Rock Chick 06 Reckoning (18 page)

“I let him in,” I said softly but I knew that wasn’t altogether true either.

Floyd put his hand on my knee and looked into my eyes.

“You got more to give than your music, girl.” Direct shot, right to the gut.

But he was wrong.

“I don’t.”

“You do,” Floyd said firmly.

Okay, wait just one damned minute.

I wasn’t going to take the fal for Mace giving up on me.

That was not going to happen.

“He wanted it, he should have asked,” I said to Floyd.

“He never talked to me. Looking back, we didn’t know each other at al .”

“You ever ask him? Did you ever talk to him? Did you ever try to unlock whatever demons that boy has trapped in his mind?” Floyd asked.

This threw me. It threw me so much, to hide it I gave a sharp laugh, a laugh that didn’t even sound like it came from me and I shot up from the chair. Floyd came up from his crouch.

“Mace? Demons?” I asked.

Hardly.

Mace was…

Wel , just Mace, super cool, super hot, super job, super good at everything he did, just al around
super
.

Floyd was staring at me, doing it so intensely it made me uncomfortable.

My body prepared for another blow because something weird was happening here.

Super weird.

And I didn’t get it.

And furthermore, I didn’t want to get it.

“You don’t see it?” Floyd asked.

“See what?”

Floyd’s face shifted and I could swear for a moment he looked disappointed right before he hid it.

Then Floyd got close.

“Stel a, I wouldn’t…” He stopped, shook his head, and I could tel he was warring with something. Then his hands came to my upper arms, his long fingers curling around them and he squeezed. “I wouldn’t have expected this from you. But here it is, right in front of me. So I’m gonna say it straight. Get out of your fuckin’ head and look around you.

First thing, look in Mace’s eyes. That boy’s got pain there, plain as day and deeper than anything you’ve experienced in your whole fuckin’ life.”

Al of a sudden, saliva fil ed my mouth and I feared I might vomit.

Quickly, I swal owed it down.

“What?” I asked but that one word sounded shaky.

“You’re so busy wrapping yourself in cotton wool so no one wil hurt you that you don’t see the world around you.

You got a reason, I know. Your Dad was a schmuck, your mother, worse, ain’t nothin’ worse than a woman who uses her own child as a shield.”

My body got tight.

“You don’t know how it was, Floyd,” I said somewhat sharply.

“I don’t
care
how it was. You blame your Dad; you make excuses for your Mom. They’re both guilty as sin for doin’

what they did to you. But now,
you’re
guilty for letting them control your life years after you left them behind, built something good and became a decent person. Not everyone is like them, Stel a Bel a. Not even close. You know that. You gotta realize that in the battle of your early life, you won. But you aren’t lettin’ yourself enjoy the victory.

You just keep preparin’ for the next battle, a battle that might not come.”

I pul ed away and put distance between us, to get away from Floyd but also to get away from his words.

“Floyd, you’re tel ing this to a woman who got dumped
for no good reason
. Okay, I didn’t let him in but he didn’t let me in either. And he didn’t talk to me about it. And he left because of al the things I
am
.”

“God damn it, girl, you’re not the band,” Floyd shot back, losing patience.

“I
am
the band,” I shouted, because, let’s face it, it might not be right and it might not be good, but it was true. I went on, “And, let’s not forget, if people are so loving and caring and deep and giving, why is Linnie dead? Hunh? Why?

Why do I have to live in fear of being murdered even though I didn’t do a damn thing but fal for Mace, like, ages ago?

Why do I have to worry about more of my friends getting murdered? A battle that might not come? It’s not only going to come, it’s here Floyd! This is my life. It’s always been my life. Battle after battle. Time after time. Day after day.” I threw my hand up when Floyd opened his mouth to interrupt me. “No. No, don’t say it. I see where you’re coming from but you aren’t me. You don’t know. You don’t have to live in my head. I have to take care of myself, you, the band, the music, it’s al I’ve got. It’s al I ever had. Anything good came in, like Mace, it went away. I can’t reach for more. I tried but couldn’t keep hold. I learned my lesson. I can live with what I’ve got and be happy.”

