Beyond the Footlights, page 16
“I really appreciate—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tanner thumped him on the arm. “Get set up. I’ll distract ’em.” He grinned and snatched up his acoustic. The good ol’ Irish and their drinking songs always got things moving.
“Hey, folks!” He sauntered to the mic and heads swiveled to watch him. A surge of delicious heat sizzled through his veins and his grin turned a little feral. He loved this moment when all eyes turned on him and he could make the room still. It was like a magic power, and it made his blood sing and his heart dance. It tightened his jeans a little too. The sensation wasn’t so different from having a sub kneeling at his feet, looking up at him, waiting for instruction.
Pulling in a deep breath, Tanner gripped the mic and made a flourish. “So. Nice surprise for us tonight.” He rolled a bit to one side and waved his arm expansively at Rocky, who was shifting the drum kit around and setting out his various toys. “Rocky’s back!” He would have called for a big hand for him, but the crowd didn’t need prompting.
If nothing else, Rocky was a good draw. He was clean-cut and handsome, and even if he was out and proud, people loved him just because he always had a smile and buttload of energy for the crowd.
“Heya!” He waved, big and bold, and his grin lit up the stage.
A cheer went up and people called out, voices rising and falling in staccato blips over the general hubbub.
“I see I’m not the only one glad to have our boy back,” Tanner purred, and that got him a warm wave of appreciation. If the crowd wanted to love on Rocky, Tanner was all for using that to lift the mood. “Who’s up for a bit of Irish Rovers sing-along?”
A wild cheer rose amid shouts of “no, nay, never!” and Tanner swung into the first verse with relish. He was only partway through when the front door swung open and there was Kilmer, Vance and Len at his heels. Tanner dug into the third verse as they arranged themselves at the bar.
Rocky had landed in front of his own mic by then, and he tapped Tanner’s arm, indicating he would take the last verse. Tanner nodded and let him have it.
As Kilmer sat, he raised a hand to Rocky, and the relief on Rocky’s face was absolute. The vigor with which he, Tanner, and the rest of the bar finished out the song set the mood for the next forty-five minutes of entertainment. Even Kilmer got into the act and sang along, a wide smile on his face. Lenny was downright hyper, hauling Vance out to dance for a popular line-dancing song, and after that the megastar at least looked less dour, and even cracked a smile now and then. Mostly when he was looking at Lenny when Lenny wasn’t paying him any attention, but still, a smile was something.
It didn’t surprise Tanner in the slightest when Len and Elliot clicked on the dance floor and the twink joined him at the table Kilmer had staked out. It amused Tanner to see the decidedly nervous expression on Kilmer’s face, but when he looked to the stage and Tanner winked, he seemed to relax. Elliot said something into his ear, he looked back to Tanner, and was that alarm in his eyes? Tanner grinned and winked again, and Kilmer’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t look displeased.
Interesting.
So interesting in fact that he flubbed a chord, his thumb pick caught on the loose edge of his strike plate, and snapped. The broken tip flew off across the stage. The mishap somehow took out his E-string, and he felt the snick of it against his cheek when it snapped. Rocky grimaced at him. Damn. He held up the thumb with its broken pick. Rocky nodded, turned back to the music, and got back on track. Tanner eased into the simpler rhythm part until Rocky was settled in the lead, then faded his limping instrument out. Not before he caught a look from Vance that told him the mistake hadn’t gone unnoticed. Perfect. He moved away from the mic, trusting Rocky to pick up the chorus of the old standard they were singing. He wasn’t disappointed. Rocky eased in like they’d planned the switch, and Tanner maneuvered his way upstage to find a new pick and string.
While Tanner sat to fix his guitar, Rocky finished the song and cajoled the crowd into a mellower mood with a ballad he did very well on his own. Sometimes Tanner forgot how easy Rocky was to listen to. He didn’t have the smoothest voice around, but the gruff way he rolled the bottom out of those rounded vowels and grated over the low notes sent shivers up Tanner’s spine every time. He never expected that raw a sound to come out of so young and smooth a face.
