That was a plot twist, I think. I could have kicked him out. I could have read him the riot act. I could have smashed a plate at his feet.
But no. I didn’t do anything.
He squints at me sideways. “I guess we both knew this was coming, right, Copper Top?” he finally drawls, puffing up his chest before he walks to the door and opens it again.
No, we didn’t, I say to myself as the door closes behind him. Actually, we didn’t see that coming at all.
Chapter 3
Clay
“Did you see that blonde by the Deer Hunter machine? She was totally checking you out.”
Taking a drag on my cigarette, I shrug and look down. “Whatever, Ron.”
“No, I’m totally serious,” he says, blowing smoke out his nose. He holds the cigarette between his first two fingers and points at me meaningfully. “Twenty bucks says she goes home with you tonight, just for asking.”
I toss my smoke in the five-gallon bucket next to the brick wall. The orange light buzzes over our heads as the exhaust fans come on, drowning out the sound of crickets all around us.
“Do you actually have twenty bucks?” I ask, rolling up the sleeves on my plaid shirt.
“I will after the gig,” he shrugs. “Assuming we don’t drink it all again.”
“Exactly,” I nod as the back door bangs open and Mike steps out into the darkness.
“Hey, we’re on,” he calls out, jerking his chin back toward the bar.
“Blonde, big tits, Nine Inch Nails T-shirt,” Ron says as he stubs out his smoke. “Just check her out. You’ll see what I mean.”
“Okay, okay, whatever you say,” I mumble as I follow him back into the bar.
The whole place smells like an ashtray filled with month-old beer. It’s dark and filthy, but it’s the only bar that actually pays for bands around here. I guess in a college town, there’s no shortage of guys with long hair and guitars.
Brodie’s is at the end of the warehouse district, in a century-old brick building that backs up to a retention pond. If you like mosquitoes, this is the club for you. And if you like college girls. Maybe even the occasional ambitious high-schooler with her older sister’s ID.
It’s not a huge crowd, but it is Friday night after all. The place will naturally fill up. About a hundred college kids stumble around in the unlit interior, careful not to stay in one place too long or their feet will stick to the floor. Though I am doubtful, I can’t help but scan the crowd as I strap my Fender back on and turn the volume up.
She’s not by the video games. As I scan the room I find her leaning against the bar, her elbows back and her boobs out, her head tipped to one side so that all her wavy blonde hair is pushed over one shoulder. Her gaze is intense, expectant.
“See what I mean?” Ron smirks as he plugs his bass back in. “She’s hot. Ten bucks says she’s ready to go.”
“You said twenty bucks,” I remind him, but he just grins and backs away as Mike saunters up to the microphone and grunts out a theatrical check one check two.
“You guys ready to rock?” he calls out.
One guy by the pool table bellows at the top of his lungs.
“I said, are you guys ready to rock?” Mike demands again, and this time the crowd plays along, hooting as our drummer kicks off a medley of hard-rock songs.
I play automatically, shifting through the chords as I watch the crowd, my eyes habitually darting back to the blonde. I always feel nervous at the beginning of a set, afraid that people won’t like us. Or worse, that they will be bored and leave.
But the nervousness fades quickly as I see small groups of people turning toward us to hear the lyrics, swaying, some dancing with mounting enthusiasm. That’s good. They’re into it.
The more the crowd loves it, the more I enjoy myself.
As soon as we hit the first guitar solo, I’m ready to go. My fingers fly over the fretboard, working out a solo that I picked up off the radio version of this Pearl Jam tune, but with some extra stuff that just occurs to me on the spot. It feels good. I can even see the metalheads nodding approvingly as they notice my changes and don’t seem to mind at all.
With every note, I’m more confident. I’m more into the songs. Mike is really killing it too. Sometimes when he’s hung over his voice is a little ragged, and not in a good way. But I know he had an economics exam today so he was probably not out too late last night. He is solid.