Silver Edge

by Ciara Knight

  “I don’t know the whole deal with her, but she’s been trying to get her claws in Drake for a long time. I don’t want to butt in nobody’s business, but Drake’s always agitated and bossy when she comes ’round. It’s not my place to say nothin’, though.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not saying nothing, either. I’ll do my job and stay out of it. I guess I should get going.”

  “’Kay. Nice seeing you. Go convince Boss to hire you. I know you can, Einstein. You’re unique and something special.” Hawaiian yanked me into a big hug and a full-on panic attack threatened. The last time a man grabbed me like that I stabbed a three-inch blade into his side.

  Chapter Seven

  Bands’s parking lot appeared more desolate than the opening day of a foreign film, except for a lone muscle car in the corner. It screamed sexy, with its dark paint and strong lines. Of course, not only did my inner slut love deliciously bad guys, but it also loved muscle-car men.

  I was doomed.

  With one hand on the door handle and one foot pointed toward retreat, I thought about how far I’d come in the last few weeks. I could do this. I needed to learn to control my actions if I was ever going to have a real life. One like my mother would have wanted for me. Not strung out on drugs living under a bridge, or sponging off a man.

  I swung the door open and immediately stumbled, blocking the abrasive light from my eyes. The club’s overhead florescent, mind-numbing lights were piercing my pupils to the point of threatening a grand mal seizure inside my head. The dark, overcast skies outside drew me back to the doorway, but instead my hand felt along the bumpy wall until I found a switch.

  Click.

  Darkness.

  Sigh.

  After a moment of rubbing my temples and blinking through the blue dots in my vision, I shuffled down the main hall. Dark red smudges of paint along the black walls guided me to the top of the stairs.

  Paper shuffling sounded from the open office, so I took a steadying breath and marched to the doorway.

  “Damn it!” Drake yelled.

  I stood at the office threshold, watching Drake clutch his hair, tugging it from his scalp before he dropped his forehead to the desk. Papers littered the surface and tumbled onto the floor. I bent down and lifted a spreadsheet from the worn area rug covering the painted floor. Columns of numbers made me slip into a giddy haze. My brain computed the lines of numbers and recategorized some of the columns. Two small errors leaped from the sheet at me.

  I stood and placed the paper on his desk. “Can I help you?”

  Drake’s head shot up, his eyes wide. It was the first time I’d seen his perfect composure altered to something real. “I…I didn’t hear you come in. I guess I was too busy with payroll and bills. Oh, is that coffee?”

  “Yeah, sorry. I didn’t know you drank it or I would’ve brought you one.”

  Drake cocked his head to the side. His lips did some sort of movie star smirk, but I didn’t dare look at his eyes.

  He stretched, his T-shirt rising enough to show his happy trail. Wow. His abs were sculpted-marble perfect. The things I’d like to… Ugh. I averted my gaze back to the papers. Numbers, yes, numbers I could control and organize. They made sense and they comforted my mind. Three deep breaths later, only the dull hum remained between my legs.

  “I can help if you want,” I said.

  Drake leaned forward on his elbows. “I wouldn’t torture you like that.”

  “You mean, you don’t think I can help.” I crossed my arms over my chest. Dang my temper. It always twisted me up and fired ferocious hostility. “Never mind. What about the job? I ran into Hawaiian…I mean Walter, at the coffee shop. He thinks I’m great with numbers.”

  Drake straightened the picture of his grandmother and him. “It won’t be much. I’m afraid money is tight right now. Although, after our conversation I did a count of people in the club as best I could, then compared to ticket sales. You were right. The bouncer was skimming. I can’t believe I didn’t catch that. Maybe Walter’s right; my mind’s not in the game.”

  My back straightened a little and I lifted my chin, but still I kept my eyes on the pages of numbers on his desk.

  “Since Walter said you were great with numbers, how about we give it a trial at the ticket window?”

