A Light in the Dark

by Becky Doughty

  I kept expecting my phone to light up, for Sebastian to ask if we could get together before Thursday night, maybe go see Foster and Pete together, and I was inexplicably disappointed when he didn’t text or call, not even in response to an “Any word on Foster?” text from me. He was king of mixed messages, it seemed. Hot one day, cold the next. Up close and personal one minute, distant and reserved the next. I couldn’t figure him out and it was driving me crazy. By the time everyone showed up at the house for practice, I was a little ticked at him, even though I had no real grounds to be.

  I barely met his eyes when he came to the door, just held it open and waved him in, then returned to making coffee in silence. But as much as I wanted to pretend like I barely knew he was there, my heart pounded so loudly in my ears I couldn’t think straight. Twice, I lost count of the scoops of grounds and had to empty the paper cone and start over, which only made me more frustrated. The fact that the guys were so amped up about having Sebastian on board didn’t help either.

  We gathered around the dining table and covered last minute song changes, arranging transportation and equipment lists before heading in to go over things once more. I sat sullenly at one end of the table, staring down into my coffee cup, not contributing at all. I didn’t have to, as we had everything lined up pretty well, but it wasn’t like me to keep my fingers out of the machine, and at one point, Tom caught my eye and raised a brow in a silent question. I shook my head in a brief negative response, not wanting him to make a big deal of things.

  Sebastian clearly had his hands full between his job, looking after Foster and Pete, wherever they were, and learning all our music. He was under no obligation to me, except that he’d promised to keep us posted about Foster’s condition, and unless his condition had changed dramatically, there was no reason for me to assume his updates would be daily.

  I just needed to get my focus, that was all. I shoved back my chair and stood. “I’ll be in the studio when you guys are ready to get to work.” I walked away from the abrupt silence that had fallen in the wake of my announcement.

  I didn’t turn on the light, but flopped backwards on the sofa, my legs dangling over one of the armrests. The tiny mixing room was dimly lit by a plug-in nightlight/air-freshener combo, and I stared up at the ceiling. What was wrong with me? I was acting like such a girl. I mean, wasn’t this kind of drama exactly why Tom and I had made the no-dating pact in the first place? To avoid the angst of hurt feelings and misunderstood intentions?

  But then, Tom had broken that pact with that stupid kiss. And now that I’d really thought it through, I was pretty certain he’d kissed me like that in front of Sebastian on purpose. Because if I was being a girl, Tom was being a guy. He knew me too well to not notice my slightly imbecilic reaction to Sebastian.

  And I’d let him kiss me. No, I hadn’t just let him. I’d closed my eyes and given it a whirl, taken the kiss for a spin. In front of Sebastian. Not to mention the way I’d attacked him when we were alone. I cringed inwardly at the memory, and then pushed it away.

  In fact, talk about mixed messages. From the day we’d heard Sebastian audition, Tom had made no effort to hide the fact that he and I were extremely close. Maybe he hadn’t come right out and labeled me his, but the message was there, all the same. And I’d done nothing concrete to correct the message, including my little distraction ploy I’d used on Tom last night. How could I be angry at Sebastian for being wishy-washy if I was doing the same thing?

  I understood Tom’s motivation. So what was my motivation? Maybe I hadn’t initiated that kiss, but I’d certainly let it play out. Making the most of an unexpected opportunity to get Sebastian’s attention? Or to get back at him for all those months in class? Taking advantage of Tom’s attraction to me to try to figure out my feelings for him? Letting Tom stake his claim on me because it was easier than telling him to stop? Was I waiting for a sure thing from Sebastian before I snipped the line on the sure thing with Tom? Good grief! I sounded like a cold-hearted, calculating sea witch.

  I sighed and sat up, not wanting the guys to find me lying in the dark. I had just turned up the dimmer switch when the doorknob jiggled and they came streaming past me into the music room. All but Corny, who went directly to the chair behind the mixing board and started powering everything up. He glanced over at me curiously, probably wondering what I’d been doing in here the past several minutes—it was pretty obvious I’d done nothing—but he said nothing. I angled a look at the other guys through the window, but they were talking and laughing and breaking out their gear, paying no attention to me whatsoever.

