Not So Wrong: Love Grows series, Book Two

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Not So Wrong: Love Grows series, Book Two Page 4

by Regent, Renee


  Oh crap. Not now, not today.

  “Aw. Sorry to hear that. How bad is it? Can you still play tonight?”

  I felt like a monster, but I had to ask. The show must go on, and if there was any chance she could play, we really needed her.

  Next, I heard not her voice, but a loud, prolonged cough. Then she sneezed for good measure. “I think so. I’ve taken some medicine and I’m going to lay down for a while.”

  “That’s a good idea, and drink some hot tea with lemon juice. If you just can’t make it, I understand, but we really need you. If you can hang in there until the show is over, you can rest up for a few days.”

  “I’ll be there. I can’t promise any fireworks, but I’ll do my best.”

  “Thanks, Donna. You’re a trooper.”

  She ended the conversation with another round of coughing. I knew I was risking everyone else getting sick, but cancelling tonight was not an option. If I had to go onstage by myself and sing acapella, this show was happening.

  I drove through the rain, inching past the accident, and finally made my way home. I had just enough time to eat, shower, and meet everyone at Mackie’s to pick up our gear. I’d told Donna to just meet us at the bar, and we’d bring her amp along.

  I’d done up my hair, teasing it so it looked a little wild. A color rinse had added burgundy highlights to my dark brown locks. I’d mastered the smoky eye and donned my darkest shade of lipstick. Skin-tight jeans and a scarlet bustier under a short, lightweight biker style black jacket completed my stage outfit. I glanced in the mirror as I passed and adjusted the black lace choker at my throat. Then I gave myself a thumbs up. Even though I was a bundle of nerves on the inside, I looked confident. I’d pulled off the slightly-goth rocker chic persona that I was going for.

  Not bad for almost forty.

  No one would tell by watching me onstage that I was painfully shy as a child. Growing up in a chaotic, dysfunctional household had taken a toll on my sister and me. I coped with our parents’ constant fighting by retreating to my room. I’d play my guitar, which had been given to me by a kind teacher. I’d listen for hours to music on the radio or my CDs. Drowning out the unpleasantness, over which I had no control, was how I survived. Music had been my salvation.

  My sister, Cissy, on the other hand, coped by leaving the house. She was always at her friend’s houses or with a boyfriend. She was constantly in some kind of trouble, from shoplifting to skipping school. It was no surprise, to me at least, she got pregnant at sixteen. By then our abusive father had long since left, our mother was in a deep depression, and I had just graduated high school. I had a choice to make—stay and live the same life or break away and pursue my dream of becoming a singer.

  I’d reasoned back then that my dream would come true in a few years, and with my success, I’d be able to help my family. Staying home and working a minimum wage job wasn’t going to help anyone. I was full of hope and confidence, for the first time in my life, and I wasn’t about to let anyone talk me out of it. I knew in my gut if I stayed in Freesville, Florida, my life may as well be over.

  As I walked to the kitchen, those old memories spooled through my head. “Fast forward to today, and what has changed? Not much.”

  Well, not as much as I’d hoped. The fact that stories like mine were not uncommon in the music industry was little comfort. I had lived, slept, and breathed music for many years, and I was getting tired.

  I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and left my apartment. Despite my situation, I would have an audience tonight. My problems would all fade away as soon as I stepped onstage, and I couldn’t wait to be there.

  Chapter Four

  Melanie

  We arrived at the bar a little after eight. Donna was still nowhere in sight, and she hadn’t answered my text or my call. Mackie was carrying in his drum set, and Reb was talking with the venue’s lighting guy. I went looking for the owner to let him know we’d be ready to go on by nine.

  The place was already busy, with only a few tables unoccupied. A tall guy in a straw cowboy hat was perched on a stool, collecting money at the door. A cover charge meant we were likely to get paid on time.

  It was a good sign.

  I leaned over the bar. It took more than one try, but I finally caught the attention of the bartender. He raised a dark brow, his eyes traveling over my chest as he placed a paper coaster on the bar in front of me.

