Just a Girl (9 page)

“What’s this guy’s name?” I asked Kenzie.

“Ronnie,” she said.

“He’s good.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She looked pleased with my assessment.

Now that they had the audience’s attention, the band moved easily into their set, with plenty of upbeat music to keep the dance floor full. Although they mostly played covers, there was a cohesive style to the music. It fit in with one of the current vibes in music, a sort of folk-rock hybrid with lots of musicians and clever substitutions of instruments to make even the most overproduced pop hit fit with the sound.

They were a talented group, which was a relief, I had to admit. It’s always a dicey proposition seeing someone’s band for the first time when you don’t know their music. I hate to sound like a snob, but a lot of bands straight-up suck. There’s a reason so few people make it in the industry, and it’s not all about luck. You have to have something to back you up, and talent is by far the most useful.

I noticed that as the set progressed, Paul relaxed a little bit. He still wasn’t anywhere near the edge of the stage, interacting with the audience the way I loved to do, but he was at least connecting with the rest of the band. I even saw him smile a few times. And his playing was damn near flawless. I could have watched his fingers pull music from the strings of his guitar all night.

He switched instruments from time to time to fit the songs, and used an effects pedal to mimic various sounds. I had a feeling he was one of those guys who could sound like just about anyone if he wanted to. Nothing seemed outside his skill set.

Kenzie caught me watching him intently and whispered, “He’s pretty good, eh?”

I nodded. I was entranced. Maybe the weed was helping, but I had a hard time keeping my eyes off him.

The urge to sing along was almost overpowering. I knew so many of their songs, my lips seemed to move of their own accord, wanting to form lyrics. In the noise of the bar, no one would have heard me, but still I couldn’t let myself go like that. I wasn’t ready.

Finally they finished their first set with a quirky cover of A-ha’s “Take on Me,” with the horns taking the keyboard line. It worked on the crowd, and they were all up and dancing. That’s one of those songs no one can resist singing along to, trying desperately to hit the high notes in the chorus. Ronnie didn’t even have to worry about straining his vocal cords for it—he just turned the mic out to the audience, encouraging them to howl along on his behalf.

I rolled my eyes, but smiled at the trick.

“All right, everybody, we’re gonna take a short break!” Ronnie said into the cheers that followed.

The band played one last chord and someone killed the stage lights. Immediately, recorded music started over the sound system again, and the band members quickly put down their instruments and made for the edge of the stage.

Kenzie, who knew the band’s set list, had gone to the bar as soon as they started the final song so she could be back with a couple pitchers of beer by the time they got to us. She beat them to the table by only a few seconds, and the pitchers were nearly empty less than a minute later.

I looked over the group of musicians in front of me. Paul wasn’t among them. I tapped James on the shoulder.

“Where’d he go?” I asked.

“Out back,” he said.

“Here.” Kenzie took the last empty cup and poured the remains of both pitchers into it. It wasn’t quite a full glass, but it would do. “Take this to him.”

“Okay.” With the cup in one hand, I started working my way through the crowded room, telling the band members, “Good show,” as I squeezed past them.

Being at the show had given me a sense of déjà vu, but now it walloped me like a baseball bat as I slid between two people. I’d made walks like this so many times, usually with a drink in one hand. Trying to fit between people who had no space for me as I came off the stage between sets. Scanning the crowd for familiar faces, or having an A&R rep grab me by the elbow as The Luminous 6 had made the move from opening act to headliner in the local clubs in Los Angeles.

There were no incognito celebrities here. No one from any record labels were likely to be in the crowd. It wasn’t L.A. I wasn’t fronting the band anymore. But there was so much familiarity that I wanted to cry.

“Fuck that,” I muttered to myself as I neared the bathrooms. “Fuck that straight to hell.”

A woman in line for the ladies’ room looked at me strangely, but I ignored her. I was nearly at the back door now, and I wanted to get out of the noise and the crowd. I pushed the fire bar and gave the heavy door a shove, slopping beer onto my hand with the effort.

Replies:

@KenzieInk Great show guys!

@GTechSux FREEBIRD

@KenzieInk @GTechSux You only get to make requests if you actually SHOW UP.

@GTechSux @KenzieInk FREEBIRD

@KenzieInk @GTechSux Aren’t you supposed to be working?

@GTechSux @KenzieInk Don’t remind me.

