Maisie pressed down on the callouses on her fingertips as George swept her hair away from her face. "That was the biggest place we've ever played," he said, taking her hands in his, "why aren't you happy?" His palms were sweaty.
She rolled her eyes. "I am happy, Gee, but I'm also fucking exhausted."
His teeth glinted in the low light. He picked up a plastic water bottle from the side table and swigged it like mouthwash, before handing it to her. "Here."
She hadn't expected it to burn on the way down, so she coughed a little, trying to cover it up by speaking. "Wow, okay, we're doing that now, are we?"
Smirking, he took it from her and pulled her up from the sofa. "Come on, you'll probably have to say hi to people on the way out."
Maisie let him manoeuvre her through the twisting corridors backstage, as people in Haven t-shirts carried various equipment and supplies around. She let go of his hand, listening to the buzzing in her ears. If she was honest, she would have rather stayed where she was before until everyone else went home. Her limbs were heavy. George stopped, glancing down at his hand like he hadn't realised they were meant to detach.
"What?" he said.
Maisie stood, vodka aftertaste on her tongue. "I don't want to go yet."
He raised an eyebrow. "But you were just on stage in front of them; you've seen them all before already. What's the problem?"
"I don't have to see their faces on stage," she said, aware that someone was lingering at the end of the corridor.
"Come on," George said, reaching for her hand again.
"I'm not a dog," Maisie stepped back, bringing her hands to her chest, "I said I'm tired."
There was a brief moment when Maisie questioned the look in George's eyes, something glass-like, sharp. Yet he looked her right in the face and smiled softly. "Okay," he said, "I'll go and say hi, see if I can clear them a little. I'll come back when it's clear. Are you too tired to come to mine still?"
The relief stung like Maisie had just been smacked with it. "No, I'll still come over." She turned to walk away, stopped, met his expectant face watching her. "Thanks, Gee."
She supposed she was sitting in the green room, but none of the furniture was green. Most of it was worn out leather, the sofa and a weird ottoman that doubled as a drinks stand. George had taken his plastic bottle with him, but there was still an empty beer bottle or two sitting around. Maisie didn't know if he'd been sitting in here, listening to her muffled voice while she was performing, smiling into his vodka. It felt like he'd been standing right there next to her the whole time, like he'd been waiting in the wings. He must have been. He got on stage at the end of her set fast enough. Josie had said something like this might happen. That he was hungrier than her, ready to claw on the back of her success until he made it his too. But Josie had been overthinking it. George and Maisie had been a thing since college, and neither of them had been performing anything back then, just sitting in the smoking area talking about how people would know their names someday. Josie hadn't known him then. Besides, maybe George really thought she wanted Heartbeat to be on her set. People liked it anyway. It had been a good idea.
She reclined slowly, melting into the sofa. Her hand dropped off the side, and she swore she could have slept right there and then. She imagined George outside the stage door, chatting to congratulatory people, preening. There was another plastic bottle, kicked half under the sofa. She picked it up, a cola bottle.
"Jesus Christ," she muttered as she realised it wasn't just cola. She pictured George, pouring various spirits into every bottle he could find. He always said it loosened everyone up, made them perform better. Maisie took another sip. She supposed it did. She imagined George out there, soaking up praise like a sponge. She wondered why she was so bitter. If she went out there, she'd be doing the same thing. Josie probably had something to say about that too, but they hadn't been texting recently. Maybe she should go out there, she told herself. The thought filled her up, winding around her like a spiderweb until she finished the bottle and stood up, blood rushing to her head.
