Voice. Part 14

"Come on, man. You know what they say-any publicity is good publicity. And they did say to come check us out."

"They said Case is worth checking out."

"They did not."

"Well, we got three f.u.c.king sentences, and one of them is all about her. The rest of us might as well have been spectators, as far as they're concerned."

"It's not that bad," Danny insisted in that infuriatingly calm voice.

"Do you have no f.u.c.king pride? Or maybe you'd take this more personally if you hadn't spent the whole night looking morose and making cow-eyes at her."

"Cool it," Danny said. He was still calm, though. Probably thinking something like, Oh, there goes Johnny again. I'll have to have a little talk with him later and make him feel better, and then everything will be fine.

"I don't know if I can cool it," Johnny said. "I got half a mind to call up that n.u.m.b.n.u.t.s over at the Observer office and-"

"And what? Tell him his opinion sucks? Grow up, Johnny."

"f.u.c.k you." Johnny mashed the b.u.t.ton to end the call. The phone started ringing almost immediately. Danny, probably wanting to talk him off the ledge or maybe even apologize. Too bad. Sure, Danny hadn't felt bad about the review. It wasn't like he'd actually written any of the "trashy" and "derivative" songs. And of course he didn't care that Case got all the coverage-he was thinking with his d.i.c.k, just like the motherf.u.c.king reviewer. Johnny didn't know what to do about Case, but he was starting to get an idea what to do about Danny. A pretty good idea.

"Hey," Drew said from behind the counter. "We got customers."

"They can wait," Johnny said, and he dialed the phone. It rang a few times, and he tapped his foot impatiently. After the third ring, somebody picked up.

"h.e.l.lo, this is Gina."

"Hey Gina, it's John."

"Oh. Hi. What's up?" Her voice was too bright, almost brittle. Johnny thought she probably expected an emergency, or maybe she thought he needed money-he wasn't in the habit of calling her, after all.

"Nothing much," he said. He was talking too fast, he realized. He continued, making an effort to sound calm. "I was wondering if Danny had told you about our next show."

"Yes, John." She sounded irritated now. "He tells me about all of your shows."

"Did he tell you how excited he is?"

"Not really. He's always pretty happy to play."

"I think he's really charged up about this one, though. We're getting pretty good now, and there's supposed to be a big turnout. We're opening for Lost Soul Orchestra." That was true, though Johnny had never heard of Lost Soul Orchestra before seeing them on the bill, and he doubted Danny had either. It sounded important, and that was what counted.

"That's very nice. Look, John, I have to go."

"Wait! I'll be quick. It's just that Danny, well-he's really looking forward to this show. I think he'd really like it if you came."

A pause. "He said that?"

"He didn't come out and directly say anything, but you know how he is. He did tell me you probably wouldn't make this show, and he seemed really b.u.mmed. He doesn't usually bring that sort of thing up, so I guess it's been on his mind a lot. I think he's worried that if he says anything to you, you'll feel obligated to come, and you know how Danny is."

"Yeah," Gina said. Her tone had softened considerably. "He wouldn't want to inconvenience anyone, even if he had to saw off his own leg."

Johnny chuckled. "That's it. Anyway, I know you're pretty busy. I don't want you to feel obligated either, but I thought you ought to know."

"Thanks, John. I appreciate that. Maybe I'll come see you guys after all. When's the show?"

"It's the fourth of October at the Cavern. We start early. Ten o'clock."

"All right. I really have to go now."

"Take it easy. And thanks."

"You're welcome. Bye." She hung up.

Johnny closed his phone and slipped it into his pocket. That was uncalled-for, a small voice said. He shook his head. No. I'm just looking out for my brother, that's all. That's all.

"Hey!" Drew said from behind the counter. "If you're done calling your broker, I could use some help back here."

Chapter 12.

"Would you stop that?" Johnny asked. He folded the corner of his journal back and forth, back and forth. "You're making me nervous."

