Authors: Lynne Connolly
“I’m so sorry. I-I got a phone call and I couldn’t, I
realized—”
He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I’ve known worse.
You got five minutes. They’re just doing one of those long electronic things
and then you’re on. Last chance, V.”
She grabbed her instrument. “I’m coming.”
Murder City Ravens was packed with temperamental artists.
They needed a man like this, who could take the unexpected in stride. She
glanced back. Matt blew her a kiss. “Do you want me to watch?”
He could hear anyway, if he switched on the audio piped into
every room backstage. She nodded, a sharp jerk of her head. Then turned and
left.
The mosh pit was one heaving mass of humanity, swaying like
a single entity.
She felt nervous, but only nervous. Nothing else. No panic
seizing her stomach and turning her throat into something the size of a
drinking straw. No sweats. Nothing taking her over, telling her to
Run!
Her fingers lay on her sax, steady and in the right places.
Nobody noticed her entrance much because the lights were
temporarily off, so she had a few moments to herself as they drew the
electronic track to a close. It was such a privilege to play with this band.
Nobody was as inventive, and as insolent, ignoring the tenets of what made a
hit, what bands “should” be doing.
At last there was a kind of intro to her piece. The run up
the scales that started what would be the band’s first single from the new
album.
“We’ve tried something new with this.” Jace glanced back in
her direction and that must have been the cue, because her spots came on. Glad
she’d brushed her hair, she could only hope her white T-shirt held out under
the bright lights and didn’t turn transparent. Well, if it did, maybe the bra
underneath wouldn’t. Even that thought didn’t faze her now.
The music started and she lifted her sax, the instrument
gleaming under the lights.
Once she began, it was easy. She slid into the music like
she always did, in her apartment, in Claud’s club, in the Lincoln Park house
with her family. It happened and she gave herself to it. She half closed her
eyes, did what she loved and when the band came in, they entered the flow with
her.
They understood. She’d come in at the end of the process of
forging the unit, not the start, and she’d seen them rehearse, imagined it
happening, played with them informally. Now it was happening for real, and it
felt better than anything else. Except making love with Matt.
That beat everything.
When she’d finished, she glanced at the running order with
its crossed-out and replaced songs, and realized the guys often worked that
way. They’d take what the audience was feeling and go with it, as much as they
could. They’d destroy the running order they’d spent weeks agonizing over. And
she saw how they did it. They had sections of music, sets that they could use
or switch around. It was a technique unheard of in concerts, especially with
the expense of the arena performance these days. The running order was set and
then remained in concrete. Somebody coming to a concert in London could expect
the same thing in New York, perhaps with a variation in one of the encores.
But Murder City Ravens switched. They used sound-sensitive
lights and their lighting guy was considered a member of the band during the
tours. He or she—there were two of them—knew the music in detail and could
respond to what they wanted. She knew all this because she’d read it or learned
it this last month, but knowing it and participating in it were two very
different things.
She loved it. Loved the flexibility that had meant they
could reschedule her number and its accompanying block to later in the set. It
must drive the staff at these places crazy, but Murder City Ravens was up and
coming, arriving and venues were eager to book them. How or why the buzz had
started she didn’t know, but she’d have to be stupid not to notice the extra
press attention, the way Chick had secured the concert here.
She played a small part in the next track too, which was
delayed by the yells and the thunderous applause that followed the last notes
of the single, and the one after that. Then she was out for a while. She drank
some water and listened. It sounded so good from where she stood.
Then came the last block. She had a part in this one too.
Jace would sample her notes and then he and Riku would take over on keyboards
and kaoss pads. They wanted her to play something different every time, so the
song would sound new. The band had the bare bones, the lyrics and the central
melody. Everything else went with the flow.
It was rock jazz with folk, trance and anything the talented
members of the band picked up and played with. Improv she knew all about, but
not done like this.
She loved this too.
Belatedly she remembered her family was out there somewhere
and she wondered if Uncle Claud liked it. Of course he would. He might be
locked in the fifties, but some radical stuff came out in that era. She knew
who to bless for her extensive education in twentieth-century popular music. It
was like the best kind of learning—she hadn’t realized she was learning
anything, only having fun.
In any case, it didn’t matter if they liked it, only that
they saw her and at last got to experience what she was like in this part of
her life. That mattered. As did her love for the music.