  My hands shook. No way I’d manage a job outside with no music, talking to people. I searched the numbers in front of me for answers. I gestured to my skinny frame. “I wouldn’t be much help in stopping people from sliding in through the door. Also, your bouncer is inside while the money taken is outside. It’s too easy to be robbed. I’d suggest you move ticket sales to the door. It’ll allow for more money running to the safe during the night and cut the risk of people sliding by without paying the cover charge.”

  Drake tapped his class ring against the desk. “Is that how you got into the club last night?”

  “No. You might want to post a bouncer at the loading dock, too.” I held my breath for a second.

  He laughed, that intoxicating, deep laugh, and I chuckled. My shoulders relaxed and I let go of my sleeves. For once, my nails didn’t dig into my hands.

  “Be back here at five. We all eat dinner and then finish set-up and open the doors by seven.”

  I took a sip of my heavenly coffee before I responded. “You sure you don’t want my help with that?”

  He shook his head, a hint of agitation in the rhythm of his breathing.

  “Never mind. I know, fancy degree and all. Sorry.” I about-faced to the door.

  “Hold up. There is something I wanted to ask you.” He crossed the room, stealing my personal space again. His gaze dropped on me with an intense burrowing into my soul. A hand to my elbow again. Man, the guy was touchy. Worse, I liked it. “Why’d that band clear the house like that? I always put the least popular band last because of how late it is when they go on, but you seemed to think it was more than that.”

  “Honestly?”

  Drake nodded, hovering so close his lips were getting into the danger zone. My mind couldn’t possibly focus with that kind of distraction. “Don’t hold back. I promise not to fire you.”

  I knew I couldn’t talk with him touching me, so I shrugged free and went to his desk. He waved me to have a seat. “The last band’s songs were disorganized. There was no way to connect to the music. People want originality, but they also want a memorable beat, something they can dance to. They want to discover new groups before the mass population. Saying the last band is on late is a cop out. Your customers are the stay-up-all-night-and-eat-breakfast-at-the-Waffle-House-before-heading-home type. They want to hang out until midmorning, raving about the music they heard.”

  Drake sat near me, not saying a word. Was I too honest?

  “Remember, you promised not to fire me.”

  He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands in his lap. “Where do you find these bands?”

  “You advertise for up-and-coming bands, make it a competition to play at this venue. Don’t go asking bands to play. You have to make it an honor, but right now your reputation isn’t going to do that. You need to host a Battle of the Bands with a prize.”

  He sighed. “There’s no money for a prize.”

  I leaned forward, drawing circles around the lid of my coffee cup, not sure if I should just shut my mouth. “Come on, you went to marketing school. You can come up with a plan that doesn’t involve money. Talk to a local producer. Get him into the club the night of the Battle of the Bands. That alone will bring people in, but hold auditions so only good bands make the cut.”

  “That’s an amazing idea. I do have a few connections in the industry. I can also advertise in the paper. I have a guy who can cut me a deal. No, wait, the newspaper is archaic. Websites, online media.”

  “Now I’m starting to see what that fancy degree was all about.” I dared to glance at his eyes. His gaze swooped over the desk but didn’t stop on the spreadsheets.

  He scribbled some notes on a scrap sheet of paper.
Call producers, make flyers, set event date. He rubbed his chin then wrote more.

  “I think you got this.” I pressed my palm on his desk and stood, but he placed his hand over mine. His touch pushed my pleasure button, a reaction normal people experienced. I settled into the feeling, the rough texture of his skin, the weight, the tiny hairs dancing, but then his fingers squeezed mine. My legs, arms, neck, toes stiffened. A shot of adrenaline triggered my flight response. I shuffled between feet, hoping for an escape.

  “I know marketing for large product firms. Worked a big corporate job straight out of college, but this place is a different breed of business. It’s entertainment. It takes an ear for talent. How will I know which bands to pick?”

  His fingers loosened their grip and the tension in my thighs ebbed. For half a second, I liked his touch. Something inside me clicked into place and I longed to have him stay still and allow me to enjoy that sensation, one I hadn’t felt in years.

