For the Love of a Lush (Lush No. 2) (14 page)

That actual organ squeezes tight at my little sister’s admonishment. "I promise, Little D. I promise."

Walsh

I
T’S
S
ATURDAY
night and I’m so fucking happy I’ve got the day off tomorrow that there aren’t words to describe it. Ronny’s punishment for what I did to Tammy has been relentless. I’ve worked harder in the last few days than I have in the rest of my life combined. A lot of guys in my position would have told Ronny to fuck himself and left the Double A, but I know I deserve whatever he’s throwing at me. I also know that, if I were to go back to Portland right now, Tammy would follow, so it wouldn’t really solve anything.

Mike’s been a nervous wreck all day. Tonight, we’re going to play backup for the preacher’s daughter, Jenny, at The Bronco. Mike’s apparently put together a forty-five minute set for her. Covers of sharp, smart, sexy country tunes that he thinks showcase her voice and leave her options for crossing genres as well. He seems really serious about all of this, and I’m wondering if he’s going to be grabbing this girl and heading back to Portland to get her into Studio B one of these days soon. I’m not sure how I’d feel about being here alone again. Of course, Tammy will still be here, so I guess I wouldn’t really be alone—just alone with her, which might be worse.

It’s about eight p.m. when we load up into Mike’s truck and head to town. He’s jumpy with anticipation. I’m not sure how much of it is the girl, how much is the music, and how much is getting back onstage. Maybe it’s a little of each.

"Brings back memories, doesn’t it?" I ask as we bump down the back roads in the dark. "How many dirty old bars do you think we played in before we finally got our first show in a theatre?"

"Shit," he answers as he swerves to avoid a pothole. "Maybe hundreds? It seemed like it at the time, anyway. Do you remember that one place in Sacramento that we played where no one showed up? Not one single person other than the three who worked there?"

"Oh my God, I’d forgotten all about that place. That was before we hired Dave, and you and Joss were doing all the bookings. The old dude who owned the bar scheduled us and then forgot to announce it. Remember? No one had the slightest idea we were playing that night."

Mike grins. "But you remember the after-party we had?"

I let out a frustrated breath. "Not really, which would be the problem," I quip.

"There was this little Asian waitress—about five feet tall, long black hair. Remember her?"

"Oh, shit. Hobart girl?" I use the nickname we gave to the little wildcat who fucked Mike on top of the commercial dishwasher in the kitchen after the show.

"Yep. That was her." He pauses for a moment. "You’ve never really had sex until you’ve done it sitting bare-assed on a vibrating dishwasher with a girl on your lap."

"Stop!" I holler at him. "I so do not need that image in my head, dude. Jesus, no one should have ever eaten in that place again."

He laughs. Mike loves nothing more than being outrageous.

"Sorry to break it to you, but I’ve done worse shit in
your
kitchen, my man."

"My kitchen? You mean at my house in Portland?"

"Yep. Right there on the countertop at rent-a-mansion. The party you and Tammy had to launch As Lush As It Gets." He reels off the title of our biggest-selling album, and for a moment, I’m transported back to that night—the excitement, the anticipation, the sensation that we were on the brink of something important. Little did we know, it was the beginning of the end.

"Yeah, you know the rent-a-mansion isn’t a rental anymore," I say with a touch of pride in my voice.

"Really? I thought Tammy was still living there. Well, before she was living here. What happened to it?"

"I bought it man. Lock, stock, and Italian-marble floors."

"No shit! So you’re a property owner? God, that’s so… I don’t know. American or something."

I hedge. "Well, actually
I
don’t own it." Now I wish I’d kept my mouth shut. He’s going to give me a ration of shit for what comes next. "I bought it and signed it over to Tammy. A few days after Coachella. I wanted to make sure she never had to worry about a place to live." I brace myself.

He looks thoughtful and nods. "I get that. I mean, you still love her even if you don’t want to be around her. You want her to be safe and shit, right?"

"Uh, yeah." I shoot him a quick look as he drives. "I didn’t expect you to get it."

"No, I don’t get why you’d give her all your damn money. I get why you’d want her to have a nice place to live. You really need to see if you can get some of that money back while she’s here. I mean, what the fuck are you going to do when you leave here? Work at McDonald’s? Not one of your brightest moments, Walsh."

I sigh. He’s probably right. I wasn’t thinking. I was hurting. My heart was bleeding, and when the money from the dissolution of Lush came, all I could see was that it was tied to Tammy and Joss, so I didn’t want it. I needed it gone. I had a check cut for the whole damn thing—Pay to the Order of Tammy DiLorenzo—and I washed my hands of it. Now I’ve got enough money to pay for a plane ticket out of here and first and last months’ rent on a crummy apartment in suburban Portland. I did sort of screw myself over with that one.

"I’ll figure something out," I mumble. Luckily, before he can analyze my stupidity any further, we pull up behind The Bronco.

He puts the truck in park and turns to me. "You ready, bro?"

"As ready as I’ll ever be," I answer.

We’ve been saying those words to each other ever since our first performance in Joss’s mom’s garage the summer after eleventh grade. It feels wrong somehow though to say them without the companion words. See, it was a four-part routine.
You ready, bro? As ready as I’ll ever be. We going to do this? We’ll do it and then some.
The last question and answer came from Joss and Colin. I don’t think I’ve ever performed without all four of us. I remind myself that this is my new reality and I need to get used to it, but in my heart, I doubt I ever really will.

We hop out of the truck, grab Mike’s guitar, and head inside through the service door. The story of my life—the back door to seedy bars. I can’t help but smile a little.