Abandoning his acoustic, Tanner picked a light melody out of the sad song on the steel guitar instead, keeping to the background and letting Rocky shine to close out the set. They normally chose something a bit more upbeat to finish with, and Rocky didn’t disappoint, choosing one of Vance’s first hits from years back, one every country fan worth their plaid knew the words to.
Tanner groaned inwardly, but then realized Rocky probably had no idea the man himself was sitting just feet away. He was suddenly glad he had let Rocky take front and center for this one. No way was he willing to invite more invective from the star by butchering one of his own songs. He was just on that kind of a roll today, it seemed. So he remained where he was and nodded to Rocky to keep the lead when he looked back.
Shrugging and grinning happily, Rocky didn’t need a second invitation. He launched into the tune and the crowd took up his energy and sang along. Even Lenny raised his sweet tenor to counter Rocky’s gravelly croon. By the middle of the song, the room had quieted, waves of hush easing out in ripples centered at the table where Lenny sat, until only Rocky, Lenny, and Rocky’s easy strumming were heard in the still room.
Even Tanner ceased playing. The harmony the two men created didn’t need the wail of steel strings to augment it. It was haunting and perfect just the way it was. When the last few strains of the last chorus came, Rocky stilled his guitar strings and let their voices fill the waiting room. Perfection.
From where he stood, Tanner could see that Rocky was practically vibrating with excitement and pure joy, and he wondered if Rocky knew with whom he had just had such a magically impromptu duet.
As the last strains of their voices drifted to silence, there was a beat, then a roar, and the wall of sound that hit the stage was staggering. Rocky grinned like a lunatic, eyes wide and bright, face flushed, body practically shimmering with the glow of that rare success that was stage magic.
Tanner clapped right along with the rest. He knew as well as anyone that even the best of the best were granted only sporadic, fleeting moments as purely perfect as this. The kid deserved every last ounce of the excitement he had generated in the room.
Rocky thanked his fans effusively and buzzed with joy as he promised the crowd he and Tanner would be back in an hour.
“Do you—” He bounced to the back of the stage where Tanner was changing out the broken string. “That was—oh wow.” Rocky plopped onto the monitor next to Tanner. “Man. How perfect was that? I gotta go meet that guy, where did he go?” He craned to see the table over the bodies rapidly filling the dance floor. “You think we could get him up here? I—”
“Rocky!” Kilmer’s voice lifted over the general racket, and Tanner glanced up to see him crossing the stage in long strides. He was fast, excited, and he flung his arms around Rocky’s broad shoulders in a back slap that had to have left a mark. If Rocky noticed, it didn’t show.
“Dude!” Rocky said, glowing even brighter, if that were possible.
“Fucking fantastic!” Kilmer agreed.
“You know whoever that was? He was sitting with you. Are you friends or…?”
Kilmer grinned. “I know him. You want to meet him?”
“Meet him? Dude! I want to fucking get him up here. Maybe he can join—”
“You have no idea who he is.” This revelation obviously tickled Kilmer, because his eyes sparkled and his grin got impish.
Just watching the happiness and excitement sparking between Rocky and Kilmer made Tanner at once jealous and hot. His libido was truly out of control where Kilmer was concerned, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to get it back under wraps.
“Should I?” Rocky asked, his expression turning curious.
“Come on….” Kilmer’s lips continued to move as he led Rocky to the front edge of the stage and off, but his words were lost in the ambient noise of the bar. Tanner smiled, pleased to see Kilmer so relaxed, excited even, and he slipped into the quieter recesses of the bar’s back hallway to tune his guitar.
“Hello? Hey!” A flash of movement off to the side startled him, and he almost dropped the instrument from his leg where he had braced it.
“What?” He definitely did not manage to curb his annoyance at being startled as he turned. The bar staff knew not to sneak up on him like that. He was about to light into the person when he realized it was not a staffer at all. “Vance.”
Fuck. Was he ever going to get it right with this man? Vance’s brow furrowed. “I called from the other end of the hall to ask if it was okay to come back.” He glanced around. His gaze roamed the space, back out toward the faint noise of the main room, and then to Tanner’s guitar, and finally rested, Tanner was sure, on his ear. “How….”