  “What’ll it be?”

  “Bud Light, and please tell me where I can find Randy.”

  “He’s in the kitchen. But you better not go back there.”

  With a pop, he twisted the lid off my beer. Placing it on the coaster, he made no effort to hide his perusal of my bosom, which was amply displayed by the bustier. I sipped, keeping my eyes on him the whole time.

  “And why not?”

  “Dressed like that? Go ahead. But I’d steer clear of his wife, Gloria, if I was you.”

  I suddenly felt the urge to zip up my jacket. Instead, I gave him a coy smile and a wink.

  “Well, if I was you, I’d stick to pouring drinks.”

  I laid some money on the bar and turned back toward the stage, anger simmering beneath my skin. I dressed however I pleased, and I had to look good on stage. It was all a part of the show, the same as lasers, dry ice, and video screens were at larger concerts. Showing a little cleavage wasn’t so unusual for a performer, especially in a place like this. It was a shame I’d let anyone make me feel uncomfortable about it, even for a second. I straightened my shoulders, proud of who I was and what I did for a living.

  I walked through the crowd, my eyes searching. I doubted Spencer would actually show, but it would have been interesting to see his reaction. Goofing around in a living room was one thing, and our polished stage show was another. Then, as I always did before a performance, I sent up a silent prayer to the universe to let this be the one that gets us a better gig, or a record deal, or some kind of outrageous success.

  Hey, go big or go home, right?

  When I reached the stage, I no longer had to wonder about going in search of the owner because he was talking with Mackie and Reb. Randy was a tall man, with a thin ponytail hanging down his broad back. As I stood next to him, he glanced down at me and did a double take. He was less obvious about ogling me than the bartender was, but I could tell his attention was no longer on the conversation with my bandmates. He ran a hand through his greasy, graying hair and stepped closer to address me.

  “These guys say you’re the boss. Is that right?”

  “I wouldn’t use that word, but yeah, I handle the business aspects of the band.”

  Randy shrugged. “Well, come and see me after the show, and we’ll settle up your pay. I have an office at the back of the kitchen.”

  Then he smiled and squeezed my shoulder. It happened so quickly I was unable to move away. Plus, I didn’t want to seem rude. He was the owner of the place, after all. But something in his tone had creeped me out. Maybe I was just being paranoid, or maybe the bartender had got me worked up. In any case, I felt the need to be on my guard, and I wasn’t sure why.

  Soon, all our gear was in place. I stepped onto the stage and began adjusting my microphone. The task of getting ready helped me to focus, calming my jangled nerves. Today had been the day from hell so far, and we had a long night ahead of us. I turned to Mackie, who was seated behind his drum kit, tapping out a rhythm, testing the sound.

  “Any word from Donna?”

  “Nope. And we go on in ten.”

  It was a reflex, but I pulled my phone out to check once again. No text, no missed calls. Crap. All I was hoping for was one last chance. But nooooo…

  Reb spoke, breaking up my mental pity party.

  “Look! There she is.”

  Donna was making her way through the crowd, her bass slung over her shoulder in a soft black case. Her spiky hair, shot through with pink highlights, was messier than usual, and she looked like she’d slept for days and just rolled out of b
ed. But she was here.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she mumbled as she reached the stage. “Couldn’t find my freakin’ phone. I think I lost it.”

  I reached out to pull her up on stage. “Maybe it’ll turn up.”

  “Maybe. Anyway, I’m here. Let’s do this.”

  Sparker wasn’t having the best day, but when it came down to the music, we always gave it our all. That was the one thing in my life right now I could count on.

  After a quick sound check, we were ready to rock. I nodded to Reb, who in turn waved to the lighting guy in his booth at the back of the bar. The house music died down and the lights dimmed, except for spotlights shining on the stage. I grabbed my mic, and with a wave of my hand, the show had begun. Mackie banged out a steady beat, Reb fell in with a blistering guitar, and Donna was thumping out a bass line.

