Stand by Your Manny

by Amy Lane

  “Unflattering?” Cooper asked, not wanting to know.

  “I’d rather not repeat it here,” Sammy said, and Cooper knew just from his voice that it was the kind of thing that could get him killed in a place like this. “Anyway, Elmo, this is my friend Cooper, who drove all the way down from Granite Bay to bring me dinner and get me here. Is there any way we could seat him, you know, backstage, or someplace not….” Again, that grimace, and Elmo looked Cooper over from head to toe, skepticism showing from the box of his chin to the forehead wrinkles over his pug nose.

  “You brought your boyfriend to Dodgy’s?” Elmo asked, just to make sure.

  “Shhhh!” Sammy waved his arms in distress. “We want him to live!”

  “Then why did you bring him here? He looks like he’d blow away in a stiff breeze!”

  “He worked construction for three years,” Sammy said, nodding like this would suddenly make Cooper six foot four with a chest the size of a barn.

  Elmo’s neck was really thick, but that didn’t stop him from swiveling it in patent disbelief. “As what? The paintbrush?”

  In the background the cats stopped yowling, and Sammy glared at Elmo in a way that would have done Channing proud. “Just find him a good seat. I want him to see me perform!”

  Elmo rolled his tiny eyes. “Of course you do. Well, go on up to the stage. Paintbrush, you come here with me. I’ll have Baby come sit with you. Nobody will fuck with you if Baby’s there.”

  Sammy’s face split open with a big grin. “Baby? That’s great! Coop, you’re gonna love Baby—just stick close, okay?”

  And then Sammy trotted behind a backdrop and up to the stage, leaving Cooper at the mercy of Elmo and Baby.

  Elmo shouldered his way down the hallway, dodging stage equipment as he went. Finally he broke through to the main audience area, and Cooper got the impression of a mosh pit by the front of the stage and tables raised on a platform behind the pit. A woman loomed with her back to the wall, grimly surveying the people in the pit from a prodigious height. She stood a good four or five inches taller than Elmo, and her chest was just as wide. And just as hard.

  “Baby!” Elmo hissed, and she glared at him.

  “What in the hell? Sammy’s almost on. I told you I wanted my break to watch his set!”

  “Well, yeah—but so did this guy. This is Sammy’s… friend. And he’s—”

  “Chum,” Baby said, looking down at Cooper with alarmed eyes. She was stunning in a handsome way—square jaw, full lips, sultry eyes. Even with her blonde hair pulled back severely from her face, Coop could see the appeal. “Yeah, he’ll bloody the water. Okay. I’ll take him.” She smiled at Cooper, looking almost girlish. “Anything for Sammy.”

  With that she grabbed Coop’s hand and hauled him up the side ramp to the crowded tables overlooking the pit. In the back, raised by one more platform, sat a lone table surrounded by a grimy velvet rope. The table was occupied by one guy, a thin black man about Cooper’s size, wearing a gigantic cowboy hat, a bolo tie, and a wide-lapeled suit with a frayed collar and a much-laundered white shirt.

  “Baby? This guy giving you problems?” Sharp eyes pinned Cooper back against the wall, and Cooper wondered rather desperately where the bathroom was.

  “Naw, Dodgy—he’s a friend of Sammy’s. I told him we’d set him here so nobody’d give him shit.”

  “Goddammit, I told that kid he needed to watch who came to see him. This is not his kind of place!”

  “He brings in customers” came the mild reply. “I think you need to hire an extra bouncer and try to keep him here. Or at least don’t let the patrons eat his friend.”

  Dodgy bared his teeth at Cooper. “This one? I could snap him up, one gulp.”

  Cooper smiled pleasantly back. “Tougher than I look,” he said gamely, and at that moment some movement onstage caught their attention.

  The screaming cats had been disassembled and the stage cleared of everything except the grand piano—probably the most expensive piece of equipment in the entire bar. The colored lights had been switched out for a spotlight on the piano, and Sammy stood there in his shirtsleeves and sweater vest, setting up his sheet music while smiling coquettishly at the audience.

  “You all enjoying the night?” he asked, his voice amplified by the microphone at his lapel.

