2 A.M. — November 22, 1996 #9
When they finished, he held his hand out to shake hers. “Zane.”
“I know.”
He laughed. “That’s the part where you’re supposed to tell me your name. I got here a little late.”
“Oh, right,” she said, feeling lightheaded. “I’m kind of scattered at the moment because I’ve dreamed of this so many times that it doesn’t seem real.”
Giving her a crooked smile, Zane said, “But it is real. And you still haven’t told me your name.”
“Claudia.”
His eyes lit up. “Wait, are you the one with a thousand songs?”
She nodded. “Well, umm… I may have exaggerated somewhat.” She scrambled to add, “I do write songs, I do. All the time. But not like you write songs. Mine are… just… I don’t know…” She laughed at herself, then added, “Silly.”
“Silly ones are among my favorites.” Turning to the audience, he squinted. “Guys? We all agree, right?”
“Yup.”
“Absolutely.”
“Sure…”
Zane smiled at the other guys. “Send everyone else home with our thanks. Claudia’s our girl.”
Five minutes later, Claudia found herself in a private back room at The Frog and Hare Pub seated at a table with all four members of The Vows and Dean.
She’d gone deep down the rabbit hole now, and, for a second, the walls of the pub appeared to tilt and shift, and the carpeted floor seemed to ripple under her feet, even though none of that was really happening.
‘Honky Tonk Woman’ by the Stones played over the speaker in the corner and she’d already forgotten it was still daylight outside.
The server was fast with the drinks, deftly doling out six pints of beer before popping shot glasses and a bottle of Jack onto the table. She glanced at Claudia and said, “Be careful with these boys. They’re charmers, all of them.”
“Thanks, I’ll make sure to keep my guard up,” Claudia told her, even though none of these men would be interested in her.
Her arms were too thick, her thighs rubbed together, and her tummy positioned itself into two rolls when she sat down.
These men dated only the most beautiful women walking the planet—tall and thin, with perfectly shaped eyebrows, twenty-four-inch waists, and long, lean legs that went on for miles.
Mike Kurilla, the bass player, snagged the chair next to Claudia’s.
These days Mike kept his nearly-black hair in a crew cut tighter than the t-shirts that pulled across his powerful chest. Tattoos adorned his arms—a mash-up of different styles and colors that together told the story of a man who spent many a drunk night in dingy shops around the world letting lucky artists use him as a canvas.
He was all the things her mother warned her about.
He was lust and wild parties and too much testosterone.
She looked over at him, for the first time noticing that he had strikingly beautiful hazel eyes with a thick, curved line of eyelashes framing them.
His gaze flicked down to her chest. “That’s a pretty top.”
“Thanks.” Claudia blushed and picked up her beer, taking a long sip.
“All right, Mike,” Zane said. “We need to keep it professional.”
“Do we really?” Mike asked.
Rusty tucked his curly light brown hair behind his ear and gave Mike a sharp look. “Yeah, we do.”
As a response, Mike stretched his arm out and slung it over the back of Claudia’s chair, which was both invasive and exciting to her. That wasn’t just any arm brushing against her upper back. It was attached to a legend.
Steven Moore, the drummer with long, dark hair that women on every continent wanted to run their fingers through, busied himself pouring shots. “So Claudia? Tell us about yourself. You married? Got a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend?” He grinned at her. “I’m actually hoping for the last one.”
She chuckled, her face and neck warming. “None of the above. I have a roommate though, Hilary.” Oh my God, why are you telling them about your roommate? They don’t care!
Steven smiled at her. “I’m assuming you and Hilary have naked pillow fights most evenings?”
Oh, boy. This wasn’t starting out the way she had hoped. “Sorry to disappoint, but not even once. We’re both waitresses at Delucca’s over in Redondo Beach.”
“That’s hard work. Your life is about to change drastically.” Dean passed each of them a shot, then picked his up. “To new beginnings.”
The last thing Claudia wanted to do was to have a shot of whiskey, but she could hardly say no. So she raised the tiny glass in salute, then downed the liquid, feeling it burn it’s way to her chest.
“Dean tells me your dream had a fast-approaching expiration date?” Zane said, placing his shot glass down.
“Five days ago, in fact,” she answered, surprised that they’d been talking about her in such detail. “I told myself I’d give it until I turned twenty-five, then grow up and get a real job.”
“Sounds awful,” Zane said.
“It really does.”
“I remember being twenty-five. I was a total numbnuts back then,” Mike said.