  I took a deep breath and let loose with a long wail, leading up to the opening lyrics. By the stunned faces in the crowd, I knew we had grabbed their attention. I moved about the stage, engaging the audience with eye contact and smiles. Looking out at the crowd, I lost all of my earlier anxieties. I was with my band, and we were doing what we did best.

  There was no place else I’d rather be.

  * * *

  Spencer

  Melanie hadn’t been kidding when she’d called the place her band was playing a dive. I had my driver, Sean, drop me off with instructions to wait for my call. I didn’t want him parking the sedan and waiting in the parking lot, which was nearly a block away from the bar and next to an abandoned building. It wasn’t the best part of town, but the joint was already packed when I arrived shortly after nine.

  I made my way to the bar just as a couple left two seats open. I slid onto a bar stool and faced the stage. Melanie’s distinctive voice was belting out a rock song, one I’d never heard before. The crowd was bouncing and clapping, and a few brave souls were dancing in the small space in front of the stage.

  She was captivating. Her onstage presence was amped up ten times compared to what I had seen when she sat next to me at the piano just a week earlier. Then, she’d had a smooth, smoldering sort of appeal as a singer. I’d pictured a dimly-lit lounge in an upscale hotel, with Melanie in a red satin gown, crooning a ballad while leaning over the top of a piano.

  This was not that scenario. Her long dark hair hung past her shoulders, now shimmering with burgundy under the stage lights. Her lithe form was covered in skin-tight jeans, those endless legs balancing on high heeled boots. The tight biker jacket didn’t hide her best assets, which were displayed atop a red satin and black lace bustier.

  Well, I wasn’t far off. She was wearing red satin.

  Her gutsy, growling voice was assaulting the lyrics, bringing a wild energy to the song. Backed by her band, they became a cohesive force elevating her performance to another level.

  Though she was undeniably a sexy woman, her stage presence had more to do with her performance than how she looked. I glanced at the faces of the audience as Melanie hit the last high note of the song. Both men and women stared in awe and then burst into applause and whistles as the drummer pounded out an abrupt ending. When the noise of appreciation from the crowd died down, Melanie spoke into her microphone.

  “Thank you, thank you. I’m Melanie Parker, and we’re so glad to be here tonight. The name of our band is Sparker, so if you like what you hear tonight, please follow us on social media.” She paused, glancing at her bandmates who nodded back at her, signaling their readiness. She turned to face the audience. “Who’s ready to party?”

  Hooting and several “woo-hoos” filled the air. The drummer tapped his sticks together, and they launched into a well-known popular song. More couples got up and filled the tiny dance floor. I looked back at the stage to find Melanie waving to me. I waved back, an unexpected warmth filling my chest. I turned toward the bar and managed to catch the attention of one of the bartenders. I ordered a beer instead of my usual scotch, thinking it might cool me down.

  It didn’t.

  I watched with rapt attention as the band ran through their first set. It was an eclectic mix of hits from the eighties, nineties, and more current singles. They touched on pop, country, and a few blues ballads. Sparker had somehow managed to please everyone. Even the few slower numbers they did had the crowd slow dancing or simply watching. Only a few people were playing on their phones rather than watching the show. If the owner didn’t hire Sparker for a regular gig, he’d have to be out of his mind.

  I’d finished the beer just as Melanie announced they were taking a short break. She hopped down from the stage and started toward me. Excitement and a nervousness I wasn’t accustomed to came over me like a wave at the sight of her making her way through the crowd.

  “You came!”

  She greeted me with a hug, another unexpected pleasure. It was brief but enough to make me need another cooling beer.

  “Of course. I said I would. Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Sure. I just want some water, though. I already had a beer.”

  I ordered her water, and we stood there smiling at each other in an awkward moment. People kept interrupting as they passed by with praise for her voice or for the show. She was glowing, and the accolades were well-deserved. But it also meant the few precious minutes I had with her were slipping away. I finally had a moment of her attention when I handed her the water bottle given to me by the barkeep.

