Fool's Gold (Contemporary Romance), page 2
Maybe Granderson would let her sing in the dark.
***
Mr. Grey Eyes was sitting in the middle chair of the half-dozen or so arranged before the little stage where the band was supposed to be. His jacket was open, and he had an arm slung over the back of the chair beside him. He looked like he owned the place. Victoria nodded to him as she adjusted her microphone. She tried to look calm and composed, but the sight of him sent her heart racing. Usually the audience wasn’t so damn handsome.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Victoria Strauss.” She slid one leg forward, exposing a little skin. A black cocktail dress wasn’t the most original outfit in the world, but it fit her perfectly and gave her the confidence she needed to stand on the stage alone. “I hope you like jazz.”
Diana Krall was a familiar starting point for most folks, and the patrons at Mario’s weren’t the most discerning. Sucking them in with something familiar helped to butter them up before she branched into things that were more interesting.
“Popsicle Toes” led into “East of the Sun (West of the Moon).” The music slid through the air, languorous and easy.
After “East of the Sun,” Victoria paused for a sip of water. Mr. Grey Eyes clapped politely, along with a few other patrons scattered around the restaurant. Most of the building kept eating or talking or playing footsie under the table.
She tried to start “I Don’t Stand a Ghost of Chance with You,” but no sound came from the speaker, and her voice fell dully amid the clink of silverware in the dining room. She tapped the mic, but nothing echoed from the speaker.
Granderson wandered over to see what why she’d stopped.
Victoria gestured at the speaker. “It just stopped working.”
Granderson frowned. He didn’t know anything about electronics, but he crouched in front of the speaker and fiddled the knobs, anyway. “Huh, I guess it’s on the fritz. Just sing without it.”
“Without it?”
“The restaurant isn’t that big. You’ll be fine.” He wandered off toward a table before Victoria could respond.
“I guess we’re doing this a cappella tonight, folks.” Victoria flashed a smile at the restaurant. Other than Grey Eyes, only a handful of other people seemed to be paying attention.
“You’ll do fine,” Grey Eyes said. “You have a lovely voice.”
The butterflies in Victoria’s stomach took a detour through her heart. She didn’t dare respond, for fear her voice would shake. Instead, she launched back into “I Don’t Stand a Ghost of Chance with You.” Just as she swung into the last stanza, a familiar face appeared by Charlotte at the hostess stand.
Beta.
Victoria finished the song without any overt hesitations, but her heart sank as Beta sat two chairs over from Grey Eyes. She hadn’t wanted to lead him on, so she’d “forgotten” to let him know when she was performing.
“I Get Along Without You Very Well” may have been a little too on-the-nose for Beta, but then he didn’t seem to realize she was directing it him. When she finished and reached for her water, he clapped a little too loudly and too enthusiastically. Grey Eyes gave him a quirked eyebrow that said worlds about what he thought.
She was contemplating some Keiko Matsui when a middle-aged guy in a cowboy hat waved to her. His gut was big enough that it needed its own cowboy hat. “Hey honey, if you’re going to sing for us, how about you sing us some real music. Like country.”
She wanted to snap back that he wouldn’t know real music if punched him in his fat gut, but Granderson caught her eye from two tables down. Do it, he mouthed.
Victoria’s eyes narrowed. “Alright, sir. This one’s for you.”
“Before He Cheats” wasn’t even a song she liked, but it had the right vibe. At the one minute mark he realized what she was singing and his face started to go red. At the two minute mark he was actually spluttering. By three minutes Granderson was stalking toward her and Beta and Grey Eyes were both laughing. Victoria finished off the last verse and turned to Granderson.
Around her, tables that hadn’t even been paying attention began to applaud. Granderson’s face was just as red as the fat cowboy’s, but the applause set him back.
“We’re going to talk about this later,” Granderson hissed.
“I’m sure we will.” Victoria turned her back on him. “Anyone else have any requests?”
