Faye dressed like she was going to a funeral. Black trousers, a gray shirt buttoned to the collar, no jewelry. She looked in the mirror of her apartment and practiced her speech. 'I am not quitting. I am not coming home. I have a contract and a plan and I will see it through whether you pay for it or not.' She had been rehearsing these lines for three weeks, ever since her father summoned her and gave her the ultimatum: produce results or return to the family business.
She expected shouting. She expected him to have hired a new accountant to prove that ninety percent of musicians fail. She expected him to bring up the tuition he had paid for her business degree, the connections he had offered, the respectable future she was throwing away for a microphone and a dream. Her sister, Zara, had called three times that morning. Faye ignored every ring. She needed to stay angry. Anger was the only thing that had kept her from crying in front of him before.
