by Deanna Roy
I no more turned my head to see what had gotten her attention when a fist slammed into my jaw.
Chapter 31: Jenny
I spent the night with my mother when all I could find for the Sonic Kings was a web page with an email address. I wrote them asking about Chance and then let Mom take me shopping.
We got what she considered an appropriate “interview suit” even though I knew I wouldn’t wear that to the studio, ever. Only the bean counters came to work in stuff like that, but it made sense, since that was what my mother was used to.
I had a lot of other issues to deal with before I could worry about the job situation.
When I got up in the morning, feeling retched, sick, and tired, I checked my mail and saw some guy named Paul had written me back.
Are you the girl from the beach? Saw the spread. Chance got kinda spooked by it and took off the next morning. No clue where he went.
My heart sank. If they couldn’t find him, I was really stuck.
I need to find him. What do you know about him?
He wrote back pretty fast.
Not a lot. Why don’t you come to our gig and the boys and all will figure out any intel he dropped. Tonight at Cain’s. 9 p.m.
I had no idea what Cain’s was, but I’d look it up. I wrote him that I would come and thought about rustling up a date, then realized how ludicrous that was. Corabelle was in Mexico, but Tina might go, if I could extricate her from her hot doctor.
~*´`*~
The band was in the middle of its set when Tina and I got there around ten. I hadn’t told her I was pregnant. I couldn’t find the words yet. And I certainly didn’t want the band to know, so it was just as well the secret was only mine.
I explained to Tina that I wanted to track Chance down, and the band said they could help. She wasn’t the sort of person to question motives. Dr. Darion had a late shift at the hospital, so she was fine with coming along.
The Sonic Kings were playing some dive bar in a suburb between LA and San Diego. It was an hour’s drive, but it didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to be drinking anyway. That was one thing I already knew from drunkenly reading the surgeon general’s warnings on the labels of thousands of bottles of beer.
The place was dark and half-empty. The band sounded about the same as they did at the party, decent but without any spark.
Tina and I sat down at a tall round table toward the back. I didn’t really want to attract attention. Hopefully the shiny diamond on Tina’s finger would keep random boys at bay.
And I didn’t need to know what I was going to be missing out on for the next nine months. It seemed weird to do hookups with a bun in the oven. Although if Chance dissed me, then who knew? I guess I could do whatever.
A queasy feeling came over me, and I wasn’t sure if it was the baby or the bar or the idea of Chance rejecting me. A cocktail waitress came up and asked what we were drinking. I told her water and she raised an eyebrow as if to say, “Then what are you doing in this dump?”
The order got Tina’s attention too. “That’s not like you, Jenny,” she said. “You’re going to need some liquid courage. Bring us both a margarita.”
Great. Now I would have the temptation right at my chin.
Still, I said nothing.
The band launched into “Tell Me Something Good” and the nostalgia of hearing it at the party hit me in the gut. I could see Chance standing at the base of the stage, drumming his hands. A wave of melancholy passed over me. I had to get hold of these emotions. I was becoming somebody else already.
Somebody’s mother.
Tina nodded her head in time with the song. “They don’t suck,” she said.
I watched the lead singer strum his guitar, his purple sunglasses flashing with the stage lights as he moved. I wondered if this was the Paul who wrote me, or if it was another member of the band. They’d introduced themselves onstage at the party, but I hadn’t paid any attention to any names other than Chance. In addition to the singer, there was a bass guitarist, who never looked up from his instrument, a keyboardist in a ball cap, and a drummer.
When they ended this number, the scant crowd clapped for them, which was better than the response to the last one.
“Thank you, thank you,” the lead singer said. “I’m Paul, and we’re the Sonic Kings. We’re going to take a little break and then we’ll be back with more blues and funk for your listening pleasure.”
So that was Paul. He stepped away from the mike.
“Should we go up to them now?” Tina asked.
The waitress set the drinks on the table and I picked mine up, almost taking a sip before I remembered not to. I faked it instead, and set the glass down. Tina paid for the round.
The guys from the band hung out at the end of the bar in a dark corner.
“Yeah, let’s go talk,” I said.
We picked up our drinks and headed for the boys. I casually lowered the glass and dumped part of it in an abandoned beer mug as we passed.
Their faces lit up that we were approaching them, then Paul nodded in understanding. “It’s you.”
“Yeah,” I said.
The drummer turned around on his stool. “Man, Chance gave up a night with Vanessa freaking Price because of you.”
I almost dropped my drink when he said that, so I set it on the bar. “What are you talking about?”
“She tried to get him to stay the night with her,” Paul said. “But he said, ‘No dice.’”
My heart hammered. He hadn’t been with Vanessa?
“Tell me everything that happened,” I said quickly.
“What’s your deal?” Paul said. “I don’t want to give my boy over to a stalker chick.”
The keyboard player smacked his arm. “She’s not a stalker. She’s just got the feels.”
Paul stared at me. “Some girls are crazy.”
Tina shoved Paul in the chest. “Well, this one’s not. Just tell us what you know.”