  I rose slowly, unsure if their inattention bothered me or not, and joined them, not making eye contact with anyone. Without a word, I got my own guitar set up so I wouldn’t hold things up.

  It turned out to be another tight practice. Sebastian definitely had a bit of the “keep your distance” vibe going tonight toward me, although he did sidle up to me at one point during our break to let me know Foster was doing okay. But he was a hundred percent on his game when it came to the music, pouring himself into every song we worked on. In spite of my internal drama, I found myself enjoying the practice and how easily it was to find our groove as a band. We really had a good thing going, even with—or maybe especially because of—the new blood Sebastian brought.

  But I was looking forward to tomorrow night at Taylors where I could let loose a little, vent at the top of my lungs, and recharge off the electric surge of live music. Where I could do my part to make our fans miss Tom when he was gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  It was a full house at Taylors tonight, even more so than usual. We typically had good crowds since the first and fifteenth paydays almost always coincided with the first and third Fridays of each month. But school was out and because we’d spread the word around our small but mighty fan base that this was Tom’s last Taylors show before he left town, the place was jumping. Jannie Taylor wore an elated, albeit exhausted smile on her face as she took orders and served up drinks alongside her bartenders and servers rather than just overseeing things the way she usually did. I felt a pang of guilt—I could have warned her we’d be bringing in the droves. We’d had so many positive responses to our social media invitations, but even I was surprised at all the faces I recognized.

  Jon’s trashcan ending on “Crash and Burn” signaled a short break for us and I promised the crowd we’d be back in less than fifteen minutes. The house music came up, a beastly 80’s arena rock radio station, and we made our way off the slightly elevated stage at one end of the long, open room, and headed toward the bar to whet the whistles.

  Before we were even seated, Anita Miles had planted herself in front of us, hands on the bar, her breasts threatening to leap out and attack anyone who stared too long. “Oh mah gawsh!” she shrieked in her fake-accent little girl voice. “Y’all are rockin’ down the house!” She pronounced house with two syllables.

  I liked Anita, mainly because she was completely genuine… except for that drawl. And those boobs. But her decision to fake the drawl was genuine. She knew what worked and how to use it, and she also didn’t mind telling you just that. “Why yes, I’m from the south,” she was often overheard declaring to patrons in her best Scarlet O’Hara impersonation. “South-ern California, that is. But my customers buy more beer from me when I talk like this. Can I get you another one, sugah?” And inevitably, she’d sell another beer.

  She was just as transparent about the benefits of the cleavage.

  But Anita was a whole lot smarter than she let on. I’d never seen her write down an order, and I’d never seen her get one wrong. In fact, it was one of the parlor tricks she used to get customers to spend more money. She called it “Ask Anita Anything” and in spite of the suggestive tone of the game, which she played up shamelessly, she had yet to take a hit. Instead, she always took home more tips than any other server there. And Jannie guarded that girl like Anita was the rare commodity she was. No one mistreated Anita Miles
and got away with it.

  Non-alcoholic drinks or anything on tap were on the house for the band, and of all the servers in the place, Anita knew our individual poisons the best. She never gave me a patronizing or mocking glance when she handed me my virgin Mojito—which was really just ginger ale, a generous splash of lime juice over ice, and topped with a gently crushed mint sprig—and a tall glass of ice water, or when Tom ordered his rum and coke… without the rum. Sebastian surprised me and ordered tonic water with a couple of lemon slices. Either he wasn’t much of a drinker either, or he was doing his part to take care of his voice for this performance. Either one was fine by me. The other three were a little more ambitious when it came to their drinks, appreciating the foaming qualities of a good lager or the golden glow of pale German ale, but we all practiced moderation until the show was over. Usually.

