Dead Rockstar (The Dead Rockstar Trilogy Book 1)

Chapter 6

I awoke,startled, to a tall, brooding man throwing open my door, his long, disheveled black hair streaming behind him. “He’s outside again,” Phillip seethed as I cracked one eye open, confused. “Do you want me to go deal with him?”

“Huh?” I sat up, trying to get my bearings. I”d been so sure I”d wake up and this would all be a dream. But there was Phillip, standing in my doorway, still in his tight boxer briefs that left little to the imagination, his face full of barely controlled fury. “Who?”

“The guy that was sniffing around here last night, with the phony story about the escaped convict.”

“Oh. Lee.” I rubbed at my eyes and patted my hair self-consciously. I knew I looked like busted ass. “Did he knock on the door? I”ll go get it.”

“No, he didn”t knock,” Phillip replied, coming over and sitting on my bed. I could smell him – smoke and sandalwood. His hair was in a tangle, and I noticed there was a small hole in the sleeve of his t-shirt. He needed to get some new clothes. “He”s out there snooping. In your barn. I saw him creep out of the woods and go in.”

“There”s nothing in there but Tess” old junk. Just a couple of shovels and some cans of paint,” I said, but I was suddenly angry. Who the hell did that guy think he was, snooping on my property? “I”ll call the cops. I don”t think they”ll take kindly to one of their own poking around without a warrant.”

Phillip put a hand on my arm. “No, don”t do that,” he said. “Let me deal with him. I”ll go out there and make sure he never comes around you again.” He paused. “And he”s not a cop. I told you, he”s looking for me.”

“If he”s looking for you, it”s probably best you don”t go,” I argued. “I don”t want you to get hurt. What if he has a gun?”

He looked at me for a few beats, then threw back his head and laughed.

I smiled faintly. “What?”

“I don”t think you need to worry about me, ma chere,” he said, and bumped under my chin with a finger. I scowled. “I”m a big boy and I can take care of myself, I promise.”

“Well, considering you were dead two days ago...”

“How long are you going to throw that in my face?”

“I”ve only known you for a few hours. I”m thinking a little while longer.”

He was inches from my face, and I desperately wished I”d had a chance to get up and brush my teeth. “Let me just throw on some clothes and I”ll go talk to him, tell him to get the fuck out of here.” For some reason, I didn”t want Phillip near Lee Courtenay. He was right, I knew, he could take care of himself, but...I didn”t want it to come to that. I had a strong urge to keep him away from Courtenay at all costs. “I can handle it.”

He cocked his head to the side and then smiled. “Actually, I don”t think you need to – I think he”s gone now.”

“How do you know?”

“I can”t really explain,” he said. “I just know. He”s gone. He didn”t find anything.”

“How do you know he didn”t?”

“Because he”s looking for me,” Phillip said again with a devious look. “And I”m right here.” He brushed a hair back from my face and stood up. “Stay right there. I”ll bring you some coffee.”

A few minuteslater I was propped up on pillows in bed, my knees curled up under me, watching Phillip Deville serve me coffee from a pretty silver tray – one that I”d never used, a wedding present Tess and I had received; from whom I no longer remembered. It had sat on top of my cabinets for years. I smiled, enjoying the domestic feel of it all, as Phillip poured me a cup, added a teaspoon of sugar, then frowned at the creamer. “I looked for plain cream, or some milk, but all you had was this stuff. I remember coffee creamer, of course -” he made a face- “but what on earth is pumpkin spice?”

“Hey, don”t judge.” I took the cup from him. “They always start selling it in September and I only buy one bottle a year, I swear.” I had only recently been able to find a vegan pumpkin spice creamer and I was still over the moon about it. Sloan told me I was a basic bitch, but I didn”t care.

“But I mean. Why? Why would you want your coffee to taste like a pumpkin?”

“Not pumpkin, pumpkin spice. You know, like the flavor of pumpkin pie.”

He poured himself a cup, and I wasn”t at all surprised to see he drank it black, no cream or sugar. He shook his head. “No, thanks. That”s fucking weird.”

“I guess there are a lot of things you”ll have to get used to,” I mused. “Wait till you see how many flavors there are of Mountain Dew.”

“I never drank that stuff in the first place,” he said. “Well, except to mix with vodka when they didn”t put fresh orange juice in my rider. I read somewhere that it makes your balls shrink.”

“Did you guys do the whole crazy request thing?” I had always wondered this. “Like Van Halen and the all brown MMs? I know you always asked for donuts.”

