“No, thanks, Susie. I need to see to my grandfather, make sure he’s all right.”
She glanced at the bar. “Oh.”
AJ excused himself. Grandpa sat engrossed in conversation with Mel.
As AJ approached, Mel smiled. “Hey kid, great show. This was a great idea. I’m glad we thought of it.”
“If you’re so glad, maybe you’ll pay the boy,” Grandpa said.
Mel smiled. “Uh, maybe next time.”
“Next time?” AJ looked from Mel to his grandfather, who looked just as surprised.
Mel shrugged. “Sure. Why don’t you come back and play some more? And here, I’ll pour you a beer. On the house.”
AJ sat next to his grandfather. “We should use a smaller tip jar next time, so it doesn’t look so pathetic.”
Grandpa said, “Pah. Pretty soon, you won’t be able to find a jar big enough.”
“Thanks, Grandpa. But you don’t have to stick around, you know. It’s past eleven already.”
AJ thanked Mel, who set the beer in front of him as someone down the bar hailed him for another round.
Grandpa turned, his eyebrow arched. “Do you expect me to miss the grand finale?”
AJ sipped. “If there was one, then no. But it’s really more of the same. You wouldn’t miss a thing, believe me.”
“So I’ll take an extra nap tomorrow,” Grandpa said. “I’m staying.”
Sandra set her tray on the bar and waved new orders at Mel. “AJ, you’re so talented. And this is the busiest we’ve been on a Friday night in ages.”
“Great.” Busy. Less than twenty people. But if AJ was responsible for keeping them there, then yeah, it was great. He couldn’t help feeling a little pride.
One of the younger guys at the bar came over to ask if he had any CDs for sale.
“Not yet,” AJ said. “But I’m working on it.” All he needed was a way to record it. And burn the CDs.
“I better get back,” AJ said to his grandfather. “I’ll finish up around twelve. OK?”
“Midnight it is,” his grandfather said.
AJ carried his beer to his little corner, settled on the stool and tuned the guitar strings.
“Play more Springsteen,” urged Darlene.
“White Stripes,” said one of the Goth girls.
“Do you have any faster originals?” asked the girl with the butterfly tattoo.
“I do, yeah,” he said. He’d like to see her butterfly dance again.
“Let’s hear it.” Her throaty voice and bright eyes gave him incentive.
Inspired by her enthusiasm, he belted out the lyrics as he pounded the guitar. The two girls slithered against one another in front of him, making the mermaids appear tame as goldfish. Susie glared at them as her movements became more flamboyant.
AJ played until midnight. By then, Mel was checking his watch. AJ knew that look, a sign he was ready to wind things down. He announced he would sing two more originals before he wrapped up. They were slower songs, sad love songs he’d written for Cassiopeia.
As he sang, Susie and Darlene stood and swayed, their arms around each other’s waist. If their expressions were any gauge, the songs hit the mark. Even the Goth girls nodded approvingly at the end.
AJ held his guitar. “Thanks, everyone. I hope to be back soon.”
Susie came to his side as he bent to set his guitar in its case and latched it.
“So, AJ, are you doing anything?”
He stood, holding the case. “Going home.”
She sidled closer. “I hoped maybe you’d come back to my place.”
He ran his hand through his hair. A year ago, he’d have gone without thinking twice. “That’s really nice of you, Susie. But I’m not up to it, sorry.”
She laid a hand on his chest, looking up at him. “Not even if I promise to take it easy on you? No mermaid tricks?”
His mouth dropped open. His heart felt heavy as a stone. Mermaid tricks–what he wouldn’t give for that. But not from Susie.
“I have to go.” He pushed past her to where Grandpa waited to take him home.
Chapter Thirty-Five
AJ dumped the contents of the tip jar onto his bed the next morning. Forty-two dollars. He’d need a lot more than that for a recording session.
Grandpa leaned in the doorway. “Did you have a good take?”
AJ chuckled. “Not bad for the first night, I guess. I don’t suppose you’re responsible for this twenty?” He waved it in the air.
