Goody Two Shoes (Invertary 2)

“Sorry.” Caroline drew back her shoulders. “Archie McPherson, this is Josh McInnes.”

The short brunette behind them squealed as she pushed past Archie. “I love your music,” the woman gushed. “I love everything you do. I have all your albums and I saw you perform in Glasgow two years ago.” She sighed. “You’re wonderful.”

Everyone stared at her.

“It’s always great to meet a fan.” Josh smiled as he gave his standard answer.

She beamed at him, batted her eyelashes and reached out to pat his chest.

“Beth.” Caroline’s tone snapped the younger woman out of it. “Kindly keep your hands off Mr. McInnes.”

The woman sprang back as though she’d been smacked. She pouted as tears pooled in her eyes.

“Here we go again,” muttered Archie.

“Please go and sort the children’s section of the library,”

Caroline told Beth.

With one last longing glance at Josh, Beth dragged her feet towards the library room.

“As I was saying”—Caroline’s attitude was businesslike and efficient—“these are the domino boys—Archie, James, Brian and Findlay. Boys, this is Josh.” There was a round of hellos. “Now let’s go to my office.”

“I’m happy to talk here.” Josh wanted to see what happened when he didn’t follow her orders.

Caroline tapped her toe on the linoleum floor impatiently. She wasn’t amused. For some reason, that delighted him.

“You’ll be wanting a cup of tea,” one of the old guys said.

Josh would rather drink water from a puddle. “Tea sounds great.” He ignored the frown of disapproval on Caroline’s face and followed the old guys.

“I need to make a quick phone call,” Caroline said. “Reschedule my appointment.”

“Don’t worry”—Archie flashed a wicked smile—“we’ll take good care of him.”

“That’s exactly what worries me.” Caroline disappeared through a door in the foyer marked “Manager.”

Josh followed the guys into a room with blue walls, and over to a large brown Formica table near the window. There were four tables in the room, all large and well worn, surrounded by an assortment of wooden chairs. At the end of the room, farthest away from the door, someone had put in an old gas fire and arranged some high-back armchairs around it. It looked like one of the retirement homes Josh had sung in as a kid.

One of the guys placed a plate of cookies and a mug of tea in front of him. They stared at him while he wolfed down the cookies.

“So, you’re the singer.” Archie eyed him speculatively.

“Guilty as charged.” The tea was revolting.

“I saw Sinatra play in ’62,” Archie said. “You’ve got nothing on him.”

Josh barked out a laugh. “Who does?”

The old man grinned.

“I hear you have sex with all your groupies,” Brian said.

Josh forced himself to take a sip of the tea. “I’ve made my fair share of mistakes. But I eventually grew up.”

The guy looked disappointed. “So there’s no groupie sex, then?”

“Not for a long time.”