***
It was still an hour before Victoria normally stopped, but her throat was starting to ache. “Alright folks, you’ve been great.” She bowed to each side of the stage, and then once directly to Mr. Grey Eyes.
Beta, of course, thought it was for him. He was out of his seat before she could wait for the usual entreaty for an encore. “Hey, you were great.”
“Thanks, Beta.” Her eyes wandered past Beta and his Star Trek t-shirt to where Grey Eyes still sat, one leg crossed over the other.
“Uh, are you doing anything after you get off tonight?”
“I don’t know, Beta, I’m pretty tired.”
“We could just get a drink or something.”
Victoria met his eyes. “Not tonight.”
“Oh.” His face fell. “I’ll call you, okay?”
He had the saddest puppy-dog eyes. Big and brown and devoid of any common sense. “Thanks, Beta. I need to go talk to some folks. It’s part of the gig.”
At least he didn’t follow her to the other tables. She kibbutzed for a few minutes, taking compliments (and a few extra tips), then started for the stage.
Grey Eyes was gone. Beta had cost her a chance to finally meet this guy, whoever he was. Victoria sighed.
“You did a fine show.” It was a man’s voice and it was just behind her.
Victoria jerked away, surprised at the sound. She processed it a moment, then turned slowly, not daring to hope. That Cheshire cat grin flashed across his face. He stuck out a hand. “I’m Trent.”
“I’m Victoria. You aren’t from around here, are you?” It wasn’t much of a conversational gambit, but it was all that sprang to mind.
Trent laughed. “No. The Yankee accent give me away?”
Victoria realized she still had his hand. “Yeah, something like that. Are you from New York?”
His eyes sparkled. “I am. Can I buy you drink?”
“Absolutely.” Victoria pulled him toward the bar at the back of the restaurant. It was empty, and Rachel, the weekend bartender, was polishing glasses. She quickly delivered a pair of gin and tonics.
“So what brings you to Omaha, Trent?” Victoria took a sip of her drink.
“Business. I work for an investment company and we’re talking to some folks out here.”
“Berkshire Hathaway or...”
He laughed. “No, unfortunately I don’t have a direct line to Warren Buffet. It’s actually a company doing some work with green energy. Wind turbines.”
“You come here much?”
“It’s the first time. I’ve flown over a few times, though. I think.” He laughed again. “Kansas, Nebraska, it’s all the same from forty-thousand feet.”
“It’s all the same from the ground, too,” Victoria said. “So are you going to be here long or are you heading back to the real world soon?”
“Another week here, then back to Manhattan. Probably be back for a few days at the end of the month.”
“Ah.” Whatever hope she had of seeing him again was drying up as fast her drink.
“Are you singing again anytime soon? Or do all the waitresses get a turn at the mic?”
Victoria shook her head. “I usually sing for the last two hours on Saturdays, but we had an emergency.”
“Well, if you do, maybe--“
“Maybe I could give you a call?” She felt foolish for being so forward, but what was the harm? He was from New York. Not like she had anything to lose.
“Yeah. I’d like that.” He took a business card and a pen from the inside pocket of his suit. “The numbers on the front are my office, but...” he scrawled a number on the back. “That’s my cell.”
He slid the card toward her, then brushed her hand as she claimed it. “Have a good night, Victoria. It was a pleasure to hear you.”
A shiver went through her. “The pleasure was all mine.”
Trent rose and slipped away, striding toward the front of the restaurant. He moved confidence and grace, and she couldn’t take her eyes away until he was out of sight.
Chapter 3
Parents
BEING in his parents’ house always put Beta’s nerves on edge. It wasn’t the framed picture of Jesus that watched over the dining room or the refrigerator covered in Bible quote magnets. It was the way his mother always looked at him like he was one revival from heaven.
“Benjamin, I talked to Sister Spooner this morning after services and she said she saw you at Appleburys last week.” Beta’s mom perched on the edge of her chair, a bone white cup of coffee steaming between her equally pale hands.
“I have to eat somewhere.” Beta speared a piece of asparagus with his fork.
