Rock Angel (Rock Angel Series Book 1) (31 page)

“Sorry, my tux was at the cleaners. Shan, meet Ron’s wife, Meredith.”

Meredith Marshall had the kind of cool, Nordic good looks Shan had always envied. She was tall and slim, with ash blond hair that hung to her shoulders in a smooth sheet. Her understated black dress screamed elegance and diamonds sparkled at her ears. Aware that Meredith was examining her, as well, Shan pushed back her unruly braid, feeling like a rube in the presence of the royals.

Meredith looked at Shan’s silver nose stud. Her mouth pursed. “Charmed, dear.”

Shan was relieved when Quinn propelled her into the living room. It was filled with people, thirty or more, all smartly attired and as alike as the elaborate paper-doll garland that adorned the opulent Christmas tree. “I thought this was a family dinner,” she whispered.

“It’s a big family.” Quinn was steering her across the room, nodding right and left, pausing briefly to introduce her to this aunt or that cousin, until they reached a portly gentleman whose creased face conveyed astonishment. To her wonder, Quinn embraced him.

When they separated the man kept hold of Quinn’s arm, regarding him mistily. “Oh, Quinn. I’m so glad to see you here, my boy.”

Quinn chuckled. “You’re the only one in the world who still calls me a boy.” He turned to Shan. “This is George Merrick, my stepdad.”

George took her hand, but didn’t let go of Quinn’s arm. “Merry Christmas, my dear. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot of you, though. You have quite a voice.”

“Thank you,” she said warmly, realizing that this man knew his stepson very well. He’d brought up the one subject guaranteed to put him at ease: his music. “It’s easy to sound good when you’re singing Quinn’s songs. He’s so brilliant, Mr. Merrick.”

“I know, and he says the same thing about you.” He turned back to Quinn. “I must confess, I was quite impressed with the last piece you gave me, Quinn. I like all your music, of course, but this one…it’s as good as anything on the charts. Better, in fact. Your mother liked it, too.”

Quinn smirked. “I’ll just bet she did. How is the grande dame?”

George shrugged. “Go and see for yourself. I think she’s in the dining room.”

“
Quinn?
” At the sound of the voice, Shan watched Quinn stiffen visibly.

Shan turned and there she was, Quinn’s mother, staring at him like a castaway who’d sighted a mirage. She was so small, Shan saw with surprise, so slight and petite to be the lioness Quinn had described. But dignified, queenly, perfectly appointed from the tips of her buff-colored fingernails to her impeccable Chanel suit
.
Her skin was unlined, extraordinarily well preserved, but her hair was silver blond, coiled into a glassy chignon. Shan judged her to be around sixty.

Quinn’s mouth quirked up in a half sneer, half smile.
“Mom?”
he said. It was impressive, how much hostility he could express with that single word.

She took a step toward him, hesitating when he drew back. “You’re well?”

“I am,” he replied, with an icy formality. “And yourself?”

“I’m fine. It’s wonderful to see you. It’s been such a long time.” She was beaming at him, clearly delighted, and Shan experienced an unexpected pang of envy toward Quinn. How she wished that she could have a similar reunion with her own mother, whom she still missed every day.

Quinn did not respond, just maintained his frosty smile.

“I barely recognized you,” she said, continuing to inspect him. “It must be all that hair. I suppose it’s intended to be stylish. You’re looking quite fit, though, regardless.”

“You don’t look bad either,” Quinn replied. “Had some work done, haven’t you?”

Her expression lost some of its warmth. “Well, I’m getting older, of course. As are you,” she said, assuming a wintry smile eerily similar to her son’s. “Far too old to have hair past your shoulders. It was acceptable when you were sixteen, but you’re twenty-six years old.”

“Twenty-seven,” he corrected her. “In March.”

“I’m aware of your age. I was present when you were born, remember.” Her eyes slid past him to regard Shan curiously. “And this is…?”

Shan experienced an odd jolt of recognition. Her eyes were exactly like Quinn’s, crystalline blue and quite beautiful. It was the strangest thing, to see Quinn’s eyes in someone else’s face.

“Shan O’Hara,” Quinn said, reaching behind him to haul Shan to his side. “Angel, this is my mother, Judith Merrick.”