Paul took a step back. “No need for violence, ladies,” he said. “We picked up Tennessee at a truck stop outside LA. We were on our way to the party that this here fine upstanding young lady attended.”
The bass guitar player coughed into his hand to cover his laugh.
“Don’t make me kick your ass,” Tina said.
“Well, I was in the tabloids,” I told her. “I get it.”
“Did your sugar daddy movie director ditch you after he saw the pix of your sweet naked booty?” the drummer asked. He was obviously out to protect Chance. This made me wonder if he wasn’t still around, and my heart sped up. He could even be here!
I took a deep breath. I couldn’t blow the cover for Frankie, not even now. “We had already split up,” I said. “I just went to the party with him so he would have a date.”
Paul held up his palms. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter to me. The fact of the matter is, we picked him up, he played with us.” He pointed at the drummer. “He stayed with Jazz a night, and then he blew out of town like a Tasmanian devil.”
“Why?” I asked.
“He saw the newspaper, baby,” Paul said. “It said you were with that director. And cavorting with a crooner on the side. That was too much for a fresh-faced country boy.”
Damn it. I knew it. “How can I find him? I need to find him. It’s important.” My words were a rush.
“Beats me,” Paul said. “He got some messages that morning at breakfast and he got plumb spooked. Turned a little green around the gills.”
Probably he got a lot of texts about the video segment, same as I did.
“He said he was from Chattanooga,” I said. “And he’d been to a lot of cities. Did he tell you anything else?”
“He’d just come from Vegas,” Paul said. “He’d been playin’ some coffee shops. I got the impression he doesn’t like bars.”
“You think one of those shops would know who he was?” I asked. “Maybe they wrote him a check or got tax info.”
Jazz shook his head. “Doubt it. T
hey don’t want paperwork. Most of these gigs are cash under the table. ’Sides, I’m pretty sure he only played for tips.”
I held the edge of the bar with a death grip. “Are you sure there isn’t anything else?” I asked. “I can’t just go to Chattanooga and look for a Chance.”
“Look for a chance,” Jazz said with a laugh. “There’s always a chance.”
I wanted to belt him.
“Come on,” Tina said. “These losers don’t have anything.” She pulled on my arm.
“Hey, wait,” Paul said.
I turned back around. “What?”
“That guitar he had. It was a Seagull. And not any ordinary Seagull either, one of their rare wood ones. It looked pretty new. If I were playing detective, I’d call around Chattanooga guitar stores and see where he might have picked it up. There are few enough of them around that it might get you somewhere.”
Now that was an honest-to-God clue. “Thank you,” I said.
“I think he’ll be happy to see you,” Paul said. “He was pretty broken up about the director thing.”
I nodded, feeling my heart soften. “Thank you,” I repeated.
Tina and I walked out of the bar. “Let me drive,” Tina said. “You have some thinking to do.”
I handed her the keys. We’d both abandoned our drinks. I should tell her now about being pregnant, but I decided not to. Maybe the next person I would get to tell would be the baby’s father.
Chapter 32: Chance
My whole body lurched back into the cushioned seat of the booth. Whoever had just waylaid me packed some punch.
Now, I might have been pussyfooting around the country like a peacemaker for five months while I played, but the twenty-four years leading up to it were full of more hellfire and fistfights than I had business surviving with my face intact.
So I didn’t even bother to take a look at who was after me, or why. That was obvious. I just lifted the bottom of the table and sent it flying across the room so it was the hell out of my way.
Angie scurried out of range as the glasses and table crashed to the ground. The band stopped playing.
“You son of a bitch!” a voice raged.
I turned toward the sound. A hulking man about my age wiped soda off his face. I’d gotten a nice shot in without even trying.
He had me outweighed by at least forty pounds, but not all of it was muscle. I kept my arms loose at my sides, waiting for his next move. I really preferred to avoid injuring my hands on his ugly mug, but I wasn’t sure I had any choice at this point.
“Reggie, stop it!” Angie cried out and flung herself in front of him. “Leave him alone.”
He pushed her aside. “Who the hell are you?” he bellowed at me.
“His name’s Chance,” Angie said, flitting around him like a bee buzzing. “And he’s twice the man you ever were.”
Great. She had picked me to mess with him. Did women ever do anything but pit men against each other? Were we really so dumb as to fall for this?
I was disgusted, but there was nothing to be done about it. This guy had already clocked me once. There was going to be payback.
He took a step forward, and I saw my opportunity. I lunged forward and slammed my shoulder into his belly like a linebacker on the charge. He grunted, falling back, and I snatched a barstool as I tumbled onto him so I’d have a weapon when I got on my feet.
I jumped up, the stool out. The big oaf managed to roll over and stand. When he rushed for me, I smashed the stool into his thigh. He spun around, hopping on one leg. I had no intention of doing real harm, as a stool to his head could actually kill him, but I held it. I was done with this asshole.
He held out his hand. “This ain’t worth it,” he said, pointing at Angie. “You’re not worth it, you filthy whore.”