“Paul?” I said into the seemingly empty alley.

“I’m here,” he said.

I found him perched around the Dumpsters on the same upturned crate as before. The second joint he’d put away earlier was smoldering in his hand.

“This is for you,” I said, holding out the beer. “I spilled a little. Sorry.”

“S’okay,” he said, taking it from me and setting it on the other crate. “Thank you.”

I flicked my beer-damp hand absently, trying to shake off the excess. Paul grabbed my wrist and wiped my hand on the knee of his jeans, causing me to bend over in the process.

Now that we were nearly face-to-face, I took a moment to inspect his. “How are you?” I asked.

“I’m…trying to work up the courage to ask you what you thought of the show.”

I smiled, giving his knee a reassuring squeeze. “It was good. You guys are good.”

“But?”

“But nothing. You were good! I like it when a band has actual talented musicians.”

He smiled slightly. “Well…good.”

Something told me I shouldn’t go on about how transfixed I’d been by him in particular. So instead, I asked, “Is it any easier from this point on? Like ripping off a bandage?”

He bounced one knee nervously. “Unfortunately not. It’s better by the end of the set. Mostly. But then we take a break and I’m right back at square one.”

“That sucks.” I took a seat beside him, taking a drink from the beer he was ignoring.

“Pretty much.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

He shook his head. “You can sit here and smoke with me.”

“If you insist.” We passed the joint back and forth a few times until I held up my hand to refuse any more. It had occurred to me that this was more on the order of medicinal marijuana for him and that I shouldn’t use up half his dose. Still, I’d gotten enough that my mind was pleasantly chill, even as my senses were waking up to everything around us.

After a few minutes, Paul sighed. “Okay, I guess that’s as good as it’s going to get. You wanna go inside?”

“If you’d like.” I scooted closer. “Or we can stay here.”

“That’s—”

I cut him off with a kiss.

He put an arm around me, nearly tipping me off my crate. I dropped the almost empty beer cup to catch myself on Paul’s shoulders, and he grabbed me tighter. I slid closer, halfway onto his lap. The crate beneath him gave out a frightening crack under our combined weight, and he stood, pulling me with him. Standing on tiptoe, I tried to get even closer, to maintain the electric heat between our lips.

The alley behind a bar has got to be one of the least sexy places on earth, and yet I found myself tingling in all the right places even as we struggled to keep our hold on each other with nothing to lean against. There was too much clothing between us; too many inches separated our heights. My body wanted more, more, more.

I slid my arms around Paul’s waist and he gasped, letting go of me to yank my arm away from his side. Right away I remembered—the fresh tattoo.

“Oh God, I’m sorry.”

He winced, then exhaled determinedly. “Let’s just keep this up here, shall we?” He draped my arm over his shoulder and bent to kiss me once more.

I was hesitant for only about a minute before he had me all in again. Tension twisted in my belly, urging my hips forward time and again in search of relief. Paul’s warm mouth marked my neck and shoulder with invisible brands.

Feeling a bit desperate, I scanned the alley for any surface that wasn’t too horrifying to contemplate leaning on. But all I could see were stained brick walls, Dumpsters, and enough random litter to
almost
harsh my groove.

“We have to stop doing this in such stupid places,” Paul breathed in my ear.

“Uh-huh.”

Suddenly the back door to the Drafthouse opened and one of the band guys popped out. “Paul—oh shit, sorry!”

We broke apart like guilty teenagers. Reflexively I checked if my hem was down where it belonged while Paul wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. “Is it time?” he asked.

“Just about, yeah. Do you…uh, need a minute?”

“No. Be right there.”

The guy let the door close.

I looked at Paul. “So…bad timing. Again.”

“At least I’m not the only one left hanging this time.” He grimaced as he adjusted the crotch of his pants.

He was right. Despite the scare of being interrupted, I was still primed and ready. If a halfway comfortable and acceptably private location had presented itself, I would have dragged him off to have my way with him. But no. I was going to control myself. I was not a dog in heat. Paul had a show to finish.

“You should go.”

“Right.” He looked toward the back door and took another one of those fortifying breaths. One hand disappeared into his pocket and emerged with the amber prescription bottle. He shook it slightly, as if measuring how many pills were left inside.

“I thought you took one already.”

