Punk and Zen (39 page)

“There are always other factors involved,” she said
finally, still scrubbing. She sighed and looked up at me. “It’s very hard
sometimes, Nina, to do what’s right for you, for everyone, especially when your
heart screams something different.”

I nodded, unable to get words past the lump in my throat.
Dee Dee had hit the spot, though, because in those rare moments in between
rehearsals and work, I was tearing, breaking apart. I didn’t want to go and I
couldn’t wait to leave.

Dee Dee patted my shoulder, and I could feel the
warmth and support in her touch before she walked away, leaving me to my
thoughts for a few minutes before I had to get back to work.

Samantha came over and stood next to my chair. “Hey
there,” she said softly, her mouth quirked into a little smile.

“Hey, yourself.” I smiled at her through the weight in
my chest. Fuck it. None of this was her fault anyway. I followed my
inclinations and hugged her.

“How was rehearsal today?” she asked, hugging me in
return. Her body next to me provided a sense of solidity I’d been needing.

“Fine, great, actually,” I answered, speaking into her
shoulder. “Paulie-Boy really knows his shit.” And it was true. We were done
with the songs themselves; we were now working out the set order and the stage
show, such as it was. “How’s all of your stuff going?”

“Fine, just fine,” Samantha said. She held me tightly
a moment, then let go, taking my hand instead.

“Nina…she’s home,” she said quietly, her eyes
searching mine for a response.

Oh. Ouch. Fuck! I couldn’t believe how much that hurt
to know, that she was home and hadn’t called me. I gasped and caught my breath,
then twisted my head around and finally focused on the ceiling so that the
stinging in my eyes ABC wouldn’t succumb to gravity and become tears.
I’d already cried enough for one lifetime—maybe more. I wondered if anyone was
counting—besides me, I mean. Hadn’t I read somewhere that God counts women’s
tears? Maybe for tonight the universe could be satisfied with what it already
had.

I wasn’t ashamed of them anymore, well, at least not
as much as I had been; I just had to work very publicly—and I didn’t want to
cry while in front of people, whether they were friends or strangers.

“When?” I finally got out, a part of me horrified to
hear the wrench in my voice.

“Last night. Late last night,” she amended, “too late
to call.”

That just pissed me off and don’t ask why, but I
laughed. I pulled my hand free of Samantha’s. “Darlin’,” I smiled, but there
was absolutely no joy in it, “I’m up all night. That’s the biggest bullshit
I’ve ever heard.”

Samantha had the good grace to look embarrassed and
stared off at the floor before she looked at me again. “Come back there with me
tonight. When she sees you, talks with you…” She trailed off as she read my
face.

I shook my head. “No. She told me she’d call me when
she was ready. I’m trying to respect that.”

I looked around the bar. The evening had just begun,
but it was already starting to get crowded. Soon, you’d have to yell to be
heard across the background noise. Since Jen was working the door tonight, I’d
be waitressing, and despite my personal problems, I had a job to do.

“I’ve got to get back to work, Sam, I’m sorry,” I
excused myself and stepped away, hardly able to see through the watery haze
that held me.

“Nina, call her, just talk with her!” Samantha exhorted.

I took a step back. “I already have,” I admitted, “and
she wouldn’t answer. Besides,” I added, “I told her she was the pride of my
heart—what else does she need to know?”

I walked away from Samantha’s stunned expression, and
this time, instead of hiding from the crowd, I hid within it.

I did send her flowers—Francesca, that is. I sent her
tiger lilies and a card that said, “Please, love, call me.” She didn’t, and the
continued silence hurt me so horribly I walked around feeling like I’d lost a
body part somewhere in the vicinity of my chest.

I focused as much as I could on the things I had to
do.

Two days later, the bar was set up for a private party
ABC that Dee Dee had asked the band to play at—and for the first time,
there was a charge at the door. Graham and Paulie-Boy thought it would be a
great way for us to test our act.