Shan shook the proffered hand and could feel her cheeks flushing, aware that she was being examined. “And how do you know Quinn?” Judith asked.

“We play together,” Shan said nervously. “In the band, I mean. I play guitar.”

“Oh, yes. That one.” Judith did not look pleased, but Quinn rescued Shan soon enough, capturing her elbow and guiding her to his brother, who was at the bar.

“She didn’t seem to like me much,” Shan said to Quinn, who did look pleased.

“Nope,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t fret, though. She doesn’t like me, either. Right, Ron?”

“You know that’s not true,” Ron said. “She misses you, Quinn. She just can’t say it.”

“That would make her just like you,” Shan interjected, smirking at Quinn.

When she turned to order a drink Ron leaned closer to his brother, who looked annoyed. “Spunky,” he said in an undertone. “Nice to see you with a girl who talks back, for a change.”

“I’m not
with
her,” Quinn corrected him. “We’re friends.”

Ron gave him a knowing grin. “You? With a female friend? Especially one who looks like that?
Ha!
” He nudged him suggestively. “You really like this one, don’t you?”

“I like her fine,” Quinn said, “as a friend.”

“I like her, too. She even got you to come here tonight.” He gazed speculatively at his brother. “Maybe this is the one.”

Quinn escaped from his brother, retrieving Shan from the bar and steering her toward the dining room. “What’s that?” he asked, noticing the cocktail in her hand.

“A martini,” she said and grimaced. “It’s awful.”

“Why didn’t you just order a beer, like you always drink?”

“I thought this would make me look more sophisticated.”

“Oh, for…” Quinn rolled his eyes. He found their seats, then frowned at the place card beside his. “Well, this ought to be an interesting meal.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m sitting next to my mother.” He took the martini out of her hand and tossed it back before he sat down.

Dinner was a highly regimented affair. Shan had to watch Quinn to find out which fork went with each course. There was a smaller table at the end of the room just for the children. It was raucous with activity and laughter and she would have felt more comfortable there, especially since here she was seated directly across the table from Quinn and his mother.

The tension between them was tangible. Quinn was resisting all his mother’s attempts to draw him into conversation, although he spoke readily enough to George, Ron, and all the assorted relatives at the table, excepting Meredith whom he ignored completely.

“You’re living in Tujunga now, Quinn?” Judith asked him.

“Yes.”

“I’m surprised you’re not closer to the beach. You’ve always loved the water so.”

“No.”

Judith ignored his boorishness. “How is Dan? And his girlfriend?” A small frown crinkled her brow. “I can’t recall her name.”

“Fine.”

Shan felt a tug of sympathy for Judith. She knew firsthand how impossible it was to pull Quinn out of his shell when he chose to resist. “Her name is Denise. And did you know that they’re engaged?” Shan said, kicking Quinn under the table.

“I hope they’ll be able to manage,” Judith said, selecting a squab with roast pear from a proffered serving dish. “It won’t be easy to support a family on what he earns as a drummer.”

“Actually, Quinntessence earns quite a bit,” Shan said. “We’re starting to gain a good following here. We just played the Troubadour, in fact.”

Judith raised her eyebrows and turned away without responding. It was a familiar look, the same one Quinn assumed when he was being a condescending dickhead. Shan turned her attention to her plate, keeping quiet for the rest of the meal.

After dinner, the guests moved back to the living room, where Ron cornered Shan. He asked her about herself, but didn’t push when she supplied only the sketchiest details. Instead he shifted the conversation to music, complimenting both her voice and her playing.

She decided she liked Ron immensely. He was warm and down-to-earth, despite his high-powered work and elegant home. Unlike his brother, he was to all appearances straightforward and uncomplicated, and she wondered how they could have possibly come from the same family.

Eventually Ron excused himself and she looked around for Quinn. He was nowhere in sight, so she went to the powder room where she attempted again to neaten her hair. As she struggled with it, she reflected how good a heroin hit would have felt. She still would have been out of place, but then she wouldn’t care.

She headed back down the hall, stopping when she heard a familiar voice. “I knew this is how it would go.” Quinn’s words, hard as nails, were coming from behind a door that was slightly ajar. “I’m here for two hours and you’re all over my ass already.”

