1980: You Shook Me All Night Long (Love in the 80s #1) (3 page)

T
he phone rang
as we were walking out of the room. “Meet you downstairs?” I asked Georgia. It was six o’clock on the dot, which meant Dad was calling. Georgia wiggled her fingers and pulled the door closed behind her.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Tina. How was class today?” Same question every night.

“Uneventful. I have a huge test on Monday, so lots of studying for me this weekend.” It wasn’t a lie. I was going to study...tomorrow. But he didn’t need to worry about me going to a concert, and he would. He wouldn’t sleep at all.

“That’s good. It’s good to stay focused.”

“Yeah. How was work?”

“Same ole, same ole.”

I stared at the door, twisting the phone cord around my finger. “Yeah. I’m going to go grab some dinner and bring it back here so I can get some work done. I’ll talk to you later, Dad.”

“Sure. Lock your door.”

With a laugh, I promised, “I will.”

Guilt was evil. I put the handset in the cradle and stared at the bright yellow phone. Georgia used nail polish to paint a black and white checkered stripe over the top of it so that it looked like a taxi cab. Only Georgia.

One look in the mirror and an extra spritz of hairspray and I was out of there. I left my door unlocked.

Georgia waited at the bottom of the steps with a pair of hunks. One was tall, blonde and tan. The other had dark hair, eyes and skin. They looked like they’d stepped out of the pages of a magazine.

Georgia squealed when she saw me. “Guys, this is like my BFF, Tina. Tina, this is Rick.” The blonde waved. Georgia gestured to his friend. “And this is Mark.”

Rick. Mark. Got it.

“Rick is your date! Surprise!”

Date? My eyes widened and I smiled to be polite. Georgia hadn’t mentioned a date, much less with man-candy like this. I gave up trying to tug my shorts down. The indecent shards of was my favorite pair of jeans weren’t budging.
Shit.

The motion drew Rick’s eyes to my legs and he gave me a sly smile.
Not tonight, buddy. Not that kind of girl.
I’d seen
Maniac
. Who knew seemingly normal people could be such utter freaks. Oh, no. Rick would have to get to know me better before he got further than a glimpse at this bod.

Georgia is rubbing off on me.
She chattered about how excited she was, flipped her hair and tried to drag me into the conversation. Giving up, she waved to us all. “Let’s get going. The concert starts in an hour. I want to get close to the stage.”

We didn’t even have to take the shuttle, what Georgia and most of our classmates had affectionately dubbed, “the cock.” Because Mark had a car. Not just any car. Mark had a 1972 Mustang. Dark blue with a white racing stripe, she glistened in the sunset.

Mark slid into the driver’s seat and Georgia pulled her seat forward so that Rick and I could take the back seat. “After you,” Rick said with a grin.

Damn these shorts.

I shimmied into the back seat and buckled in. Rick settled beside me, slinging his arm over my shoulders. “Scared, babe?” he said, fingering the nylon seatbelt.

“Just precautious.”

He snickered. “Mark, she’s afraid of your driving.”

“Whatever, jackwad.” Checking his mirrors, Mark eased backwards, threw the car in drive, pushed in the clutch and spun his wheels with a shrieking noise. The scent of burnt rubber and bad decisions lingered in the air.

Why did I have a very bad feeling about this?

T
he parking lot
of the Bovard Auditorium was packed, but Mark found a couple of spots around the back of the building. He took them both, straddling the line in between.
As if! What a douche!

Georgia giggled and swung her legs out of the bucket seats. She lifted the seat for us. Rick climbed out and then walked around to clap his buddy on the shoulder. He didn’t even offer me a hand getting out of this tiny tin can. Okay, she was a pretty can. A lovely one. But Rick was a premium, grade-A asshole. I’d found the beef!

A petite hand with rainbow fingernails, fishnet, fingerless gloves and an impatient twitch jutted into my face. “Come on, sweet thing,” Georgia cooed. I climbed out of the car and held hands with my bestie, bypassing the guys. If they wanted us, they’d have to come get us. Unfortunately, they followed.

At the auditorium entrance, Georgia fished into her tiny cross-body, dramatically producing four tickets. “Tonight is going to be rad!”