He laughed. “Nah, we just asked for everything we could think of,” he said. “We were shits. We always wanted expensive crap like sushi and fresh fruit trays and top-shelf vodka and whiskey. Drugs. Condoms. Shit like that.” He looked at me and shrugged. “And the donuts. I always did love those.”

“I”m pretty sure that ”everything we could think of” is the epitome of crazy requests,” I pointed out, and he laughed again.

I wanted to ask if he had sex with tons of groupies on tour, but I didn”t. Anyway, I knew the answer to that already. Lots of them had talked after his death, gave interviews. One of his ”girls” had even posed for Playboy. I wondered how he”d feel about that. He”d find out soon enough, if he decided to ever go googling. First, though, he’d have to learn what Google was.

Instead, I said, “You need some new clothes, huh?”

He looked down at his worn shirt and boxers. “Oh. Oh, yeah. I guess I do.” He picked at a thread on his shirt. “This is what I was buried in.”

I must have looked horrified. He hastened to explain. “Oh, don”t worry. They”re not all...gross. They”re clean. I guess they kind of, uh, rejuvenated when I did. They are old, though. I wore this just about every day on our last tour.”

“You were buried in a t-shirt and jeans? And motorcycle boots?”

He looked surprised. “Well, yeah. What else? Can you imagine me in a suit?”

“I think you”d look very handsome in a suit.” I”d kill to see it, now that I thought of it. His uniform his entire career had been pretty much what I saw before me – a sea of black, with the occasional army green or burgundy. T shirts, jeans, black boots. Black leather jackets. Black bandannas and hats.

“For now, I”d settle for a fresh t-shirt and a pair of pants that don”t fall off my hips,” he said. “I seem to have lost a few inches when I came back.”

I smirked, and he grimaced at me. “Not there, thank you. There I”m good.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I mean my waist. I guess the beer pooch is gone.” He slapped his belly, his shirt riding up to reveal bare skin. I tried not to stare at the dark hairs leading down to his navel.

“I think I can help,” I said. “My friend Sloan is dropping by around lunch time. I could ask her to bring something with her. She”s a hairdresser, so she could cut your hair, too.” I sipped my coffee. “You know, if you were worried about being recognized or whatever.”

A hand flew to his head and he looked alarmed. “Oh, no. I can”t cut my hair, Stormy.”

“Your vanity?” I teased.

He grinned. “Not exactly. I”ll hide it under a cap or something if I go out. Until I figure all this out.”

“Yeah, so what is your game plan, anyway?” I asked. “What are you going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, what”s your purpose for coming back?”

“I don”t have one,” he said simply.

“But then why...” I fumbled. “Why did you – the liner notes, the spell...”

“I did it on a whim,” he said. “It was just a joke. I used to try and do weird artwork in our liner notes, stuff for the fans to find. I was high for most of it; it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“So you put the spell out there as a joke,” I said slowly, “And I recited it as a joke.” I thought back to how intensely I had gone into the spell and shrugged it off. How could I have known what would happen?

“And here I am.” His eyes dazzled. “My whole life was a joke, really, so I think it”s pretty appropriate.”

“I guess mine, too.”

“Nah,” he said. “You”ve got a good one.”

I opened my mouth to tell him how wrong he was, then changed my mind. He didn”t need to hear about all my pathetic crap right now.

He must have read it on my face, because he put a hand on my knee and gave it a squeeze. “The spell... if you want to know the truth, and this is kinda embarrassing, considering-” He leaned in close to me. “I got it off a drug dealer.”

“What?” I said. “No way.”

“Guthrie his name was. Guth. He was my fixer guy when I was home. He was this hippie guy who lived around the corner from my mom”s and I knew him before I was famous. He was this peace n” love guy who also happened to sell drugs. He was on the up and up most of the time but one time he shorted me, and I went over there and said I was gonna rough him up. Who did he think he was, trying to short me just because I was famous now? I was drunk and pissed off and being a fucking asshole. He said to calm down, that he didn”t have the money or the coke to make up for it, but he had something else. And he scribbled out what looked like a poem and gave it to me. I almost put him through the wall. But he kept swearing that it was a real spell, that it would really work. That he was a warlock, and it was legit.”

“And you believed it?”

“No, I didn”t. I just didn”t feel all that great about roughing him up. I liked the guy. And I figured if he”d come up with a stupid ass story like that on the fly just to save his ass, he might be alright. So I took it and warned him never to short me again. He didn”t.” He smiled.

“What made you decide to leave it for the fans?” I asked.

