Out of the corner of his eye, he spied two women coming up a set of stairs and checked them out as a matter of course. One was a chubby redhead, not to his taste, but the other was his favorite flavor: tall and blond, with an impressive set.
The blonde returned his gaze, but when she moved into the raw light of a neon sign he immediately lost interest. She had bad skin and her attempt to conceal it with a thick layer of foundation offended his finicky sense of cleanliness.
He started to turn away and glimpsed, over her shoulder, a sign announcing the name of the establishment from which she had emerged: the grotto. He pivoted.
The blonde’s face lit up at his approach but fell when he squeezed past. “Evening,” he said with a polite nod, passing her and not looking back.
As he went inside, he heard the blonde arguing with her red-haired friend. “Let’s go back in for one more drink,” she was saying, and her friend was holding out for someplace called Gatsby’s. He hoped Red won.
Inside the club was murky, like an underwater cave. Even the neon signs that canopied the bar were hazy, obscured by layers of cigarette smoke. A wooden stage dominated the room, where a folksy brunette with a guitar was singing a Judy Collins song in a faulty soprano. Quinn grimaced.
As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he spotted a familiar mop of sandy hair at one of the small tables near the stage. “Danny boy!” Quinn’s face lit up in a big grin.
Dan Reynolds turned, revealing a wide nose, sloped chin, and friendly brown eyes. He was husky and broad, almost too big for the café-style chair he sat in, and he held a drippy double burger in his enormous fists. “Dude! Where’ve you been?”
“Trying to find this hole. Next time give me some landmarks.” He slid into a chair and signaled the bartender, a statuesque black woman with dreads.
“Man, everyone knows this place,” Dan laughed. “It’s famous!”
“Really?” Quinn glanced around doubtfully. It looked like a dump to him, although the clientele resembled industry wannabes. He saw men with pony nubs and women dressed to emulate various musical flavors of the month, even one shaved bald like Sinead O’Connor.
“Definitely,” Dan said, taking a bite of his burger. “Dylan was discovered here, you know.”
Quinn smirked. “There are a dozen places that make the same claim.” He turned to inspect an approaching waitress, another busty blonde but with better skin than the last one. “How are you tonight, darlin’?”
“Fine,” she said pleasantly. “What can I get for you?”
“Tanqueray and tonic, please.” He watched her as she returned to the bar.
When the waitress looked back at him, Quinn drummed his fingers on the table and idly engaged in a little visual foreplay. He was used to the power he had over women; all it usually took was a smile and they responded. He knew that part of it was the way he looked. He was tall, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. His face was angular with a razor-sharp jaw, his nose thin and pronounced, his lips firm with their constant half smile. He had fair, shaggy hair that just brushed his shoulders and a small diamond chip that glittered in his left earlobe. But it was his eyes that ultimately got them, bright blue and intense, deeply set under his well-defined brow.
The intense eyes seemed to be holding the waitress captive. She returned his gaze steadily, then leaned back against the bar and crossed her ankles, slowly rubbing one over the other. This one’s in the bag.
Dan cleared his throat and Quinn pulled his attention back to the table. Dan was grinning. “Sorry to interfere with target practice, but we have stuff to go over. Where’s Ty?”
“He said he’d meet us here. He’s probably cruising up and down Bleecker Street like I was, trying to decipher your crummy directions.”
Dan rolled his eyes. “Anyone in New York could tell you how to find the Grotto.”
“Maybe, but I’m not from New York, remember? I’m just visiting from the cold, crappy town of Boston.”
“You’re not from there, either,” Dan said, between bites. “You’re a California dude, like me.”
“And I can’t wait to go back there,” Quinn said. “I miss it, don’t you?”
Dan shrugged. “There’s things I like about the East.”
“Not me. I have dreams about being back in Cali, riding my Harley on the PCH. The minute I finish school, we’re gone. Remember that, Danny. Thanks, darlin’.” He shifted his focus back to the waitress as she delivered his drink.
“Do you need anything else?” she asked.
“Not right at the moment, but be sure to check back later, okay?”