For a second Floyd looked like he was going to say something more then his face went soft. He closed the distance between us and leaned in, putting his forehead to mine.

“I’m happy,” I repeated quietly, putting my hands on Floyd’s shoulders and giving him a squeeze to make my point.

Floyd lifted his head.

“I want to believe that,” he said, his voice had lost the steel and was now just sweet. “But, Stel a, you break my heart.”

That hand wrapped around my heart squeezed tighter so my fingers on his shoulders gripped harder.

“I don’t want to break your heart,” I whispered. “Please, just let me do what I have to do,” Then, even softer, I said, “I need you, especial y you, to support me.” A smile played about Floyd’s mouth but he shook his head.

“Love you, girl. Love you like you were my own.” I felt another heart squeeze, another gut kick, both at the same time. Somehow, though, these didn’t hurt.

“But, I’m rooting for Mace this time. I ain’t standin’ by lettin’ him slip through your fingers again.” I reared back but Floyd leaned in close.

“I’m gonna do what I have to do to help him break you.” Oh my God!

“Floyd!” I shouted.

He put his hand on my cheek, grinned then said, “It’s for your own good.”

I’d heard him say that to his daughters, dozens of times.

I stared at him, speechless and shocked, as he moved away, grabbed my guitar case and walked out without another word.

Juno and I watched him go then Juno looked at me and woofed.

“You got that right, girl,” I said to my dog, feeling distinctly like I was sinking. “My luck
sucks
.” Juno woofed in agreement.

I stared back at the door.

Then I asked my dog, “What do you think he meant by pain in Mace’s eyes?”

I looked to Juno and a big string of drool plopped from her lip to the floor. This I decided to take as a Juno shrug.

Then I decided to do a mental shrug and not think about pain and Mace and, most especial y, not his eyes.

* * * * *

But the acoustics were perfect.

You could get five hundred people in there without the fire department getting antsy but the owner, a man strangely named Monk (who was anything but), pushed the fire code limits every time The Gypsies came to play. We were pure gold to him. We could pack the place at top dol ar on the door with lines down the sidewalks waiting to get in and tonight was no exception.

We loved playing there. The stage was big and gave us room to move and al of us preferred the big crowds. We were happy doing the more intimate gigs at Herman’s or The Little Bear but we were on fire when we had a ful house at The Pal adium.

And tonight was no different. The place was shoulder-to-shoulder.

Seeing as it was an outside possibility that this would be my final performance, I wasn’t holding back. I’d even dressed beyond the pale just in case I was going to die. I didn’t want my corpse to be anything but ful on rock ‘n’ rol .

I’d scrunched out my hair to maximum, wavy volume. I’d done smoky, just short of slut-o-rama, makeup. I’d pul ed on faded jeans, a black tank with silver sequins and rivets stitched on the front in the shape of a coiled, striking snake and a racer back so you could see my black bra straps. I’d threaded a black, tooled-leather belt with a huge, intricately filigreed silver buckle through my belt loops. Completing my ensemble were black cowboy boots with a higher than normal light heel and kickass designs etched into the leather, huge, wide, silver-hopped earrings, silver rings on every finger (sometimes more than one) and a kickass, wide, battered, silver band was shoved up my arm, hugging my bicep.

We were at the end of our second of four forty-five minute sets and I was beginning to loosen up.

I was loosening up because I knew four Nightingale men, wearing black windbreakers with the word “Security” in huge yel ow letters on the back, were manning the four sets of double doors. Ike, Jack, Bobby and Matt, each paired with one of Monk’s bouncers, al of them wanding everyone that came in and searching backpacks and purses. Luke was floating between the doors, not wearing a windbreaker but being general y badass thus not inviting kil er intentions.