His face darkened. “I dunno. Like I said, I was high. Drunk, too. I can”t remember.” I got the impression he wasn”t telling the whole truth. “Anyway, turns out ol” Guthrie wasn”t full of shit. Man, if he could see me now. Alive.”

“And in my house, of all places.”

“My witch lady, who brought me back to life.” His eyes danced, but his face was a little sad. “As for my plans – since you asked – I haven”t got any. I can”t go home. If my family, my ex-wife, my bandmates, see me – how am I gonna explain? I can”t resume any kind of life there. I”ve got to lay low. And I don”t know how long I”ll – how long I”ll actually be here. I don”t know if this is temporary. I don”t know anything, really.” He snickered. “I never believed for a second that this was real, and now I”m fucking here, and I have no idea what to do.”

“I”m sorry,” I said helplessly. “I should never have messed with that stupid spell.”

“It”s okay,” he said easily. “I wasn”t trying to blame you.”

“You know what you should do?” I asked.

“What”s that?”

“You could go see this guy, this Guthrie. He gave you the spell, right? It”s likely he”d know the particulars, and maybe have an idea of what you should do next.”

“I don”t have a clue where he”d be,” Phillip said, thoughtful. “I knew him twenty-five years ago, and he was a junkie then. Hell, he might not even be alive now.”

“But what if he is?” I asked. “He might even be in the same place. What was his last name? I could look for him on Facebook.”

“What”s Facebook?”

“It”s like a social networking site, on the internet. Most people have a profile. I could search his name, and the location-”

“I don”t know his full name,” he said. “I don”t even know if Guthrie is his first name or his last name. I think I”d have to go searching for him in person. The last I saw him was in Boston. That”s where I”m from – my old stomping grounds.”

“I know,” I said. “Your biggest fan, remember?”

He smiled, but his eyes were faraway. “I guess you”re right, Stormy. That”s where I need to go to find Guthrie, if I can. There”s a pit stop I can make on the way that”ll ease my other problem.”

“What other problem?” I asked.

“The financial one. If I”m alive, I need money. Can”t survive without it.”

I wondered how he”d get money without a bank account or credit card. I assumed his estate had long ago been willed to someone, though I had no idea who it might be, but I decided not to ask. It wasn”t any of my business anyway.

“When will you go?”

“Tomorrow afternoon, maybe,” he said. “The sooner the better, I guess.”

I felt suddenly sad. I didn”t want him to go. He seemed to read my mind. “Don”t worry. I don”t know much about the spell, but I do know that once summoned, I can”t just disappear from the summoner. You”d have to release me, I think. I”ll be bound to come back and see you.”

“I have to release you? How do I do that?”

“I”m not quite sure. Another thing I”ll have to ask Guthrie, if I can find him.” He stood up and stretched, his faded t-shirt riding up again, revealing a flat stomach and a bit of raised, mottled skin – the burn scar he”d mentioned earlier. I tried not to stare, wondering how certain things had – what was the word he”d used? - rejuvenated, and others had not. “Could I use your shower, Stormy?”

“Of course. You”ll find whatever you need in the bathroom closet. Just holler if you need me.”

“I think I can manage on my own,” he said, eyes twinkling. “But I”ll bear it in mind if I get lonely.”

“Wait, I didn”t mean-”

He laughed softly and leaned down and kissed me on the cheek, his lips soft and warm against my skin. Then he was gone.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I picked it up. Sloan. “What”s up?”

“Hey.” She sounded annoyed. “I can”t come by. My car”s fucking dead. Can you come give me a jump?”

“I told you to replace that battery,” I said.

“That takes money, and I”m broke as hell,” she said. “Will you come?”

“Where are you?”

“I”m at the salon. I came in early to do a perm. Little old lady didn”t even tip me. What a waste of a morning. Anyway, I”m stuck here.”

“Nobody else there?”

“No, if there was, I wouldn”t need you to give me a jump. Stormy, will you come or not?”

“Yes, yes, I”ll come. Keep your pants on.” I stretched and got out of bed. I could hear the shower running in the bathroom. “Might be half an hour or so, though. I”m just getting out of bed. I need to, ah – get ready.”

“You sound weird,” she said.

“Well, I told you I had something to show you...”

“Oh god,” she said. “You”ve got a guy over.”

“Y-e-e-e-s....” I said slowly. “Kinda. But it”s not-”

“Stormy got laid, Stormy got laid...,” she sang. “Who is he? Do I know him? Is he still there? Oh god, are y”all still in bed-”

“Stop!” I laughed. “I”ll explain everything when I get there. But listen, Sloan, be prepared. You might be kind of surprised.” That was an understatement.