I wore the same clothes I’d worn for the last gig, and
when we walked in, Stephie, Jerkster, Paulie-Boy, and me, I was thoroughly
startled. Dee Dee waited by the door with Jen and started clapping as we came
through it. The whole bar joined them.

“Nina, look!” Jerkster exclaimed and pointed.

Stephie and I both followed his finger, and I was so
touched by what we saw it brought tears to my eyes.

“Congratulations, Adam’s Rib,” the banner said. “Next
time, we’ll toast you at the Grammys!”

I threw my arms around Dee Dee and kissed her cheek.
“You’re crazy,” I told her with a huge smile, “and I absolutely love you for
it!”

“How could I not, Nina, how could I not?” Dee Dee asked,
then hugged me with such enthusiasm she lifted me off the floor and half spun
me—right into Jen, who caught me up.

We stared at each other a moment, uncomfortable. I
mean, we had that whole tough-dykes thing going—we didn’t touch, you know?
She’d slap my shoulder and I’d slap hers in return, buddies in arms; there’s no
touching with buddies (that kind of buddies, anyway). But what the fuck, right?
I smiled and gave her a big hug, which took her half a second to return. She
put me down and patted my shoulder roughly, her fingertips gripping slightly.

“You done good, kid, real good.” She grinned.

“But there’s more, Nina, look!” Dee Dee grabbed my
shoulders and twirled me right around. Not only had she cleared a spot for the
band to play, but she’d moved the back bar and transformed it into a DJ booth.

I stared at her, amazed. “But Dee Dee, what about the
cabaret license?” I didn’t want her to get fined just for throwing me a party.

Dee Dee grinned conspiratorially. “That’s why
tonight’s a private party,
liebchen
,” she said. “You can do whatever you
want with a private club. Well, almost. So? What are you waiting for? Go—do
your thing!”

I walked through the crowd, stunned. It had been a
little while, but when I got back there, holy shit! Dee Dee must have called
the Red Spot, because my crates with the discs I loved best were there.

I grinned to myself, because I knew exactly what to
play, and my fingers rapidly found it.

I turned the system on, a “pop” running through the
bins, making people jump as they craned around to see what was going on.
Grabbing the headphones off the table, I slung them around my neck (they fit
flawlessly), then set track one, backed up track two. This was oh so good to
go, and I was feeling totally at home and perfectly fine—we were gonna have
some fun tonight, for sure!

I set my fades, slid the ’phones over my ears, and
clicked the mike.

“Dee Dee?” I called across the crowd, “this is for
you—Kraftwerk: ‘Trans-Europe Express’!”

Dee Dee covered her mouth with her hands, and I waved
her over. “Come on, Dee Dee, dance with me?” I cajoled. She shook her head no,
but her eyes were too sparkling for me to ignore. I had the next song cued to
go, so what the hell, right?

I walked out from behind the setup and went straight
to Dee Dee, gently took her hands away from her face, and dragged her out to
the dance floor. “You can’t turn the DJ down, Dee Dee, nobody does,” I wheedled
with a grin.

Dee Dee gave me a sideways glance. “Since it’s a
tradition…” She grinned finally.

“It certainly is.”

Jen backed me up and agreed, and next thing you know,
the place was jumping. I thanked Dee Dee for the dance with another hug, gave
Jen a quick hip bump, and went back to play with the tunes until it was time
for us to perform. Graham walked in and smiled at us as we set up.

Samantha arrived halfway through the performance and
gave me a thumbs-up, then found herself a corner to watch from. She made
herself inconspicuous, but stayed near the front.

I smiled at her, then went back to the chorus I was
playing. When I glanced up again, she was talking with Graham, who handed her
something. Probably his number, I grinned to myself.

When I’d introduced them in the studio, Samantha had
told me they’d met before—and that London was smaller than I thought, certainly
smaller than New York. Graham had laughed and allowed that was true, but…I
don’t know exactly what it was I saw in Graham’s eyes when he looked at her,
but it was something, something I couldn’t figure out. It didn’t matter right
now, anyway, because there was music to be played and performed, and I was part
of it.