“Well, Sister Spooner said you were with a girl, and the way she described her, it made me think you were seeing that Strauss girl again.”
Beta took a deep breath and held it, forcing himself not to smart off to his mother. “I had a very lovely evening with Victoria, yes. Did your nosy friend follow us to get ice cream afterward, too?”
“Benjamin, don’t speak to your mother like that.” Beta’s dad was gruff, paternal and had a voice unspoiled by the taint of nicotine or alcohol.
“Like what? It’s not like I’m in high school. I don’t even live here anymore. If I want to have dinner with someone, why should your church judge me? Why should you judge me?”
“We’re not judging you, dear.” His mother put her mug on the table and stared at him intently. “Only the Good Lord judges. We’re just concerned about you. Why, I was talking to Sister Francis and she was telling me about her daughter, Jenny. Do you remember Jenny Francis?”
Beta shook his head. Not only did he not remember, he didn’t really want to hear about this girl, either. They were all the same. Every six months his mom found him a girl that would be “just perfect” and she tried to set him up with a date. Every one of them had a stick up their butts and wouldn’t know a good time if it came with a burning bush and a billboard.
“Well, Jenny is in school down at Southwest Baptist and she’s getting her teaching degree. Sister Francis says--“
“That’s great, mom. I’m not looking for a girlfriend right now.”
“But you were just out with that horrible Victoria Strauss and I thought--“
“She’s not horrible, and--“
“Well, be that as it may, Jenny is going to be here this Saturday.” His mother smiled triumphantly. “You should just pop in. You could talk to her over a scone, see if you have anything in common.”
Beta snorted. How would Jenny feel about using super-capitals as bait? Or php vs python for back-end development? He had a feeling she wasn’t going to make a case for java web services.
“I think, I’ll pass, but thanks for the offer.” Beta set his fork across his plate and pushed the plate back a few inches. “Mom, Dad, lunch was great, but I have some stuff to do this evening. I really need to run.”
His dad sat up straighter. “Nonsense. Your mother hasn’t even served dessert yet.”
“It’s bread pudding, Benjamin. Your favorite.”
It wasn’t his favorite. It hadn’t ever been his favorite. “Uh...”
“Please, Ben. Stay a few more minutes. We won’t talk about girls, I promise.” His mother hustled to the kitchen without waiting for a response.
Beta slumped into his chair. “Why doesn’t she spend more of her time trying to find a husband for Christine?”
His dad picked at his food, but didn’t respond.
Beta’s mother came back from the kitchen with dessert plates. “Your sister doesn’t need any help finding men.”
“She finds them just fine on her own. I know. So why do you insist on trying to set me up with girls from church? I’m. Not. Interested.”
“Your sister is older and wiser than you are, Ben. She and I have discussed her marital status. You, on the other hand, don’t even know what you want. So forgive me if I try to help you.”
The bread pudding was mushy and too-sugary. Beta took two bites, then gave up. “Thanks for lunch, Mom.” He pushed himself back from the table. “You all have a good week.”
“Ben...” The whine in his mother’s voice made the hairs on his arms stand up.
Beta was reaching for the front doorknob when the door opened on its own. Christine stood on the other side. She grinned when she saw Beta.
“Little brother, how’s it hanging?”
Beta took a step back. Christine had the same nose stud and the same bags under her eyes, but her hair was bright pink and her lips were covered in purple lipstick.
“Holy shit, Christine, you look different.”
“I cut my hair.” She flipped her hair, though the spikes hardly moved. “Thanks for noticing.”
“So what are you doing here? Mom didn’t mention you were coming.”
“Oh, I’m not coming ‘til later.” The grin deepened into something wicked. “We played in Kansas City last night and we’re in Denver the day after tomorrow, so I thought I’d swing through Omaha. You running off?”
“I just had lunch with Mom and Dad. Mom’s trying to set me up with another girl from her church and--“
“Again?”
Beta nodded.