  The crowd roared, and Sammy tilted his head back, laughing.

  “Good.” He flashed his grin again, easygoing, not trying to be tough, nothing to see here, folks, just 100 percent pure-grade Sammy. “’Cause I don’t know about you all, but I’m here for the music, right?”

  This cheer was just as loud, but it died out quickly, respectfully, and the crowd waited in a breathless silence.

  The first few notes sounded familiar, an old eighties torch song with a piano twist, and Cooper frowned. What was it? C’mon… what was it?

  “‘Love Song,’” Baby said happily. “He started with this one last week. His version’s so good.”

  Oh yes. Sacramento boy, Sacramento band—Tesla. Cooper had probably been born listening to that song. “He’s so good,” Cooper breathed, like the rest of the bar, completely enthralled by the figure onstage playing rock-and-roll piano.

  Dodgy gave a theatrical sigh. “You two might as well sit down. Baby, make sure he doesn’t get snapped up and chomped. I’d like that kid to keep playing till June, like he promised, ’cause damn.”

  “Yeah,” Baby agreed, eyes on Sammy.

  “Just damn.”

  Dodgy’s words—Cooper didn’t have any. His entire attention was taken by Sammy onstage. His voice was resonant and sweet, but Cooper had known that, had heard him singing for his family before. What he hadn’t seen was Sammy’s incredible charisma, the way he flirted with the audience at the same time he got lost in the music.

  He hadn’t seen how Sammy—who had seemed to belong so very much to his family—could get up onstage under a spotlight and suddenly be owned by the world.

  “Love Song” wrapped up, the audience singing the final “I knows” as Sammy did the jazz riff to the dying piano notes, and the crowd erupted with joy.

  “Did you like that?” Sammy asked, laughing in spite of the sweat that dripped down his face from the heat of the light. “That one was slow… anybody out there wanna go fast?”

  Of course they did, and Sammy, apparently not giving a damn if it was the twenty-first century or the twentieth, launched into a Liberace favorite, “Bumble Boogie.” For a heartbeat Cooper wondered if Sammy had miscalculated, because the crowd didn’t seem to react at all. Then he realized the people in the mosh pit were half crouching, bodies quivering, as they held their breath to see if Sammy could make it through the insanely fast-paced song without fucking it up.

  It was Sammy. Of course he could.

  The song ended, and Cooper took his first deep breath since it had begun. And Sammy launched into a piano version of a Linkin Park song, with the crowd in the palm of his hand.

  He played for an hour, and Cooper couldn’t remember blinking or breathing for the entire set. He didn’t seem to care whether what he played was audience-appropriate or not—he played “Faint” with the same aplomb he used with “What a Wonderful World,” and Coldplay’s “Lovers in Japan” seemed as dear to him as Rihanna’s “Shut Up and Drive.”

  Like Sammy had said, it was all about the music, and damn, did he love his music.

  He finished up with “Wonderful World” and then turned to the crowd like he was letting them in on a secret.

  “So, uh, you all have been really awesome,” he began, smiling at the collective groan of disappointment. “And I really want to play one more song. But it’s, uh….” He looked around, like it was just him and three hundred people exchanging confidences. “It’s one of my own creations,” he confessed softly. “So, you know. If you hate it, let me know and I’ll drop it like a potato and play something you like more for the finale. But if you love it? Well, let me know too, okay?”

  They probably
would have let him play “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” at that point, but he welcomed their applause and whistling anyway.

  “This is a song for… well, someone special.” And then? Then he launched into the song he’d written that night, nearly a month ago, when Cooper had heard him compose.

  It was pure instrumental, and while the piano gave it a classical air, the speed and the sound and rhythm marked it as rock and roll. Cooper listened in awe, hearing the polish and the work that had gone into transmuting those random notes, written desperately when Sammy was hardly conscious, into a performance piece that took Cooper’s breath away.

  And the song… oh wow. It really was for Cooper. Cooper was the someone special. Sammy might as well have called it “Cooper’s World Things.”

  Cooper didn’t realize his hands were shaking until he scrubbed them over his face at the end of the song. Sammy finished up, letting the final note linger throughout the packed bar, and then set his hands down, turning to the audience to see if they were good.