“Oh shit, Stormy, no. Don”t tell me it”s Tess-”

“It isn”t Tess,” I said. “I swear.”

“Okay, thank god. Anyway, I”m going to let you go. Gotta clean up my booth. But try to get here soon, okay? I want to go see Dan this afternoon.”

So she was back to Dan. I couldn’t keep up. “I told you I”ll be as quick as I-”

“Byeeeeee!” She hung up the line. I groaned. Sloan was Sloan.

The shower had cut off. I took the tray with the coffee cups into the kitchen and could hear Phillip humming in the bathroom. It was eerie, listening to him – the same voice I”d heard through my speakers for the last two decades, amplified in my tiny bathroom. I was tempted to turn on my phone and record it, as much to prove to myself that he was here as anything else but decided not to. That was sketchy moral ground, even for the world”s biggest Bloomer Demons fan. Besides, who would ever believe it was him anyway?

Phillip emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam. I blushed to my roots when I saw he was clad only in a towel, cinched around his waist. My yellow bathroom towels were tiny – I was too cheap to buy the big fluffy ones, and I just used them to tie up my wet hair – ending mid-thigh on Phillip and making him loom even taller. “Um...change of plans,” I stuttered. “My friend Sloan can”t come by after all. Her car”s dead. She needs a jump. I need to go help her out.”

“Oh, ok. No problem.” It seemed like nothing bothered Phillip Deville. I supposed if I”d been brought back to life after twenty some years underground maybe nothing would bother me, either.

“I thought you might want to come?” I tried to keep the eagerness out of my voice.

“Is she cool?”

I knew what he meant. “Yes. She won”t go blabbing, I swear.”

“She knows who I am?”

I had to giggle. “Uh yeah, I”d say she does. I”ve only forced her to listen to the Bloomer Demons every day of her life since we were twelve. She”s familiar with your work.”

He grinned. “I”ll just throw on some clothes and I”ll be ready.”

“Me, too.” I went back to my bedroom and shut the door, my heart pounding. The longer he was here, the more nervous I felt. I threw on a pair of faded skinny jeans, black slip-on chucks and a Nirvana tank top, and threw a purple flannel over that. It wasn”t very dressy, but I didn”t want to appear like I was trying too hard. The jeans were tight, and my boobs looked good in the tank top. I took extra care with my dark blonde hair, which I braided in a side-braid, and put on a little mascara and bb cream in my vanity mirror.

I supposed what looked back at me wasn’t terrible. I regarded myself; the dishwater hair, my wide-set light-brown eyes, my rosy cheeks. As a kid, I’d always hated how I blushed over any little thing, my cheeks always pink and flushed. It was humiliating. Now, as a woman in her thirties, I was mostly glad for them. Everybody my age was buying blush and dewy highlighters, and I had natural rosy cheeks. They still embarrassed me sometimes, though, since they tended to turn bright red anytime I felt anything intense. This meant they’d been permanently magenta ever since Phillip Deville had shown up at my door. I dabbed a little more bb cream on and swiped absently with my fingers, smoothing it over the few freckles that dotted the bridge of my nose. They were nothing like Lee Courtenay’s, whose face was absolutely covered with them.

I rolled my eyes at myself in the mirror, setting the bb cream on the table. Why was I thinking of that guy, of all people, when I had a bona fide rock god waiting for me in the other room? I started out the door, then went back to the mirror again, dabbing on burgundy lip gloss Sloan had given me at Christmas. Phillip Deville was in my house for fuck”s sake. I wanted to look good and according to Sloan, darker lip shades made me look sexy and dangerous.

When I emerged, he was already dressed in his same black outfit and was sitting on the couch plucking at a bass. “I forgot we had that,” I said. The black bass had been Tess”. He barely played it. If I remembered correctly, a friend had let him borrow it forever ago and he”d never returned it. He cared so little about it he”d just left it with me. It was somewhat pathetic that I”d never moved it. “It can”t be in tune after all this time.”

“It isn”t,” he replied, looking at me. His eyes moved down the length of my body so quickly it was almost imperceptible, and I was glad I’d taken a little extra care with my clothes and makeup. “I”m tuning it. Do you play?”

“No,” I answered. “I wish I did. I never took the time to learn.” Tess hadn”t been very amenable to teaching me the one time I had asked.

“Want me to teach you?”