The band left the stage after the lights went down. V got a
shock when she turned and saw the audience massed high on seats on either side
of the stage at the back. At least the screen behind them meant people weren’t
directly overlooking her, but the Garden was a bitch for that nearly
theater-in-the-round thing. She hadn’t realized she could have turned around at
any time and seen that sea of faces.
But she felt merely nervous, not that terrible seizing of
her spirit by something that seemed almost outside her.
Matt waited for her. He swung her into his arms, sax and
all, and placed a big, smacking kiss square on her mouth. “Extraordinary,” he
said. “Fucking A.”
She thought so too.
Then they were back on. She wished she had a clean T-shirt
to change into because she’d drenched this one, but she’d make sure she had
something tomorrow. If they wanted her tomorrow after the fuck-up she made
tonight. But she forgot all that when she started a long, low note that would
be barely heard under the shriek of the guitars. But it was there all the same
and it made a difference.
Two encores later, they were done and left the stage for the
last time. Matt guided her with the rest of the band to a big, brightly lit
area with a long table at one end. The press was waiting. Expecting to watch
this part of the evening, she stopped when Matt urged her toward the stage.
“They still want you there,” he murmured in her ear. “Just shame them and tell
the truth.” His breath heated her ear when he laughed. “Okay, maybe not
everything.”
Warmed by the reminder of what they’d done earlier, she
stepped forward with more confidence than she’d have had a moment earlier and
took her place at the table. Next to Jace, with Zazz on his other side. Matt
stepped back, but didn’t evade all the attention. A few people snapped his
picture.
He drew out a pair of sunglasses and put them on, warning
them away. When Jace beckoned to him, he stepped forward reluctantly, but V
thought they’d made the right decision. Show him with the band, kill the rumors
about the acrimonious split. A few of the specialist papers knew Matt was
working with them. They’d comprised the mob outside the TV studios mostly, but
this was the press in force, baying for blood.
This wouldn’t be easy.
Then it started. She shouldn’t have underestimated the
band’s prowess with the press. Matt’s advice came back as she began to see what
they meant. Tell the truth, just not all of it. Leave some out, hide in the
shadows. So when they asked about Matt’s meltdown, he slid off his glasses to
show them his eyes were clear, gave them a charming smile and answered them
with the truth. “I had a bad time. I knew I’d need extensive rehab and it would
take time, years, maybe. So when it came down to a choice between Murder City
Ravens and my life, I chose life.”
“Where did you go?”
“A rehabilitation center. You know which one. Some of you
were waiting for me when I got out. And yes, I’m doing okay, thanks for
asking.”
“Do you go to twelve-step meetings?”
“It wasn’t that kind of rehab, but for the record, I think
they do a great job, and if I needed them, I’d go.” Unlike the rest of the
band, he stood behind them, close enough to V to make her feel more secure. And
being more secure, she could be more daring, if she wanted to. Not that she
would.
“Where do you come from, V?”
Disingenuous. They knew that already. “Chicago.”
“Where Matt has his new studio?”
“Yes. I did some session work for him.” She bit her lip when
they sniggered. “He said the band was looking for a saxophonist and introduced
me.”
“So are you going to be a new member of Murder City Ravens?”
Jace took part in the conversation. “That’s up to her.”
That reply rocked her world. Did he mean it, or was that for
the press? They’d said it was a possibility at the airport, and they worked
democratically. She recalled seeing Riku glance at Jace and nod, but she’d
thought that was something else.
The press tried to make Matt suffer, and then her when
someone asked her about the running order changing so drastically. Before Jace
could say they did it regularly, she admitted her problem. “I get stage
fright,” she said. “Real bad sometimes. But I won’t take drugs, I need to face
it head-on. The band was great.”
“Besides,” Jace drawled as if he were bored with the
subject, “we never give the same performance twice. We like to move things
around a bit, find out what the audience wants and give it to them. No two
audiences are the same, so why should our performance be?” That distracted the
press, especially the music press, and they went into more musical matters.
When the conference finally finished and they could go into
a private room and get some refreshments, it turned out that the band meant
what Jace had so casually said to the media.