Tanner groaned. Here it came.
“How do you….” He cocked his head. “Hearing aid?”
Tanner gritted his teeth. “No.” He lifted his guitar and set his face close to it to feel the vibrations as he plucked the strings. He knew when it was right. He felt it. In the way his teeth stopped jangling and his skin rippled with the pleasure of perfect for an instant before he laid a hand over the strings and handed Vance the guitar. “I just do.”
He waited while Vance plucked and listened, then nodded, his face perplexed. “That’s sort of incredible. You just… know?”
Tanner took the offered instrument back with a shrug. “I feel it. It’s easier with less other noise, obviously, but I know.”
“So how… you hear?” Half of Vance words got lost when Tanner turned slightly to find a place to set the guitar down.
“Sorry?” His cheeks heated with the vague admission he hadn’t heard the question.
“You have to see my lips?”
Tanner nodded. “It helps.” He pointed to his left ear. “I have 60 percent loss in this ear and 30 in this.” He indicated his right. “So I can hear. It’s just easier if I can also see.”
Vance nodded. “Right. But no one knows?”
“I don’t make a thing of it. It doesn’t slow me down any.”
“It can be dangerous on a construction site.”
“I usually work alone. It isn’t a big deal.”
“So earlier, when Kilmer was talking to you from the other room, you didn’t even know he was talking to you.”
Tanner flushed, ashamed to have to admit that no, he hadn’t realized it until Kilmer had lost his temper and slapped the wall.
“You should tell him.”
“It isn’t—”
“A big deal. I know. Except that Jacko, when he’s feeling like a belligerent ass, has a nasty habit of ignoring a person he doesn’t want to talk to or a question he doesn’t want to answer. Just not acknowledging it at all. Not his best quality, but something Kilmer had to deal with. So it sort of is a thing. If Kil thinks you’re doing that, it could be a deal breaker and it doesn’t have to be.”
Tanner stared at him, processing. Why would Vance suddenly hand him this tidbit like he hadn’t been completely against Tanner having anything to do with Kilmer just a few hours ago? More important, why would Kilmer have put up with that kind of asshattery from his lover? Why had he stayed so damn long?
“Why?” was all he managed to blurt out.
Vance heaved out a breath. He settled onto a pile of milk crates stacked against the wall and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.
“What you did up there? Onstage? Giving that moment to the kid like that? That is damn hard to step back from.”
“He did it all on his own. All I had to do was get the hell out of his way.”
“The hardest thing I have ever found about this gig, being the front man, being the Big Deal, is getting out of the way and letting the other guys, the ones backing me up, have their moments. I lost some really fine musicians who had no use for my ego when I was getting started, hell, even after I was established. Maybe especially then. I let all that sound and light sink through my skin and into my bones and it’s damn addictive. Stepping back and letting everyone sharing the stage with me absorb some of that is damn hard. It’s the difference between a really talented guy other people play for, and the guy everyone wants to watch, play with, work with.” He fixed Tanner with a genuinely approving sort of glare. “I didn’t get where I am on my own, but it took me years and years to get that. I thought tonight was going to be a waste of my time, coming out here to listen to a guy, what? Thirty-five? Thirty-six? Who hadn’t made it yet. I figured—stupidly—that if you hadn’t made it yet, you weren’t good enough.”
“Well, you saw what just happened. The people love the hell out of Rocky. He’s good. Hunky. Sings like the devil you know you don’t dare take home to Mama, and the crowd eats that shit up.”
Vance grinned and nodded. “He’s got some talent. And heart.” He fixed Tanner with a sober look, though. “And one hell of a mentor. I can’t fault your singing or playing and especially I can’t fault your stage presence or commitment. I shouldn’t have let your age be a thing. You clearly have experience I could have used, and maybe I wouldn’t have burned so many bridges getting to this place.”
Tanner nodded, grateful for the words of encouragement. “But?”