  “Trust your gut, I guess.” I wanted to close my eyes and savor the feeling of his hand. Savor the moment for a second longer.

  “I think I found another job for you. I mean, we’ll do it together. You’re more aware of what people want with the music, and I’ll handle the business side of contacting the producer and creating advertising. Will you help me? I’ll pay you, of course.” He gripped the spreadsheets in front of him. “For the first time since I took this club over, I’m excited to make something happen with this place. Tell me you’ll do this.”

  Help him? Someone needed me, instead of the other way around? He was admitting I had a purpose. I wanted to cry, or sing, or dance around his office. My throat tickled with a thousand words that wanted to escape, but instead I shrugged. “Sure. I’ll help.”

  “Great. You go home and get some rest. We’ll talk more tonight after I get through this mess and figure out how to keep this place open long enough to turn it around.” Drake cupped my hand in both of his and his thumb brushed across my fingers.

  Oh God, I thought I’d jump on the desk and offer myself to him right then, what with the tingles radiating up my arm, down my spine, and straight to my happy place.

  “Thank you. Walter was right. There is something unique about you. I hope you stick around long enough to see this through.” He sat back, taking his magical hands with him.

  Part of me wanted to tell him to touch me again. My eyes shot to the numbers and I calculated several pages. I did a box step around the chair, trying to get control of this strange, new feeling. “Check line thirteen on that page.” I pointed to the document in front of him. “And line twenty-four on that one.”

  He lifted the page, scanned the scribbled notes, and did some computer calculations. “Oh. How did you…?”

  I waved and retreated out the door. Two more minutes and I would have jumped him, and then where would I be? No, I wasn’t going back to my old ways. I needed to call Ton, but he’d only judge and tell me how much I needed to return to the Straight Edge community and him. This time, I’d keep my distance. I wouldn’t lose my home and nearly my life because of some older guy promising me things and never delivering.

  Chapter Eight

  After a soothing nap to one of Giacomo Facco’s concertos, I switched the iPod to my eighties dance mix playlist to head out to Bands. I locked up my hideout and hopped from the curb into sloshing puddles and up on the other side with a bounce. I’d regret the dampness of my Converse in a few hours, but for now, I’d keep my mind on one thing. My new job.

  I hiked up the street, the music drowning any wayward traffic noise and allowing my attention to wander. Memories of twirling around my mother’s bedroom while we sang and drowned out the world with her music had given me life beyond the torture. Looking back, I couldn’t comprehend how she knew what I needed. A mother, alone, with a baby who screamed every time she touched it. How did she make it through that?

  Tonight wasn’t the night to live in the past. I hoped there was a future here for me, a future holding happiness and independence. I should’ve thought about working in a music venue a long time ago. Of course, Ton would never approve because of the saturation of sex and drugs in one small space.

  I found the skate park and spotted Bands on the other side. Ton’s voice screamed in my head that I was regressing back to being a dysfunctional little masochist. I shook it away. This felt right, for me.

  Two skater guys jumped the rail and halted in front of me. I scooted around a bush and hurtled over a grate, but they only shot past me and waited at the end of the sidewalk.

  Their lips moved, and I knew they were speaking, so I finally removed my earphones.

  “Ya, she’s beautiful. Got a body.” A guy with long stringy hair in a knitted cap groped the air.

  I backtracked, wanting to avoid any trouble. I wouldn’t lose this job because of these guys.

  “Hey, look at that. She won’t even talk to us. She thinks she’s too good.”

  Me, too good? Ha. Still, not even in my worst strung-out moment would I lower myself to those two.

  The skateboard wheels rumbled behind me, drawing closer. I quickened my pace, but the thumping over the cracks in the sidewalk echoed near me. I eyed the club and the path to get there. Calculations spun through my head until the answer registered in my brain. With no way to outrun skateboards on asphalt, I spotted a roundabout through grass to the main road.

