Rock Angel (Rock Angel Series Book 1)

by Bogino, Jeanne

  She leaned closer, intending to kiss his cheek, but he drew back. “No kissing,” he said, a wicked sparkle in his eye. “I’m afraid you might lose control and jump my bones again.”

  The blood slammed into her face. “I take it back. You’re a dick!”

  He chuckled. “Oh, get over it, for Crissake. I’ve had girls hit on me before, you know. Now you think we could go make some music, so this town can find out how awesome we are?”

  She nodded and, as she did so, she felt the pall of the past days lifting. It was going to be okay. Q said so and he was always right.

  The crowd was spotty when they took the stage, but they started right off with “Summertime Blues,” which they did nearly a cappella, with Dan tapping out a bare bones cadence on the tom rack and Shan’s voice soaring up over a complex background harmony sung by the rest of the band. She performed it with a serpentine shimmy that was part Tina Turner, part Axl Rose, and it grabbed the attention of the crowd. They kept it when they swung next into “Come Sail Away” and, by the time they followed up with “Wanderlust,” the place was rocking.

  Their audience eventually grew to about eighty, far from a packed house, but they were loud and appreciative. It was enough to recoup their original investment and clear a little besides, and Shan knew they’d have no trouble booking future gigs at Bluenote.

  And she was right. Pleased by both the audience response and the amount of alcohol consumed by the thirsty crowd, the manager booked them for three more gigs. Quinn had a decent schedule mapped out already, since he’d been hustling the smaller clubs nonstop since his arrival, but their word of mouth was good and before long they were getting gigs at some of the bigger venues. In Shan’s eyes, they reached the pinnacle when they played the Whisky a Go Go on the Sunset Strip just two months later.

  True, it was pay-to-play and they were at the absolute bottom of the gig food chain. They went on at seven, first in a lineup of six bands that got progressively more famous as the night went on, but even that couldn’t dim her excitement. She was performing on a stage that had been graced by the Doors, Van Halen, and Led Zeppelin!

  The crowd was small for their spot, but they were well received. Afterward the band and Denise claimed a table up on the second floor to watch a few of the other bands, none of whom were as good as Quinntessence. Even the headliner lacked their star power.

  It was nearly midnight when they rose to leave. From the bar Quinn saw them and made his way back to the table, leaving behind the hot blonde he’d been flirting with all night.

  “Heading out?” Quinn asked, the mic box under his arm. He never let it out of his sight at gigs since the theft at Fuego. When Dan nodded, he handed it over.

  “Aren’t you coming?” Dave asked and Quinn shook his head.

  “I’ve got my bike. Besides, I plan to be busy later.” He grinned and jerked his head at the blonde back at the bar. Dave chuckled.

  “See you all in the morning,” Quinn said, and aside to Shan, “Nice job tonight, angel.”

  He touched her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. “I got another shock from my mic,” she said, nodding at the box in Dan’s hand. “I thought you’d fixed it.”

  “I forgot,” Quinn frowned, “but I’ll look at it before the next gig. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, but it really hurt.” She touched her lower lip. “It was like a bee sting.”

  “Be careful,” Dave said. “We don’t want any marks on those pretty lips.”

  She tittered, then motioned to Denise. “Let’s run to the ladies’ before we leave. ’Night, Dave,” she said, seeing him gather up his guitar.

  Dave gave her a little wave and Quinn watched Dave’s eyes follow her across the room.

  “See you tomorrow,” Dave said to the rest of them, but Quinn snagged his arm.

  “Wait a minute.” He motioned to Dan and Ty as the girls disappeared into the restroom. When they convened around him, he cleared his throat. “I am setting a rule,” he announced. “No fraternization within the band. You fraternize, you’re out. I won’t tolerate that kind of bullshit.”

  Dave looked puzzled. “What do you mean, fraternize?”

  Dan chuckled. “He means no messing around with Shan. Right, buddy?”

  “Right,” Quinn said.

  “How’s that any of your business?” Dave said, with the beginnings of a frown.

  “It’s common sense,” Quinn told him. “We have one hell of a band here, just like I knew we would, and I can’t see risking that if one of you gets the hots for the guitar player.”