“Sure,” I responded, my heart lifting that he”d be around long enough to do so. Or maybe he was just being nice. “I”d love to learn that slide thing you do. But we should go – Sloan”s waiting for me.”

“Come here a second. I want to show you something,” he said, beckoning to me with a finger. I raised an eyebrow and walked over to the couch.

He stood, holding the bass, and gestured for me to stand in front of him. He placed the strap over my shoulders and put the instrument in my hands while he adjusted it for my height. The bass was heavier than I”d have thought.

“I”ll show you the basics later,” he said, standing behind me, his voice dangerously close to my ear. “But the slide is easy.” He placed his hands lightly over mine, moving one to the top of the neck, and the other onto the body. His skin was warm, and I could feel his long thighs pressed up against me. My entire body began to thrum along with the strings as he lightly tapped with his long, lean fingers. His hands were huge – one of mine fit entirely inside of his.

“I don”t have any callouses built up,” I said stupidly, trying to maintain a sense of calm. He was so close to me. His big arms were tight around me, his fingers entwined with my own. He smelled so good that it made me dizzy. I wasn”t going to be able to learn a damn thing with such a distraction, unraveling my every thread of composure.

“You don”t need those yet,” he said, his voice low. “And anyway, the slide is really all about the amp. It won”t sound like much just sitting around playing unplugged, but if you”ve got a decent pedal it”ll sound fuzzy and distorted without having to use much pressure.” He took my left hand in his and placed it on the strings. “Just start down here,” he said, clasping my fingers. “Play whatever notes you”re playing, then when you”re ready for the slide just kind of lightly wrap your fingers around the neck and slide up. See?” His hands guided my own into the movement, and the strings gave a slight creak under my fingers.

I felt the blood rush to my face, and I blurted, “This is pornographic!”

“There”s a reason people equate guitars with sex,” he said with a hoarse, sexy laugh. His lips were so close that they brushed against my ear and my body erupted in gooseflesh. “Just roll with it. The sexier you make it, the better it sounds.” His breath caressed the sensitive skin behind my ear, fluttering my hair, and I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes. He had to know what he was doing to me. He had to feel it. “Don”t be afraid to really grasp the thing; you”ll look cool as fuck and it”ll sound good, too.” His fingers, still entwined with my own, guided my hand, wrapping around the base of the neck and sliding upppp – my body twanged right along with the strings.

I leaned into him, feeling his strong thighs pressed against me, relishing the way his big arms held mine down, and practiced it again, moving my fingers up the fretboard slowly and deliberately, hoping that it was half as sexy as when he did it. I felt his breath catch behind me, so I smiled and did it again, faster this time, and one of his hands strayed from the bass and down to my hip.

Oh shit, I”m in trouble.

His lips trailed against my ear, just the slightest movement. I couldn”t tell if he was opening his mouth to speak or if it was the world”s lightest kiss.

Phillip made a low noise in his throat and I moved to turn and face him, not able to wait any longer, needing to feel his lips on me – and my phone vibrated in my pocket. We both jumped. I flailed, turning around, eyes wide, and came dangerously close to hitting Phillip in the face with the bass.

“Whoa!” He backed up and almost fell over the couch. “Watch what you do with that thing!”

“Shit, sorry.” My face was forty shades of red. I scrambled to remove the strap from my shoulders and propped the heavy bass in the corner, dying of embarrassment. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and peered at it a few beats longer than I had to because I was afraid to look at Phillip. She”d just had to text right then. Damn.

“It”s Sloan,” I said, tapping out a response. “She”s getting impatient. I guess we”d better go. That is, if you still want to come?” I tore my eyes upward, and was met with a sweet, bemused smile.

“Of course,” he said. “I used to work on cars, in my other life. The one before the one before this one.” He laughed. “If you want, I”ll take a look. Might could fix it.” I realized that his own face was turning a little red and my heart flooded with tenderness. Even dead rock stars got embarrassed, it seemed.

“It”s just her battery,” I said. I almost started to say, “I knew you were a mechanic, I read all about it,” but he”d probably get tired of hearing that really fast. And it made me sound like a freak. “It’s died a couple of times recently. She just needs to buy a new one. She thinks she can just jump it off until the end of time.”

“Something”s draining it,” he said. “What year”s her car? If it”s really new I might not know, since I haven”t been around -” He looked like he”d never get used to saying that - “But if it”s an older model I can check it out.”

“She drives a ”92 mustang,” I said.

“Ha, that”s funny,” he said. “I had one of those. In fact, it was my last car.”

I knew that, too, but said nothing.