  The audience was great, and Sammy stood up to take a bow.

  Cooper saw him wobble, putting out his hand to steady himself by the piano, and his heart stalled.

  “We’ve got to get to him,” he said quietly, standing up. “He needs water and maybe something else to eat. Look at him, he’s drenched.”

  Well, performing wasn’t easy. Cooper knew he would have been passing out at the beginning of the set and not the end.

  Baby stood with him, and he turned to Dodgy, whose sharp-eyed, acquisitive glare had turned soft and faraway with every song. “Thank you, uh, Mr. Dodgy, for letting me sit here and listen,” he said politely. “I’m going to take Sammy home now.”

  Dodgy glanced at him in surprise. “You do that, young man,” he said, all censure gone from his voice. “You take good care of him. I’d really like to see him back here again.”

  As they were walking toward the stage, they saw Sammy’s legs give out at the bottom of the stairs. Baby and Elmo practically carried him out while Cooper ran to get the—blessedly unmolested—car.

  “Hey,” Sammy called as Coop pulled the car around. “I know you!” He grinned and looked at Baby. “Baby, did you meet my friend Cooper? I love this guy!”

  “Yeah, and we heard the song to prove it!” she told him dryly. “Move, Elmo—I’ll pour him in. What’d you take, kid?”

  “He’s dehydrated,” Cooper told her shortly, not wanting them to think badly of Sammy. “I brought him food, but he probably skipped lunch, and he was sweating up there. His system’s sort of delicate. He needs to eat well and hydrate or he gets really loopy quick.”

  Baby grimaced as she belted Sammy in tight. “Aw, angel. Well, you let your guy take care of you so you can come play for us next week, okay, Sammy?” She ruffled his hair and put his portfolio down at his feet before backing up to slam the door shut. She and Elmo both waved, and Cooper pulled the Volvo around and out of the parking lot. In his pocket, his phone began to buzz.

  He ignored traffic laws and pulled out his phone, because like he figured, it was Tino, and Cooper didn’t want to freak him out.

  “You guys okay?” Tino asked, sounding concerned. “I went out on a limb for you two—if you’re screwed, Channing will never speak to me again.”

  Cooper glanced at Sammy, who was leaning on the window, eyes closed, while he moved his fingers in front of him and hummed, probably reliving the performance. Aw, Sammy.

  “No, Tino—we’re fine, but I need to stop for more food. You….” He paused, thought of the dive bar, the rough crowd, the clutter of backstage, and the way Sammy had collapsed at the end. Then he thought of how happy Sammy had been, how good he’d been at whipping the crowd into a frenzy, how amazing his performance. Oh man. This was Cooper’s decision to make?

  But he had to do what was best for Sammy, right?

  “You don’t need to worry,” he squeaked into the phone, praying it was all okay. “Sammy’s fine. I, uh, think we may need to get my car fixed and let him drive it to work, though. I don’t think his little Sportage really fits in at the middle school.”

  “Uh, what makes you say that?” Tino asked. Cooper could hear him wincing over the phone.

  “You’ll have to ask Channing’s mechanic in the morning,” Cooper told him honestly. “But, uh, other than that, uh….” Oh hell. “He’s fine, Tino. He’s not doing anything against the law or bad for his health. Just… he’s doing fine.”

  “Not against the law or bad for his health?” Tino repeated.

  “Nope.” The not-eating was bad for his health, but Cooper was pretty sure the performance was awesome for his self-esteem.

  “How was he, kid?” Tino asked, dropping his voice to “conspiracy” levels.

  “Amazing,” Cooper said, his heart puddling at his feet. “You have… you have no idea.”

  “I heard him play when he was seven, Cooper. I have some idea.” Tino’s humor—oh, it was a godsend. “Did he play anything special?”

  Cooper almost couldn’t say it—but oh, he wanted to share it too. “He played a song for me,” he whispered. “Just for me.”

  Tino’s voice came thick and gruff. “Well, you’re special to him, Cooper. You’re becoming pretty special to us all.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Get him fed, and make sure you tell one of us when you get home, okay?”

  Cooper nodded, even though Tino couldn’t see. “Absolutely.”