  Ty hooted. “Are you willing to abide by that, my friend?”

  He waved Ty off. “If I was going to make it with Shan, it would have happened a long time ago. Okay, it’s a rule. No fraternizing within the band. Which means, gentlemen, no diddling the guitar goddess.”

  chapter 21

  That Saturday night Quinntessence was booked at Pulse, a retro dance club in the Valley. As they were running chord to hook up the mics, Shan pulled out her regular one but paused before plugging it in, recalling the nasty shock she’d gotten at the Whisky.

  When she turned to ask Quinn if he’d fixed it, she noticed a girl approaching him from across the dance floor. She had the requisite long legs and big boobs and she was pretty, too. And not in the bar slut way that most of Quinn’s girls were. This one actually looked wholesome, with a heart-shaped face, wispy reddish blond locks and a light dusting of freckles across her nose.

  The girl stopped just below Quinn. He was kneeling on the stage plugging in the monitors and she reached up to lay her hand on his back. Quinn turned his head and a smile spread across his face. He jumped down to kiss her full on the mouth. “Julie, what are you doing in LA?”

  The girl smiled back. “I sent a demo to Arista and they invited me out for a showcase.”

  “That’s fucking cool,” he said, obviously impressed. “You think you’ll get signed?”

  “Well, they paid to fly me here,” she said. “Can you spare some time for an old friend?”

  “You bet,” he said immediately and Shan watched the girl kiss Ty on the cheek next, then the three of them moved to the bar. Quinn ordered shots of tequila, which they downed. Dave hadn’t arrived yet, so Shan and Dan finished setting up while the others lingered at the bar.

  Ty returned to the stage when they started sound check. Shan shot an annoyed glance at Quinn, who was still at the bar. The girl was hanging all over him, sitting too close with her big boob unmistakably pressing against his arm. “Ty,” Shan asked, “who is that?”

  “That’s Julie Janssen. We went to Berklee with her. She’s a pianist,” he said, “and a kick-ass singer. She was telling us that Arista’s checking out one of her demos.”

  “Isn’t that great,” Shan said without enthusiasm. “She knows Q pretty well, huh?”

  Ty shot a calculating look at her. “Well, yeah. They used to see each other.”

  Goddammit. She knew there was something different about this one. “But he never sees anyone on a steady basis. Isn’t that one of his rules?”

  “Not in this case. They dated on and off for a couple of years. Nothing exclusive, but it was a more or less regular thing for a while.” Ty nodded toward her microphone. “Why don’t you start the monitor check?”

  Shan moved to the mic stand, her eyes trained on the pair at the bar. As she brought her mouth to the mic, a hard shock zapped her lower lip. “Ouch!” she spat, slapping a hand over her mouth. She was frozen for a moment, her lip tingling painfully.

  “That had to suck.” She looked down from the stage to find Dave gazing up at her, guitar in hand. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” she said, removing her hand, “but how am I supposed to sing into the damned thing?”

  “It could be something simple. Here, let me have a look at it.”

  “Would you?” she asked. “Quinn was supposed to, but I guess he forgot.”

  Dave nodded, beginning to examine the amplifier her guitar was plu
gged into.

  “I didn’t get shocked from the guitar,” Shan said. “It was the mic that did it.”

  “No, it wasn’t. Your guitar charged you up and you zapped the mic. These old Vibrolux amps are notorious for it.” He pulled the plug. “You’re missing the ground pin,” he said. “I can fix it right now.” He pulled a Leatherman from a case on his belt, unfolded it, and cut the old plug off the chord. He carefully stripped back the wires, then dug into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a handful of metal gadgets. He examined them, then selected a three-pronged plug.

  “What are you,” Shan laughed, “a walking repair shop?”

  Dave chuckled. “Well, I like to be prepared. Nothing worse than starting a gig and finding out you have a wire crossed somewhere.” He screwed the wire into the new plug, then pushed the plug back into the socket. “All set.”

  Hesitantly, Shan reached out and touched the mic with one finger. When nothing happened, she beamed at Dave. “You,” she said, “are a handy man to have around.”