“Fastest vote we ever took,” he said with a grin. “Think
about it. We’ll send you the business details and the offer. Sorry, but we have
to get that kind of thing sorted out fast too. The point is, V, we want you to
be a part of the next album from the start and we’ll start the process on the
road. Your creative input is really good. Seriously good.” He shot Matt an
apologetic look. “Sorry, man. I know it won’t help to have her half a world
away, but this is band business. Not personal.”
She had a clear choice here. Matt couldn’t leave Chicago
while his studio was doing so well. And if she joined the band, she’d be part
of the tour. The year-long, worldwide tour.
Part of her rejoiced, glorying in the fulfillment of
everything she’d ever wanted in the part of her soul she’d tried to ignore for
so long.
But it would mean giving up Matt. And that could destroy
her.
Chapter Nine
He couldn’t let her give this opportunity up. He had to find
a way to make her go. It might mean breaking up with her. No, it
would
.
Matt wasn’t surprised when, during the next day’s sound
check, Mr. Hamid and Claud sought him out. He was sitting in V’s dressing room
with his tablet computer, trying to catch up on his emails. He put it aside
when they knocked and came in.
After seating them and making sure they had something to
drink, he straddled his chair and leaned his arms on the back. “You heard,
then.”
“What?” Matt could tell by the determined expression on
Claud’s face that he wasn’t planning to make this easy. He’d have to spell it
out.
“The band has offered V a trial as a full member. If she
accepts, she’ll go on this world tour and collaborate on the next album. Which
I’ll be producing.”
“Will you go on tour with them?” Mr. Hamid asked.
Matt shook his head. “Can’t. I have a deal with a new star
and several other projects lined up. I can’t let them down.”
“Can’t?”
“Won’t.”
Hamid nodded. “Good. At least that shows you’re accepting
your responsibilities. You know what she needs, don’t you?”
Matt blinked. He must have a lash caught in his eye because
it was watering. “Yes. She needs to do it free. For me to let her go.”
Claud swore. Not a simple “fuck,” but a glorious sentence.
Not one of those words could have been repeated in church. Matt’s eyes widened
in surprise. “No. That’s not what she needs.” He cast an exasperated glance at
V’s father. “We’ve been talking around that one for hours.”
“Yes, she does,” said Hamid. “She needs to feel free.
Unburdened.”
Claud slammed his fist into his open palm. “No, she needs an
anchor. Every musician needs something.”
Matt realized what Claud was saying in a blinding flash of
realization. He hadn’t thought of it in those terms. He’d been trying to find a
way to let her go without making her feel sorry or obligated to wait. But Claud
had a point.
“I used to get bad stage fright, so I took to drugs. I
didn’t have a family, not really. My parents are living, but on opposite sides
of the world, and they have new families.”
Claud nodded and Hamid gave him such a look of sorrow that
Matt felt sorry for himself, like he hadn’t felt for years. “I’m fine. I came
to terms with it. It’s nobody’s fault, but I never belonged anywhere. Not like
I do with V. If she’s given me anything, it’s the knowledge of how to put down
roots. I didn’t know before.” He paused. “But I won’t hold her back and I’d
decided to let her go.”
“She’ll want to stay with you,” Hamid persisted. “She won’t
want to leave you.”
“Then she’ll have to learn to do it,” he said, heavyhearted.
A voice came from the door, female and crisp. “Do you often
talk about me when I’m not here?”
Hamid didn’t falter or hesitate. “Not with this man, honey,
but yes, I talk about you and the rest of the family. You’d rather I didn’t?”
Only then did he turn and smile at her.
V stood in the doorway. The door mustn’t have closed
properly. “I’d definitely rather you didn’t.” She entered the room gracefully,
crossing to place her instrument carefully on its stand. “I prefer to make my
own decisions.” She glanced at the door, returned and closed it, leaning
against it. “I’m staying in Chicago. I’ll take session work, but I’m not going
on the tour.”
Matt cursed the way she’d closed the door on discussion. Or
so she thought. “The session work won’t pay like the band work.” Not that she’d
care about that, but he’d use his strongest arguments when they were alone.
“Honey,” her father said, “you always wanted this. To work
with a band. A year might be all you need to get it out of your system.”
For a moment an expression of sheer tragedy crossed her
features, but she controlled it quickly and efficiently and she was back to
being don’t-care V again.
He knew what she was afraid of. He was afraid too, but he
wouldn’t let that stop him trying.