Danny pulled his gaze away from the door one more time. It was early yet, and the small club was nearly empty, but people were starting to trickle in. Every time the door opened, Danny checked to see if his wife had arrived. Every time somebody else came in, he felt a mixture of relief and guilt.

"I can't help it. Gina's coming. I'm nervous," Danny said. "Because I want us to play well," he added quickly.

"Gina's coming? Cool. The more the merrier."

Johnny's phony tone of surprise told Danny everything. What was it Johnny had said? I think you should invite her to the next show. Yeah, that was it. And he'd ha.s.sled Danny about it for weeks.

"What did you tell her?" Danny asked.

"Nothing," Johnny said. His tone of innocence was even more phony than his tone of surprise.

"Try again, or I'm going home right now," Danny said. He wasn't sure that he meant it, but he was sorely, sorely tempted.

"You can't do that!" Johnny said, and his shock was genuine, at least. "Look, that's-"

The door opened, and this time Johnny craned his neck to look over his shoulder even as Danny looked up.

Gina stood framed in the doorway, an expression of mild distaste on her face.

"Gina!" Johnny shouted, waving frantically. "Over here!" He turned back to Danny and lowered his voice. "I told her it would mean a lot to you if she came. Don't make a big deal out of this, okay?"

Danny opened his mouth, but he didn't have any words to supply. Gina was already at the table. What would he say? Gee, honey, I know Johnny said it would mean a lot to me if you came to the show, but really I'd rather you went far away. That way, I don't have to feel guilty about the affair I'm not having with our guitarist. The guitarist who was, by the by, sitting two tables down with Erin and a few of Erin's entourage. Danny made an effort not to look in that direction-not even remotely in that direction.

"You made it!" he said to Gina. He got up from his chair to hug her, and he swore he felt Case's eyes on him the whole time. He glanced over at the other table, but Case was engrossed in conversation.

Gina sat. Quentin, sitting with one of his buddies at the next table, gave her a small smile, and she waved.

"Where's the guitar player?" Gina asked.

Johnny pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "She's over there. She's the surly one."

Gina looked over with interest. Please don't ask for an introduction, Danny thought. I don't think I'd survive that. But that would have been unlike Gina, and thankfully she didn't ask.

Danny got Gina a gla.s.s of water, and they waited. He checked his watch. It was twenty minutes to nine, which meant an hour and twenty minutes until they went on-if they started on time, which never ever happened. He held Gina's hand and resolutely avoided looking down the row of tables for any reason. Johnny chattered for a while, but he petered out when n.o.body seemed interested in taking any of his conversational gambits.

One hour, fourteen minutes.

After another half hour of stilted conversation and awkward silence, the club started to fill up. It didn't take much. The Cavern was crammed in between a couple of other buildings, and it was much longer than it was wide. There was seating for maybe thirty people, Danny guessed, and a hundred might fit standing up, if they all got real friendly with each other. The stage was small and cramped, and, at about eight inches off the ground, hardly worthy of the name. Danny thought that was just fine with him. If there was enough of a crowd, it would be tough to see much of anything onstage from most places in the bar, and the less Gina saw of him and Case in close proximity to each other, the happier he'd be.

Thirty-six minutes.

A clot of people-young men, mostly-started to form around Case's table. Danny tried not to look over there, but Johnny kept turning around. He looked tired, Danny noticed. Alert, but physically drained. My idiot brother, Danny thought. What had he been trying to accomplish by getting Gina to come here? Maybe it was his dumba.s.s way of trying to look out for Danny, but more likely it was his equally dumba.s.s way of trying to keep Danny and Case from tearing up the band-in short, looking out for Johnny's interests, as usual. Danny sighed.

At five after ten, the sound guy came over to get them to do their sound check.

Danny gave Gina a pair of earplugs and went to the stage. The drum kit was backed up as close to the wall as he could get it, and he had to squeeze in around the floor tom to get behind it. Case's and Quentin's amps were also crammed in back, right next to him. Case and Quentin themselves had to stand close, with little room to move, and Johnny had only a little more. If Johnny moved too much to the right, Case would end up hitting him with the headstock of her guitar.

