by Clea Simon
“Bye!” I tried to smile, but they were gone.
***
My stomach was still rumbling, but now I was too upset to eat. This was silly; Rachel knew Musetta, she knew me. My hunger did nothing to improve my mood as I walked up to the Last Stand.
“Hey, darling.” Reed was seated by the bar, writing up a schedule. “Want some pizza?”
I looked over at the open box on the bar, pepperoni and something white. Mushrooms? “No.” I did, but in addition to the guilt was my growing awareness that if I didn’t run, then I shouldn’t pig out on carbs. “No Piers?” I looked around. Maybe that was Rachel’s secret. I wanted it to be so.
“You disappointed?” Bill had walked in right behind me, carrying a bag from Tags hardware. “And here I thought you’d come to see me.”
I caught my breath. There’d been an edge to his tone. Reed heard it, too. “Nonsense, my man, the lady is here for my company. Here.” Reed took the bag and walked quickly into the back room, leaving us, for the moment, almost alone.
“I just dropped Musetta off with Rachel.” I wanted to explain. “And she was acting odd, and I thought it had to do with Piers.”
“Maybe it did.” Bill raised his thick eyebrows. “He’s quite the favorite of the ladies here.”
“You don’t think—” I moved in to wrap my arms around him. At forty-five, after eight weeks of physical therapy, he was as lean as a twenty-year-old. “You can’t.”
He made a funny face and I was reaching up to kiss him, when the door opened again, forcing him forward and out of my embrace.
“Hey, girls.” Tess and Francesca both laughing and rosy-cheeked from the cold, made their way in. I noticed they had no problems reaching up to my tall boyfriend for a friendly kiss. So, Tess was up to clubbing again? I knew her drug problem had as much to do with work, with wanting to be “on” and awake, as with the music scene, but still, there was an awful lot of temptation here. Bill must have noticed the look on my face.
“Theda just had to bring her baby over to the vet.” He turned back toward me. “Nothing serious, I hope?”
I shook my head and tried to smile. “Dental appointment. My Musetta has terrible fish breath.”
“You should brush her teeth. I’ve got some vegan dental paste left. Herbal. I’ll bring it in.” Francesca reached over to pat my arm. Maybe she was just a touchy-feely person. I smiled to avoid answering. Anyone who knew Musetta wouldn’t suggest brushing her teeth, particularly not with herbs. Luckily, Francesca didn’t seem to expect a response. “Is Piers around?”
“I think he was going over to the shelter. Theda, you’ve got some competition.” Bill wrapped his arm around me to soften his words. I leaned into him, not answering. But, yes, claiming my territory. Tess corrected him. “He might come by at some point, but I think he’s got a gig tonight over at the River Bank.”
I nodded, lost for a moment in thought. So Tess was back in the scene full swing. “That’s right,” I finally said, realizing that I’d been staring at her. “I thought I saw his band among the openers. I’m actually heading over there later myself.” The tiny club with its postage-stamp stage had four bands booked and it was only Wednesday. If that wasn’t a scene, I wasn’t a reporter. As I spoke, I could feel Bill’s eyes on me, so I looked up. “But I had to start my night here, right?”
“Of course.” Now I got my kiss, though it was more of a peck than a real greeting. “But some of us are working.” With that, he released me and walked off after Reed. I stood there, feeling a little like a fool. Wasn’t I working, too?
“Something going on?” Tess sidled up to me as Francesca slipped behind the bar. Moments later, Francesca emerged, holding a can of cat food and a bowl. That’s right—the shelter cat. At least that was her excuse to follow the two men into the music room.
“I don’t know, Tess. I really don’t.” I watched Francesca glide through the growing crowd, slim and agile, and tried to turn my attention back to my friend. “Are you doing okay?”
“I’m fine, Theda. Francesca’s got me on a new cleansing diet. She’s really strict about things like that, and it’s helping. One day at a time, and all that.” She smiled and I searched her face for any sign that she was forcing it, for that worn, wan look that should have been a warning the last time. “Maybe you should turn that look on your own life.” There was a slight sting in her words, and I sighed.
“Yeah, sorry. But if you need anything…” She nodded at my offer, that smile warming up her face. “Speaking of my so-called life, Tess, anything I should know?”
