by W E DeVore
“We’re going out Saturday,” he said. “I told her about Tori coming over last night. About all of it. She said this can be whatever I like, she just wants to get to know me better.”
She watched a rare moment of pure happiness spread over her friend’s face.
“See? I told you that you were special. Yvie’s never that cool,” she said. “What are you going to do?”
“She wants us to go to the Cove for your show, to be there for Ben. No pressure. Just two friends supporting your husband. Says she’ll teach me how to dance to your kind of music.”
“As much as you actually do need to learn how to do that, I don’t know if that’s a good idea, cowboy. We’re playing with Stanley. Tori will be there.”
Sanger thought for a minute. “You know what? Fuck it. I’m a single man. Ben’s one of my best friends and Yvie’s his sister. We should be there for him. This is more about him than it is any of us.”
“And if Mrs. Gerard gets upset about you being a single man, again?” Q asked.
“I’ll talk to Tori beforehand, so it won’t look like I’m rubbing her nose in it. She’s going to have to get over it. I don’t run around with married women.”
“Could have fooled me, cowboy.” She winked at him and he flipped her off.
Pointing to the picture frame, he asked, “What’s that?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Just a thank you gift from Derek. You want to see something amazing?”
He did. She picked up her phone and showed him the video from the previous night at Derek’s studio. He took the phone in both hands and watched it. When it was over, he looked up at her, sliding the phone back across the table.
“You show that to Ben?” he asked.
“Of course, I did. Did you like it?”
He stared into the space in front of his eyes for several moments. “You need to talk to him, Clementine. Tell him everything. The nightmares, the panic attacks. All of it. I mean it. Tell him tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because if you were my wife and I knew you were hiding something from me and I saw that video, I’d be terrified that you were going to leave me for that rock star of yours.”
“Fuck.” She picked up her phone and showed him the picture that Drake had posted earlier that morning. “This is how our fight started this morning.”
“You better get home.”
She stood up and left two twenty-dollar bills on the table. “You gonna be ok, cowboy?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be alright. Think I might sit here and text your sister-in-law for a while.”
She kissed him on the top of his head. “Thank you, Aaron. Do me another favor, will you?”
He looked up at her and smiled. “Anything, Clementine.”
“Let yourself be happy.” She mussed his curls. “Try it on for size. You might like it.”
He raised his glass and nodded. Q hailed a passing cab and jumped into the back seat. Her phone dinged with a text from Sanger.
You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. Thank you. -A
◆◆◆
Q walked into the kitchen and found Ben sitting at the table, staring out the window.
“Where have you been?” he asked, not looking at her. “I wanted to apologize for this morning, so I came home early.” His eyes moved to her face. “Where have you been?”
“With Sanger,” she said, sitting down across from him. “We rehearsed until midnight and I was starving after. I skipped dinner. He called, needed some advice about this situation with Tori. So, we grabbed a drink and some tacos. I didn’t know you’d be home yet.”
“You sure about that? He didn’t mention anything when we went for a run this morning. If I call him, what do you think he would say?” He folded his arms across his chest. “Maybe I should call Derek. Ask him the same thing?”
“Jesus Christ, Ben!” she exclaimed. “What is with you? I think they’d both tell you that you’re being a fucking lunatic. I’m not cheating on you with Derek Sharp.”
“What about Aaron?”
She scowled at him. “I want you to stop and think really hard about what you’re insinuating about your wife and the man that got himself fired getting you out of a murder charge. A man who treats you like a brother.”
Ben turned his face away in shame. “You’re keeping something from me,” he said. “I can feel it. Did something happen while I was in jail? I wouldn’t blame you. It was a terrible situation and you were all alone…”
She slammed her hand down hard on the table and said, “Stop. Please just stop.”
He looked at her, his eyes full of apprehension.