“I’ll talk to her about it.” She punched him on the arm. “You got an hour or two to spare tonight or tomorrow?”
“I have to work tomorrow, but I could catch up with you over dinner.”
“Alright. My laptop is having some trouble. Think you could look at it?”
Beta didn’t let himself sigh. It never failed. Everyone in his family wanted him to do something. But if he could get it worked out before the Monday night gate camp started at 8:00, what was the difference. “Yeah, sure.”
“Thanks, B, you’re the best.” She slid around him. Two steps down the hall she paused. “Oh, B, we’re playing tomorrow night. Hancock’s at 10.”
Ten. Two hours after the Monday night op was supposed to start. But what was he going to do, tell his sister that he saw maybe twice a year that he couldn’t come to her show? “I’ll be there.”
“Awesome.” Christine flashed him a grin that, just for a moment, made him understand how she’d broken so many hearts.
Beta made his way out to his Civic. How his sister could flit through life never looking forward to more than the next show blew his mind. It wasn’t a mystery how she always seemed to find a sofa--or bed--to crash on, but he was glad he didn’t have to live like that.
Chapter 4
The Show
VICTORIA couldn’t take her eyes off Trent. Even sitting in the cab he looked so poised. His hair was teased rakishly forward, and he wore a smile that looked as comfortable as his expensive suit.
She glanced at her boring mall dress. Even her nicest clothes looked drab next to him. “You sure you want to wear a suit to a nightclub?”
“Why not? I have more.”
The cab stopped outside Hancock’s. A crowd already waited out front. The Flaming Ravens didn’t play in Omaha often, but the locals were always happy to support them when they did. Victoria was excited to have a chance to show Trent something other than a shitty cover band or a baseball stadium.
Victoria pointed to the posters hanging crookedly in the front windows. Christine Tanner screamed silently back at them, her face framed by grunge typography. “This is us.”
Trent followed her through the first set of doors. As soon as they opened, the clamor of the opening act hit them with a reedy snarl of guitars and the guttural howling of someone that had drunk too much cheap beer and smoked too many cigarettes. Before they could get more than a few steps inside, a bouncer cut them off.
“Tickets.” His eyes settled on Victoria and his expression lightened. "Victoria! How are you, babe?”
“Hey Sean, I’m good. Is Bobby here? I don’t have tickets yet.”
Sean eyed Trent, then shrugged. “Bobby’s around somewhere. When you going to sing for us again?”
“When I can. Tell Bobby to book me.”
Sean laughed and beckoned them past. “I just work here, babe. You two enjoy the show. I’ll see you after, okay?”
“You sure? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“Bobby’s probably too tweaked to notice, and if he’s not, who cares?” Sean moved on to the next clump of people.
Sean was a good guy, and Victoria wasn’t going to complain about him just letting them in, but she didn’t have the faintest idea what the plans were after the show.
Trent followed her toward the main room with the stage. “So where do we sit?”
“Sit?” Victoria laughed. “It’s not that kind of show. Come on.”
She waded into the crowd, a little judicious use of her elbows helping to clear a path. Trent got into it, too, leading with a shoulder and sending the drunks scrambling out of their way.
They stopped a dozen feet or so from the stage, where the bodies were too packed to go much farther. Victoria wasn’t displeased to be pressed up so tight against Trent, and when a tatted up dude with a green Mohawk bumped up against her, she wasn’t at all upset when Trent slipped a protective arm around her and gave the Mohawk dude a withering glare.
“When does the main show start?” Trent’s question was barely audible over the thunder of the drums.
“Soonish,” she yelled back.
The opening band left right at 10:00. The frenetic wail of the band was replaced by the dull roar of conversation.
A girl with spiked pink hair and a silver-studded leather jacket marched onto the stage.
Trent yelled in her ear. “That them?”
“Yeah!”
Victoria leaned closer to Trent, and as she did, she saw Beta worming his way through the crowd. She turned away, hoping he wouldn’t see her. Would he even remember Trent from Saturday at Mario’s? She didn’t know and she didn’t terribly want to find out.