Rusty lit a cigarette and let it dangle from his lip. “Still are.”
Claudia laughed a little too loudly, then turned to Mike. “Sorry.”
“Nah, that’s okay. It’s not far from the truth.”
She studied his face while he picked up the bottle to pour another round. His bottom lip was thicker on the right side, with three overlapping half-moon scars. It was almost as if he’d been hit by the same object more than once.
He touched his lip, as if uncomfortable that she was staring at it. “I was a bit of a partier back then, but I’ve got it all under control now. I know when to stop.”
Dean sat forward in his chair and gave Mike a smile that reminded her of a proud father. “He does. Mike’s as solid as they come these days.”
Rusty tapped his cigarette into the ashtray and glanced at Claudia. “Do you want kids?”
The back of her neck tingled. “Pardon me?”
“Kids. Do you want a family?” he asked casually. “If you want kids, don’t take the job.”
“Um, you have children, don’t you?” She did her best not to sound like she was challenging him, even though she most definitely wanted to challenge him.
“That’s different. Kids don’t need their fathers the same way they do their moms.” Rusty sucked in on his cigarette, then blew the puff of smoke out the right side of his mouth.
“I know he sounds like a sexist ass,” Steven said. “But he’s kind of right. We’ve toured with moms before, and I can honestly say this is no kind of life for a mother. It’s chock-full of guilt.”
Claudia hardened her gaze. “And judgment, too. I imagine there’s plenty of that to go around.”
“So… do you?” Rusty asked.
Her gaze turned into a full-on glare, and she realized the only choice was to bend the truth. She wasn’t sure. “No. I do not.”
Dean cleared his throat and offered her a warm smile. “Glad that’s settled. Anyway, Claudia, have you ever been on tour before?”
She shook her head. “Just some local gigs here and there. And I do an open-mic night on Tuesdays at a bar near my apartment.”
“Being on tour is unlike anything you’ll ever do in your life, and it’s not for everyone,” Rusty answered, taking another drag on his cigarette. “After a few weeks, you don’t know what time or day it is, and you don’t think it’ll happen, but you will definitely lose track of what city you’re in.”
“Forget city, after two months on the road, you won’t know what country you’re in,” Steven added.
Rusty wiped the sweat off his glass. “That’s true. It’s completely destabilizing and disorienting and exhausting, and at the same time it’s the highest high you’ll ever have. You’ll never feel as charged up and alive as you do in front of fifty thousand screaming fans.”
A surge of excitement filled her chest. Fifty thousand fans. The biggest crowd at open mic night had been less than fifty.
“It’s the best job in the world,” Zane said. “But it’s hard as hell too and you have to take care of yourself. When we’re recording, it’s weeks at a time with almost no sleep. We go around the clock, napping on couches and sucking back coffee by the gallon—”
“Among other things,” Steven muttered.
Nodding, Zane said, “Yeah, that too, sometimes. But not everyone can handle the pace, and some turn to pills to keep them going, then something else to put them to sleep. Don’t be one of those people, okay?”
Claudia nodded, soaking in his advice. The fact that Zane McCreight—frontman of The Vows—wanted to share his wisdom with her meant everything. He cared. He wanted good things for her. And she felt herself fall a tiny bit in love with him.
Rusty spoke next. “Zane’s right. If you find yourself tempted to go down that road, we’ll have to part ways. If you find the lifestyle is too hard for you, quit. Nothing’s worth killing yourself for.”
“I think Claudia here can handle it,” Mike said, rubbing the tip of his thumb on the back of her left shoulder. “She seems smart.”
“Thanks,” she answered, not sure whether she wanted him to continue touching her or take his hand away.
He was attractive, there was no question about that.
Millions of women all over the globe would kill to be sitting in her seat right now with his thumb on their bare skin.
But across from her was an entirely different kind of man—the one she’d dreamed about since she was a teenager in her room playing their albums on repeat.
But that was a fantasy, and nothing more.
He was very much taken, while Mike, who had his own brand of charm, was very much available.
Or so she assumed. The shot she’d done kicked in, and she relaxed, letting her shoulders lean back a little into his arm.
“I’m not saying she’s not smart, Mike,” Rusty said. “But no one can truly predict how they’ll react to this life until they’ve tested it out. I’m saying it’s okay for her to quit if it’s not working.”
Nodding, Claudia said, “Thanks, I appreciate that, but I already know I’m going to love everything about this. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted in my entire life. The last thing I’d do is screw this up. I just want to write music and sing with you guys.”