Rick and Mark gave each other high-fives and whooped. Mark scooped Georgia up and spun her around in a circle, making her squeal out. She smacked his chest and told him to stop it before planting a sultry kiss on his lips. I could almost see his eyes darken, his hands tighten on her waist.

Rick looked at me expectantly.
Whatever, bro. Not happening.
I looked away and he took the hint, holding the door open for all of us. Georgia and Mark entered first and then I passed him by. His hand on the small of my back...did nothing for me.

Georgia saved the day, pulling me inside. “I’ve heard they’re as good as AC/DC!”

“No way. No one’s as good as AC/DC. That’s blasphemy!” I smiled, letting her drag me to the ushers.

People were writhing all around us, an electric buzz in the air. It was contagious. The tickets were non-specific, so we were shown the main doors and pointed toward the best areas to see the band. “Thank you!” Georgia screamed over the din of music, laughter and excited energy. “Let’s get close!”

The guys followed us, jogging down the aisle to keep up. We were front and center about ten rows back. Georgia shouted to Mark, “Eventually they’ll let us up at the stage!”

He nodded with a smile, not nearly as enthusiastic as Georgia was, but still supportive.

Rick maneuvered around Mark to stand beside me. His hand slid over the curve of my ass, making me freeze in place and promptly remove his hand. “I barely know you,” I growled.

“Who cares, babe? I’d love to get to know you better.”

The feeling was not mutual. I looked to Georgia to get me out of this situation, but she was busy shoving her tongue down Mark’s throat. The two earned cheers from people all around us. Georgia came up for air, bubblegum pink lipstick smeared around her lips. She swiped the skin and gave a curtsy.

Rick backed off and started talking football with the guy next to him and soon the lights dimmed, the electric guitar riff started and the entire place went totally nuts. Jumping, screaming people were everywhere from all walks of life, and I was one of them.

Everything was, well it wasn’t perfect, but it was okay until it all went to hell.

I
was still bracing
myself against the front end of the firebird at ten o’clock when the house phone rang. “Hello?” There was a lot of noise in the background.

“Hello, is this Luke Davis?”

“It is.”

“This is Sergeant Greg Hammond of the LAPD. There was a disturbance reported on the USC campus this evening. I’m afraid your bother was involved. Joseph has been arrested and is being held at...”

My ears began to ring. “Can you repeat that address for me, Sir?”

I was going to kill him, wring his neck, and throttle that little shit. Arrested? This would go on his permanent record. This could ruin his entire life. Did he ever consider that? Hell no. He was grounded. I wasn’t his parent, but I sure as hell would act like his worst nightmare now. What the hell did he do? He was going to a concert. A concert! You stand. You dance. You listen to music. You do not get arrested.

Jail. My little bro was in jail, probably sandwiched between the prostitutes and murderers. I ran to the bathroom and scrubbed my grease-stained hands as best I could. A quick change of my shirt and jeans and I ran to the counter for my keys.

My fucking keys. Joey took the car.

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

Cab or borrow? Armistead would never have to know. It was just a quick trip through town to talk with the officer. I needed to beg him to release Joey. I could just afford rent, bills and grub. Bail wasn’t an expense I’d planned for.

But if I could fix the bird...

Shit.
I ran to the garage and released the hydraulic jack. The lady sank onto her tires. I patted her side as I eased the jacks out from beneath her undercarriage. “Easy ride, tonight, pretty girl.”

I ran around to the driver’s side, wrenched the door open and turned the key. Pretty girl purred to life. Revving the gas a few times, I took off out of the garage.

The precinct that Hammond mentioned was in an area of town not far from campus, but one I wasn’t familiar with. I knew how to get Joey to school, so it shouldn’t be too hard. Prowling down the street, I didn’t feel the shimmy. The rattle seemed to be gone, too. Had I fixed her?

I eased to a stop at a light. Nothing.

“Hey, hot stuff! We’d love to ride you all night long!”

Three girls with zig-zagged hair higher than the roof of my car hooted and giggled. One waved, wiggling her fingers and her ass as she leaned over the side of their yellow convertible. I just shook my head and smiled.

Focus. Get Joey and get back to work on the Firebird.

