The Last Line

Part Two

The venue was stuffy, the floor was sticky, and the smoky air made her feel as if she'd traveled back in time, but the atmosphere made Penny feel alive.

It was a Wednesday night and she was spending the evening at The Echo where an emerging folk-rock band was playing a show. It was the first concert she had been to in a week and it was exactly the reminder she needed as to why she hadn't quit her job. Darren had been in rare form recently, seemingly going out of his way to find problems with her stories and shoot down any pitch she made, relegating her to writing up stories from the wire, while the Google Doc of ideas she kept open at all times grew longer and longer. At least she had her concerts.

After making a couple of laps around the venue, mentally noting the size, makeup, and energy of the crowd for the review she'd be writing later that evening, she went back to the bar and ordered a drink. Seltzer with lime was always her go-to when she was working. It looked like she was drinking, but kept her sharp for the evening.

As she sipped her drink, she scanned the crowd looking for the other critics she usually saw on the scene. She'd noticed Mikael from the Times when she was waiting for her drink, and had spotted Angel at the coat check on her way in. It surprised Penny that they hadn't made their way backstage yet. Critics were usually given a special waiting area where there were drinks, appetizers, and sometimes a chance to chat with whoever was performing that night ahead of the show.

Penny had tried that the first few times she'd been sent out on assignment, but stopped soon after. Maybe it was her relative inexperience compared to other critics, but she still hadn't perfected the idea of separating the art from the artist and found it difficult to be impartial after getting to know someone – she'd either feel bad giving a negative review to a great person or, on one occasion, want to give a shittier than needed review to the asshole who tried to cop a feel. Regardless, her fellow critics would soon be taking their respective spots around the venue.

For venues like The Echo, Penny preferred to stand in the back of the room where she had an equally good view of the artist and crowd, all the better to set the scene for her readers. She scanned the room again as the opener took the stage, noting how the room had started to fill even more, until she spotted the last person she'd expected to see.

Harry.

He locked eyes with her and she froze, hoping he was looking at someone behind her. But that clearly wasn't the case as Harry raised his glass to her from across the room. She mimicked the gesture, unsure of what else to do. She paused, waiting for something else, a mouthed word or a wave, but Harry simply turned back to face front. Leaving Penny to do the same.

Suddenly, she was filled with self-consciousness. Was it just her or was he looking at her? She could feel what she thought were his eyes fixed on her, but each time she turned to look at him, he was focued on the stage. The opener began playing and Penny, though she didn't need to, tried to focus on taking notes to get her brain back in work mode. Five or six songs later – she couldn't remember – the lights came up and the buzz of conversation returned. So had her anxiety over Harry. Feeling shaky, she went back to the bar for some water, taking a sip as she stepped off to the side.

"How are you doing?" a quiet voice asked, close to her ear, causing her to jump. "Shit," Harry said. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"No, you're good. It's good," Penny said, moving away from the bar. "I uh, didn't expect to see you here tonight," she said, scrambling for words.

"I've had the tickets for a while now," Harry replied. "Don't worry, I'm not following you or anything," he added quickly. He paused as Penny looked at him. "Um, did you get my email?" he asked. He was trying to keep his tone casual, but Penny could sense a self-consciousness to the question.