  “It really was an awesome performance. I knew you could sing, but…wow.”

  She actually blushed. Then a wide grin graced her pretty face. “Thank you. My band is killing it tonight, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, they are.”

  My respect for her went up a few more notches. Giving credit to her bandmates instead of basking in the attention for herself. Melanie Parker was one classy lady.

  Someone else had taken the stool next to mine, so I gestured to offer Melanie my seat. She looked around as though I might have offered it to someone else and then shook her head.

  “No, thanks. I’ll lose momentum if I relax now.”

  She saluted me with her water bottle before taking a long drink. She was screwing the cap back on the bottle when someone bumped into her, and in turn, she stumbled up against me.

  Her face was inches from mine, and my pulse ramped up to a noticeable level in a split second. The red bustier was against my chest, and I wished I could freeze time because I really didn’t want to move away.

  But I did, steadying her with a hand on her arm. The offending idiot who smacked into her had already walked away, which was a good thing. I didn’t want to get in a fight over a girl in a dive bar, but that’s what would happen if someone disrespected Melanie. I looked her over, and though that probably wasn’t necessary, it definitely was enjoyable.

  “Are you okay?”

  She shrugged it off.

  “Sure. No biggie. I have to get back on stage now, anyway.”

  “Okay. Well, I’ll be here if you want to do something after the show.”

  She flashed me a look, and I wondered if I’d played my hand too soon. She didn’t answer but smiled, so I had hope. When she blew me a kiss before turning to make her way through the crowd, I felt like high-fiving the bartender. Instead, I sat back on the barstool and ordered another beer.

  * * *

  Melanie

  The second half of the show, we started out slow then kicked it into high gear. A few of our regular fans were there, and I still got a thrill watching them singing along with our original songs. We’d also brought some merchandise and sold a few t-shirts and CDs during the break. The tip jar had enough in it to buy the band breakfast with a bit left over. All in all, it was a good night.

  But it wasn’t a great night. I pushed aside my sense of disappointment. I had to remain positive for the band and to impress the bar owner. Later, while we were breaking down the set, Randy asked me to meet him outside the bar to get paid. I thought it was strange, but he’d walked away before I could object.r />
  Spencer was hanging around, too, and asked if he could help. Mackie and Reb just looked at him, unaccustomed to anyone they didn’t know wanting to lug gear. I stifled a giggle and introduced him.

  “Guys, this is Spencer. He’s a friend. Spencer, meet Mackie, Donna, and Reb.”

  I’d pointed to each of them in turn. They nodded or waved, continuing to pack up their gear. Breakfast was calling and nothing was going to slow them down. I looked back at Spencer and shrugged.

  “Playing a three-hour set tends to work up an appetite. They’re eager to get out of here.”

  “Oh.”

  An unspoken disappointment crossed his face when I didn’t invite him to join us. But we had band business to discuss, and the wind-down from a gig wasn’t always a fun time. I stepped down from the stage and walked to where he stood.

  “I’d invite you to join us, but tonight we have some things to work out. Maybe next time?”

  “Okay.”

  His hazel eyes held mine for a moment, as though he wanted to convey a secret. I saw a longing there, but for once, it didn’t scare me. Usually when a guy wanted to hook up, it was because I’m a musician. They want the persona, not the real me, so I’d keep them at a distance by playing it cool.

  But the warmth in his gaze made me tingle in places that I’d thought had gone dormant. I looked over his shoulder to break the intensity and saw Randy waving to me as he walked out of the bar. That was my cue.

  “Yeah, next time, for sure. Thank you so much for coming. I hope you enjoyed the show.”

  I squeezed his arm for emphasis and felt his hand at my back.

  “Let me know when and where, and I’ll be there.”

  I smiled and walked away. Who knew if there’d even be a next time? Everything hinged on us getting this gig as house band. I’d heard we were one of two bands being considered, and my next task was to convince Randy that Sparker was his best choice.

 

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