***
Mr. Grey Eyes was sitting in the middle chair of the half-dozen or so arranged before the little stage where the band was supposed to be. His jacket was open, and he had an arm slung over the back of the chair beside him. He looked like he owned the place. Victoria nodded to him as she adjusted her microphone. She tried to look calm and composed, but the sight of him sent her heart racing. Usually the audience wasn’t so damn handsome.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Victoria Strauss.” She slid one leg forward, exposing a little skin. A black cocktail dress wasn’t the most original outfit in the world, but it fit her perfectly and gave her the confidence she needed to stand on the stage alone. “I hope you like jazz.”
Diana Krall was a familiar starting point for most folks, and the patrons at Mario’s weren’t the most discerning. Sucking them in with something familiar helped to butter them up before she branched into things that were more interesting.
“Popsicle Toes” led into “East of the Sun (West of the Moon).” The music slid through the air, languorous and easy.
After “East of the Sun,” Victoria paused for a sip of water. Mr. Grey Eyes clapped politely, along with a few other patrons scattered around the restaurant. Most of the building kept eating or talking or playing footsie under the table.
She tried to start “I Don’t Stand a Ghost of Chance with You,” but no sound came from the speaker, and her voice fell dully amid the clink of silverware in the dining room. She tapped the mic, but nothing echoed from the speaker.
Granderson wandered over to see what why she’d stopped.
Victoria gestured at the speaker. “It just stopped working.”
Granderson frowned. He didn’t know anything about electronics, but he crouched in front of the speaker and fiddled the knobs, anyway. “Huh, I guess it’s on the fritz. Just sing without it.”
“Without it?”
“The restaurant isn’t that big. You’ll be fine.” He wandered off toward a table before Victoria could respond.
“I guess we’re doing this a cappella tonight, folks.” Victoria flashed a smile at the restaurant. Other than Grey Eyes, only a handful of other people seemed to be paying attention.
“You’ll do fine,” Grey Eyes said. “You have a lovely voice.”
The butterflies in Victoria’s stomach took a detour through her heart. She didn’t dare respond, for fear her voice would shake. Instead, she launched back into “I Don’t Stand a Ghost of Chance with You.” Just as she swung into the last stanza, a familiar face appeared by Charlotte at the hostess stand.
Beta.
Victoria finished the song without any overt hesitations, but her heart sank as Beta sat two chairs over from Grey Eyes. She hadn’t wanted to lead him on, so she’d “forgotten” to let him know when she was performing.
“I Get Along Without You Very Well” may have been a little too on-the-nose for Beta, but then he didn’t seem to realize she was directing it him. When she finished and reached for her water, he clapped a little too loudly and too enthusiastically. Grey Eyes gave him a quirked eyebrow that said worlds about what he thought.
She was contemplating some Keiko Matsui when a middle-aged guy in a cowboy hat waved to her. His gut was big enough that it needed its own cowboy hat. “Hey honey, if you’re going to sing for us, how about you sing us some real music. Like country.”
She wanted to snap back that he wouldn’t know real music if punched him in his fat gut, but Granderson caught her eye from two tables down. Do it, he mouthed.
Victoria’s eyes narrowed. “Alright, sir. This one’s for you.”
“Before He Cheats” wasn’t even a song she liked, but it had the right vibe. At the one minute mark he realized what she was singing and his face started to go red. At the two minute mark he was actually spluttering. By three minutes Granderson was stalking toward her and Beta and Grey Eyes were both laughing. Victoria finished off the last verse and turned to Granderson.
Around her, tables that hadn’t even been paying attention began to applaud. Granderson’s face was just as red as the fat cowboy’s, but the applause set him back.
“We’re going to talk about this later,” Granderson hissed.
“I’m sure we will.” Victoria turned her back on him. “Anyone else have any requests?”
***
It was still an hour before Victoria normally stopped, but her throat was starting to ache. “Alright folks, you’ve been great.” She bowed to each side of the stage, and then once directly to Mr. Grey Eyes.