“Depends what your intentions are regarding a certain blond guitarist who’s been changing his habits.” There was a playful lilt in her voice, but I still felt my head snap back. “Piers?” She said the name as if it were obvious. I almost laughed. But if Piers and Rachel were keeping things quiet, I wasn’t going to spill the news.
“Not my type.” I tried to sound certain. She looked at me, eyebrows raised. “Not anymore, anyway. I’m with Bill. At least, I hope I am.”
She nodded, taking that in, and bit her thin lips. “Well, then, I don’t want to tell you your business. But are you sure you want to take off just now?”
“Yes,” I faked a conviction I didn’t feel. “I’ve got my own life to take care of.”
Chapter Ten
I’m trusting, but I’m not a fool. I hung around for a while, spent some quality time with Ellis the cat before the music caused him to retreat, and made sure I got—and gave—a real kiss before I took off for the River Bank. Yes, I was reporting on the scene. Yes, I had a life. And since I didn’t have Musetta to worry about, I could happily suggest adjourning to Bill’s Inman Square condo at the night’s end.
Once we made plans to meet, I should have been free to reclaim my evening. But as I rounded the corner to head down River Street, the wind off the Charles whipped up to greet me, and I found myself rethinking my priorities. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad to stay at the Last Stand. How much did I really need to see these bands? My own question made me smile. I might as well have asked myself how much I wanted this gig. In response, I ducked my head and forced my way into the frigid blast.
***
“Hey, Theda.” Ten minutes later, Guy, the bouncer, was holding open the heavy door, letting out a few smokers and welcoming me into the club’s warmth.
“Guy!” I smiled back and stepped to the side, looking up at the posted set list. Piers’ band, Allston Onramps, was on second, at ten. Guy saw me looking.
“Didn’t they used to be the Phantom Tollbooths?”
“Yeah, but they got sued.” The first time I’d written about Piers, I’d learned all about the cease-and-desist order. “Then they tried Allston-Brighton Tolls, but everyone just called them ABT and there’s a hardcore band out of DC called that, and they were getting sued by some ballet company. Then they tried the Onramps…”
“Oh yeah, I read your piece. Some job search engine?”
I nodded. “Anyway, yeah, same band.”
“Well, if the guitarist doesn’t show soon, they’re going on as a trio.” Guy took my hand to stamp it. “You didn’t see him out with the smokers, did you?”
“No, sorry. He hasn’t been in?”
Guy shook his head. “His bandmates loaded in and did soundcheck without him. Should be fun.” Just then two couples came in, and Guy started checking IDs. I walked up to the bar. Maybe Piers had been at the shelter. Or maybe he’d stopped in at the Last Stand after I left. I hadn’t come to see him, no matter what Tess had hinted at, but I didn’t want him to screw up a gig, either. The Allston Onramps were beginning to grow a fan base. I started to look around, but just then the first band started up.
I moved up toward the stage to see five beefy guys, all dressed up in vintage Ts from clubs long gone. Their first number started with a guitar attack. Fun, if a bit generic, with the kind of shouted gang vocals that I’d thought had gone out with the Fleshtones. Still, as they kept going, the sheer raw
power of it got to me, all rhythm, beaten hard.
“Rawr, rawr, rawr!” That probably wasn’t what they were singing, but with four of the musicians shouting into two mikes the sound wasn’t going to get any better. “Rawr!” A drum roll broke in, the wiry guy in the back pounding the set so hard it swayed. He grabbed a cymbal, sweat flying off him, just as the two guitarists jumped back to begin a dueling solo, trading pyrotechnic licks like old school rock stars. The small crowd roared. I laughed out loud. God help me, this was my music, overwrought, outdated, or not.
“Good stuff, huh?” I turned and realized Guy was behind me. I guess nobody checked hand stamps during the sets.
“Great.” I shouted not only to be heard, but because I meant it. “Did Piers show?”
“Just came in!” He nodded off to the left, and I turned my head as he patted my shoulder and retreated. Even this little club couldn’t be that casual. The band began another song, the bassist thrumming out a deep tattoo, and I craned my neck, looking for Piers. Instead, I saw a familiar head of curls, bouncing up by the stage light. Tess, or so it seemed, and was that Francesca standing right by her? The stage light shifted and I lost sight of the two.