His grandfather shrugged. “I contributed, certainly.”
“Grandpa, I can’t take this from you.” He held it out.
“Nonsense. I didn’t say the twenty came from me. In fact, I believe Mel put it in there. Moved by guilt, no doubt, for not paying you.” A hissing noise came from the kitchen, and Grandpa hurried down the hallway.
He laid back on the bed. Last night was the latest he’d been out in a long time. It had taken a toll.
The telephone rang. Grandpa said, “Hello?” He repeated the greeting, then hung up.
“Wrong number?” AJ called.
“I have no idea. This is the third time it’s happened.”
AJ pushed himself up and went to the kitchen. “Really? That’s odd. I mean, that doesn’t happen to you much, does it?”
Grandpa stirred a pot on the stove. “No, not at all. My number’s on the Do Not Call list, so I haven’t had any telemarketer calls in years. Maybe someone is a clumsy dialer.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” He couldn’t escape an odd feeling. “You know, I never did get my cell phone back.” AJ walked to the sliding glass doors and looked out.
“Where did you leave it?”
“At Chaz’s place. With Cassiopeia.”
His grandfather turned slowly to face him.
AJ bit his finger. “It can’t be. The battery would be dead by now. And it wouldn’t work underwater. No, I’m not thinking clearly.” He ran a hand through his hair as he paced to the sliding glass door.
Grandpa turned the stove knob.
His grandfather’s silence disturbed AJ. “Right? I mean, it couldn’t be her. Do you think?”
“Right. Absolutely.” Grandpa leaned against the sink. “Unless…”
“What?” He stepped closer.
Grandpa shook his head. “No, that’s ridiculous. I’m not thinking clearly, either.”
AJ moved to his grandfather’s side. “Tell me.”
With a sigh, his grandfather braced his hands against the sink and said slowly, “Well, she’s a quick study. Maybe it’s not your phone she’s using.”
A chill went through him. “You think she got hold of someone else’s?”
“It is possible.” Grandpa looked at AJ. “But not probable. Think of the logistics.”
He pulled a glass from the cabinet. “You’re right. She hates me, anyway. She’d never call. It could have been anyone.” He poured some milk, walked to the table and sat, propping his head in his hand. “I should give up. Ask one of the girls from last night for their number. Or Susie.”
Grandpa scolded, “No, not Susie. Or Darlene. Tobias would not approve.”
AJ ran a finger along the rim of the glass. “So, Grandpa. What is the story with Tobias, anyway?”
“What story?” His grandfather puttered between sink and stove.
“He hasn’t asked me any questions about Cassiopeia. He knows she’s a real mermaid.”
His grandfather took a sudden interest in the dirty coffee cups sitting in the sink since early morning. “Tobias is a good friend. Completely trustworthy.” He washed the dishes, dried them, put them away.
“Grandpa.” He studied his grandfather, who evaded his gaze. “There’s got to be more to it than that.”
As he wiped his hands on the towel, his grandfather said, “Why does there? Isn’t it enough to be a good friend?”
AJ pressed his lips together. “It’s a big secret. Even for a good friend.”
Grandpa stirred the pot on the stove. “That’s
part of what’s wrong with your generation. No loyalty. No standards.”
With a sigh, he gave in. There would be no answers from Grandpa about it, and no other way to find out the truth. Might as well forget it.
“I prepared sausage and peppers, if you’re hungry.”
“It smells good.”
Grandpa smiled. “I even bought fresh rolls.”
“Well then. I better jump on that.” AJ reached for the cabinet door.
“Sit, I’ll make you a sandwich.” His grandfather pulled out two plates and set a roll on each, then spooned the contents of the bubbling pot.
When AJ said thanks, he thought of all the things his grandfather had done to help him.
Grandpa paused. “You’re welcome, son.”
The roll felt soft in AJ’s hands. Since he arrived, things had improved quite a bit, all the way around.
Chapter Thirty-Six
AJ’s grey T-shirt was nowhere to be found. The shirt Cassiopeia had worn that night. “Grandpa, have you seen my grey T-shirt? It had a design on the back, four buttons down the front.”