When we get inside, a very nervous-looking Jenny is pacing back and forth in the small storage room where the employees keep their belongings. Mike is on her like white on rice. He takes her shoulders and rubs them tenderly, quietly talking to her as I stand there feeling slightly awkward.

I’ve got a few pairs of sticks with me, but my kits are all stowed back in Portland, so I haven’t banged on a set of drums in a very long time. I know I can still play. You don’t do something for several hours a day every day for a decade or so and forget it in a few months—if ever. But I would like to check out the kit that the bar has set up. It’s probably a piece of crap, and I’m sure I’m going to want to make some adjustments so it’s at least tolerable.

Mike’s got Jenny smiling now, and I’m about to slip out and go up front, but just then, Marsha comes hustling in.

"There you are, cowboy," she drawls at me.

I give her a wave. "Hey, Marsha."

"Hey yourself. I couldn’t believe it when little Miss Jenny said you boys were coming to play tonight. I guess you’re not trying to hide out anymore, huh?"

Mike saunters over, dragging Jenny along by the hand. "Nah, we just couldn’t stand listening to that crap music you play around here for one more night. Realized if we were going to get anything decent we’d have to play it ourselves."

"Be nice, Michael," Jenny says, smacking him on the arm.

Michael?
Holy shit. No one but his mother has ever called him Michael. He refuses to look at me, but even under the dark stubble that covers his cheeks, I think I see a blush. I try to stifle the smirk I can’t help but feel.

Marsha’s used to Mike’s rudeness. She rolls her eyes and redirects her attention to me. "Y’all aren’t scheduled to go on for another thirty minutes. You want an O.J. and club?"

"I’d love one, and I’m also wondering if there’s a way I can get a look at the drums up front? I might need to make a few adjustments to the setup before we start."

"Sure thing. I’ll take you up there right now." She smiles at Jenny. "You going to be okay, girl?"

"Yeah," she says in a strong Texas drawl. "Having Michael—and Walsh—here really helps. I figure I can’t mess up too bad with two professionals there with me." She smiles up at Mike and I see his whole body soften. Fuck. I don’t care what he says about not wanting to get in her pants—he’s so far gone it’s not even funny.

I leave Jenny and
Michael
to their mutual admiration society and follow Marsha up front. The lights on stage are low, and it’s set back behind a large dance floor, so I can work on the drums without being seen much or seeing much myself. Marsha gets me my drink and leaves me to it. The kit’s not as bad as it could have been. Nothing fancy, but utilitarian, smaller than what I play for large rock concerts. Drums in country music are a quieter part, so this will do well for what we’re playing.

I sit down and test out the foot pedal, tap each of the drum heads in succession, make a few changes to height and spacing, then start a slow, soft beat, just to reacquaint myself with the feeling of it all. I close my eyes and let the rhythm take over. It washes through me like a long-lost love. Reverberates around my bones, pulsing in my veins. I breathe deeply, the release of the repetitive motion soothing any nerves I might have had about performing. As the plain rhythm becomes smooth as silk, I break off into some flourishes, forgetting that I’m supposed to be warming up, not attracting the attention of the whole place.

It feels good to be back with my old friends. Like magic. I’m relishing the sensations when I hear voices growing louder and louder nearby. I slow down and open my eyes, stopping on a dime when I see who’s standing a few feet away. Marsha and Tammy are up in each other’s faces. Marsha not a bit intimidated by Tammy’s four inches of extra height. They’ve both got their hands on their hips and scowls on their faces.

I stop playing just in time to hear Marsha say, "Look, lady—and I use that term loosely—I don’t care if you’re the damn Queen of England. You can’t go onstage and bother the performers. He’s not a circus act, he’s a musician!"

Oh hell. I cringe, waiting for the wrath of Tammy to explode all over the dance floor. Instead, I see her take a minute where she visibly forces herself to back down. She crosses her arms, either defensively or to keep from bitch-slapping Marsha, and looks at the ground. Her tone is almost conciliatory as she answers my chesty protector.

"All I’m asking is would you please let him know that I’m here? I don’t see how that’s such an imposition—"

I stand up, clanging a couple of cymbals as I do so. Both women seem finally to notice that I’m not playing anymore. I walk to where they are on the dance floor.

"It’s okay, Marsha. I do actually know this one." I wink at Marsha, and Tammy’s eyes narrow. It warms my heart to see that her wicked self is still in there.

"All right. If it’s good with you, Walsh. You might want to give your groupies a little lesson in manners though—"

"Groupies?" Tammy’s voice goes up about ten decibels. Marsha has no idea the insult she just laid out on the former Princess of Lush.

I jump forward and grab Tammy’s elbow before she can haul off and hit Marsha, an act that would be really bad in so many ways.

"Thanks, Marsha. I got her."

Marsha huffs off back to the bar, and I lead Tammy to the small curtained-off area behind stage.

She pulls her arm out of my grasp as soon as we’re alone. "You didn’t tell me you were performing," she blurts out.

I look at her eyes, trying to gauge her frame of mind. I can’t tell at this point.

"I’m just helping out a friend of Mike’s. She’s singing and we’re playing backup."

"Did you have anyone look at the contract before you signed it?" she questions.

I scratch my head. "Uh, I don’t know if there even is a contract. I mean, Mike asked me to come along so I did."

"Jesus, Walsh. You’re a multimillion-dollar rock drummer. You don’t just show up at some dinky bar out in The Middle of Nowhere, Texas, and play for free."