Eddie, Hank and Wil ie Moses were al drifting through the crowd, badges and guns on ful display on their belts, further dampening any nefarious mood. I knew Hector was outside because I saw him briefly when Luke brought Ava and me to the gig. Hector emerged from the shadows, gave Luke a nod, me a once over with his black eyes and then he slid back into shadows again. Vance was stationed at the door that led backstage. Lee was
on
the stage, at the back, in the dark, watching the crowd.

If this wasn’t enough, I noticed that Indy’s coffee man, Tex, had planted himself at a stool, back to the bar and I could see when my glance strayed to him that the big man’s eyes were rarely on the stage. Duke, on the other hand, had planted himself in front of me, moving up and down the front of the stage whenever I moved. Even though his back was mostly to me, I suspected from the looks on the faces of the crowd closest to him that he was glaring them down, squashing the happy vibe. Al except the Rock Chicks, al of whom (except Jules) were front and center. Happy vibe secure, Indy, Al y, Jet, Roxie, Daisy, Shirleen, Ava and Annette were singing along with me at the top of their lungs and screaming like freaks after every song.

As far as I could tel , Mace had not yet arrived.

I figured even Madonna didn’t have this caliber of security so it was unlikely tonight was my night to die.

And that made the gig al the more sweet.

My glance slid to Floyd and I gave him the nod.

It was time.

We were going to deviate from the set list. Everyone in the band knew about it.

Everyone, that was, but Buzz.

Floyd caught Leo’s eye and Leo lifted his chin just as Hugo caught on and grinned, stepping toward a microphone.

Buzz was looking at his boots.

The band might be on fire but Buzz was only swept up in the flame, he wasn’t participating much in building it higher.

His mind was on other things.

I took my eyes off Buzz, looked at the crowd and wrapped my hand around the microphone with a toss of my hair.

This was Pong and Leo’s cue.

Pong’s sticks clicked on the drums, Leo started the first chords and I knew without looking that Buzz had clued in.

He couldn’t help but clue in. We al knew what those clicks and strums meant.

“This one’s for Linnie,” I told the crowd.

Everyone screamed; the wave of sound hit the band, firing us up al the more even though most people probably had no idea who Linnie was. They didn’t care, any song that was for someone was going to be
something
. And this song, a song we rarely ever played, they knew would rock the whole fucking house.

I glanced at Buzz and found his face was pale but his eyes were on me and they were shining. I looked away, knowing if I kept looking at him I’d lose it, just as Hugo’s deep voice started smoothly delivering the lyrics.

And the lyrics were to ZZ Top’s kil er, kickass “La Grange”.

Hugo sang.

A few more strums, a few more clicks.

I felt it in my bel y, like I always felt it in my bel y just like I knew Linnie always felt it in her bel y.

Wait for it…
my brain breathed in anticipation.

Pong’s drums went wild and Leo’s soft guitar went solid.

The crowd surged in and my stomach plunged.

This is what it’s all about. This is what Linnie lived for,
my brain told me what I already knew, because I understood Linnie. I lived for it too.

Hugo’s velvet voice slid back in, “Have mercy…” then he smoothed through the “haw haws” and then delivered the lyrics.

When it was time, Pong rounded out the beat; I went front stage and started to blow the lid off.

“Have mercy,”
Hugo finished, stepped back with a big, white smile at me and I rol ed.

I walked the stage, eyes on the crowd, Leo and Pong setting the rhythm. I watched the crowd throb, the heads bob, the bodies sway, the hands in the air jacking out the beat. I smiled wide at them. They were asking for it and, as usual, I gave it to them. It was the only good thing I had to give, I was generous with the gift and they sucked it right up.

Leo stopped, Pong and I took turns, Leo cut in and I cut out, leaving it to Leo and Pong.

Then Pong exploded, Leo came back and, final y, so did I.

Floyd joined the fun, scooting across the stage, crouched low, jaw jutting back and forth, playing air guitar like he was a white Chuck Berry.