He straightened up and cracked his neck. He looked around the room as if to see who was going to witness his exit, and said, “You can have her.”
Then he stormed back out.
I dropped the stool. This is why bars were bad. And women.
God, I was disgusted.
I didn’t even look at Angie, but slung my backpack over my shoulder and picked up my guitar case. Since her asshole ex, or whoever he was, had gone out the front, I headed toward the back. Nobody said a word as I wound through the tables and headed through an exit behind the bar.
A couple bar-backs loading fresh kegs looked up. I passed through, aiming for the open door to the back lot. The night air felt good. I’d walk a bit, cool off.
My jaw didn’t seem any worse for wear from the hit. I’d gotten free of the fight without hurting my hands. I was lucky.
And stupid.
I knew that girl was trouble and I went with her anyway. Damn fool.
I walked, and walked, and walked some more. The moon rose and held steady in the sky as I headed down a highway, not even thumbing it. I didn’t want any company.
I realized when the air started to change and the breeze picked up that I was nearing the coast. I passed under a sign for Highway 58 that told me the beach was only six miles away.
Huh. One ocean to the other.
So I kept going. The night was calm and quiet. Virginia Beach, the signs said, straight ahead. The road went up and up, over a river. The tang in the air got sharper. The bridge came back down and the wide pedestrian walk ended, and I was on a city block. I knew where the water was by the high-rise hotels.
I kept going, no idea how many miles I’d gone. Hours had passed. But I pressed on, compelled to keep going, to get to the sand, to the ocean.
Finally I stood on the beach looking out on the black monster of the Atlantic. It was different from LA, no doubt, backed by hotels and businesses and bright lights rather than a campground and parking lot. But the sand still crunched beneath my boots, and the waves still roared up onto land.
Dawn was starting to break, so I sank down in the sand, weary and worn. I felt like I’d walked the world from end to end, seen all there was to see.
The water kept coming forward, flowing over the sand, then retreating, like something just out of reach. I dropped my head in my hands, trying to think. What should I do now? Go home? Settle somewhere?
But still, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was where I belonged. It wasn’t this sea air, and it wasn’t this sand. But something just like it. So much the same, but as far away as it could be, a whole length of a country away.
And so I stood up, shouldered my bag, picked up my case, and started my travels back to the other ocean, the other side.
I was going back to LA.
Chapter 33: Jenny
I had five more days of spring break to find Chance. After that I’d be risking getting dropped from my classes if I didn’t show.
Corabelle sat on my bed as I packed my suitcase. “I don’t get why you have to go after him.”
She was making it hard not to tell her about the baby.
“Sometimes you just know,” I said.
She sighed. “Yeah, I get it. True love. I’ve never seen you like this. It has to be something.”
“If I can’t make it back for the first day, can you show up and get my attendance checked off?” UCSD was crazy about dropping you from a class if you bailed on day one.
“Of course,” she said. “I only have one class that day, and it’s not the same time as yours.”
“Thank you,” I said. “And don’t worry about my job. Getting fired from Cool Beans is not high on my problem list.”
“Okay.” She passed me a stack of folded T-shirts. “What are you going to do if you don’t find him?”
I shoved a couple pairs of jeans in the suitcase. “That’s not an option.”
“Well, he’s not going to be in Tennessee, probably,” Corabelle said.
“But if a bunch of people were texting him about the photos, he has to have friends or family there. They’ll know where he is or how to get in touch with him.”
I snapped the suitcase shut. I only had ninety mi
nutes until my flight. My mom had sprung for the ticket. I was grateful.
Corabelle threw her arms around me. “I think this is just about the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen,” she said. “I hope you find him.”
I held on to her a moment, feeling sad I hadn’t told her my secret. “I will.”
A taxi waited for me outside.
“Keep me updated,” Corabelle said.
I got in the taxi and took off for the airport. My belly gurgled, and I rubbed it. Was it a sign I was doing the right thing? Or just some random result of breakfast?
I really needed some pregnancy books. I had no idea what I was doing.
I wound up sleeping almost the entire flight. I kept doing that, just crashing for no reason. Thankfully, I wasn’t puking all the time. I’d always thought that being pregnant meant you hurled your guts 24/7. It was really more like a queasiness when I smelled something strong, or if I ate something weird. I could manage it.
I landed in Chattanooga just after lunch. My mind ran through the scenarios on how Chance would take the news. Denial? Rage? Say it wasn’t his?
As I walked through the airport toward the taxi stand, I fretted over how to actually say the words. If he wouldn’t meet with me or tell me where he was, I would have to decide if I should do it in a phone call, or worse, a text.
I already had the names of four guitar stores in Chattanooga. I figured if I was trying to weasel contact information from a store employee, I’d better try it in person. This was something I was good at. I could eyeball somebody and instinctively know whether to flirt, be casual, or sneaky, or play hardball.
Still, my belly fluttered with nerves. This brought on a round of nausea.
It was all so connected. Each emotion affected every system. Staying cool and collected was harder than ever. This grain of sand was seriously impacting me in every way possible.