“Quinn, stop it.” His mother, beseeching. “I can’t help but worry, having you back in that environment. It’s too much for someone with your issues.”

“Mom, I’m
clean
. I have been for almost ten years.”

“But for you to be back to your old stomping grounds—it’s insane! It nearly killed you before.”

Shan heard a snort and she didn’t need to see Quinn’s face to know how it looked. “They videotaped the Troubadour show, George,” he said, “so I brought you a copy.”

“Wonderful,” Shan heard George say. “I played that last song for Brandon Terry and he was quite impressed. Quinn, I wish you’d take me up on my invitation to join us for lunch sometime.”

Shan gasped out loud. Brandon Terry was CEO of Cardinal Records. She’d have endured crucifixion for a chance to promote Quinntessence to someone like that.

“Thanks for the offer,” Quinn replied, “but I don’t think it’s appropriate. I wouldn’t want your connection with him to be a factor in establishing a business relationship.”

“It wouldn’t matter, anyway,” Judith said. “What does Brandon Terry care about a bar band? They’re a dime a dozen on the Sunset Strip.”

“That’s because the Strip is where the clubs are, Mom,” Quinn shot back.

“Stop acting like I don’t have a right to be concerned. I can just imagine the people you’re around, like the one you have with you tonight. You know, don’t you, that she’s an addict?”

Shan’s mouth fell open, shocked. Forgetting that she was eavesdropping, she pushed the door open. “A
recovering
addict,” she said, “and do you mind telling me how you know that, Mrs. Merrick?”

The room was dark and masculine, probably Ron’s den. George, looking beaten, was sitting at the desk in the center of the room. Quinn and his mother were stationed at opposite ends of the desk, glowering at each other over his head.

Judith looked taken aback at Shan’s sudden appearance, but quickly regained her composure. “It’s a simple enough matter,” she said, with a shrug. “Background checks are standard operating procedure at my husband’s firm.”

Shan was stunned. “You had me investigated?’

“No,” Quinn spat. “They had
me
investigated, and you got caught up in the net. You’re a piece of work, Mom, you know that?” And he glared at George, who wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“I had to make sure you were safe, Quinn.” His mother’s words were obdurate, but Quinn shook his head. “I can’t understand why you, of all people, would choose a profession where you’re constantly exposed to drugs! Why won’t you at least
think
about finishing college?” she added. “It will give you some options, and it’s the only thing I’ve ever asked of you.”

“He
has
finished,” Shan said. “He has two master’s degrees, for God’s sake.”

“Berklee is a music school, not a college,” Judith said. “And I’d think you’d have gotten this nonsense out of your system after squandering your inheritance on those useless degrees.”

Quinn’s eyes went glacial and his face closed down completely.

“Berklee is the most respected music school in the country,” Shan said. “It’s one of the best in the world.”

Judith waved a dismissive hand. “And most of its graduates are waiting tables during the day so they can play their second-rate gigs at night.”

“But Quinn is incredibly talented!
Gifted,
and you should be proud of him!” Quinn’s hand closed over Shan’s arm, but she shook him off. “He’s accomplished so much.”

“And what, exactly,
has
he accomplished? He can barely afford the rent on that shack you’re all living in. I wish you’d at least get a decent apartment in the city, Quinn, instead of living like some hippie in a commune in Tujunga. Who do you think you are, Wavy Gravy?”

“Wish I was,” he shot back. “It’d be easier to get a record deal.”

His mother rolled her eyes. “It’s time you started thinking about the future and got a real job. I know that money is something you never really need to worry about, but—”

“Mom,” Quinn said, “you can shove your bank right up your gold-plated ass.”

“You didn’t mind accepting it when it paid your way through Berklee!”

“That was Dad’s money, not yours. When are you going to back off and let me live my own fucking life?”

“I don’t appreciate the language,” Judith said huffily. “You sound like a street thug. I’m entitled to tell you what I think. I’m your mother and I care about you.”

“What you care about is the fact that I’m not living up to your expectations. It’s the only thing you’ve
ever
cared about, when it came to me.” He finished off his drink and set the glass on the desk. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said to Shan.

“Running away again?” Judith’s face hardened. “Why can’t you just face me, for once?”

Before Quinn could reply, Shan spoke up. “Because he has better things to do than listen to you dump on him. I think—”