From his bedroom, Grandpa called, “Let me look. I picked up some of your things off the floor and threw them in the wash with mine.”
AJ threw down the sock he held. “Oh, you didn’t wash it. Man.” He shouldn’t have said that out loud.
Grandpa walked in holding the shirt. “Of course I washed it. It felt damp and would have turned moldy.” He handed it to AJ.
He brought it to his nose. Her scent was gone. Still, he’d feel as if she were there tonight if he wore it. He tugged it over his head.
Grandpa scanned him from head to toe. “Are you almost ready? We should have left five minutes ago. Aren’t you going to comb your hair?”
“Nah. Makes me look more like a starving artist.” So did his ripped jeans.
His grandfather arched an eyebrow. “I suppose the girls like it that way.”
AJ picked up his guitar. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
Grandpa gave him a wide-eyed once-over, then led the way out the door. The Caprice tires chirped as they peeled away.
AJ checked his guitar case in the back seat. “We’re not late. Relax.”
Grandpa turned down the radio. “Did you make changes to your playlist?”
“Yep, I mixed it up a little more.” AJ patted his shirt pocket. “But there’s always room for requests.”
Grandpa held a hand to his mouth. “Good, good.”
“Why are you so nervous? This is my fourth time at Mel’s. And it’s going pretty well.” The second night AJ played there, twice as many people showed up. Last time, the bar was nearly filled, and Sandra had to remove two tables so there would be room for dancing. Mel had never seen so much business, and wanted to keep AJ coming back. AJ didn’t want to commit to too many gigs there. He felt ready to expand to other venues. Having Mel’s support was great, but it wouldn’t be long before he’d exhausted the possibilities there.
And on his own. He needed a drummer. A keyboard player. A bass guitarist.
A band.
Grandpa careened the Caprice around a corner. “It’s going exceptionally well. Mel’s has never seen such a lively patronage.”
AJ had seen plenty livelier, but wasn’t about to complain. “I thought Mel and Sandra would keel over trying to keep up with all the orders.”
Grandpa steered into the bar’s parking lot. “Look at this, I can’t even find an open spot.” He cruised to the far end of the lot. “That’s why it’s more important tonight. You have to keep the momentum going.”
“I agree.” He reached for the door handle.
Grandpa stopped him with his steady gaze. “I’ve noticed your original songs elicit a very positive reaction. What are your plans for recording them?”
AJ gave a laugh. “I’d love to record them. I don’t have the money yet.”
His grandfather scrutinized him. “How much money?”
“Probably a few thousand, at least. I haven’t even looked into it yet. I have less than a grand in savings.” Way less.
“Don’t worry about the money. Find out. And let me know.”
Wow. He wasn’t simply making conversation. “Grandpa…”
“This is an investment in your future, son. Your tips have been good, but not enough to fund this venture. And how many people have asked for nonexistent CDs?”
“A few.” More than a few. AJ hated to think how many he could have sold by now.
“All lost opportunities to recoup the initial investment.” Grandpa climbed out. “Let’s not keep them waiting. Don’t get a reputation for being a prima donna before you make it to the top ten.”
Stunned, AJ watched his grandfather open the door, and wave in agitation.
A slow smile filled AJ’s face. He never would have guessed the old man would go this far. To be there for him like this.
“Well, come on,” Grandpa urged.
AJ pulled his guitar from the back seat. “I’m coming.” He scrambled from the car to catch up, but keeping up with his grandfather was another matter altogether, he was learning.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The oldies station gave AJ a throbbing headache. “How much farther?”
Grandpa grunted. “You’re not seven, AJ. I told you when we left. It’s a two-hour drive. If we don’t lose our way.”
Being stuck in this old bucket of bolts for two hours was bad enough without the Everly Brothers serenading them. At least the air conditioning drowned it out a little, though for all its noise, it wasn’t producing much cool air.
AJ’s knee bounced. “I really should have waited until I could get a band together.”
“They’ll have backup musicians there, if you like.”