  “And Cooper?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s okay if it’s Channing—I swear he won’t bite.”

  Sure he wouldn’t. “Thank you, sir. Gotta go.” He was driving, but the conversation was also really uncomfortable, and he hung up.

  “Who was that?” Sammy asked, sounding tired but a little more composed.

  “Tino. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “Goofy as hell,” Sammy admitted, tired. “But happy. Did you like?”

  “You were amazing, Sammy,” Cooper told him fervently. “And my song….” He ducked his head shyly. “It was my song, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” Sammy curled his long frame up onto his side so he could look at Cooper. “You’re so peaceful, Cooper. So centered. Before I got sick, I wanted to do everything. Play soccer. Play football. Be in the drama club. Play the piano. Family. And then I couldn’t do anything anymore. And I just kept thinking, ‘If I could do one thing, what would it be?’”

  “Easy answer,” Cooper said, thinking about his brilliance in the spotlight—and about his dedication to family.

  “Oh yeah. But see, when I met you, you had one goal. And I think you could expand, but you knew exactly what to worry about.”

  “Felicity?” It was the only thing Cooper could think of.

  “Yeah. Family. And I’ve been going to school with kids, and they’re all wondering what’s my major, and when is my real life going to start and who am I? And I wish I could tell them all. It comes down to one or two things, simple things, and if they can have those things, it doesn’t matter how much money they have, they have all they need.”

  Cooper shivered. “That sounds really together, considering we’re both living with your uncles and neither of us has a real job.”

  “You have a real job,” Sammy said, the self-deprecation in his voice hard to hear. “I’ve been in the workforce as long as you’ve known me.”

  Cooper chuckled. “Six weeks.”

  “Mm. How long have we been kissing?”

  “Three weeks,” Cooper said softly. It had only occurred to him right now that he’d been deliriously happy during those three weeks.

  “I want my family,” Sammy said dreamily. “And I want my music. And I probably want to teach, because I like it. Just… like it. It feels like the blend of family and music. And I want you.”

  “In-N-Out,” Cooper muttered, getting off the freeway. Now that he wasn’t trying to break the sound barrier, he really loved this car.

  “That’s what y
ou want to do with your life?” Sammy asked, not sounding hurt, just confused.

  “Heh-heh….” Cooper couldn’t help it. He was just so adorable. “No. I want Felicity in my life. And I… I know it’s not supposed to be a guy’s job—I mean, I never had a foster father who was any good at it. But I like taking care of kids. And it would be great if I could give something that I never got. So maybe I want to teach too. Like you.”

  “Yeah?” Sammy asked. Cooper pulled to a stop at the light, In-N-Out a beacon of carbohydrate and protein hope on the other side of the intersection.

  “Yeah,” Cooper said, feeling the rightness of that in his chest. And then, because Sammy’s eyes were luminous in the dark and Cooper could still hear the strains of his song, echoing in his head. “And I want you.”

  “Yeah,” Sammy murmured, satisfaction in the puff of his breath and his smile. “That’s an excellent place to start.”

  Sammy didn’t talk much after that—especially not after Cooper got him a hamburger and a milkshake for good measure. Cooper got a milkshake to keep him company, and together they traveled in companionable silence all the way up to Granite Bay.

  But inside, Cooper’s body thrummed.

  I want you.

  Said so innocently, with so much goodwill. But Cooper had been tasting Sammy’s kisses for nearly a month now. He’d felt Sammy’s hands on his skin, his back, his chest, his shoulders, his throat. He’d felt the outline of Sammy’s erection as Sammy had tried urgently not to grind against Cooper and climax, frotting fully clothed in the hallway of his family home.

  Sammy wanted him. And Cooper had been taking it slow. They were young, they were stupid—Cooper didn’t want to leave this job, and he certainly didn’t want to be getting his life together with a broken heart.

  But Sammy had put his heart on the line without any qualms at all. Tino said he’d been heartbroken a time or two—he knew the dangers—but still, he’d had faith and he’d leaped. Sammy knew—he knew the world didn’t offer guarantees. He knew someone wasn’t always there to catch you when you made the leap.

  But Sammy was brave that way, and his rewards for bravery?