The light turned green and I peeled out, leaving them squealing in my wake. They could dream about that tonight. I found Preston Street and turned down Hawk. The precinct was on Darnold. Where the fuck was Darnold? Craning my neck at each intersection, I looked for it.

This was going to be a long night.

Darnold. Pay dirt! I made a right turn and crept down the street, in and out of the amber streetlights’ glow. Apartment buildings and storefronts...and the LAPD Precinct 223. Parallel parking the bird right in front of the building, I locked her up tight and jogged up the steps. Joey had a lot of explaining to do.

Inside the door was a small square of a room with a glass window. A young officer was seated behind a desk just beyond that glass. “

Hello.”

“One moment,” he said, never looking up.

Something on a screen held his attention. I tried to sneak a peek, but the TV was positioned in the corner and I couldn’t get a glimpse.

“Sure,” I muttered, stuffing my hands in my pockets.

He jotted down some numbers and letters onto scratch paper and then looked up expectantly.

“Sargent Hammond called. He said my brother Joseph is being held here.”

“Joseph?”

“Davis,” I supplied.

He harrumphed. I couldn’t stop staring at his mustache, thick and black, and all Burt Reynolds. “Hammond!” he hollered into the back of the building where there was much more going on than I ever imagined on a Friday night in a police station. But then again, unlike my brother, I’d never had to see it firsthand.

Punk.

Hammond was a rotund man whose uniform shirt’s button strained to keep his stomach contained. Thank all that was holy for white undershirts. He hoisted his belt and sucked back in a dribble of chaw juice that had escaped the bulge in his lower lip. “Can I do for you?” he asked.

“You called about Joey Davis. I’m his brother Luke.”

“Yeah. One of the ones from the ruckus at the concert. Damn kids. Can’t just go out and have fun. Have to ransack the auditorium like a pack of rabid wildebeests.”

“Joey’s a good kid. I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding, sir.”

“You calling me a liar, boy?” He stepped up to the glass.

“No, sir. Can I see my brother?”

His beady eyes narrowed. “Sure. But just for a few minutes. We have to process them. It’s taking longer than normal because there’s a damn crowd of them this time.”

“Thank you.”

“Step toward the metal door, hands on your head. You have to be searched before I let you in. We take every precaution here,” Hammond explained.

“Sure.” I stepped toward the door, fingers laced behind my head. Click. Click. The lock disengaged and Hammond’s footsteps filled the tiny room. His hands patted up and down my sides, outside and then inside of my legs, stomach, back.

When he was finished, he dismissed me with, “At ease.” I let my arms fall down and turned to face him.

“You the one with the Firebird outside?” he asked, waving me into the bright-white room full of tables, phones, papers and file cabinets.

“Yeah.” Looking around, it was just like I’d seen in the movies.

“So, it’s yours? I love Pontiacs.”

“I borrowed it from a friend,” I lied.

“What’s your friend’s name? I’d love to see if he’d be interested in selling it.”

“Todd Armistead. I think he loves the car, though.”

Hammond gave me another harrumph. “If Todd Armistead existed, I’m sure he would love it, but he isn’t real. Is he, boy?”

“What?” I stopped in my tracks.

“Todd Armistead doesn’t exist. That car was reported stolen two weeks ago. It’s a rare paint job. Nolan noticed when you pulled in. Cameras everywhere. You can never be too careful. So, that means,
you’re
under arrest for grand theft auto.”

Click. Before I could process what was happening, he had a cuff on one arm and the other already twisting behind my back. Click.

“You’re wrong. I’m a mechanic! Armistead dropped that car off to my shop yesterday! I didn’t steal her. He said I could drive it to see if I had fixed the rattle. Joey took my car tonight, so I drove his car here. This is just a misunderstanding.”

Hammond ignored me, reading me my rights and shoving me toward the back of the room where a hallway jutted out from the right. I could see the cell bars, several pairs of hands wrapped around them. They were teeming with people.

“Joey!”

“Luke!” Joey’s voice called out from the last cell, the one closest to the cinder block wall.

“Can I at least be put in the same cell as my brother?”

Hammond shoved me again. “Don’t see why not.”