Dan laughed as she walked away, wiggling her ass. “I see you haven’t changed a bit!”
“Well, you have, judging from the way your apartment looks.”
Dan looked sheepish. “So you found the key all right?”
“Yup. You did some redecorating,” Quinn said. “I like the curtains. The Tampax in the bathroom is a nice touch, too. There’s Ty.” He raised his hand to hail a tall, black man just coming down the steps from the street.
Dan popped the final morsel of his burger into his mouth as Tyrone Cowan joined them. He was lean and bearded, with close-cropped hair, chestnut-brown skin, and tiny gold hoops in both ears. “Dan, my man, ’sup? Thanks for putting us up. I was sick of listening to the Q-man bitch about staying at a hotel.”
Quinn looked affronted. “Like I have money to burn? Besides, most hotels aren’t furnished as tastefully as Dan’s place. That feminine touch, you know?”
Ty regarded Quinn with amusement as Dan seemed to shrink into his chair. “At least the dishes are washed. That’s new.”
“There’s an upside to everything,” Quinn agreed. “Also, it was good to see your refrigerator without any science projects growing in it.”
“Look, I have a steady girl,” Dan said. “Why should that bother you?”
Quinn shrugged. “It doesn’t. I’m just wondering when the wedding plans will start.”
“No wedding anytime soon. I have been thinking about moving in with her,” Dan said, after a pause, “but she’s got roommates. It’s tricky.”
“Good, because she’d really have a leash around your balls then,” Quinn said. “Wait’ll she starts yanking it. She’ll have you heeling in no time.”
“Denise isn’t like that,” Dan said.
“They never are in the beginning. Just you wait,” Quinn said. “That one has marriage spelled out across her forehead in neon letters.”
“Would you lay off? I’ve been with her a couple of years now and I like having her around. What’s it to you?”
“We’ve been working on getting this band established for more than a couple of years,” Quinn said. “What’s gonna happen if Denise decides she wants something bigger than your little studio and starts making noises about how unreliable a musician’s salary is? You gonna cut your hair and start working for IBM?”
Dan shook his head, his long hair swinging from side to side. “Dude, there’s nothing wrong with having one girlfriend. It’s called monogamy.”
“No,” Quinn sneered, “it’s called pussy whipped.
“Enough,” Ty interjected. “I’m freaking bored with this conversation. This meeting is about the band, not Dan’s love life. Where are we at?”
“Our first gig is here and it’s next Saturday,” Dan replied, “working for the door. If the crowd likes us, they’ll book us regular for the summer. We get free beer, too.”
“I’m not playing for the door all summer,” Quinn said. “The door is shit. You can’t count on the door.”
“If you didn’t suck so much, the door wouldn’t be shit, Q,” Ty snapped, just to shut him up. The truth was that Quinn didn’t suck at all. The man had an ear like a bat and his technical skill was extraordinary.
“Excuse me?” Quinn regarded Ty with mock indignity. “I don’t suck. You suck. You handle that bass as if you were whacking off a three-foot dick. That’s why you never get laid. It scares all the ch
icks away.”
“Maybe it scares your chicks away,” Ty said. “You oughta borrow one of Dan’s drumsticks. At least it’ll stay hard.”
“He doesn’t need my stick,” Dan said. “He can just keep diddling himself on his keyboard. He plays better when the keys stick.” Ty gave Dan a high five, snickering.
“Very funny,” Quinn said. “The door is okay for this first time but when they hire us, we renegotiate. This time let me do it,” he told Dan. “You’re too soft.”
“That’s not what my girlfriend says,” Dan said.
“Let’s get back to the gig,” Ty prompted. “Do they have a house sound system?”
“Yes,” Dan nodded, “but we have to bring our own man. I hired Bruce. He’s willing to do us all summer, same as last year. He’s upped his price, though.”
“That’s okay. He’s the only one who ever gets our sound right.” Quinn drained the last of the gin and tonic. “Tell me about the system,” he said to Dan. “What’s the monitor situation?”