She took a calming breath. “I’ve been having nightmares, ok? That’s all. And the panic attacks are back, a little, but not like they were after Niko. And that stupid Dark Harm record hasn’t been helping any. That’s all I’ve been hiding from you. I didn’t want you to worry, so I’ve been trying to handle it on my own. It got bad after Jazz Fest. Aaron’s been trying to help.”
“What kind of nightmares?” Ben swallowed, clearly not wanting to know the answer to his question.
“About Ethan. They’re always the same. I’m here in our house and I get up to get some water or use the bathroom and he comes out of the dark…it’s stupid. All he does is say ‘Where are you going, my angel?’ or ‘I miss you, my angel.’ But it’s so real. He’s here and you’re gone.” Her hands began to shake involuntarily, and she stared at them, willing them to stop. “And then, I wake up.”
“When did this start?” He reached for her trembling hands and she gratefully held onto his fingers.
“Grand Cayman,” she replied.
After Ethan had been imprisoned and Ben had been released after several weeks behind bars, they’d immediately left to stay at her father’s house on Grand Cayman. The nightmares had started on the third night. It was as if once she was safe and happy, her psyche was determined to drag her back down.
“You’ve been having nightmares for six months – our entire marriage - and you didn’t tell me?” The hurt was audible in his voice. “Why didn’t you want me to know?”
“You were blaming yourself for everything that Ethan did. And you were so upset about what happened that night at the Ball…” She stood up and moved to his lap. “Baby, I didn’t want to be another thing you were punishing yourself for.”
He held her tightly to him. “Is that what happened this morning?”
Q whimpered, “He was in our bed. He was touching me, not you. We were fucking and I couldn’t get away. He was saying all these awful things. Things you would never say. Telling me to do things to him, that you would never want. Then I thought I’d woken up. I was in the shower and you came in and you started strangling me. But it was him, not you. It was just too much. Too real. Too awful.”
“Are they always this bad?” he asked, holding her closer and rocking slightly.
“No. That was the worst by a mile. There’s more, Ben. When I was recording that new song with Derek, something about the way he was singing pulled me right back to that night and I could feel myself being strangled again.” She moved back to look at him. “That’s what I was thinking about when I was staring at Derek in that video. I was watching him and holding onto him to keep from drowning in that memory. In my dream last night, when Ethan was strangling me, all I could say was ‘I’m on fire.’”
Ben blinked back the tears that were forming in his eyes and he exhaled slowly. “I think it’s a good thing that album is done.”
She rested against him. “Me, too. I should have told you what was going on months ago. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He paused for a moment. “I’ve been having nightmares, too. That’s why I’ve been spending more time with Yvie. She’s the only one I could tell.”
Q pulled away in surprise. “What kind of nightmares?”
“You, Strickland, Angie, too. I find one of you dead. Then it’s like the whole thing rewinds and I’m the one
killing you.” She curled herself into his lap and held him to her. “Sometimes, I’m in prison and it’s happening in front of me, but I can’t get to you because I’m locked in a cell.”
He kissed her slowly, his tongue searching hers. “I love you, Q. I wish you could have turned Derek down.”
“Don’t be, baby,” she said, shaking her head. “I really did like working on his record. Nightmares and all.”
She turned and reached for her satchel on the other side of the table. “Want to see the thank you gift he gave me?”
He smiled. “Not really, but morbid curiosity is willing out.”
She pulled out the t-shirt and the picture. When he read the inscription on the back of the frame, Ben winked at her and said, “Meep, meep, little roadrunner.”
“Think he’d enjoy some Acme dynamite?”
Ben laughed out loud and for the first time in a week, Q finally saw joy in his eyes. She decided to deliver the good news.
“About the Cove…” she started.
“I told you, it’s done,” he said. “It’s ok.”
“Well, I’m on team Bordelon and I fucking hate to lose, so if we’re going down, we’re going down fighting. You now have a bigger act for Saturday than QT and the Beasts. They’re playing until sun-up.”
He looked at her in amazement.