Toward the end of the night, we were just about to
play our last song, when Jerkster nudged Stephie and pointed. Stephie glanced,
then leaned over to me quickly. “Look out,” she muttered to in my ear, then
pointed as subtly as she could, “you’re between the bitch and the barbed wire.”

I peered over to where she’d indicated. Fran had come
in, unnoticed in the crowd, and stood on the opposite end of the floor.

“C’mon, dude,” I said just as quietly to her ear,
“neither one of them is a bitch.”

Stephie snorted. “Not from where I stand.”

I shook my head. I’d told Stephie and Jerkster what
had happened between Fran and me. It had been pretty obvious that I was
miserable, and while I didn’t appreciate the reference, I knew Stephie had my
back, and I did appreciate that—and she was entitled to her opinion.

Fran raised her beer to me in salute with an ironic
smile, while my hands froze on my guitar and my gut started to heave. I watched
as Samantha strode over and jammed something into her hand as she spoke in her
ear. Fran stared at it a moment, then gave it right back. If I hadn’t been so
stuck in my brain, I would have wondered what that was all about.

Suddenly, Paulie-Boy clicked his drumsticks behind me,
which snapped me back. I was onstage, I had a job to do.

We rocketed into the song, and I let go and dove into
the sound—I jumped, I danced, Jerkster and I even did a little back-to-back
shimmy, and by the way? You don’t see anyone do those front to front because no
one wants to get electrocuted. Touch another plugged-in instrument while you’ve
got your hands on your strings, and you’re toast. Literally. Complete with new
hairdo, compliments of the local utility company.

Three encores later, we were beat, and Dee Dee came up
to grab the microphone.

“And now…it’s time for the raffle!”

“Raffle?” I mouthed at Stephie. She shrugged with a
studied casualness, which I dismissed. The night had been full of many
surprises. Probably Dee Dee had a great bottle of champagne or a basket or
something along those lines.

“It’s you,” Jerkster said in an undertone as he
unplugged and wrapped the patch cord from his bass next to me.

“What are you talking about?” I asked in the same
undertone. I glanced back at Dee Dee, who held an ice bucket full of those
little red tickets.

“Dude, look at me.” He grinned. He had three rows of
tickets strung around his neck—I’d thought he was wearing a scarf.

“You tried to buy me?” I asked him, incredulous.

“No, I tried to
win
you.” He grinned again.
“Hey, I was gonna share you with Steph,” he added, and Stephie looked over and
nodded, waving her wrist. She wore a couple of rows wrapped around it.

I shook my head at them. “I’m not kissing either one
of you,” I said, quirking my mouth to the side.

I walked up to Dee Dee where she played with the
crowd, picking up tickets from the bucket and dropping them back in. “What are
you doing?” I stage-whispered. “You can’t raffle me!”

“Maybe this one?” Dee Dee asked the crowd, picking a
ticket out. “Oh no, it’s fallen!” she joked and dropped it back in.

“Hush, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” she
stage-whispered back out of the corner of her mouth. “It’s the
Return-to-New-York fund—they all want you to come back!”

This wasn’t making any sense.

“What?”

“The money’s for you!” she told me, her eyes and
gestures still fixed on the audience. Paulie-Boy began a drum roll.

I looked over and rolled my eyes at him. Thanks,
buddy, I thought, thanks a lot. I mouthed it to him and he smirked back at me.

“I don’t want it—you keep it!” I told her.

“I’ll hold it for you. Trust me, you’ll need it!” she
threw me a quick grin, then went back to the audience, who were stomping in
time with Paulie-Boy. “It’s showtime!”

Paulie-Boy really got into it and gave a drum roll so
loud I wanted to rub my ears, making the silence that followed seem just as
loud as we all waited to hear the results.

Everyone gathered as closely as they could to the
makeshift stage, while Graham, Fran, and Samantha huddled together over the one
ticket Samantha held.