That's it. I can't handle anymore discussion about Drax or Roadkill or my miserable, disappointing life. Great, heaving sobs roll over and out of me. Dad gathers me into his arms, the safest place I know, and I let all the stress and fear and heartache loose and sob into my father's shoulder, clutching at him like a life-preserver. It seems as if I cry for hours before I calm down enough to release him.

"I'm sorry," I choke out, ineffectively wiping at the dampness on his faded Prince concert shirt.

"Oh honeybear, that's what I'm here for, you know that."

Papi's shaved head pops into the tiny office. "You got a call, Lola-mami. Wait, what happen? Why you cry?"

I sniffle back tears and try to regain my composure while Dad explains. Papi is despondent that he missed a good bawling session.

"Ay, why you no wait for me?!" he wails. "We no cry together since dat last nasty pendejo broke up with you!"

One of the nice things about Papi is that his storms pass quickly and with little damage. "We cry later, kay?" he says, dropping a kiss on my forehead.

I smile up at him, the heart and soul of our little family. "Okay, Papi. I love you."

"Ay!" He tears up and runs out of the office before his tastefully applied eyeliner can smudge.

"Okay, sweetie, I'll leave you to it," Dad says. "Don't forget that call."

Right. The handset of Dad's ancient, beige desk phone weighs a ton compared to modern phones. It has those giant clear buttons that blink to show which line is holding. I take a deep breath and mash down the first button, praying that it's one of the dozens of venues that haven't yet said no.

"Lauren Raines speaking."

"Lauren! It's Harry. Harry Stephens. How ya' been?"

I'm stunned into muteness. The last time I saw my old boss, he looked like he was about to pop a gasket. What the hell could he possibly want?

"Um, good?"

"Great! Say, I hear you're doing a bang-up job managing Roadkill. That's good to hear."

"Um, thanks?"

Who would he have heard that from? The only person I can think of is my ex-coworker Michelle, but she wouldn't have blabbed to Harry.

"Yeah, so...I wanted to call to apologize for being so hard on you."

Screw him if he thinks I'm going to let him off the hook that easy. So what if I deserved to be fired? He didn't have to humiliate me like that.

"You mean the night you screamed at me in front of about a hundred people and then fired me?"

Harry laughs uncomfortably. He's used to being the cock of the walk, having everyone run around him like minions. Well, I don't work for him anymore, so I don't have to pussyfoot around.

"Uh, yeah, well...I guess emotions were high that night, and I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

"Okay."

I refuse to accept his lame, half-assed apology, and the silence drags out between us. Can you say 'awkward'?

"Listen. I maybe acted a little too...hastily that night. This place is crazy without you, Lauren. I want you to come back."

My skin crawls at the arrogance in his offer, like I should be so lucky to work for him again. Little does he know that losing that job was the best thing that's ever happened to me. No, I'm not making much -- okay, any -- money at the moment, but it opened my eyes to the possibility of still having a career without having to demean myself.

"You mean you can't handle the workload alone and no one else will work with you, isn't that right?"

His reply is stony silence.

"Now you listen, Harry. I wouldn't work for you again if you paid me four times what you did before. You have no respect for your employees, anyone really. You're the most spiteful, hateful, miserable man I've had the displeasure of knowing. Have a nice life."

The handset is halfway to the cradle when he shouts something I don't quite make out. "What did you say?"

"I said, I'll book your boys. Against my better judgment, mind you, considering what happened last time, but I hear you might be having trouble getting gigs."

Damn, gossip travels fast. "What did you hear?" I demand. My blood is boiling.

"Oh, just that a certain someone has it in for your boy Drax. And that if you don't set up something soon, Roadkill may become roadkill themselves."

I'm speechless. Finally, I get the nerve to tell Harry what I think about him and he lays this on me.

"Marvin will have a shit fit," he continues merrily, "and I'm sure I'll pay for it somehow, but if you agree to come back to work for me -- at double your previous salary, by the way, not quadruple -- I'll book the band as a headliner. That should keep 'em limping along till things settle down."

'Stunned' doesn't even begin to describe how I'm feeling. Run over with a Mack truck is more like it. My world compresses around me until the only thing I can see is the bright light glowing steadily behind the phone's acrylic button.

"Think about it," Harry says, his voice hollow, like it's coming through a tin can with a string attached. "But I need an answer by tomorrow morning."

The phone buzzes in my ear for a full minute before I carefully replace the handset.

"Shit."

I'm so nervous I could puke. Hand to heart, my stomach is flopping around in my belly like a dying fish. Good thing I didn't have any appetite before coming down to the marina to present my plan to the boys or there'd be a mess all over the boat's pretty teak and holly floor.

Drax was uncharacteristically early but he hasn't said a word since I arrived a few minutes ago. He hasn't even looked at me. My stomach flips even harder. If he's this pissed off, he may want Roadkill to die, no pun intended. I hope the fact he showed up at all is a good sign.

Jake was the last to arrive and now that they're all settled, I'm left standing across from them like a salesperson giving a pitch. Which I guess I am, come to think of it. If they don't go for my plan, Roadkill will break up and Drax will move back east, and I really don't want that to happen.

"Okay, Lauren," Savory says, giving me an encouraging smile. "Lay it on us."

I nod and clear my throat. If I don't make words come out of my mouth soon, something more disgusting will, so I take a deep breath and dive in.

"Guys, Marvin's really kicked Roadkill's ass. It's not fair and it's not right, especially considering that the reason Drax was late for that show was because he was kidnapped by some crazy chick, but he's not backing down. I've put in a dozen calls to him but..."

"Fuck Marvin," Drax growls. Yeah, he's pissed.

"Right. Well, I've been busting my hump all week trying to line up a decent gig but it's no good. He's got too much power in the biz and every big venue -- every one that called me back, that is -- said how sorry they were, blah blah blah."

"Fuck them, too," Frank chimed in.

"I disagree," I say. "Yes, fuck Marvin. But the venues...we need them. Eventually. What we have to do is prove to them that Roadkill can bring in big ticket sales. If they see the numbers, Marvin's little blackball game won't mean a thing. As powerful as he is, the bottom line is more important."

"Sure, but no one will book us, you just said so yourself."

This is where it gets sticky. I try to swallow but my mouth is a desert.

"Not no one, exactly. I got a call from my old boss this morning. He's willing to take another chance on the band. It could be an opportunity for you to prove you're reliable and can still draw the crowds, which might help you book more gigs afterward."