  “I never neglect a pretty lady in distress.” He extended a hand. “How about a drink before we get started?” He helped her down from the stage, then placed his hand on the small of her back to lead her over to the bar.

  Back on the stage, Dan looked at Ty, raising his eyebrows.

  Ty pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Mm-mm-mm,” he said.

  After the gig, Shan searched the room for Quinn. He’d barely spoken to her all night and now was at a booth with Ty and that girl. She’d come up to do a couple of numbers with them, tunes Shan usually sang. It vexed her to hear this interloper sing tunes that she and Quinn had written together, but took some grudging satisfaction in the fact that Julie’s voice wasn’t nearly as good as hers. It was pleasant and technically correct, but lacked the power that was Shan’s signature. Shan turned her back on them and stared into a tie-dyed chest. She looked up.

  Dave was grinning down at her. “Think I might go out for breakfast. Want to come?”

  “It’s awfully late,” she said. “And then you’d have to drive me home after.”

  Dave shrugged. “I’m used to getting home late.”

  She looked past him at Quinn. He was sitting very close to Julie, playing with her hair. She whispered something in his ear and he laughed out loud, then planted a kiss on the tip of her nose.

  Shan looked back at Dave. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  Shan was the first one up the next morning, despite the fact that she hadn’t gotten to bed until nearly three. She hadn’t slept well. Dave had treated her to breakfast, then taken her home. He’d mentioned that he was getting tickets to an upcoming Neil Young concert and asked if she wanted to go. She’d been noncommittal, although she adored Neil Young.

  She liked Dave and was glad they were becoming friends, but there was a vibe between them that made her a little uneasy. She was pretty sure that friendship wasn’t what he had in mind and the last thing she needed was a romantic complication, especially with a bandmate.

  Well. With that bandmate. She glanced at Quinn’s door as she headed down to the kitchen for coffee and methadone.

  The house was quiet and the coffee wasn’t made. That was weird. Quinn was an early riser, no matter how late he got in. She never got up before him. Once the pot started brewing, she swallowed her methadone, then went upstairs and tapped on Quinn’s door. “Q? You okay?”

  No response. She turned the knob quietly. The bed was unoccupied, the blue comforter smooth over the white sheets. Apparently his golden rules didn’t apply to Julie fucking Janssen.

  Shan went back downstairs, trying to ignore her sudden disquiet.

  When the rest of her roommates got up, they told her they were going to the beach and asked if she wanted to come. Shan declined and Denise looked at her sympathetically, but didn’t comment as they packed up their towels and water bottles and departed for Santa Monica.

  The day passed slowly. Her eyes kept sliding toward the clock. By two Quinn still wasn’t home and Shan wished she’d just gone to the beach. At three she changed into sneakers, packed the Angel into its soft case, and set off across the creek, hiking up the mountainside.

  When she came back a couple of hours later, she was relieved to see Quinn’s bike parked outside the house. She ran up the back stairs, then let herself in through the kitchen door. “Q?” she called.

  Julie Janssen was sitting at their kitchen table, drinking a glass of wine and leafing through a copy of Keyboard magazine. “He’s in the shower,” she said. “You must be Shan. I’m Julie.”

  Shan set down her guitar as Julie rose and went past her to the refrigerator. She was nearly as tall as Quinn, Shan noted, and it was all leg. Her strawberry-blond hair was pulled smoothly into a silver barrette at the nape of her neck, not a hair out of place. Shan pushed the tumbled curls off her own forehead and surreptitiously sized up Julie’s figure. It was fantastic, trim and athletic and clad in a snug dress of periwinkle blue. Shan felt small and dumpy next to her.

  “Do you want a glass of wine?” Julie asked, taking out a bottle of chardonnay.

  Making herself right at home, isn’t she? “Sure.” Shan got up and took a wineglass from the cupboard. Julie filled it, then put the bottle back in the refrigerator and returned to the table.

  “The house is nice,” she said. “Not exactly a place I’d expect to find Quinn, though.”

  Shan slipped into the seat across from her. “Why is that?”