“I’m about done. I’m not scared anymore.” She gave a short
laugh. “Well, I am, but I’m not phobic anymore.” Finally she’d used the word.
Pride surged through him on her behalf. He knew she’d been avoiding it and he’d
taken his lead from her in this instance, deciding to let her use it first.
Another hurdle jumped. She smiled, a genuine smile of absolute pleasure. “I
broke that one. I could get it again, but if I carry on playing at the club and
do the session work, I’ll be fine. I don’t have to prove anything to myself
anymore.”
Matt cleared his throat. “It’s her decision.” He knew
something they might not realize. “Phobias don’t go away that easy. You’ll have
to repeat the experience a few times before it goes. I know that too. I lost
mine somewhere along the way.”
V shot him a sharp glance. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve done it
now, proved to myself that I can.”
That appeased her father. He visibly relaxed. “That’s good
to know. And you have the café. Something to fall back on.”
“Sure it is,” Matt agreed. “If she wants to carry on with
her music, she can employ help.”
Hamid turned a piercing gaze on his daughter. “Did Jack tell
you his plans?”
She shrugged. “Yes. I have to tell him my decision when I
get home.”
“Which is?”
She glanced at Matt, who had no clue what she was talking
about, then back to her father. Why was he getting a feeling like fingers
creeping up his spine, and definitely not in a good way? “I think expanding the
coffee shops is a great idea, but I don’t want to do it. The coffee business
isn’t something that excites me.”
“It excites him.” Hamid cleared his throat. “It interests
me.”
“It does?”
“If you don’t want to go in with him, I’ll back him.”
She blinked. “He came to you already?”
“I have an interest in the business, or have you forgotten?”
Matt felt like an intruder here. “This is family. I’d better
leave.”
“No you don’t, son.” That “son” gave him a strange feeling,
one he found it hard to define. Warmth,
belonging
. Strange feeling,
that, at one stray word. But it was more than that. Claud had put his hand over
Matt’s and he stared down at the wizened brown hand almost covering his. Claud
had seen so much, and Matt knew he had a lot to learn from the old man. He
wanted to learn, wanted to be there and hear it.
He swallowed. “Thanks.”
“We’re used to collecting strays, Matt, they often turn out
better than the blue bloods. You’re just another one. You don’t have to be poor
to be lost.”
“That’s true.” He’d said it before he realized he was
admitting to it. But yes, he was a stray. He’d always had enough money, but not
enough love. Not that he’d let that hold him back, or embitter him, or so he
thought. How could he find somewhere he belonged at this stage in his life?
Deep in his heart he knew. He’d found his home, but he might have to let it go.
Sometimes a home could be a person.
“Violet brought you home, and we welcomed you. You don’t
have to be with her and you don’t have to stand on ceremony. I’ll get you a key
cut.”
Matt didn’t have to be told that was the clue, the permanent
invitation to the Hamid family. He’d never met anyone like them, never. He
doubted there could be too many.
“Thanks. I’d like that.” It didn’t sound like enough, but
damned if he could be too effusive. He’d never had the practice.
His attention went to V, and despite all that still lay
between them, they exchanged a sweet smile. He owed her. That made it even more
important to do the right thing here. But not in this room.
“You’re tired.” He got to his feet and went to her, uncaring
of their interested audience. He took her hand, but didn’t pull her close,
aware she wouldn’t want that in front of her father. “Come on, let’s get back
to the hotel where there’s a hot shower and decent food.”
Claud stood with a scrape of his chair against the hard
floor. “He’s right. We should all get some rest. But I want to see the rest of
this place first, and I found a man to show me.” He glanced at his brother.
“Coming?”
Hamid gave a rueful grin. “Sure thing. Saw Sonny Liston here
years ago. Then came back to see the man who beat him. Damnedest fighter I ever
saw. Never anybody to touch him.”
They all left the room and V locked it behind them. The only
other person with a key was the doorman, and his key was locked away. Her sax
and the rest of her things would be fine until they returned tonight.
Back at the hotel, Matt wouldn’t let her say anything
significant until they’d ordered from room service and eaten. “Musicians need
their food, especially on tour.”
“Plenty play hungry,” she said, waving her fork at him. She
speared another piece of pasta.
“None of them lasted long hungry,” he answered.