“Should be fine. They’ve got a bunch of JBL fifteens.”
“Sounds like we’re good to go then, gentlemen. Let’s drink on it. Another round, darlin’,” Quinn called to the waitress with a wink, “and add a seven and seven.”
The waitress leapt to attention, hips undulating as she walked to the bar. Quinn watched for a moment, then turned back to his bandmates. “Too bad Jason couldn’t make it tonight,” he remarked. “What did he have going on?”
Dan’s smile faded. “I was going to mention that next. There’s one more thing we need,” he said. “Another guitar player.”
“What do you mean?” Quinn asked. “We’ve always had only one.”
“I know. But now we’ve got none.”
“Come again?” Ty stared at Dan. “Where’s Jason?”
“Rehab.”
“Again? Christ,” Quinn spat. “I’m so sick of this bullshit with him!”
“Poor guy.” Ty shook his head. “He just can’t seem to get off the crystal.”
“‘Poor guy’ my ass,” Quinn growled. “That fucking basehead is way more trouble than he’s worth. I wanted to get rid of him last time. This time I will.”
“I think so, too,” Dan said eagerly. “We ought to find somebody right away. In fact—”
“Not right away,” Quinn said. “There’s no time. We’re stuck with him for the summer, at least after he gets out. When’s that?”
“Uh, it’s more complicated than last time.”
Ty frowned. “Why?”
“Meth lab,” Dan replied, avoiding Quinn’s suddenly intense gaze, “in his kitchen. After he gets out of rehab, he has to do some jail time.”
“Shit,” Ty gasped. “When’s he getting out?”
“Not for a couple of years. At least,” Dan added.
“Fucked!” Quinn exploded, slamming both fists down on the table. Dan’s beer bottle fell over. It rolled off the edge and shattered on the floor, the shards tinkling musically. “We are fucked! How long have you known about this?”
“The sentencing was Friday,” Dan said, “but I have a plan. This isn’t a catastrophe.”
“It is a catastrophe,” Quinn corrected him angrily. “Jason does not just play guitar. He sings twelve of the fucking songs. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“Because I wanted to break it to you gently. I knew you’d freak, and I was afraid you’d stay in Boston and take that session shit if you knew. Besides, we are not fucked,” Dan reiterated. “I found another guitar player.”
Quinn continued to glare, but Ty leaned forward. “You have a replacement in mind?”
“Yes. She was supposed to be here tonight, but—”
“She?” Quinn’s eyes were huge again. “A girl?”
“Yeah,” Dan nodded, “and this girl is a major talent. Seriously, you’ve never heard anything like her.”
Tyrone looked thoughtful. “What kind of music does she play?”
“Folk, mostly,” Dan said and Quinn groaned out loud, burying his head in his arms. “But she rocks, too,” Dan added hurriedly, “and, man, can she sing!”
“Didn’t you say she was supposed to be here tonight?” Quinn interrupted, raising his head. Dan nodded. “Then where the fuck is she?”
“I don’t know.” Dan frowned. “Something must have happened. She’s reliable, usually. And she learns superfast. I’ve played with her before.”
The waitress brought their round and knelt to pick up the pieces of broken bottle, affording Quinn an ample view of her cleavage. Normally he would have jumped to assist, but now he had other things on his mind.
“Is she a babe,” Quinn asked after the waitress walked away, her ass now twitching with indignation, “or is she one of those nasty girl-musician-dyke types?”
“What does that matter? You’re gonna play music with her, not fuck her.”
“I don’t want some ugly rug muncher fronting our band, that’s all.”
“Nobody said anything about her fronting. She’s just gonna play guitar.”
Quinn held up three fingers on his right hand. “Three guys.” He raised his left hand, index finger extended. “One girl. And you said she sings. Who do you think everybody’s gonna watch?”
Dan was silent.
“Does she have the right look, is all I’m asking.”
“Enough arguing,” Ty said. “When can we meet her?”
Dan sighed. “I’ll set something up for tomorrow. We need to move fast on this.”
“Can you get ahold of her?” said Ty.