“The new and improved Gerard Group featuring QT and the Beasts will take set one and maybe part of set two. It was Stanley’s idea. He even made me text Cinco to play guitar, if you can believe that. Stanley can’t do late nights, but he’ll do one Saturday. Just for you.” She kissed the tip of his nose. “You, my sweet husband, have the privilege of hosting the one and only reunion of the Voodoo Boogaloo.”
Ben stared at her, slack-jawed. It was a reunion that most of the Crescent City assumed would only happen once Hell saw its first snowfall.
“Wait. You asked Cinco Morello to sit in on guitar? Didn’t Stanley try to shoot him for screwing around with Savion’s mom?”
How much of the story of Stanley finding his guitar player in bed with his wife was legend, and how much was fact, was unknown, but what Q did know from multiple sources was that Cinco barely made it to the street alive and definitely didn’t make it out of Loretta Benoit’s bedroom with his clothes.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe Stanley’s feeling sentimental. He wants the Voodoo Boogaloo back together and that’s what we’re going to do. Of course, we might lose our shirts on Cinco’s bar tab…”
Ben started to argue, and she covered his mouth with her index finger. “I’m your wife. What happens to you, happens to me. If the Cove is going to close, at least it will go out with a bang and we’ll have a nice little nest egg to rebuild with.”
He kissed her slowly and said, “What would I do without you?”
“Well, you never have to find out. I love you. So, will you quit it with all this jealousy nonsense? You know how insulting it is that my own husband thinks I’d give Derek Sharp the time of day?”
“I know. And I’m sorry. It’s just hard, watching you with him. He could give you so much. He wants to make you famous and he could do it, too. I can’t even keep my fucking business going. I couldn’t protect you from Ethan. Or Niko.”
“I don’t need you to protect me, Ben. And I don’t want to be famous. And I certainly don’t want to owe some distant relation to the devil any favors; that’s never supposed to turn out well,” she said.
He grinned at her. “This morning you were convinced Derek was human.”
“I still have my doubts on that account.” She took his face in both her hands. “We’re good, right?”
“The best.” He moved to take off her shorts and she stopped him.
“Sorry, baby. I told you I didn’t need to take a test.”
“Goddamn, I hate it when you’re right.”
Chapter 7
Cincinnati Saves the Day
After three days of frenetic rehearsing, Q felt confident they’d make a good show of it at the Cove; especially if Cinco joined them on stage, and didn’t end up murdering Stanley for old times’ sake. While she hadn’t heard back from him, she wasn’t worried. If he had texted back a confirmation, that would have set off a symphony of alarm bells. When Cinco showed, he showed. He never announced it.
It was ten minutes past load-in, and she sat next to Stanley on the edge of the low stage at the Cove. Q eagerly watched the door, waiting for it to open and reveal Cinco Morello, hopefully, three drinks on the right side of sobriety and not hell-bent on a cashing in his vendetta against Stanley Gerard. But when the door finally opened twenty minutes after eight o’clock, it wasn’t Cinco that strode into the Cove carrying a guitar case and a gig bag, it was Derek Sharp. He looked calmer than the last time she’d seen him, wearing a pair of fitted velvet jeans and an even more fitted long sleeve black shirt, looking rested and purposeful.
“What are you doing here, Cincinnati?” she asked, eyeing the guitar case with suspicion.
“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing here?’ You invited me, angel. Sorry, I’m late.” He set his case down on the stage next to her and opened it, revealing a beautiful flame burst Les Paul that probably cost as much as the Cove pulled in on a good month. He looked at Stanley and said, “Hey. How you doing?”
She folded her arms. “I think I’d remember inviting you, Derek.”
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. He brought up the message and handed it to her. Sure enough, it read:
Yo, C. I’m calling in my favors. We’re jamming at the Cove Saturday 9 pm until. Need you there. No excuses. Bring your guitar rig and tell your people. $20 cover. I’ll owe you one. Load-in’s at 8pm. Please don’t let me down.