I stretched to see over the crowd, searching for the two wispy brunettes. I didn’t want to be anxious about Tess. I loved her, and that meant wanting her to have a life and some fun, too. But why hadn’t she mentioned that she was coming over here? I’d seen her not a half hour before. She could have offered me a lift.
She probably thought I’d taken my car. I tried to dismiss my concerns. It could be anything, I knew. A last minute decision. Maybe I’d even given her the idea. Maybe I was just jealous, seeing how close she was to her new friend. But she had nearly killed herself with amphetamines not that long ago, and I had heard scary things about recidivism rates. I didn’t want to lose her. Plus, the Tess that I knew had been a singer-songwriter, a lover of melody and subtle harmony. Seeing her at Bill’s club made sense, but here? Dancing to such loud boy rock? Could this be Francesca’s influence? She did have that delicate look that made men go all protective, but she sure liked to be in charge. Maybe I was misreading her. I started to make my way over to the other side of the stage, but the middle of the floor had turned into an impromptu mosh pit, and I hesitated, unsure how to proceed.
“Theda!” I turned and saw Ralph. He was gesturing me over, pointing to a space by the bar. I waved him off. We’d catch up later. Until the whole job thing was cleared up, I felt odd about drinking with him. If it all worked out, he could buy me a beer to celebrate. If not, we’d commiserate. I turned back toward where Tess had been dancing, working my way around the center of the floor. But by the time I’d circled it, she was gone, as was her curly-haired colleague. Had I imagined them both, my own fears putting pictures in my mind? I could have checked outside, among the smokers. But the crowd had gotten thicker and I had a good spot now, right up by the stage. I didn’t want to be an overanxious friend. Tess was a big girl. If I repeated it, I’d almost believe it. Besides, I was working.
Half hour later, Piers was on that stage, smiling down at me with a high wattage grin. I knew we were becoming friends, but I bet that smile would win him a lot of fans, too. I wished I could say the same for his band. Although they’d started off with the same kind of garage aesthetic, loud guitars and not much else, it seemed that some artistic pretensions had snuck in. They’d added a keyboardist since the first time I’d heard them, always a bad sign for a rock band. And the solos now seemed full of the kind of aimless noodling I hated in jazz. I looked back at the bar. Ralph was deep in conversation with a short guy I vaguely recognized. Lee something. Dark hair and nerdy glasses that were probably supposed to remind people of Buddy Holly, he wrote for one of the free weeklies. Probably just as well.
“So, what do you think?” I jumped. Francesca was standing right behind me, yelling in my ear. “Aren’t they wonderful?”
“Well, it is interesting.” She could read my real opinion in print, if I wrote about the Allston Onramps again.
“It’s Bill’s influence.” Francesca sidled up next to me. “Piers has been listening to a lot of the bands that come through.”
I nodded. Jazz wasn’t a good idea for such a basic rock band. But pretending to concentrate kept me from having to respond, and we stood in silence through the rest of the set, Piers’ broad grin taking us both in the next time he looked our way. I looked around for Tess and thought I saw her, up front. But then the band finished and the stage went black.
“You sticking around?” Francesca moved toward the door as the house lights came on.
“Yeah, I might be writing about the next band.”
She already had a cigarette in her hand. I couldn’t help but stare. “Tobacco’s macrobiotic,” she said, shaking her head. “Anyway, I’ll be back.”
She hadn’t returned by the time the slapped bass and wah-wah of Micro Brewster started up, but by then the club was so full it was difficult to move. Out of habit, I looked around for the fire exits. Only about a dozen people stood between me and the side door. Considering that it was a mere six feet away, that would be where I’d head if anything happened—or if the crush just got too great.
Not a pleasant thought, and my feeling of being trapped only got worse when I imagined my kitty, stuck in a strange place, hungry, and alone. I should have been listening to the band, hearing its wiry retro sound. But all I could hear were her plaintive cries. “Wow.” That was the sound she made whenever she was waiting for me to come for her, to rescue her. “Wow!”
I was losing it. I shook my head and pushed back toward the main door. Micro Brewster would have to wait. “Wow.”