  Tonight, however, Tom ordered his coke with the rum. And when Anita served him, she placed two of them side-by-side on the bar in front of him. “From the ladies at Table Four,” she grinned. “And they asked me to let you know they were good for whatever you fancied tonight.”

  I rolled my eyes, but didn’t even bother looking over at the table in question. I already knew what I’d see. It was rarely the same group each time, but they might as well have been. The tiny black or red dresses that no one seemed to be able to keep from slipping off the shoulders, the lips that looked like shellacked kisses frozen mid-pucker, and heels that screamed things I never would. I was amazed that Tom never seemed to get tired of it. Not that he took them up on any offers beyond closing hour, at least not that I knew of, but he really did seem to enjoy the attention he garnered from these fans. Or whatever they were. I didn’t consider them my fans. I didn’t think they did, either.

  Tom gave me a sloppy kiss on my cheek, making me wonder if this was actually his first drink of the night, leaned across the bar and planted one on Anita’s, and then maneuvered through the crowds to Table Four. I watched until he’d sidled in between two of the more demonstrative girls, and then turned away. Sly slid over next to me and put his arm around me. “That boy’s gonna miss you, T-Bone.”

  “Don’t use the word ‘bone’ in my name,” I admonished jokingly. But I knew what he was doing. Distraction. For all of us. We would all miss Tom when he was gone, but especially me. And Tom would miss each one of us as well. But especially me.

  Sebastian sat a few stools down, watching Tom over his shoulder. Or at least I assumed he was watching Tom. I wondered what he was thinking. Was he jealous? Looking forward to his day in the spotlight? I took a long sip, the sour melon flavor combined with the carbonation making my mouth pucker. I dabbed at my lips with a napkin and hurried to the bathroom to apply another coat of the brick red lipstick I loved so well. Put on my game face. Tonight was all about Tom, I reminded myself in the mirror. Not me, not Sebastian. Tom. Let him have his fun before he flew far and away to his new life in Adult World.

  Ten minutes later, we were back on our little platform and playing “Summer Nights” from Grease, a crowd favorite and one Tom and I had a lot of fun performing. We moved right into “You’re the One that I Want” and by the end of the medley, very few people were still sitting. No one could hear those songs live and resist the urge to get up and dance. It was one of those tunes that did not go well with Marauders’ music, but went well with club crowds, and because we liked it, we played it.

  As Tom and I leaned back and forth into each other on the last lines, our guitars slung around to our backs, I caught sight of Sebastian over Tom’s shoulder. He was playing flawlessly, his body moving fluidly in spite of the fast-paced rhythm. He had his head tipped back just slightly so the light caught his features in a dramatic display of angles and planes.

  Okay. That boy was beautiful. I almost faltered my timing, but I turned my attention back to Tom and belted out my next lines. The next time I let my eyes dart to Sebastian’s face, however, he was watching me, still playing, still moving, but his beatific expression had clouded.

  I smiled brightly, but his dour look didn’t change as he watched me and Tom play off each other. Fine. I wouldn’t look at him. When the song was over, I stood on tiptoe, and planted a big kiss on Tom’s luscious lips.

  There. Scowl at that, Jeffries.

  Tom leaned down and kissed me again to the cheers and shrieks of our audience, until I pushed him away and shook my finger at him in a very librarianesque manner. Which only instigated more catcalls and whistles. But it was all par for the course for us. We were good at working our fans into a frenzy, especially at a place like Taylors where we were known and well-loved.

  It occurred to me that perhaps Sebastian’s scowl wasn’t about the interaction between me and Tom. Between watching Tom with the ladies at Table Four and the rise Tom got out of the crowd, maybe he was really seeing just what he was up against, and was a little daunted by the thought of stepping into Tom’s place. I supposed that would intimidate anyone, but especially someone who could reasonably be considered slightly antisocial, at least according to my experience. An ailment that Tom did not suffer from. At all.

  With the crowd all warmed up again, we moved into a few of our more upbeat songs so people would keep dancing and work up a thirst for Jannie’s benefit. I made every effort not to look at Sebastian the rest of the set, and to keep my focus on Tom. Which really was who tonight was all about anyway, right? I would think about Sebastian tomorrow when I had the day off.