“I did.” He flicked his thumb over the safety tab. “It
should
still be working, but it wears off sometimes.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself.

“You can do it.” I couldn’t resist a little bit of cheerleading.

He just shook his head.

“Paul?”

He didn’t answer, but attempted another breath. This one was choppy, though, and his shoulders stayed up even after he exhaled.

“Um…” I wanted to ask him what to do, but I wasn’t sure I could keep the panic out of my own voice. That wouldn’t help. “I’ll get Kenzie.”

I didn’t have to go far; his sister was already in the hallway near the door when I got there.

“I was just coming to check on him,” she said.

“He got…weird all of a sudden.”

She nodded and followed me to the alley.

“Hey, Paulie,” she said matter-of-factly. “Bad?”

He was still, but tension hung around him like an aura.

“Okay. Five things you can see.”

“Kenzie.”

“Five things,” she repeated calmly.

“I’m not a kid.”

She cocked her head and held up one hand with five fingers extended.

Paul shut his eyes. “My stupid sister.”

“You can’t see with your eyes closed, Paulie.”

He opened them again.

“Four more.”

“A green Dumpster. The big brown door behind you. This is stupid.”

“Two more.”

“A beer bottle. And…”He turned his head slightly. “The street lamp.”

“Good,” Kenzie said. “Four things you can touch.”

Now one of his hands uncurled. “My jeans. My shirt.” He looked around again, not finding much within reach. Kenzie held out one hand with the palm turned up. “Your hand,” he said, tapping her fingertips with the side of his fist.

“Another one,” Kenzie prompted.

Paul looked briefly at me, but his eyes skittered away. He took a step to his left and touched the corner of one of the Dumpsters. “This,” he said.

“Three things you can hear,” she said.

Now Paul sighed. “The cars on the street, the music inside, and your voice.”

“Good. Two things you can smell.”

His shoulders lowered visibly. “Garbage. And old piss.”

“Mmm, yum,” Kenzie said. “One thing you can taste.”

He hesitated, lowered his eyes to the pavement for a moment before lifting them to my face. “Presley.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

“Ooookay,” Kenzie drawled. “I’m gonna let that one go. Feel better?”

“Yeah. Enough.”

“All right then. You ready to go inside?”

“In a minute.”

Kenzie gave him an appraising look, but she must have been satisfied with what she saw, because she went back into the bar.

“Still don’t think I’m crazy?” Paul asked me when she was gone.

“No.” And I didn’t, but I had to admit I hadn’t seen anyone with stage fright this bad before.

He sighed. “I’m sorry you saw that.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

“How do you handle it?”

“What? Performing?” When he nodded, I tried to think of how to say this diplomatically. “I guess it just doesn’t bother me very much.”

“Really?” he was confused. “What about Thursday night at the Continental?”

“Oh.” Right. That little thing where I freaked out on a roomful of people and ran away to the sheet music room, then basically assaulted Paul. “That was—I just didn’t want to sing.”

“But you totally would if you felt like it.”

I shrugged, feeling my facial muscles do all kinds of I’m-lying gymnastics. “Sure.”

He pulled open the door, wafting the racket of the crowd out at us. “You feel like singing tonight?”

“What? No, I—You have a singer.”

“You could be our special guest.” He gestured for me to go into the bar.

I shook my head violently. “No. Come on. You can’t just decide that without talking to the other guys!” I had to raise my voice to be heard over the din, and it wasn’t helping me to sound calm and logical.

“There’s still time,” Paul said. “We’ve got another break. Third set. Come on, it’d be fun.”

I grabbed his wrist and lifted his hand from the door to let it close again. “No! I don’t want to. I’m not ready.”

“Feel that?” He laid his palm flat on my chest, where my heart was beating hard and my lungs felt tight. “That’s what it’s like in my world.”

We stared at each other for a long time. And then I covered his hand with both of mine. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

His expression faltered. “What?”

“I’ll sing for you.”

“You will?”

“Yes.” I nodded, even though I felt like taking it back. “If you can get on that stage, so can I.”

A slight smile curled his mouth up unevenly, though his eyes said he was more shocked than happy. Then suddenly he grabbed me and kissed me hard on the mouth. “You’re the crazy one.”

I laughed. “Yeah, maybe.”

“I’ll talk to the band.”

“If they don’t want me to—”

“They will.” He kissed me again. “Trust me.”