Beta, of course, thought it was for him. He was out of his seat before she could wait for the usual entreaty for an encore. “Hey, you were great.”
“Thanks, Beta.” Her eyes wandered past Beta and his Star Trek t-shirt to where Grey Eyes still sat, one leg crossed over the other.
“Uh, are you doing anything after you get off tonight?”
“I don’t know, Beta, I’m pretty tired.”
“We could just get a drink or something.”
Victoria met his eyes. “Not tonight.”
“Oh.” His face fell. “I’ll call you, okay?”
He had the saddest puppy-dog eyes. Big and brown and devoid of any common sense. “Thanks, Beta. I need to go talk to some folks. It’s part of the gig.”
At least he didn’t follow her to the other tables. She kibbutzed for a few minutes, taking compliments (and a few extra tips), then started for the stage.
Grey Eyes was gone. Beta had cost her a chance to finally meet this guy, whoever he was. Victoria sighed.
“You did a fine show.” It was a man’s voice and it was just behind her.
Victoria jerked away, surprised at the sound. She processed it a moment, then turned slowly, not daring to hope. That Cheshire cat grin flashed across his face. He stuck out a hand. “I’m Trent.”
“I’m Victoria. You aren’t from around here, are you?” It wasn’t much of a conversational gambit, but it was all that sprang to mind.
Trent laughed. “No. The Yankee accent give me away?”
Victoria realized she still had his hand. “Yeah, something like that. Are you from New York?”
His eyes sparkled. “I am. Can I buy you drink?”
“Absolutely.” Victoria pulled him toward the bar at the back of the restaurant. It was empty, and Rachel, the weekend bartender, was polishing glasses. She quickly delivered a pair of gin and tonics.
“So what brings you to Omaha, Trent?” Victoria took a sip of her drink.
“Business. I work for an investment company and we’re talking to some folks out here.”
“Berkshire Hathaway or...”
He laughed. “No, unfortunately I don’t have a direct line to Warren Buffet. It’s actually a company doing some work with green energy. Wind turbines.”
“You come here much?”
“It’s the first time. I’ve flown over a few times, though. I think.” He laughed again. “Kansas, Nebraska, it’s all the same from forty-thousand feet.”
“It’s all the same from the ground, too,” Victoria said. “So are you going to be here long or are you heading back to the real world soon?”
“Another week here, then back to Manhattan. Probably be back for a few days at the end of the month.”
“Ah.” Whatever hope she had of seeing him again was drying up as fast her drink.
“Are you singing again anytime soon? Or do all the waitresses get a turn at the mic?”
Victoria shook her head. “I usually sing for the last two hours on Saturdays, but we had an emergency.”
“Well, if you do, maybe--“
“Maybe I could give you a call?” She felt foolish for being so forward, but what was the harm? He was from New York. Not like she had anything to lose.
“Yeah. I’d like that.” He took a business card and a pen from the inside pocket of his suit. “The numbers on the front are my office, but...” he scrawled a number on the back. “That’s my cell.”
He slid the card toward her, then brushed her hand as she claimed it. “Have a good night, Victoria. It was a pleasure to hear you.”
A shiver went through her. “The pleasure was all mine.”
Trent rose and slipped away, striding toward the front of the restaurant. He moved confidence and grace, and she couldn’t take her eyes away until he was out of sight.
Chapter 3
Parents
BEING in his parents’ house always put Beta’s nerves on edge. It wasn’t the framed picture of Jesus that watched over the dining room or the refrigerator covered in Bible quote magnets. It was the way his mother always looked at him like he was one revival from heaven.
“Benjamin, I talked to Sister Spooner this morning after services and she said she saw you at Appleburys last week.” Beta’s mom perched on the edge of her chair, a bone white cup of coffee steaming between her equally pale hands.
“I have to eat somewhere.” Beta speared a piece of asparagus with his fork.