“And hey,” he said, following me out the door. “You”re a natural on that bass.” I felt a prickle of goosebumps start at my neck, where the ghost of his lips had been, all the way down my back.

I pulledup at the Curling Dervish with Phillip sitting shotgun in my Blazer, wondering if he”d say anything about it. Neither Sloan nor I had nice cars, but hers was definitely nicer than mine, which had actually been Tess” old truck when we”d first gotten married. He”d only left it behind because it was a piece of junk – forget him trying to be nice. Phillip said nothing on the drive over; he appeared lost in thought. I hoped he wasn”t thinking about our thwarted practice session and how I”d almost beaned him with the bass. I wondered how he planned to get up north. In fact, I wondered how he”d gotten to my house in the first place. He said he”d taken the bus. How had he not been recognized? And how had he gotten there so fast? I had so many questions.

Sloan was standing outside, the hood of her red mustang up, cussing up a storm. “Hey,” she said as she heard me approach, not looking up. “I”ve been messing with the connections on this thing.”

“Sloan, come here for a second,” I said to her as Phillip exited the car. “I want you to meet someone.”

She looked up with sudden delight, put out her cigarette and sauntered over. The hood had been blocking him, but once her eyes lit on Phillip she stopped and froze, her eyes going wide. “What the...fuck?”

Phillip stuck out a hand. “Hey. Nice to meet you.”

I had to laugh, but it was mainly from nerves. “Sloan, this is-”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” she said, still standing there, Phillip”s hand extended unshaken. It occurred to me just how big his hands were, how long his arms were. He really was a huge guy. “You are shitting me.”

“Sloan-”

“I knew you were a psycho fangirl, but only you could go out and find a guy that looks like an exact replica of Phillip fucking Deville. What, did you find some cover band or something? Holy shit dude, you look exactly like him! Down to the last detail. Not quite as hot as he was, but you know, close enough. Damn.” She shook her head with a laugh, and finally shook his hand. “Stormy, you”re a fucking mess, I swear.”

“Sloan-”

“So this is what all that resurrection shit was about. The spell or whatever. This was the punchline.”

I shook my head, but she kept on talking. Phillip stared at her, his lips curling into a very sexy smile. “What”s your name? And where did you guys meet?” She looked back and forth from him to me expectantly, waiting for me to give her the 411.

“His name”s Phillip,” I said before he had a chance to speak. “And Sloan, he”s not-”

“You”re really committing, huh?” she said with a laugh. “I don”t blame you. Probably good money in impersonations. Do you tour?” She shook her head at me. “Why didn”t you tell me? I would have gone with you. I wouldn”t mind a lookalike of that drummer, what was his name? I can”t ever remember the names in that damn band. He had a girls” name, right?”

“Kim Rzeznick,” Phillip said.

“Yeah. That”s him. He was hot as fuck. I”m still pissed he died.”

Phillip went pale and I instinctively reached an arm out to him. Kim Rzeznick had died only two years after Phillip, also from an overdose. I hadn”t had a chance to fill him in yet, not after he”d stopped me the night before.

Sloan didn”t notice his discomfort. She walked back over to the car. “I think I just need a jump, Storm, if you don”t mind pulling the car up. I swear, as soon as I get my paycheck this week, I”ll go buy a battery, but I just don”t have a spare fifty bucks right now.”

“Try a hundred, or the better part of it,” I said, fishing my keys back out of my pocket. I glanced at Phillip again, worried. “I told you I”d loan you the money-”

“Shut the fuck up,” she said from behind the hood.

“Hang on,” Phillip interrupted. He looked like he”d somewhat recovered from his shock. “Let”s try one thing first before you jump her off. Get behind the wheel, Sloan, and when I tell you to start it, give it a try, ok?”

“Ok,” she said dubiously. “But it”s dead as fuck.”

She got behind the wheel and put the key in the ignition. Phillip got under the hood and looked at the engine. “Just like my old car, yep,” he said. Then something interesting happened. He put his hands on the battery, and the moment his skin touched it there was a ding, ding, ding – the interior light came on and her radio began to play, blasting out Stone Temple Pilots.

“Hey, it”s back!” Sloan exclaimed. “How did you do that? Just a cable loose or something?”

Phillip looked over at me. I was gawking, my mouth open. He gave me an imperceptible nod, and said, “Yeah, something like that.”

She exited the car and gave me a bright smile. “I like this one. Keep him,” she said to me, lighting another cigarette.

“Hey, could I bum one of those?” he asked her.