“What did you say?” I hadn’t realized I’d been speaking aloud until Guy questioned me. Had I been mewing like Musetta, or simply trying to comfort her?
“Nothing. I just need some air.” He nodded and I stepped backward, almost falling as someone outside pulled open the door. “Come back soon!”
It was lack of sleep. Had to be. I wasn’t psychic and my cat couldn’t be in a safer place. My insecurities about Bill, my questions about the job and all the turmoil with Violet’s cats were getting to me. I needed quiet. And food.
So much for solidarity. I walked back up to Central Square. Exchange Pizza was so greasy, people called it the Oil Change, but it was open late and by the time I was letting my second slice—onions, green peppers, mushrooms—drip on to the paper plate, I knew my mood was lifting. A dash of red pepper and grated parmesan and this was a meal fit for a queen. A queen of the rock age, anyway. Wiping my hands on the thin paper napkins, I considered my next move.
Odds were if I walked back to River Bank the Micro Brewsters would be off already. I could go into the Last Stand, wait for Bill to finish up. But, no. Now that I had some food in me, I felt more myself again. Hanging around seemed too possessive, like I was watching him or rushing him to close up early. I’d just go to his place and wait for him there.
But I had time, and although the idea of a third slice was tempting, I knew that resisting was the better part of valor. No, the only sensible response would be to head home, briefly. I could change clothes and be ready to go straight from Bill’s in the morning. I piled my napkins on my grease-spotted plate and headed for the door. Maybe I’d pick up that Cuba book, too. I’d been meaning to learn more about those fun, funky rhythms and the island that spawned them….
With one thing and another, I didn’t end up leaving my own place until close to three. First there was the silence. Even though I knew Musetta was in good hands, I found myself acting a bit frantic. First, I turned on the stereo. Loud. Then, before the phone could ring, I turned it off and switched on the TV, just for the noise. Of course, even though I didn’t mean to look at it, I found myself entranced by yet another “Law and Order” re-run, one of the old ones with Adam Schiff as the D.A. Was this the one where the director dismembered the film producer? By the time I found out, I’d already spilled ice cream on my cle
an shirt, dessert being one of the few things that could comfort me for the lack of a cat. And so with a supreme effort of will, I put the rest of the pint back in the freezer and went to change again. By the time I’d figured out something I might want to wear the next day, and found both the Cuba book and the Donna Leon mystery I’d probably really read instead, an hour had passed.
I locked up and walked down to my car. The street was deserted, any late-night clubgoers had already gone to ground, but I loved this hour. So quiet, the city felt like a private preserve, and I felt a kinship with the cats I loved. As if on cue, a rat ran across the street. Okay, not that much of a kinship. But this was a city, and considering the proximity of the river such wildlife was understandable. I let myself into my car and felt the Toyota sputter a bit before sparking into life. It was funny. When I was young, I dreamed of living like this, single in the city. But I’d never thought that I’d still be doing it as I neared thirty-four. Three weeks till my birthday, and I was still living more or less like I had just after college. Would any of that change soon? As the car warmed up, I tried to imagine the possibilities. Making a home with Bill, that was feasible. Children? Well, Bunny was doing it. Maybe I could be an honorary aunt, at least for a few more years. A house in the suburbs? I shuddered, put the car into gear, and drove off.
***
“Hey, stranger!” I used my own key, but knocked as a courtesy before pushing Bill’s door all the way open.
“Theda! I was beginning to wonder.” Bill was stretched out on the sofa, a baseball game on the TV.
“As long as you were holding off despair.” I settled into him and reached for the bowl of popcorn on the table. Popcorn is mostly air, anyway. “Spring training?” I prided myself on my newly acquired knowledge.
“Exhibition game.” That seemed to be a clarification, not a correction, so I nodded and snuggled in, holding the bowl where we could both reach in. “So, did you close out the River Bank?”
“Nah.” He didn’t respond, so I looked up. “Heard a little of what’s their names, the Micro Brewsters, but I can catch them again next week. Then I figured, what the hell, I’ll go home, change, grab a book.” I pointed to the paperback I’d dropped on the table. The book on Cuba remained in the car. “Why, what did you think? That I had another man to see first?”