Rock Angel (Rock Angel Series Book 1)

by Bogino, Jeanne

  “What about our gigs? Did you play them without me?”

  “No, I found replacements. No serious harm done.”

  She tried to smile, but couldn’t quite pull it off. “I’m so sorry you got dragged into this.”

  “It’s okay, Shan.”

  “It’s not. And I’m not who you thought I was,” she said miserably. “I hoped you’d never have to know. I lied to you, over and over.”

  “I can see why. You were scared, and that’s my fault.”

  “It’s not your fault. I lied to everybody, not just you. I’m so sorry, and I understand if you don’t want me around anymore.”

  “Now you’re being an idiot.” He reached for her hand, but she pulled away.

  “All I’ve been is a giant pain in the ass ever since you met me,” she said, hanging her head, “and I don’t want you feeling like you have to stay here and take care of me now.”

  He was silent for a long time, then, “Where’d you learn to have so much faith in people?”

  She looked up to find him glaring at her. “Q, you’ve been amazing, but I don’t want you to feel like you’re obligated—”

  “I thought we were friends.” He was scowling. “To me, that carries an obligation.”

  “But…” She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes and her voice was so low he had to lean forward to hear it. “I don’t know why you’d want to be my friend, after the things I’ve done.”

  “Well, you were right when you said you weren’t who I thought you were, that’s for sure.” She winced, but he went on. “You’re a lot tougher. I’ve been thinking about you a lot over the last couple of days,” he continued, reaching for her hand again. “I haven’t thought about much else, to tell you the truth. All the shit you’ve been through…I can’t believe you survived it.”

  She kept her head down, but gripped his hand. “It doesn’t take much to survive.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. I think most people would have given up, but you got through it. You even held on to your talent, kept it alive. I don’t know how you did it. I couldn’t have.”

  “You’d never hit bottom like I have,” she said. “You’re so together, and so strong. The strongest person I know.”

  He was silent for a long time. When she looked at him, she saw he was frowning down at their clasped hands. “What is it?” she asked.

  He looked up, studied her for a moment, then shrugged. “Nothing. Want to play for a while?”

  “Yes,” she said. “That’s exactly what I want to do.” She waited, because he seemed like he wanted to say something more, but when he dropped her hand and got up to undrape his keyboard, she went for her guitar.

  She made it only as far as her bedroom door and froze. She stood there for a long time and, eventually, she spoke. “Q, could you do something for me?”

  The words were strained, enough to bring him to her side. She was still frozen, staring at the dresser. She pointed at the top drawer. “In there.”

  He squeezed past her and opened the drawer. His eyebrows shot up.

  “Would you get rid of it?” Without a word, Quinn took what was left of the heroin rock and went out the front door.

  He returned about ten minutes later. “All gone. Got any more stashed?”

  “No.” Her voice was still tense. “What did you do with it?”

  He chuckled. “There’ll be some happy rats in the sewer tonight.”

  “Thanks, Q.”

  “No problem. What’s a friend for, if not to take your dope?”

  “I mean it.” Her voice shook. “I couldn’t do it myself. I thought I could, but…”

  “It’s okay, Shan. I understand how you feel.” He touched her shoulder.

  She flinched. “No, you don’t. You don’t know what this feels like at all.”

  He studied her silently. She was still frozen, like she was perched on the brink of something. “Look, grab your guitar. Let’s go to my place.”

  She eyed him with surprise. “Really?” He’d never suggested that before. In fact, that night after the Carnegie Hall gig was the only time she’d ever been there.

  “Sure.” He shrugged. “We can play there as well as we can here. You’ll have to listen to my Yamaha keyboard, which doesn’t sound half as good as the Kur, but it’ll be easier, won’t it?”

  It would, she realized. The counselor at the clinic had warned her that it might be stressful for her to be in her home at first, because the craving could be triggered by the environment. “I don’t want to intrude…” she began, but he went back into the bedroom and fetched her guitar.

  “If it was an intrusion, I wouldn’t ask. Let’s go.” He caught himself. “Unless you don’t want to. Would you rather be alone?”