“Oh, sure.” I watched him light the cigarette, his full lips closing over it, the flame illuminating his skin. “You can”t have been dating long if you”re smoking. That”s one of Storm”s deal breakers.” Sloan really believed he was some impersonator. I supposed the mind would make any kind of mental gymnastics to explain the unexplainable. Watching her standing there, talking to Phillip, I decided maybe it”d be better this way. Better if Sloan didn”t know the truth.

Her phone rang and she brightened, mouthing “Dan” to me, answered, and walked off in the direction of her shop.

I shuffled my feet and stood there, uncomfortable. Phillip was looking at me. “You sure you don”t want a haircut?” I asked Phillip again. “That”s what Sloan does for a living, so...”

He shook his head firmly. “No. Thanks.”

“There”s a Target not far from here,” I told him. “If you wanted to go grab some clothes.”

He frowned. “I do – I”d really like to get out of this shit. But I don”t have any cash on me.”

“I”ll buy you some stuff.” As I said it, I did the sums in my head. I wasn”t exactly flush, but I had a little saved.

“I can”t let you do that. It”s not your place to buy me clothes.”

“Phillip, don”t be silly,” I said. “I”m happy to. You need clothes, I”ve got cash. I just got paid. I don”t mind.”

“Only if you allow me to pay you back,” he insisted. “Once I get on the road, I can get the money – assuming it’s still there – and I”ll pay you back with interest.”

“If you want.” I honestly didn”t care. I was with Phillip Deville, for Christ”s sake. I”d give my eyeteeth for him. I was curious where he was planning to get it, though. “I”m sorry about what she said. About Kim. I didn”t mean for you to find out like that.”

“It”s alright.” His eyes met mine, full of grief. “His death is even less surprising than mine was, you know? He was all kinds of fucked up back then.”

“But still, it must be upsetting for you.”

He nodded and put a hand on my arm. “Thanks.”

I felt a jolt when he touched me, and a pang of yearning when he pulled his hand away.

“How did he go?” he asked after a beat. “I mean, I can guess, but...”

I decided to spare him the gory details, which Kim”s girlfriend had leaked to the National Enquirer for a hefty sum. “It was an overdose.”

“Right.” His face was thoughtful. “The poor fucker. He never really stood a chance.”

“I”m sorry.” I didn”t know what to say. I knew every detail of Kim Rzenik”s tragic demise, had seen the leaked photos of his platinum blonde head, lying face down on his bedroom floor beside a puddle of vomit, many more times than I”d ever cared to. After getting fired from the band, and four unsuccessful stints in rehab, Kim had succumbed to his demons. He was found two days after he”d died, alone on his bedroom floor, clutching a letter in his fist. The letter had been written by his teenage friend Phillip Deville years before, outlining their dreams of starting a rock band and becoming famous. The letter, too, had been leaked to the press. Forget the other bullshit – it”s all about the music, the letter had read. No matter what happens, we Rock On. Those words were on Kim”s gravestone.

How would Phillip react when he discovered that, I wondered.

I hesitated, wanting to tell Phillip everything but knowing it wasn”t the time. I looked at my phone. “If Sloan is done with us, we could head over, pick out a few things and then have lunch? My treat. When was the last time you ate?”

“When? I guess about twenty-two years ago, and some change.”

For a second,I just stared. I forgot to even be grossed out, which usually I was when people ate meat around me, and for far less than the massive T-bone steak on the plate across from me. The man tucking into it was doing so with such abandon that he hadn”t even noticed his hair was falling into the lake of steak sauce on his plate.

He sliced a cube of steak, forked it, and brought it to his mouth. As he chewed, his eyes closed in an expression of bliss and he gave an audible moan. “Oh, my fucking god,” he declared loudly. A couple of people turned to look at him, and I gave a shrug much like the one that Billy Crystal gives in the infamous diner scene in When Harry Met Sally. His scene with the wine the night before had been put to shame. “Forget sex. This is all I need right here. This steak. Jesus.”

“That good?”

He exhaled with pleasure from his nose, then opened his eyes and looked at me like he”d forgotten I was there. “Good? Fuck yes. It”s fucking great. Here.” He stabbed another piece of the bloody meat with his fork and held it out to me. “You”ve got to try it.”

“No, no thanks. I”m good.” I waved the fork away. I was having Earl Grey tea and an avocado and portabella wrap, hold the swiss cheese.

“Come on,” he insisted, pushing it at me. “It”s the best steak I”ve ever had. In either life. You have to.”

“No,” I said firmly. “I actually don”t eat meat.”