Vance held out both hands. “But nothing. I was wrong and too quick to judge. I’m sorry.”
That took some additional processing, but finally Tanner nodded. “Okay. I’m sorry too. We definitely got off to a rough start.”
“It… was a shock. Seeing—”
Tanner snorted. “Yeah. Having it all seen. We don’t need to talk about that anymore.”
They laughed, a bit of the tension easing away, and Tanner met Vance’s eye. “I know you care about him and I haven’t known him long. Everything has to start somewhere, and I get that maybe it was too soon, but then, maybe it wasn’t. If you could have seen the way he lit up. Eventually. He’s got baggage. I get that.” Tanner touched one ear. “Don’t we all. But so what? I think we could be good together if we give it a shot.”
“And if you’re the rebound?”
Tanner winced. “Bounce, bounce,” he muttered. “Then that’s on me to deal with. But it’s my choice and his, and not yours.”
“Fair enough.” Vance straightened. “I have to say, though, because I think I’d regret not, that if you were really interested in this”—he flashed a hand in the direction of the leaning guitar—“I have room on the tour. I can make room.”
“You’re taking Jacko.”
“He and I go back a long way. He was there for me when no one else was. So when all this happened, I had to step up. Whatever else he is, and whatever is going on with him, I’d rather have him with me, help him sort his shit out, than leave and maybe have Kilmer trip over him when he isn’t prepared.”
“You think Kilmer would go back to him?”
Vance shook his head. “I like to think he’s smarter than that, but hell.” His eyes, dark and narrowed, spoke for him that he didn’t trust Kilmer to make a good decision there. “I’ve made my share of romantic mistakes. Who hasn’t? And Kilmer was with him a long time. I think things were bad for a lot longer than either of them let on. Maybe longer than Kilmer even realized. Sometimes you don’t see what’s right in front of your face because you’re too close to it. Or because you don’t want to see. I think that happened to them.”
Tanner could hardly argue with that. He’d made a doozy himself and didn’t like to remember.
“I just want them to have their space from each other. They both need it,” Vance said.
Tanner got that, to a degree. He also understood that Kilmer needed freedom from this man as much as he needed it from his ex. He needed a clean slate, and however much Vance cared for him, whatever their history was, it wasn’t helping Kilmer sort his shit out. How easy would it be for Kilmer to let Vance fix everything for him? The fact that Vance didn’t seem to see that gave Tanner a moment of ulcerating uncertainty.
He was about to mention it when Vance clapped him on the back and said, “Think about it. The gig, I mean. It’s a chance you might not get again.”
It was. Maybe this was a one-time offer. A lure to get him away from Kilmer as well.
“I’m not trying to get you away from Kil.”
Tanner scowled at the ease with which Vance had read him. It must have been all over his face.
“I’m really not. You’re good. You’ve clearly paid your dues, or you wouldn’t have handled what happened back there with such grace. It’s a legitimate offer because I think you would be an asset to the tour. But I understand it isn’t that cut-and-dried for you. So think it over. We still have a few weeks before you have to make the final decision.”
“I’ll think about it.” It was as much as he was willing to promise at the moment. Vance, seeming to sense that, let him get back to his guitar.
19
IT FELT like Kilmer waited hours for the bar’s occupants to drift off after the performance.
To be fair once they’d established that Vance Ashcroft was in the building, there was no escaping the influx of lookie-loos and autograph seekers. Vance had weathered it with grace, as he always did. When he had come out with Len, the fans who stuck by him had done so for a very good reason. He was talented, and despite the mistakes he’d made in the past, he had grown to be a genuinely nice, generous guy. His real fans knew that.
Eventually his friends enticed him onto the stage and Tanner’s one-man show blossomed into a mini Vance-and-Lenny show with Tanner, Rocky, and even Kilmer playing backup. It was fun. Kilmer couldn’t regret getting up onstage. He remembered enough of Vance’s tunes and had recently plucked his way through a couple of Firefly’s ballads, so he had enough music in his head to begin. He was more than a little surprised how quickly it all flowed back into his body and out his fingers as he warmed up.