  “No,” she said. “I mean…I don’t want to put you out, but I’d like to be with you.”

  He grinned. “All right, then. Ready?”

  “Only if you answer a question first. What happened to your face?”

  He shrugged. “I paid a visit to your buddy in Spanish Harlem.”

  “I knew it was something like that.” Her eyes widened in alarm. “I just knew it! Oh, Q, I told you I didn’t want you getting mixed up with him.”

  “He had our mics,” Quinn reminded her. “They cost over two thousand dollars, Shan. There was no way I was just going to let them go.”

  “I could have gotten them back. He’s just holding them because I owe him money. I can pay him most of it now—there’s almost enough in my guitar fund, although I had to spend some on the clinic stay and the methadone…” Her voice trailed off when she saw the look on his face.

  “If you ever go near him again, I’ll kill you myself.”

  “But I have to pay him,” she insisted. “He’ll never leave me alone until—”

  “I did. With interest.”

  Her mouth fell open. “You settled my drug debt?”

  “Yes.” He smiled faintly. “It took some negotiating, but he’s a businessman, after all. He won’t bother you again.”

  “But he’s dangerous, Q. He’s—”

  “Not going to bother you, I said. I guarantee it,” Quinn said firmly. “I told you, I negotiated with him. It took some doing, but he finally saw the light. And if you think I look bad, you ought to see him.”

  Shan went over to Quinn’s place, but made a stop at the bank in order to withdraw enough from her guitar fund to pay him back. He argued furiously with her, telling her to use it on a guitar, but she insisted he accept the sixteen hundred dollars she’d managed to save. Afterward she had only twelve dollars left in her account, but she figured it was money well spent.

  After that, Shan began spending a lot of time at Quinn’s. They did their writing there, although band practice was still at the loft. Eventually it became easier for Shan to be at home, as she developed new routines that didn’t revolve around fixing. She went to the clinic every day for her methadone, attended sessions with a clinic-assigned counselor, and went to NA meetings, although she was having trouble with the whole “higher power” thing.

  Shan wasn’t an atheist, exactly, but she wasn’t a believer even though she’d been raised Catholic. Her father had been outwardly devout, going to church even when he reeked of the alcohol he’d consumed the night before. She supposed that was the basis of her own lack of faith, that God-fearing man who prayed in church, then burned her with cigarettes when he came home.

  She confided this to Quinn, but he insisted that the meetings were critical. “You have to be around other people who know what you’re going through,” he told her. “Nobody else really understands.” She was dubious, but he offered to go with her and, when he did, it was easier.

  The craving still burned, but most of the time she was busy enough to push it away. Her evenings were taken up with gigging, since the Quinntessence schedule was jam packed. They played four, five, sometimes six days a week, just as Quinn had warned her in the beginning. He hadn’t been kidding about his rule that the
y never turned down a reasonable gig, reasonable defined as a decent venue, good exposure, or significant bank. Preferably all three.

  He proved that he was capable of bending the rules in late July, when he announced that he’d given away a lucrative Saturday-night gig at the Grotto so they could all watch a televised performance of Pink Floyd’s The Wall. The concert was headlined by Roger Waters, Floyd’s former bass player and principal songwriter, another of Quinn’s personal heroes, and was taking place at the former site of the Berlin Wall, which had fallen some eight months before.

  The band congregated at the loft to watch the show, which featured more superstars than Shan had ever seen on one stage. Sinead O’Connor, the Hooters, Thomas Dolby, the Scorpions, Van Morrison, Levon Helm, and Garth Hudson all performed. Shan cried out in delight when Cyndi Lauper appeared, but even that excitement was eclipsed when Joni Mitchell took the stage, singing “Goodbye Blue Sky.”

  Shan went misty as she watched, wishing her mother was there to see it, and when Joni returned for the finale, Quinn winked at her. “Prog rocker Waters and folk queen Mitchell sharing a stage,” he said. “Who would have thought?”

