Not long ago, my greatest ambition was for Karen to elevate me from open mic to a paying gig. As soon as that happened, I turned my attention to climbing the next rung of the ladder—opening on a better night. I’m certain that when that comes to pass, I’ll immediately start asking Karen when I can become a featured performer myself. In many ways, I’m still the same Ella Broden as I was in my lawyering days, looking for my next promotion. The main difference is that now I’m doing it in skintight Lycra and knee-high boots rather than a business suit and Ferragamos.

“And?” I ask hopefully.

“To be determined . . . but he’s a fan.”

Behind us, Rescue Dogs begins to set up on the stage. It’s a band with six or seven members, depending on who shows. Their lead singer is a skinny guy named Liam. I’d bet anything that his parents actually christened him William, and I’d go double or nothing that he went by Billy right up to the moment he decided to be a rock star. Among the other ways Liam plays out his Mick Jagger fantasies is by constantly hitting on me, even though I’m at least ten years older. He actually thinks it helps his cause that he calls me “MILF.”

Twenty minutes elapse between my set and theirs. The early setup is a trick Lava uses, making the crowd think the headliner’s about to start so they’ll down their drinks and order refills. Liam is too big of a star in his own mind to do roadie work, so he makes his way to Karen and me, leaving his bandmates to test the equipment.

“My two favorite ladies,” he says, putting an arm around my shoulder. I remove it, and he laughs. “Aw, come on, MILF. I’m just being friendly.”

“Be less friendly and we’ll probably be better friends. Maybe you can start by calling me by my real name—Cassidy.”

Karen laughs, and I give her a death stare. Now is not the time.

“You were really hot tonight . . . Cassidy,” Liam says, exaggerating my name. “Hard act to follow.”

“Maybe soon you’ll be following me.”

“Maybe,” he says, although I know he doesn’t fear that in the least. “But until then, I was thinking we should work you into one of the songs in our set. Might be a cool transition, you know?”

Even though I’m no longer a prosecutor, I can still read a liar from a mile away. He’s not going to give me anything unless I “earn” it through some type of sexual exchange.

“I’d like that,” I say. “How about we try it out tonight?”

“No . . . we need to discuss the terms first.”