  I halted, letting them pass. Mocking words flew to my lips, but I bit my mouth closed. This wasn’t the time. Attitude would only agitate them further. Once they rolled far enough ahead, I jumped a chain-link rope, hopped two bushes then a boulder, and ran. Pumping my arms, I made it halfway across the field before either even realized they hadn’t blocked my only route. I could envision them still scratching their heads.

  “Hey, are we here to skate or not? Let her go.” A third, welcoming voice sounded from the park. Perhaps not all skaters were assholes. Actually, most of them were cool. It was just that a lone girl walking through the park at night welcomed attention. Mental note, find another route to work.

  Finally, I rounded the building and walked up the street, trying to catch my breath before I entered the rear entrance. A piano sang with a beautiful, sweeping rhythm from behind the right side of the stage. The melody and clarity reminded me of a classical piece, yet with a modern twist. It smoothly transitioned into an increased cadence that stole my breath. Love, loss, and grief. Grief of the most intimate kind sounded in each note. I knew that kind of loss.

  As if the music carried to the main entrance, hooked a rib, and tugged me toward the stage, my feet glided across the dance floor to the stairs. Before I made it to the top step, the rhythm altered into a disorganized, unemotional pounding of keys.

  I covered my ears to shield myself from the sound and dropped to my knees. Klank, granck, klank, dum, thrump, dum, klank.

  Sharp notes drilled through the space between my fingers and shredded my inner ear.

  Boom. Boom. Boom. Bang!

  Finally, it stopped.

  I rocked up and down to soothe the anxiety that crawled through my body as if a thousand spider eggs had hatched, the baby limbs skittering to my brain stem and down my spine.

  I hated that feeling.

  Drake rounded to the front of the stage. He did that thing with his hand tugging his hair from his scalp then stopped center stage.

  “Scarlet? What’s wrong?” He knelt at my side. His hands cupped my cheeks. “Are you hurt?” He scanned every inch of me.

  It was him. He played that beautiful, haunting music that pierced my heart, and then drove me mad. “You? That was you?”

  His warm fingers on my chin tilted my head up to face him. “You heard that?”

  I nodded, still straining to calm the anxiety in my soul. What could I tell him? I’m allergic to bad music, but I loved the first part? That I’m a wacko and he should run from me now before I ruined his life, like I did my foster dad’s?

  “We can talk about my awful music after you
tell me what’s wrong. Did something happen? Are you ill?” His thumb made a delicious brush across my skin, and my eyes closed. For a second, I leaned into it, wanting more.

  The side door to Bands slammed, startling us both. “Wait here. I want to know what’s going on. I’ll be right back.”

  His hand abandoned my face, leaving it cold and with a kind of emptiness. Loneliness? I didn’t get lonely. I was a loner. I didn’t need anyone. Heck, I didn’t like anyone.

  “What is this nonsense I hear about you having a Battle of the Bands? I thought we agreed it was time to let this place go?” The screechy blonde’s voice from the Mexican restaurant carried from the front entryway. I forced my ears to remain open despite her voice’s constant drilling into my skull.

  “I know what I said, but hold your father off on the loan a little longer. I’ve run the numbers and there’s a shot to save this place,” Drake said, desperation bleeding into his voice.

  Was that why Barbie was around? Her daddy owned the place. Great, there went my job. When she found out I worked here, she’d shut the place down before he could fire me.

  Heels clicked in the doorway, so I slithered back into the shadows behind some speakers.

  “You’ve given it your best. I have a job lined up for you already. It’s time you let go of your family and actually used the degree they paid for.”

  “Way to support me,” Drake said, his voice deepening to a bass drum tone.

  “Support you? Am I not the one who had my father lend you the money to save this place?” Her voice hitched an octave higher. I gripped the banister at my side; my nails chipped black paint from the wood.

  “Sometimes I wonder why you did that. You’ve wanted me to fail since the day I took this place on.”

  “No, I knew you’d fail. You’re not your brother. You don’t possess his musical talent. Heck, you never even wanted this place, you did it out of guilt. It’s time for you to let go of this strange, unspoken promise you made. Your brother isn’t here anymore. You need to move on. I thought when you realized…”