by Rick Blechta
“That’s a lot of water under the bridge.”
“Yes, it is.” He pushed his chair back.
“Shall we go?”
They stood on opposite sides of the elevator on the ride down to their room.
He cleans up quite well, Shannon thought, studying Michael’s reflection in the polished metal of the door. Noticing he was doing the same, she blessed her foresight in packing a nice dress, even though at the time she couldn’t imagine any circumstance in which she might need to wear it.
As Michael shut the door to their room, he said, “You must be really knackered.”
Shannon walked over to the window, flicked the curtain aside and looked down at the street glistening with reflected light. “I’m tired but not sleepy yet. How about you?”
After loosening his tie, Michael joined her at the window. “At this point, I’m just pleasantly relaxed.”
“Two bottles of wine will do that to you.” She pointed through the window to a large square off to the left. “Do you know what that is?”
Michael leaned closer as he looked where Shannon was pointing. “As a matter of fact I do. Neurotica played an outdoor festival there just after our first album came out. ‘Don’t Push Me’ almost caused a riot. It was a great gig. We felt like real rock stars that day.”
“You don’t sound particularly happy about it.”
“I can see now that was the beginning of the end. The rock star lifestyle is what killed Neurotica, as it has so many other groups.”
Standing close enough to smell his aftershave, it seemed natural for Shannon to turn her head and kiss Michael’s cheek. He stood there for the space of one deep breath, then moved her chin with his hand and kissed her on the lips.
At first, she didn’t know whether to respond. Her kiss had been more of a thank you, an acknowledgement of their friendship. Michael’s was much more.
He was a terrific kisser, slow and deliberate, soft and gentle. She felt as if all Michael’s attention was going into what he was doing, unlike Rob, who always seemed to kiss as if it was the quickest way to getting a girl naked.
They stood there for quite a while, sharing the closeness, savouring the moment.
When things eventually moved to the bed, she carefully took off Michael’s shirt. “I’m worried that your burns will hurt.”
“I’m willing to put up with that,” he answered softly as he turned her to unzip her dress.
He again took his time, allowing her to set the pace of their lovemaking, guiding him to what she liked best. At the end, lying in his arms as he lightly scratched her back, her felt no regrets.
“If I were a cat, I’d be purring.”
He covered her with the duvet. “You should try to get some sleep. Your flight is at eleven, so we’ll need to be at the airport no later than ten.”
“Oh, all right,” she sighed, “but be warned: I may need to wake you up during the night.”
He chuckled. “I’ll try to be ready.”
***
Shannon did wake up in the night, but not remotely for the reason she had teased Michael about.
She was sure he had twitched violently. Not having pulled the heavy inner curtains shut, there was enough light in the room for her to see his eyeballs moving rapidly under his closed lids. Michael was breathing fast, and he was sweating.
Must be another of those dreams he has, she thought.
She debated waking him but didn’t want to come across like a meddling mommy.
He began mumbling in an agitated way, and she leaned close to hear if he was actually speaking coherently. At first, she couldn’t make out much of anything, but then he began speaking quite clearly.
“She can’t be... What are we going to do?... That’s absolutely daft, Angus... What if we’re caught? Rolly’s the one... He should do the right thing... No! I don’t want to touch her.”
Twenty-Two
I’d had the dream again, the full-blown version for the first time in several days. That I could deal with. That I’d had it when I wasn’t alone in bed was the problem—especially considering that the other person in the bed was an ex-cop of high moral fibre. Lying there for several minutes as I calmed my racing heart, I couldn’t tell whether Shannon was asleep or not. Since I had to hit the loo, I tried getting out of bed without disturbing her.
“Michael,” she said, making it clear she hadn’t been asleep, “you were you having a bad dream again, weren’t you?”
“Sorry if I disturbed you. Go back to sleep.”
She was staring at me as I entered the washroom.
Once inside, I turned on the light and took a long look at myself in the mirror. Gingerly lifting off a few of the bandages, I saw that the cigarette burns were beginning to heal, although the doctor I’d been to see thought one on my arm might need a skin graft. Despite the previous night’s pleasures, I had been in considerable discomfort at times, but I’d managed to hide it reasonably well.
I sighed heavily at the memory. Now I’d landed myself right in the middle of another big problem. What had possessed me to let myself go last night?
An appealing woman, that’s what. I’d been denying to myself for days how attracted I was to my private detective, and seeing her framed in the light of the window, I just hadn’t been able to resist when she turned to kiss me. Yes, I had quite enjoyed it, but no, it hadn’t been very wise. I could have said that she’d started it, but that wouldn’t cut it, nor was it quite true.
Was Shannon viewing it as something that just happened, or had it meant much more to her? Knowing women, and particularly her, I suspected the latter.
“Quinn,” I told my reflection, “you’re an arse.”
Turning off the light, I went back out to the bedroom, not sure what to do.
“Michael, are you all right?” Shannon asked immediately.
“I’m fine, really. Go back to sleep.”
She switched on the light. “You can’t sleep because of that dream you had. Right?”