  “I’d think he’d want to be in town,” she said, crossing one endless leg over the other, “closer to the clubs, like the place he had in Boston. I spent a lot of time there.”

  Shan gripped the hem of her T-shirt. “Ty mentioned that you went to school together.”

  Julie nodded. “Yes, we’re old friends.”

  Shan’s grip on her shirt was so tight her fingers ached. She couldn’t think of anything to say, so she took a sip of wine, then grimaced. She hated chardonnay.

  Julie was watching her as fixedly as a cat watches a mouse hole. “I thought you lived in New York. What made you decide to come out to California?”

  “It was Quinn’s idea,” Shan said, gulping more wine.

  The tight smile was still plastered across Julie’s face. “He tells me the two of you aren’t a couple, though.”

  Shan’s fingers were growing numb. “No. We’re friends.”

  “Good,” Julie said, and suddenly the smile was gone.

  Shan was saved from having to respond when Quinn came down the stairs. “Hi,” he said to her. He took the wineglass out of Julie’s hand and took a sip in a casually intimate gesture. “I don’t think I ever introduced you guys last night. This is Julie Janssen, a friend from Berklee.”

  “We’ve met,” Shan said, as he handed the glass back to Julie.

  “Drink up, darlin’,” he said, glancing at the clock. “I made the reservation for six and we can’t be late, because I have to set up at eight.” Quinn pulled on his jacket as Julie drained her glass. “Can you tell the others I’ll meet you all at the club?” Shan nodded silently. Julie tucked a possessive hand through Quinn’s arm and they headed for the door, but he suddenly turned back.

  “I almost forgot. Dazz called for you. His number is by the phone.” He frowned a little. “He wants you to call him, but you’re going to see him tonight anyway.”

  “He’s getting tickets to Neil Young,” she said. “I told him I might go.”

  “Cool,” he said, his eyes on Julie’s legs. “He likes that folkie crap, too.” He gave Shan’s hair a careless tousle and she found herself staring forlornly at the door as it closed behind them.

  She went upstairs to his room and pushed the door open. The comforter on the bed was rumpled and a couple of pillows were on the floor. She could see condom wrappers on the nightstand, too. Two of them.

  He’d slept with her. Here. In their home, where she might have been right in the next room.

  Shan slammed the door and c
losed her eyes. She stood that way for a long time.

  As she showered and dressed, Shan carried on a continuous internal dialogue. Quinn could sleep with anyone he wanted, she reminded herself. And he did, all the time. He’d gone home with at least ten different women since she’d been in California.

  But he’d never brought anyone to their home before. He’d never stayed away all night, either. He’d kept his sexual escapades away from her, until now. And, Shan noted unhappily, he seemed to genuinely like this girl.

  For the first time, she realized that Quinn might just meet someone who mattered to him one of these days. She was deluding herself by continuing to believe he’d come to her when he was ready to settle down, and Julie Janssen obviously shared the same delusion. How many more women thought they’d get him in the end, if they only had the patience to wait?

  She was quiet as she rode to the gig with Dan, Denise, and Ty. Dave arrived shortly after, then Quinn, with Julie in tow.

  As she and Dave were tuning up, she smiled at him. “Does your invitation to Neil Young still stand?”

  chapter 22

  “We’re good together,” Dave said. “I think we have something special.”

  “I think so, too,” Shan agreed, setting the Angel aside and stretching her arms up over her head. “I love the flamenco thing you do, Dave. I’ve never heard it done with our type of music.”

  “Sure you have.” He stood up from the couch and stretched, too. “Plenty of rock songs have flamenco-inspired guitar parts,” he said as he headed for the kitchen, presumably for another beer. “Your god Van Halen’s done it. So has Queen, Triumph, Santana, of course, but some of the big prog rockers, too. ELP. Yes.”

  “I can see why Quinn likes it so much, then. He…”

  Her voice trailed off as a wave of pain coursed through her. Quinn wasn’t her favorite topic of conversation these days. Apart from their gigs, she’d barely seen him since Julie’s arrival nearly two weeks before. He was never home now and she missed seeing him first thing in the morning, longed for the lazy afternoons she used to spend with him writing music by the creek.