“Well, Sister Spooner said you were with a girl, and the way she described her, it made me think you were seeing that Strauss girl again.”
Beta took a deep breath and held it, forcing himself not to smart off to his mother. “I had a very lovely evening with Victoria, yes. Did your nosy friend follow us to get ice cream afterward, too?”
“Benjamin, don’t speak to your mother like that.” Beta’s dad was gruff, paternal and had a voice unspoiled by the taint of nicotine or alcohol.
“Like what? It’s not like I’m in high school. I don’t even live here anymore. If I want to have dinner with someone, why should your church judge me? Why should you judge me?”
“We’re not judging you, dear.” His mother put her mug on the table and stared at him intently. “Only the Good Lord judges. We’re just concerned about you. Why, I was talking to Sister Francis and she was telling me about her daughter, Jenny. Do you remember Jenny Francis?”
Beta shook his head. Not only did he not remember, he didn’t really want to hear about this girl, either. They were all the same. Every six months his mom found him a girl that would be “just perfect” and she tried to set him up with a date. Every one of them had a stick up their butts and wouldn’t know a good time if it came with a burning bush and a billboard.
“Well, Jenny is in school down at Southwest Baptist and she’s getting her teaching degree. Sister Francis says--“
“That’s great, mom. I’m not looking for a girlfriend right now.”
“But you were just out with that horrible Victoria Strauss and I thought--“
“She’s not horrible, and--“
“Well, be that as it may, Jenny is going to be here this Saturday.” His mother smiled triumphantly. “You should just pop in. You could talk to her over a scone, see if you have anything in common.”
Beta snorted. How would Jenny feel about using super-capitals as bait? Or php vs python for back-end development? He had a feeling she wasn’t going to make a case for java web services.
“I think, I’ll pass, but thanks for the offer.” Beta set his fork across his plate and pushed the plate back a few inches. “Mom, Dad, lunch was great, but I have some stuff to do this evening. I really need to run.”
His dad sat up straighter. “Nonsense. Your mother hasn’t even served dessert yet.”
“It’s bread pudding, Benjamin. Your favorite.”
It wasn’t his favorite. It hadn’t ever been his favorite. “Uh...”
“Please, Ben. Stay a few more minutes. We won’t talk about girls, I promise.” His mother hustled to the kitchen without waiting for a response.
Beta slumped into his chair. “Why doesn’t she spend more of her time trying to find a husband for Christine?”
His dad picked at his food, but didn’t respond.
Beta’s mother came back from the kitchen with dessert plates. “Your sister doesn’t need any help finding men.”
“She finds them just fine on her own. I know. So why do you insist on trying to set me up with girls from church? I’m. Not. Interested.”
“Your sister is older and wiser than you are, Ben. She and I have discussed her marital status. You, on the other hand, don’t even know what you want. So forgive me if I try to help you.”
The bread pudding was mushy and too-sugary. Beta took two bites, then gave up. “Thanks for lunch, Mom.” He pushed himself back from the table. “You all have a good week.”
“Ben...” The whine in his mother’s voice made the hairs on his arms stand up.
Beta was reaching for the front doorknob when the door opened on its own. Christine stood on the other side. She grinned when she saw Beta.
“Little brother, how’s it hanging?”
Beta took a step back. Christine had the same nose stud and the same bags under her eyes, but her hair was bright pink and her lips were covered in purple lipstick.
“Holy shit, Christine, you look different.”
“I cut my hair.” She flipped her hair, though the spikes hardly moved. “Thanks for noticing.”
“So what are you doing here? Mom didn’t mention you were coming.”
“Oh, I’m not coming ‘til later.” The grin deepened into something wicked. “We played in Kansas City last night and we’re in Denver the day after tomorrow, so I thought I’d swing through Omaha. You running off?”
“I just had lunch with Mom and Dad. Mom’s trying to set me up with another girl from her church and--“
“Again?”
Beta nodded.
“I’ll talk to her about it.” She punched him on the arm. “You got an hour or two to spare tonight or tomorrow?”