  She smiled, thinking they were about as likely a duo as Quinn Marshall and Shan O’Hara.

  Before she knew it, the summer was almost over. Quinntessence spent a week in August recording a new demo and Shan was excited to find herself in a real studio for the first time. She hounded Quinn to let her participate, even after they finished recording. He was doubtful, but she insisted she wanted to experience every step of the process, and he acquiesced after instructing her that she was to watch silently without commenting or interfering in any way.

  She promised, only to be treated to a dose of boredom so excruciating it made her want to scream. For days Quinn hunched over the mixing board with Bruce, debating each miniscule edit and blend with a focus bordering on obsession. Sometimes she found it impossible to refrain from comment, especially since none of the tweaking had any noticeable impact on the way the songs sounded, but anytime she opened her mouth Quinn silenced her with the threat of expulsion.

  Finally, they finished and settled back to review the master. Afterward, as they sat there congratulating themselves, Shan decided to speak up. “I think there’s too much bass.”

  “You think there’s too much bass because you’re sitting in the back of the room where all the lows build up,” Quinn said without turning. “If I actually cared about your opinion, you’d be sitting up here with us.”

  “Oh yeah?” she bridled. “Well, I think all the keyboard solos are too loud, too.”

  Quinn was gritting his teeth as he swiveled his chair to face her. “Look, when you asked if you could be here for the mixing I told you you’d get bored, but you insisted. And I said okay because you promised me you’d sit there and absorb it, and shut the hell up.”

  “It’s my demo, too, and I’m entitled to say what I think.”

  “I don’t care what you think, little girl. We’ll listen to it as a group and, if everybody thinks we need to make changes, then Bruce and I will come back and remix. Comprende?”

  “Don’t call me ‘little girl,’” she shot back. “I hate it when you talk down to me.”

  “I don’t mean it that way. You’re physically a small person, that’s all.”

  “So is Bruce,” she said, “but I don’t hear you calling him ‘little boy.’ No offense,” she added to the five-foot-four-inch engineer.

  “None taken. I’ll leave you guys to fight while I go make a copy of this,” Bruce said. “Interesting observation about the keyboard solos,” he speculated aloud as he left.

  Shan pointed her nose in the air as Quinn turned his back on her. “You are so annoying,” he said, snapping his notebook shut.

  “I don’t see why you get the last word,” she said, wandering over to the mixer.

  “I’m the producer, that’s why.” He watched for a moment as she toyed restlessly with the sliders. “Having an edgy day, are we?”

  “No, I’m not. I just don’t agree with you on the final mix.”

  “Okay, you’ve stated your opinion. Now keep it to yourself until everyone else gets a chance to hear it.” Shan muttered something about egomania under her breath and Quinn heaved a deep sigh. “And, yes, you are having an edgy day. Do you really think I can’t tell by now?”

  When she spun around and glared, he shrugged. “It’s okay. You’re entitled to that, too.”

  She gazed at him for a moment, then hung her head. “I don’t mean to take it out on you.”

  “It’s okay, I said. I’m used to it.”

  She put her arms around him and hugged him hard, then drew back to regard him with tender eyes. He grinned amiably in return and rested his head against her shoulder to look at her slant-eyed and teasing. “Why do you look so mushy?”

  “I was just thinking what an incredible person you turned out to be,” she said warmly. “You know, when I first met you, I thought you were an arrogant asshole.”

  “I knew that.” He smirked. “It was way obvious, but I feel compelled to correct you. You didn’t think I was an asshole until I hit on you, so I figured you were gay.”

  She sniffed, releasing him as Bruce returned. “Of course. The fact that I didn’t immediately fall all over you couldn’t possibly have anything to do with you,” she said. “Besides, I was partly right. You are arrogant. It rings out as loud and clear as those keyboard solos.”

  Quinn rolled his eyes as Bruce held up a CD. “Loud as the keyboards may be,” Bruce said, “here, pending final approval, is the official Quinntessence demo, summer 1990.”