“Yeah, no problem. She’s Denise’s roommate.” Quinn let out a snort and Dan reciprocated with a dirty look. “Q, you are really beginning to bug me, bro. Why don’t you stop with the negativity and give her a chance?”
“I can’t wait.” Quinn said. “I mean, seriously. How many decent female rock guitarists do you know of? Bonnie Raitt. Maybe Nancy Wilson. What are the chances that one just happens to be living with your girlfriend?”
chapter 3
Shan’s knees were shakier than ever as she made her way out of Jorge’s building. She hurried a few blocks down to 112th, then cut over Lexington to Desperado’s, a cantina she occasionally played. She recognized the bartender, a tall Latino she knew only as T-Bone. He was a regular at Jorge’s so she avoided him, heading straight for the restroom with her face averted.
Shan squeezed into a stall with Joanie and opened the guitar case. With shaky hands, she pulled out the rock of heroin, a piece of foil, a lighter, and a short plastic straw. Pinching a bit off the rock, she put it on the foil, sparked the lighter, and applied the flame to the bottom of the foil.
The heroin sizzled, its vinegary aroma filling the air. Shan used the tooter to inhale the smoke, savoring its chemical tang. She took one hit, then another. As the first effects began to filter through her brain, she felt the nausea melting away, the shakiness evaporating, and the wonderful lightness stealing over her. She slid to the floor and closed her eyes as she took another hit.
A sudden hammering made her eyes fly open. “There’s a line!” said an angry voice.
But the restroom was empty and she’d only been there a moment. She checked her watch.
It was after eleven. She’d nodded out, for over an hour. Oh no.
Shan crammed her stuff back in Joanie’s case and stumbled out of the stall, avoiding the hostile glares of the women in line. She left Desperado’s and hurried down the street to the subway station. She missed the eleven-twenty train and was afraid to linger in Spanish Harlem, so she trekked downtown to the next stop. By the time she finally caught the train to Bleecker, it was after midnight. She gave up and rode to her usual stop in SoHo.
Shan wearily climbed the steps to her building and let herself into her apartment. She fastened all the locks, leaned back against the door, and heaved a sigh.
Just as well. That band was out of her league and she knew it. She went into the dark living room, shrieking when she walked smack into one of
her roommates. “Denise! You scared me!”
Denise Jennison recoiled. She was a tall, slim girl of twenty-five, with spiky red hair and round blue eyes. “I was waiting up for you. Dan called. I was worried.” She flicked on the light and her eyes widened. “My God, what happened?”
Shan looked down at herself. Her clothes were disheveled and the zipper on her jeans was broken. Her neck hurt, too, and she wondered if she had bruises. She shook her head to clear the H-induced fogginess. “I got mugged,” she improvised, “on the subway.”
Denise gasped. “Are you all right?”
Shan nodded, heading for her bedroom, but Denise dogged her. “Did you call the police?”
“No,” Shan said. “What’s the point?” When Denise erupted into a chorus of protests, Shan interrupted her. “Is Dan furious?”
“No, but—”
“Do you think he’d give me another chance?”
“Definitely,” Denise said. “He wants you to call him first thing tomorrow.”
Shan felt a glimmer of hope. “Good. I’m glad he’s not too angry.”
“For God’s sake, don’t be silly! Just tell him what happened.”
Shan went into her bedroom without replying. She set down Joanie and surveyed her reflection in the mirror. She did look awful. The torn clothes and shadowy bruises were the least of it. It was her expression that was most telling. She looked haunted, shell-shocked.
Denise was hovering in the door. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I told you I’m fine,” Shan snapped, then experienced a stab of remorse at the hurt on Denise’s face. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just been a lousy night and I’d like to be alone.”
“Do you want me to make you some tea? There’s chamomile.”
“No thanks. I’m going to take a bath.” She moved past Denise, pausing when she reached the bathroom. “If you talk to Dan before I do, would you tell him I’d still like to audition? I’m gigging at the Grotto tomorrow night. Maybe they could come.”
Rock Angel (Rock Angel Series Book 1) Page 2