“Something like that.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it? That often helps.”
I looked down at her. Even with sleep-tousled hair, she looked lovely. I squeezed my eyes shut in an attempt to force that thought from my head.
Her gaze was steady and direct, a challenge as it were. “It had something to do with Neurotica, didn’t it?”
She knew, and I was instantly appalled. I must have talked in my sleep. It had happened once before, shortly after my split from Neurotica, when I’d carelessly gotten rather drunk in a taverna on Crete and wound up in bed with a French divorcée out for a fling. When she’d told me the next morning what I’d said, I’d immediately split, taking the first plane I could get and winding up in Seattle before I’d stopped to catch my breath. For months, I’d lived in fear that somehow the press would get hold of her story.
Now it had happened again, and this time it would be far more difficult to run away from.
“I don’t remember.”
Shannon’s expression made it clear she knew I was lying.
***
It was a pretty weary pair that arrived at Glasgow airport for the second time in a little over twenty-four hours. Shannon had dozed a bit on the cab ride out, but I think that was more to avoid speaking to me. It hadn’t been hard to read her body language. My refusal to tell her anything had left her pretty upset. My own mood was as black as it’s ever been.
Shannon’s flight to Birmingham would be mercifully short, but at the other end she’d decided to hire a car, and I wasn’t of the opinion that one’s first experience with left-hand driving should be in the UK ’s second largest city.
“You won’t reconsider and either hire a driver or use taxis?” I asked for the second time that morning. “I’ll pay for it.”
She shook her head once, a determined look on her face. “No. I can handle driving on the left.”
Her frostiness didn’t thaw until we got to the security check-in.
“M
ichael, take care of yourself. Assume that someone is looking for you. Don’t let your guard down for an instant.”
I’d expected her to say something like that, but the intensity behind her words surprised me.
“I promise to be very careful. The next three days will be spent between the hotel room and the rehearsal space I’ve booked. I plan on taking my meals in my room.” I pulled her into a hug, which she didn’t return at first.“You take care of yourself, too. There are plenty of places in Birmingham that aren’t all that safe, especially at night. Don’t be a hero.”
She pushed me gently to arm’s length. “We have to talk when I get back, okay?”
“I hope we’ll talk before then,” I answered, purposely avoiding her implication. “Please call tonight.”
Shannon picked up her shoulder bag and walked towards the security gate. “If I get the chance,” she said over her shoulder.
***
The remainder of the day was the best of times and the worst of times. Knowing everything that lay between my mates and me, should I have expected anything different?
We’d hired a space in King Street, just off Trongate, and the area was decidedly seedy, but that was part of the attraction for me: who would be expecting Neurotica to rehearse there?
The crew delivering the instruments from storage had been asked to take everything out of the flight cases, so I had a pretty good start on my keyboard rig by the time the others began showing up.
Tommy had driven up from Yorkshire that morning and had brought his son, a nice looking lad of seventeen, who seemed perfectly happy to help his dad set up the old drum kit. I found out why shortly after. Said son was well on his way to being a terrific drummer.
“Jazz is his first love, though,” Tommy said in mock horror. “Where did I go wrong?”
John arrived next with about five guitars and a flightcase full of pedals and effects. He got ready with his usual efficiency, and for once, without his amp turned up to “nuclear meltdown”. He even deigned to help me move around some of the heavier keyboards.
By the time we’d set up the vocal monitoring system and were ready to go, Rolly and Lee sauntered in, coffees in hand for just themselves. It was to be expected, sadly. With a disgusted look, Tommy sent his lad out for hot drinks and “something sweet” for the rest of us.
The only fly in the ointment was the mellotron. It had been delayed. The previous evening, I’d rung up the lads at Rugely Electronics to see what the status was. They were loaning me one of their own MkIs (a very large gesture on their part, considering the value of these rare machines), but I needed to have a duplicate set of my tapes installed in it. This was a large favour to ask, and hence the hold-up.
As usual, Larry answered the phone. “’Ello, ’ello, ’ello,” he said using a ridiculous Dick Van Dyke Cockney accent, something of which he was inordinately proud. “What’s all this then?”
“Larry, mate,” I said, “what’s the ETA on that mellotron? I really do need it.”
“Got it done last night, we did.”
“But when will it arrive?”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Nigel’s decided to drive it up himself. Left early this morning. That arse just loves Scotland. Every chance he gets, he and his old lady are up there tramping the hills and moors. Can’t see what they find so bloody fascinating about it, but there you are. I had to talk him out of wearing his kilt.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Just ’aving you on a bit, mate, but I do think you should take him out for a nice bit of haggis, neeps and tatties tonight before he heads back, sort of as a goodwill gesture.”
“I can’t thank you blokes enough for this.”
“Yes, you can. Make sure we get tickets for this ridiculous concert of yours. I wouldn’t want to miss seeing a bunch of old geezers like you ponce around the stage. And mind you take care of that machine!