The highway had looked the same for the past thirty minutes. Were they stuck in some damn time warp?
“They won’t know my songs.”
“You’ll teach them.” Grandpa winked. “Take it easy, son. We’ll be there in less than twenty minutes.”
Twenty minutes. He felt so nervous, he’d be lucky if his voice didn’t come out a croak. He should have brought extra strings, too, in case some snapped.
“You’re going to wear a hole through to the ground, if you’re not careful.” Grandpa glanced at AJ’s leg.
“What?” AJ’s knee jiggled incessantly. “Oh. Sorry.” He bit his fingernail.
“Watch for Brookline Avenue.”
“Brookline. Brookline.” AJ scanned the street signs as they passed each block. “Are we on an intersecting street?”
“According to the directions, yes.” His grandfather’s calm did nothing to reassure him.
AJ bolted straight in his seat. “There.”
The light turned red. Grandpa stopped, when AJ would have gunned it. His grandfather sung along with the Supremes–in his baritone, it sounded ridiculous. Even the Caprice blinker annoyed AJ, its ticking like a clock attached to a time bomb.
He should feel better about this. His dream, almost realized. What if he blew it?
“Ah. Alliance Studios.” His grandfather announced it as if he were a tour guide.
AJ swallowed hard as Grandpa pulled to its side lot and into a parking space. “So. This is it.”
Grandpa pulled the keys from the ignition. “You’ll do well.”
Or else his grandfather’s savings were shot for nothing. “Absolutely. Let’s do it.”
A girl with short dark hair, flat against her head, its end spiked down across her face like an anime figure, watched AJ intently as he opened the door and walked toward her at the receptionist desk. The tight-fitting fabric of her low v-neck blouse squeezed forth her cleavage. Her heavily lined eyes wandered across his body. “Hi.”
“Hey, I’m AJ Dillon. Here for the two o’clock session.” He managed to say it as if his life weren’t depending on the outcome.
“AJ.” Her low voice purred as her long red fingernail traced across the schedule. “Here you are. Have a seat, and I’ll let Mr. Wi
lliams know you’re here.” She walked down the hall, her low-rise pants revealing a rose tattoo on her hip as she moved.
Grandpa had already sat. His thin smile prompted AJ to put on a show of false bravado.
He sat next to his grandfather. “Hey, you’re the one who said it will all work out fine. So relax.”
The girl sashayed back to her desk. “Mr. Williams will be right out.”
As the minutes ticked by, AJ’s knee bounced.
“Stop that infernal fidgeting,” Grandpa grumbled.
“Where are they?” AJ wished he had his cell phone. The waiting room had no wall clock. Probably so people couldn’t keep track of how long they had to wait. Like him.
Grandpa checked his watch. “It’s only quarter till.”
“But I need to set up, get the feel of the place.” What if he walked in there and it felt like a hospital or something, too sterile, no soul to it?
Grandpa glared. “You take your guitar out of the case and play. How hard can that be? You do it in your room, at the beach. At Mel’s. Pretend you’re at Mel’s, singing to those garth girls.”
“Goth, Grandpa.” Absently, he snapped the guitar case latch with his thumb.
“Garth, Goth. Same difference.”
So much for conversation. AJ would have to keep his mind occupied some other way. Maybe he should play a bit out here to warm up. No, he didn’t want to look like an amateur, if even he was one.
The frequent glances of the receptionist didn’t interest him. In fact, he avoided looking at the girl. Her dark hair and creamy pale skin reminded him too much of Cassiopeia.
A man with salt-and-pepper hair came to the lobby, his hand extended toward AJ. “Hi. Rob Williams. Nice to meet you, AJ.”
AJ rose and shook his hand, then grabbed his guitar case as Grandpa did the same.
Like his charcoal T-shirt and jeans, Mr. Williams’ laid-back demeanor wasn’t at all what AJ had expected from a recording studio executive. He led them down the hall while he made small talk about the music industry. He pushed open the door marked Studio. The light above it was not lit.
Surfacing Page 17