Kelly
Holding the guitar up and jiggling it up and down, I sustain the last chord so it can fade off with a little vibrato. When I exhale, it thunders in the microphone, ruining the effect. But Bob and his assistant, Turk, clap enthusiastically. I grimace when I catch Turk's laser gaze pointed at me. There's no smile in his eyes.
Turk has got this incredible olive skin and dark hair, and eyes so light green they leap out at you. And because he hardly ever blinks, his gaze is a glaring spotlight. He's too intense and a close talker. He often doesn't seem to get jokes. But he helps with all the logistics, and Bob trusts him. And so he's helping Bob coach me on how not to be a failure.
"That was the best yet, Kelly, you're relaxing," Bob says as he walks forward to pull the microphone away so I can slide off the stool.
