Bread Crumbs: A Fallen Fairytales Dark MM Romance by Kim Fielding

Author:Kim Fielding [Fielding, Kim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tin Box Press
Published: 2024-02-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

The bar at Gingerbread was officially closed for the night—and technically the club was closed too. In fact, the staff members were wiping and sweeping up. But Paul delivered three glasses of whiskey anyway and then retreated to the other side of the room for a discussion with Annmarie. Zimri, who sat directly next to Karapandza, swallowed his drink in one go.

“What do you want to talk about?” he asked.

“You’re a straight-to-business type.” It was hard to tell whether Karapandza meant that as a compliment.

“It’s late and my boy Johnny’s had a long day. He’s gonna turn into a pumpkin soon if he doesn’t get home.”

Karapandza nodded but didn’t even glance at Johnny, who sat on Zimri’s other side. “Fair enough. I— Hang on.” Karapandza pulled a handkerchief from his inside suit-coat pocket—who carried handkerchiefs anymore?—and blew his nose. “I apologize. I seem to be allergic to your city.” He tucked the thing away again.

“I enjoyed your performance tonight. You were really something.” Karapandza still looked only at Zimri.

“The songs are amazing, aren’t they? Johnny wrote them.”

“You have sort of a White Stripe-esque, garage band, pop-punk thing going on. That’s interesting.”

Zimri glanced over at Johnny, who shrugged. They’d never tried to fit into any genre pigeonhole. There especially didn’t seem to be much reason for it when they were playing a drag club. “We play what we like,” said Zimri, summing up their musical philosophy.

“Yes. Fortunately, it’s also what your audience likes.” Karapandza blew his nose again, a startling sound in the nearly empty room. “Tell me, are you familiar with Fingerbone Music Group?”

“Of course,” said Zimri. “You represent High Rhythm. Monkey Panic. YKT. Amee Green. Bryan Vice. Uh⁠—”

Laughing, Karapandza held up a hand. “Yes, I see you’ve heard of us. We have Grammy winners, multi-platinum artists, groups that sell out stadiums all over the world. Did you know that when Scratch Foster went on tour earlier this year, Singapore made it a school holiday because so many kids wanted to go?”

“Good for her. But why are you here now, Mr. Karapandza?”

“Just call me Kar. Everyone does.” Kar had a wide smile with very white teeth. It reminded Johnny of an alligator. And his nails, Johnny noticed, were carefully buffed; his silver cufflinks bore the Louis Vuitton monogram.

Zimri swallowed his whiskey and said, “All right, Kar. Why are you here now?”

“One of my reps saw some buzz about Seven Days on social media and caught your show. He was impressed enough that he urged me to fly up and see for myself.”

Zimri’s shoulders were so tense that he was practically vibrating. He reached for his glass, found it empty, and grabbed Johnny’s instead. Johnny didn’t stop him. “And?” asked Zimri.

“Well, it’s an untraditional venue to be sure, but that doesn’t matter. You found a way to capture your audience, which is what matters. You play the guitar passably well and you’ve got a great voice. You’re sexy as hell. And you have enough charisma to choke a horse. With some guidance, you have the potential for stardom.

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