you on a plane for Albuquerque. You swore you were going to stay out of trouble."
"I have stayed out of trouble, and anyway, the plane only reached Baltimore before being grounded. It was September 11, 2001, remember?"
"How could I forget? I knew your flight wasn’t one of the hijacked ones, though, so I didn’t worry. You can take care of yourself."
"Lucky for you. Mom and Dad would have had a fit if anything had happened to me."
"You did eventually make it to New Mexico, didn’t you?"
"Eventually. Baltimore isn’t bad, though I must admit I prefer the west; but yes, I made it back home two weeks later."
"What are you doing here now?"
"Rose and I just got here from Canada and we need jobs."
"Rose?" Roland looked past Daffodil and groaned again. "What makes you think I have jobs available?"
"You always have jobs available."
"Not this time."
"That’s not what the janitor who let us in said." Daffodil turned to Rose. "Before I forget my manners—and don’t you dare make a smart remark—Rose, this is Roland de la Maize, my sort-of step-uncle."
"Your sort-of step-uncle?" Rose raised an eyebrow, wondering at this bit of information.
"Well, see, he’s the stepson from the first marriage of my grandfather’s third wife—it was her second marriage when she married him—but the marriage didn’t last long because she thought she was marrying him for his money and he didn’t have any money, but they stayed married long enough that I met Roland, who she had custody of while his dad was off serving active duty in Nicaragua back in the eighties." She leaned closer to Rose. "Don’t worry. He cleans up pretty good."
"Don’t even try to play matchmaker," Rose hissed. "I have no interest in your sort-of step-uncle."
Roland sighed, letting go of his head and then touching it again carefully as though afraid it would fall off. "Daffodil, I can’t afford to send you home this time. The club is short on singers, and…"
Daffodil waved aside his objections. "I don’t want to go home right now anyway, so I wouldn’t go even if you could send me. And anyway, Rose can sing, so you can hire her for that."
"Daffodil…"
"You’re just being rude because you have a hangover. I told you all that stuff you drink isn’t good for you."
"I don’t have jobs for you and your friend, so just stop it right there."
"I just told you that Rose can sing."
"Daffodil…"
"Please, Uncle Roland?" Daffodil switched tactics, giving him a puppy-dog look. "You just said you’re short on singers, and Rose and I sang in a band until it broke up."
"You sang in a band? No wonder they broke up. You couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket."
Rose bristled at the insult to her best friend. "She’s only that bad sometimes!"
"Oh, thanks a lot, Rose." Daffodil cast her an annoyed look, then turned back to Roland. "Won’t you at least give her an audition? You haven’t got anything better to do."
"Daffodil, I have a pile of paperwork, and then I have to look for two new singers…" He put a hand over his face, realizing what he had just said.
"See? I’ve just lightened your workload. I found you a new singer already."
"Goddammit, Daffodil…" He gritted his teeth. "All right. I’ll audition her…but if she makes my headache any worse, she’s out of here."
"You’ll love her. I promise." Daffodil turned to Rose, who looked ready to turn and walk out. "You’re auditioning to be a lounge singer, more or less. This isn’t exactly one of the hottest, trendiest nightclubs around." When Rose looked longingly towards the door again, Daffodil continued, "Roland’s not very picky when he’s desperate."
"Daffodil!" Rose and Roland looked at her incredulously.
"I’m not desperate," Roland added.
"And I’m not that bad," Rose put in.
"Well, then, good. It’s all settled. You’ll audition and he’ll hire you."
Roland glowered at Daffodil for a moment, then turned to Rose. "Do you ever want to strangle her?" he asked.
"Only sometimes," Rose answered him, narrowing her eyes at Daffodil. Looking at Roland again, she asked, "Are you going to audition me or not?"
He sighed resignedly. "I guess. Show me what you can do."
"Right now?"
"Can you think of a better time?"
Rose shrugged. "I guess not." Taking a deep breath and standing up straight, she sang a few lines of a song that had been popular a few years earlier.
He listened to her for one verse, then cut her off. "All right, all right. You’re hired. Be here at six to warm up your voice. You’re just a back-up singer for now, okay?"
"Sure." Rose tried to be blasé, but inside she was excited. It was her first singing job she’d gotten on her own instead of as part of a band, even if she was just a back-up singer.
Daffodil was staring at Roland with her arms crossed. He stared back at her for a moment, wondering what she wanted, then closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.
"Okay, Daffodil. You can serve drinks—but you’d better stay out of trouble."
"Oh, honestly, how much trouble do you think I can get into?"
She was a little surprised when Rose and Roland responded in unison.
"Plenty!"