  Quinn reached for the disc. “And what a summer it’s been.” His eyes met Shan’s over the mixing board. She nodded, smiling.

  chapter 17

  Shan popped open the ampoule and gulped down her dose, then grimaced. Even after six weeks, she couldn’t get used to the taste of the methadone. She tossed the ampoule in the trash and reached for a bottle of spring water.

  Oda was at the stove, cooking up a pot of oatmeal. “Here. You’re still too thin,” she observed, handing Shan a bowl. Both Oda and Denise had known the truth for some time now; Shan had told them shortly after completing her stint at the clinic. She had confessed to Dan and Ty, as well, and their response had surprised and touched her. All had expressed support, instead of the scorn she’d anticipated.

  Shan went into the dining room to eat. Oda was right, but she was starting to put on a little weight. The craving still jabbed, but she no longer woke up with a jones. She felt good.

  Today she felt particularly good. It was her seventeenth birthday. Her first thought on waking was that no one could force her to go back to her father’s house ever again.

  She hadn’t mentioned the significance of the day to anyone. Just the fact that she was free was birthday present enough, although the day was tinged with sadness as well, since it was Quinn’s and Ty’s last day in New York. They’d be leaving for Boston the next morning and Shan was going to miss them terribly, especially Quinn. He’d become such a central part of her life that she wasn’t quite sure how she was going to get by without him.

  “What are you and Quinn up to today?” Denise asked as Shan finished her oatmeal.

  “We have to pick up the demos and then we’re going to run them out to the clubs,” Shan said, scraping the bottom of her bowl. “He wants to do it before they leave.”

  “Really?” Denise wrinkled her nose. “I figured you’d at least be doing something fun.”

  “He’s a workaholic to the end.” Shan paused. “I am a little disappointed,” she admitted. “It would be nice to do something special, especially since all of us aren’t getting together tonight.”

  “I wish we could, but Dan’s sister is in town. We couldn’t get out of it.”

  “And Ty has a date. Well, I can’t blame him for that, either. I’m just glad Q doesn’t have one.” Just then a knock sounded from the front door.

  “You
ready?” Quinn said when Shan opened it. “We have a lot of ground to cover.”

  “It’s only ten o’clock. You want some coffee?” He shook his head, hovering in the doorway. “I don’t see why we’re hand delivering them anyway.”

  “It’s good PR. How many times do I have to tell you this?”

  “Whatever. See ya, guys,” she called as they departed.

  “Besides, I might spring for dinner, even though it’s your turn to pay,” he said as they trotted downstairs. “Want to hit Salaam Bombay tonight?”

  “You bet,” she said. “Especially if it’s on you.”

  That evening they climbed wearily back up to the loft. “I’m stuffed,” Shan moaned. She handed Quinn a stack of discs and dug for her keys. “Well, we got most of them distributed. I can deliver the rest next week.” She opened the door and he followed her inside. “It’s only a little after seven. Want to rent a movie?” She walked into the living room, reaching for the light switch.

  “SURPRISE!”

  She jumped. The room was filled with people and decorated with balloons and streamers. A big, hand-lettered banner hung above the window. happy 17th birthday, shan! it proclaimed.

  “How did you…” she began and stopped, completely overcome. She turned, intent on escaping into the kitchen, and collided with Quinn, who was watching her with an enormous grin.

  She inspected his self-satisfied expression and her eyes narrowed. “You did this.”

  “Guilty.” His smile widened.

  “How did you know it was my birthday? I didn’t tell anyone.”

  “Yes, you did,” he corrected her, “when you checked into the clinic.”

  Dan handed her a glass of champagne. “Happy birthday, princess.”

  She looked him. “Your sister…?”

  “Is in California, where she belongs,” Denise finished.

  “It’s a good thing we had Quinn to keep you busy,” Ty said. “Did he run you ragged?”

  “Yes.” Shan nodded. “I should have known. Since when do we deliver demos by hand?”

  “Since never,” Ty said, his deep voice full of laughter, “but we figured you wouldn’t be suspicious of an anal-retentive, time-consuming errand if it came at the behest of the Q-man.”