Cozy.

Danny did his part of the sound check (three thumps of the ba.s.s drum, three whacks on the snare, and five seconds of playing the whole kit), and when he looked up, Case was onstage, four feet away. He could have stood up, leaned over, and touched her hand.

Danny busied himself adjusting the tension on his snare so he wouldn't have to look at her. He could see her move in his peripheral vision. The sound guy had just asked her to turn her stage volume down, and she was twiddling k.n.o.bs on her amp. She finished, and Danny got the sense she was looking quizzically at him.

He looked back at her and felt that headrush, that uneasy vertigo that had become so familiar.

She raised her eyebrows. Ready?

He nodded, and she went straight in to the opening riff of "Rust."

Here we go!

The band came in hot, a little too fast but steady and tight. Johnny smiled. The energy was good, and he was ready.

The near-constant muttering in his head swelled into that question he'd come to love: Now?

f.u.c.k yeah.

There was that rus.h.i.+ng sense of power, and his voice poured out, roared out, the words filling the room and bursting among the crowd like bombs. Gonna be hoa.r.s.e tonight, he thought, and he grinned crazily. This was how it was supposed to feel. The eyes on him didn't bother him now. Let 'em look, by G.o.d!

Nothing was going to ruin his night. He had arrived.

Quentin had to hand it to Johnny-he was really putting his back into it tonight, really going all out. The skinny, unsure kid Quentin had been playing with for over a year had been replaced by a confident frontman, and tonight he was killing it. He howled and screamed and sang-sang like a motherf.u.c.ker, to use his own word. With the jacket, the slicked-back hair, and most of all the brash confidence, Quentin doubted Johnny's own mother would have recognized him if she'd been there. She would have sat in the crowd, patiently waiting for her son to come on-which would hopefully be right after this loud, nasty band got off the stage.

Case caught Quentin's eye and grinned, nodding at Johnny's back like, Do you believe this guy? Quentin grinned right back-he couldn't help it. It wasn't just Johnny who was killing it tonight. They all were. The band was. Whatever his misgivings about Johnny's newly discovered vocal prowess, this was rock and f.u.c.king roll the way it was meant to be played.

Johnny leaned out over the people at the front of the stage, reaching for their hands, dripping sweat on them, screaming at them. They screamed right back.

He was exultant, and fire flashed in his eyes. After the third song, when a few loudmouths in the crowd yelled "Burn!," he turned to Case, flushed and grinning maniacally.

"Let's do 'Burn,'" he said, off the mic. Quentin could see her gaping at him in surprise. "Burn" was their most popular song, the one everybody seemed to want to hear, and he hated it. The last couple of times people had shouted for it, he'd just scowled. It wasn't even on the set list this time.

"Looks like somebody ate their Wheaties this morning," she joked.

"f.u.c.k yeah, I did. Let's. .h.i.t it!"

She hit it, and Danny and Quentin followed her in, Danny with a nice little flourish he'd never played before. Case shot Danny one of those electric smiles, and Quentin grinned at the two of them. They plowed through most of the rest of the set, unstoppable.

Quentin was tuning his ba.s.s right before their second-to-last song, their one down-tempo number, when he saw the old rocker in the crowd. Once again, the guy's dark, hooded eyes scanned the room, and Quentin saw that his mouth was open slightly, as if he held his breath in antic.i.p.ation of something.

Then Danny was counting off the song, one of Johnny's tunes called "Watching the World End." Case had worked it into an odd, almost jazzy progression, strange for the band's usual repertoire, but it worked. Quentin usually liked playing it, but something about the man's appearance in the crowd had unsettled him, had rendered the song eerie.

"The sun slides from his sky

Like a drunk man slides from his chair

But he ain't gettin' up this time

He ain't goin' nowhere.

And when the bar closes, baby