Even one mark on it, and I’ll have your guts for garters.”We’d just got tuned and were ready to go when Nigel arrived. The tron was in a flight case and was even more godawful heavy than my Hammond organ, so naturally it took several of us to drag the thing into the lift then to the rehearsal room, every Neuroticand bitching long and loud about me and my “bloody antique keyboards.”
They shut their mouths pretty quickly once Nigel fired the behemoth up and pronounced it healthy. After I’d run through all thirty-six sounds that had been loaded, all Tommy could do was whistle softly and say, “Bloody hell! I didn’t know they could sound like that.”
“Better recordings,” Nigel said simply.
Only Lee continued to gripe, and he hadn’t carried a thing.
Nigel headed off to look for a restaurant serving genuine Scottish food before turning for Birmingham and home. Larry hadn’t been kidding about the haggis.
Rolly got out his signature gold-plated microphone, and we were finally ready to begin. Everyone just looked at each other, then at me.
“What do you want to work on first?” I asked. “The big hit?”
By the time we got to the fourth run-through, “Don’t Push Me” sounded as good as ever. I wished that Shannon were present to hear it.
Seven hours later, we were all toast. We’d run through about half the proposed playlist, and I’d broached the possibility of revisiting some of the arrangements and possibly doing a new song or two if there was time to rehearse them properly. Rolly and Lee perked up their ears at that, thinking that there might be a new album in the offing. I just didn’t want to do the same old thing.
Since I wasn’t quite ready to present my ideas to the rest of the guys yet, I decided to practise awhile longer, which also gave me a good excuse to avoid going out to dinner with them.
John, oddly, decided to stick around with me.
“So, what did you think?” he asked nonchalantly as he looked over the mellotron’s control panel.
“Interesting. A lot of the old crap hasn’t changed with the passing of years.”
John laughed. “I should have put down a fiver that Rolly and Lee would walk in last.”
I grinned back. “You wouldn’t have had any takers.”
“So let’s hear some of your ideas.”
Taking out my notes to be sure I had all the synths set correctly and the basic levels were right, I ran through my idea for the concert’s opening, basically doing an overture of Neurotica’s better known tunes. John took his guitar out and began coming up with his own ideas to flesh out what I’d come up with.
This turned out to be the best part of the day for the two of us, and we quite forgot our fatigue as we happily worked for another couple of hours.
“You’ve not lost anything being away from it for all these years,” John observed as he wiped down his guitars.
I nodded, acknowledging his compliment. “And you always were the best player in the band.”
“I may be now,” he answered simply, “but that’s only because I was forced to properly learn my craft when I started doing studio work. That, my friend, is a cut-throat business. Every week there’s some new hotshot arriving in town, and you somehow have to stay one step ahead, or they’ll flat-out trample you.” John sat on a chair and looked at me while I continued making notes on keyboard settings. “Rolly tells me you’re against making a CD and DVD of the concerts.”
I had realized this would come up again, but I figured it would be Rolly doing it. “Did he put you up to this? Is that why you stayed behind tonight?”
“Don’t give me any agro, mate!” John shot back, a bit of his old self resurfacing. “I stayed behind because I wanted to hear what you were up to, but I also thought it might be a good time to discuss this.” He sighed and flashed a weary smile. “Look, Michael, I’m not asking for myself. I’ve done okay over the years. You and Rolly, too, since you wrote all our good material, but Lee and Tommy haven’t. The money from those recordings would mean a lot to them.”
“I suppose that’s why Lee was acting the twit today.�
��
“Partially. You have to realize that you also intimidate the hell out of him. Anyway, neither of them get much in the way of royalties from our recordings. Tommy had to beg his boss for the time off to do this gig. The man’s been reduced to being a plumber, for Christ’s sake!”
“Let me think about it.”
“Don’t think too long. This will take a few days to set up.” He started to put on his coat. “You up for some grub?”
“No, I want to go over a few things. You go on ahead.”
“Okay, Quicksilver. Do your late night thing. I’m not going to stop you. You always came up with your best ideas when no one was around.”
I only stayed another fifteen minutes. Basically, I was avoiding having to go back to the hotel with anyone. There was no need yet for them to know what was going on.
Business taken care of for the day, I turned off the lights and carefully locked up. The old building felt rather empty, no noise except for the clank of the heating system. The floor we were on used to house a group of artists and craftsmen who had moved on to better digs. The area was all old factories and workshops in grimy brick buildings. The press would not come looking for us here unless someone blabbed.
When I left the building well after eight on a bitter winter evening, the streets were as dark and deserted as the buildings. What shops still existed were long since closed and shuttered. Two blocks above in Trongate, I could see traffic, automotive as well as pedestrian, but down here, I felt rather vulnerable.
“You better arrange for a taxi to pick you up next time, Quinn, or leave with the others,” I said as I pulled up my jacket collar against the cold and damp and headed north for Trongate. Immediately, two blokes came out of a darkened doorway on the other side of the road. When I began walking faster, they seemed to pick up speed. Approaching the first corner, they started crossing to my side.
I was faced with running, hoping they didn’t have somebody waiting ahead to ambush me, and looking a bit of a fool if it was just two people on their way home from work. I increased my speed.