“Ah, fuck. I thought I was texting Cinco Morello, not you,” she explained, cursing herself for putting Derek’s number under ‘Cincinnati’ instead of ‘Fuckwad.’ She started to hand him back his phone and took it back to look at the message again.
“You have me in here as ‘Archangel’?” she asked.
“Yes, angel,” he said, mildly annoyed.
She looked more closely at the screen and the back pockets of what appeared to be her favorite pair of jeans. “Wait. Is that my ass?”
Derek took the phone from her. “Well, it is my favorite view.”
“You’re a dick.”
“That may be. However, unless I’m mistaken, you now owe me a very large favor, angel.”
He flipped through his phone and held it out to her again. She looked at his Twitter account and his 2.6M followers and read the pinned tweet:
Playing with @archangel_nola at Lafitte’s Cove in New Orleans tonight. 9pm. $20 cover. #darkharm #Scarification #WhoIsClementineToledano
“Why would you do that?” she asked.
He shrugged at her. “You said to tell my people. How else would I do that?”
Son of a bitch.
“We blasted it on every platform. Where should I set up?” he asked.
“By JJ,” she replied meekly and walked to the bar to get a drink, pulling Stanley with her.
Q leaned sideways against the corner, gratefully accepting the glass of vodka Ben handed her from behind the bar.
“What is Derek Sharp doing here?” he asked in displeasure.
“I texted him instead of Cinco…”
He put his hands on his hips. “Why did you do that?”
“Oh, calm down, will you? I didn’t do it on purpose,” she said. She turned to Stanley and apologized. “I’m so sorry, old man. I can’t believe I did that. What do you want to do?”
Charlie backed up alongside them and they watched Derek set up his pedal board and tune his guitar on stage.
“You think he can hang?” Stanley asked. “He didn’t even bring an amp.”
“He uses one of those modelers, old man,” she explained, having seen Derek record countless guitar parts in the studio. “Most players do, these days.”
“Modeler or no, that dude is all
power chords and octaves,” Charlie replied. “He uses all those fucking effects to hide the fact that he hasn’t played a solo in his entire life.”
Charlie was obviously annoyed. He’d been looking forward to playing with Cinco since Q had told him about it and now he’d be forced to share a stage with his new favorite nemesis instead. Charlie’s memories of being a member of the Rebel Angels and being ordered around by Derek, were about as fond as Q’s own.
“Charlie, he announced he’d be here on the Dark Harm social media pages,” Q said. “What if his people actually show up? That could be some serious cash. We could fill this place to capacity.”
She looked around at the two dozen or so people who had come early to catch a glimpse of Stanley. Every paying eyeball in the place was glued to Derek as he hooked up his guitar rig and gave Michael a line check.
Charlie looked around at the nearly empty room. “His people invisible?”
She laughed.
Stanley sighed. “Look, young blood. This is most likely my last gig. I’m not putting on the training wheels for some skinny white boy. Even if that skinny white boy has sold more albums than me and is a friend of yours.”
“He’s no friend of mine, Stanley. Don’t go easy on him on my account. I guess we could make him audition. We do the cold open we talked about. Then the Beasts jam for a couple tunes with Derek, give you a break. He can’t hang, he goes,” she said.
Charlie looked at her sideways, a sly grin forming on his lips. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Motherless child?” Her face mirrored his own mischievous intentions.
A year or so ago, Charlie had unearthed a video of Prince playing the old spiritual on a Spanish TV show. As soon as he’d played it for the rest of the Beasts, it had quickly become one of their favorite songs to jam at rehearsals. After a few months, they’d started using it during the Burlesque while the girls were changing, instead of taking an intermission. The available spaces for long melodic solos appealed to Charlie. Giving one of these spaces to Derek and letting him embarrass himself in front of an audience, no matter how small, appealed to Q. She had a feeling there were one or two strings attached to his kind gesture, and she wasn’t going down without a fight.