“I have to work tomorrow, but I could catch up with you over dinner.”
“Alright. My laptop is having some trouble. Think you could look at it?”
Beta didn’t let himself sigh. It never failed. Everyone in his family wanted him to do something. But if he could get it worked out before the Monday night gate camp started at 8:00, what was the difference. “Yeah, sure.”
“Thanks, B, you’re the best.” She slid around him. Two steps down the hall she paused. “Oh, B, we’re playing tomorrow night. Hancock’s at 10.”
Ten. Two hours after the Monday night op was supposed to start. But what was he going to do, tell his sister that he saw maybe twice a year that he couldn’t come to her show? “I’ll be there.”
“Awesome.” Christine flashed him a grin that, just for a moment, made him understand how she’d broken so many hearts.
Beta made his way out to his Civic. How his sister could flit through life never looking forward to more than the next show blew his mind. It wasn’t a mystery how she always seemed to find a sofa--or bed--to crash on, but he was glad he didn’t have to live like that.
Chapter 4
The Show
VICTORIA couldn’t take her eyes off Trent. Even sitting in the cab he looked so poised. His hair was teased rakishly forward, and he wore a smile that looked as comfortable as his expensive suit.
She glanced at her boring mall dress. Even her nicest clothes looked drab next to him. “You sure you want to wear a suit to a nightclub?”
“Why not? I have more.”
The cab stopped outside Hancock’s. A crowd already waited out front. The Flaming Ravens didn’t play in Omaha often, but the locals were always happy to support them when they did. Victoria was excited to have a chance to show Trent something other than a shitty cover band or a baseball stadium.
Victoria pointed to the posters hanging crookedly in the front windows. Christine Tanner screamed silently back at them, her face framed by grunge typography. “This is us.”
Trent followed her through the first set of doors. As soon as they opened, the clamor of the opening act hit them with a reedy snarl of guitars and the guttural howling of someone that had drunk too much cheap beer and smoked too many cigarettes. Before they could get more than a few steps inside, a bouncer cut them off.
“Tickets.” His eyes settled on Victoria and his expression lightened. "Victoria! How are you, babe?”
“Hey Sean, I’m good. Is Bobby here? I don’t have tickets yet.”
Sean eyed Trent, then shrugged. “Bobby’s around somewhere. When you going to sing for us again?”
“When I can. Tell Bobby to book me.”
Sean laughed and beckoned them past. “I just work here, babe. You two enjoy the show. I’ll see you after, okay?”
“You sure? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“Bobby’s probably too tweaked to notice, and if he’s not, who cares?” Sean moved on to the next clump of people.
Sean was a good guy, and Victoria wasn’t going to complain about him just letting them in, but she didn’t have the faintest idea what the plans were after the show.
Trent followed her toward the main room with the stage. “So where do we sit?”
“Sit?” Victoria laughed. “It’s not that kind of show. Come on.”
She waded into the crowd, a little judicious use of her elbows helping to clear a path. Trent got into it, too, leading with a shoulder and sending the drunks scrambling out of their way.
They stopped a dozen feet or so from the stage, where the bodies were too packed to go much farther. Victoria wasn’t displeased to be pressed up so tight against Trent, and when a tatted up dude with a green Mohawk bumped up against her, she wasn’t at all upset when Trent slipped a protective arm around her and gave the Mohawk dude a withering glare.
“When does the main show start?” Trent’s question was barely audible over the thunder of the drums.
“Soonish,” she yelled back.
The opening band left right at 10:00. The frenetic wail of the band was replaced by the dull roar of conversation.
A girl with spiked pink hair and a silver-studded leather jacket marched onto the stage.
Trent yelled in her ear. “That them?”
“Yeah!”
Victoria leaned closer to Trent, and as she did, she saw Beta worming his way through the crowd. She turned away, hoping he wouldn’t see her. Would he even remember Trent from Saturday at Mario’s? She didn’t know and she didn’t terribly want to find out.