  We finally ended that set and headed to the bathrooms to freshen up and regroup. We had a solid hour before the next set, but instead of slipping out for a quiet meal at another joint down the block like we usually did, we opted to stay and mingle with our peeps. Before long, Tom was absorbed into a bevy of babes, Sly and Jon were shooting pool, and Corny’s girlfriend had him cornered in a two-person booth. He clearly didn’t mind at all. Sebastian had apparently disappeared.

  I made small talk with the group gathered around the pool tables while I ate my basket of boneless Buffalo wings and fries, wishing Ani was there to share it. I usually thrived on the energy of the club, and while we were playing, I felt it coursing through me. But tonight, it seemed the moment I stepped off stage, it drained out of me, leaving me slightly wilted, like a balloon slowly losing air. I’d really wanted to go somewhere else for food, but didn’t want to disappoint the guys by insisting on leaving.

  After about twenty minutes of shooting the breeze and fending off a few sloppy advances from a guy named Sabro, I asked Anita for a Shirley Temple and headed outside. The temperature wasn’t any cooler than it was inside, but I had a lot more air to myself.

  An arm snaked around me from behind, making me spill a little of my drink. I was immediately on the defense, but Tom spoke quickly, reassuringly. “It’s just me, Tish.” His breath fanned my cheek as he bent his head and nuzzled against the side of my face. I relaxed back into him. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”

  “Just needed some fresh air. It’s so crowded in there.”

  “Yeah. Isn’t it amazing?” Tom was right. It was pretty great to have a full house, even at a mid-sized club like Taylors. And I usually loved the crowds, thrived off them.

  “Absolutely,” I said, reaching up and back behind me to pat his cheek over my shoulder. “And you, my friend, sound amazing tonight, I have to tell you. Both your voice and your guitar.”

  “He is amazing!” The sugary response came from behind me. I straightened immediately and craned my head around to look over my shoulder at the girl clutching Tom’s free arm, his bicep practically wedged between her breasts. “You’re so lucky you get to be in a band with him. I bet you see him just about every day.”

  I tried to spin out of the circle of Tom’s arm, but he tightened his hold around my waist. “Ah, Tish. Where you going?”

  Dang it, dang it, dang it. Tom was clearly on the way to having a few too many drinks and we still had another set to go before we called it a night.

  “You don’t have
to leave on my account,” Miss Vice-Grip cooed. “Are you a two- for-one deal?”

  Ew. I knew it worked for some people, but I was not one of them. “Tom, let me go.” My back was still pressed up against his body and he was kind of leaning into me, around me. I could tell he had no intention of doing so. “Tom. You’re ticking me off. Get off me.” I grappled with his arm, working to loosen his hold around my waist as I twisted to try to break free.

  Tom just laughed, enjoying my struggles a little too much. I got myself turned around enough to reach up and slap him, hard. “Tom,” I shouted in his face. “Let go of me, now!”

  And he did. His smile faded into a frown and he straightened, his arm falling to his side. He studied me for a few seconds without saying a word, and I just stared back, angry and disgusted, both at him, and at his bimbo-of-the-night. Seriously? Did he think he could win me over by making me hate him? Finally, he spoke.

  “You need to loosen up a little, Tish. You don’t know what you’re missing.” He pulled the other girl up against him rather forcefully. “Maybe you haven’t had enough to drink yet.”

  His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I gathered my wits and shot back with as much venom as I could muster. “And you’ve had too much to drink already. You need to cool it. We have another ninety minutes to play and you’d better be on your game. Don’t expect me to cover for you, either. Sebastian can handle your parts just fine, and I won’t hesitate booting you off the stage if you embarrass us.”

  I turned to Miss V.G. and I had to bite back the condescending words that wanted to fly out of my mouth at her. She was one of Jannie’s paying customers and it was rarely a good thing to insult the customers. “What is your name? I didn’t catch it.”