He looked down at my plate with an expression of horror. “Someone brings me back to life and it”s a bloody vegetarian.”

I smirked at him and took a bite of my wrap. I was sure the portabella mushrooms in it were easily as good – no, better – than the bloody disgusting steak he was tucking into. “Actually, I”m vegan.”

“What”s the difference?” He picked up his glass and took a huge gulp of water. He”d already finished half his steak.

“I don”t eat any animal products at all, so no cheese, eggs, dairy, honey-”

“You don”t even put honey in your tea.” He said it as a statement rather than a question, his eyebrows furrowing together as if to say you are absurd.

“I try not to.”

“Now I see why you”re so pale,” he said with a smile, then went back to his steak.

“Oh, I”ve only heard that a gazillion times. And anyway - like you can talk.” He was bone-white, and too skinny by a mile. “You could stand to gain a few, too.”

“Hey,” he said, dipping a finger into his steak sauce and licking it off, clearly relishing it, “I”ve been dead. I have an excuse.” He looked remarkably good, even if he was too skinny, especially now that he”d changed. Naturally, all he”d bought at Target were more black clothes – black t-shirt, fitted black jeans, black socks, even black underwear. I”d tried not to notice, but he”d bought more of the tight boxer briefs like the pair he was wearing earlier, and secretly I”d rejoiced – and he was still wearing the same black combat boots. I”d told him about the current style – lumbersexual – and showed him a few pairs of skinny cords, plaid shirts and skater shoes, and he”d just laughed. “This isn”t a new style,” he”d said with a guffaw. “This is the same shit grunge kids were wearing when I was alive in the 90s. The only difference is instead of JNCOs the jeans have skinny legs, but otherwise it”s the same.” I had realized he was right. Old was new again. The 90s were now considered “vintage”. Oh my god, was I old?

I had to admit, staring at Phillip across the booth in the little diner, he looked amazing in all black. It suited him. It always had, and it still did.

“Your hair is in your steak sauce,” I said with a laugh.

“Sweetheart, I don”t even care.” He took another bite and sighed with pleasure.

“You rock star,” I said dryly.

He looked up at me and did the devil”s sign with a grin, then turned back to his remaining steak.

“So,” I suddenly felt my stomach do a loop, “Off to Boston? To get funds and visit that Guthrie guy? That”s the plan, right?”

“Yes,” he answered, popping a french fry into his mouth. “As for after, I have no idea. But I need money. And I have some – not a lot, but some – tucked away. Turns out being a paranoid junkie paid off, because I stashed cash. Otherwise I”d be fucked. If my will was honored, and I assume it was, all my estate went to my ex-wife.” He ate another fry. “And yeah, I”m not sure I”ll have any luck, but I”ll try to find Guthrie. Ask him what the fuck I am, exactly, and how long I”ll be here. I just need to get on a bus. If you could help me with that?” He rushed to add, “I”ll pay you back.”

“I can do better,” I said with a bright smile. “I”d like to go with you.”

“You would?” He sounded surprised.

“Sure,” I answered. “I”ve got vacation time at work – two years’ worth saved up, believe it or not. And I have a vehicle, even if it is an ugly piece of crap. You won”t have to worry about some idiot on the bus recognizing you. And you”ll have someone along for company.”

“No offense, but why would you want to come with me?” he asked. “What”s the appeal for you?”

“Only to go on a road trip with my favorite musician of all time,” I said, incredulous. “Why wouldn”t I want to go?”

He actually blushed. Then I blushed. He said quietly, “Well, as flattered as I am, I can”t ask you to do that, Stormy. I don”t know what this Guthrie guy is like now. He seemed harmless enough at the time, back when I was an idiot, but he had guns and shit. And with that weird Lee guy sniffing around your place, I don”t know what kind of forces are at work here, you know? What if it puts you in danger?” He looked serious. “And anyway, it”d be lot of driving, and I can”t ask you to-”

“You can drive, then,” I said. “I assume you remember how. And won”t I be safer with you than home alone? I”ve seen Lee Courtenay three times now. Twice at my house. If he”s been there that many times, he”ll come again. I”d feel better with someone around if that happens.”

“I suspect you”re capable of protecting yourself just fine,” he said with a laugh. “And you can argue your way out of anything.”

“All the more reason to bring me along,” I said, “You need some brains with you.”

“And beauty too,” he said with a smile, and reached across the table to touch my cheek. I felt the blood rush to my face, hot.

“Alright, Stormy Spooner. You”ve twisted my arm. You can come with me, if you really want to.”