She didn’t argue, probably because the food was so good. She
finished her plateful, then leaned back with a happy sigh just as he finished
with his own plate.
When he met her eyes, her expression darkened, and he knew
the time had come.
Silently he held out his hand to her. She took it and let
him pull her to her feet and away from the table. Their room had a small,
comfortable sofa, upholstered in soft green wool. It matched her darker green
top beautifully and pleased his aesthetic senses. He could carry this vision in
his heart, so it was with him always. Whatever happened next, he’d have this.
“I’m coming home after the concerts, Matt.”
“I know you are, but the world tour starts in a month.”
She shook her head. “I can’t do it.”
“Why not?” He reached out, grabbed her hand, stilled her
protests. “V, that old saying about not having your cake and eating it? It’s
not true. You can have it all, darling. No, listen to me.” She closed her
mouth, but a determined look remained in her eyes. He had some persuading to
do. “You can go on the tour. I can come to you in between assignments, you can
come to me when you’re close. Listen, V, you can do it.”
Fear shadowed her eyes. He hated that, wanted to dissipate
it any way he could. If he took her to bed now, she’d end up purring like a
cat, but that wouldn’t solve their problems, only postpone them. He had to
persuade her now. “I saw your triumph. I saw how happy playing with the band
made you. I want that for you, V. Just think about it. Forget me, forget the
café, everything except what your heart is telling you to do. If you don’t, if
you give up for any other reason but that you’re tired of it, then you’re doing
yourself a disservice. And me.”
She pressed his hand, but not to request that he drop it.
Just an automatic reaction. He’d hit the truth for her. He carried on, putting
everything he could into the argument. “If you do it for my sake, or your
father’s sake, or Claud’s sake, then you’ll come to resent us for holding you
back. You will, I swear. I had to give up the drugs for me, not for anybody
else. If I’d given up for my parents, or for the band, or for any other reason,
it wouldn’t have stuck. It wouldn’t have worked. I tried before, but it was
only when I got to the state when I realized it was the drugs or me that I
could move on. Just this once, don’t think about anybody else. Do it for you.”
Her expression wavered and she took her lower lip between
her teeth, worrying it in a way that made him want to soothe it, preferably
with his tongue.
He pressed his advantage. “What do you want, V?”
She swallowed. “I want it. I do. It feels like nothing else
on that stage. Like I’m part of something else, something bigger, and without
me it wouldn’t be the same. It’s strange.”
It was strange. He’d never felt like that and he said so. “I
enjoyed the feeling coming from the audience. I liked that I was making so many
people happy but I never felt the way you do.”
“A musical orgasm?” They exchanged a smile, so sweet. “But I
can’t have it and have you, and I want you more.”
Unable to resist any longer, he tugged her hand and urged
her close. He pulled her into the shelter of his body and kissed her, long and
sweet.
He saw the warmth in her eyes, knew he was reflecting that
in his own. “Yes, you can. We can do it, V. I’m used to traveling. I can come
to you between gigs. I won’t be stuck in the studio all year, and think of
this.” He took her lips again, unable to resist their cherry sweetness. “It
could do me some good. Since I was seen with the band on that press conference
I’ve had a dozen phone calls. Making queries, asking me if I have any studio
time. I won’t take them all personally. AZ is better at some types of music,
anyway. He does urban much better than I do. It’s the studio I’m building up.
It’s not an ego project.”
She sighed into his mouth when he took another kiss. “I love
you.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.” Every time he said it, it got
deeper, stronger. That was why he knew they could do this. “We have video,
laptops, phones. It’s not like we only have landline phones and snail mail. We
can perfect phone sex.”
“It’s not like the real thing.” But her voice was dreamy
now, as if she was drifting.
“No it’s not.”
“And after this tour, there’ll be another.”
“Not until you’ve had some studio time. Besides, the band
might not want to do another world tour for a while. If you get to be a full
member, you get an equal vote, don’t forget.”
“Hmm.” She kissed him this time, reaching up to press her
lips against his.
He’d had some ideas of his own about the band. “I want to
talk to Jace and the others. See how they feel about another live album and DVD
with the new lineup. Murder City Ravens is an incredible live band now. About
time someone made a record of that.”
Her eyes widened a fraction but the sultry expression
remained. “You’d do the recording?”