Fool's Gold (Contemporary Romance) (3 page)

“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.

V
ICTORIA 
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.

“Good evening, Omaha!” Christine’s voice washed over them.

The crowd roared back.

“We’re glad you could make it on such short notice. It’s good to come home where you know you’re loved.”

If it had been loud before, the wall of sound that responded was cranked all the way to eleven. Christine raised a fist, and before the sound could die away, the music started.

The Flaming Ravens played a blend of hard rock and metal with an undertone of jazz, and people were eating it up. They weren’t on the front pages of Billboard or Rolling Stone, but Victoria figured it was just a matter of time. She was mildly jealous of Christine’s success, but it warmed her heart that an Omaha girl was finally making it big.

Trent swayed with the crowd, and Victoria let the moment take her. She pressed against him, enjoying the feel of him next to her. The first few songs slipped past without pause, then Christine took a break after the third to introduce the band.

Victoria realized that Beta was yelling in her ear. She leaned toward him, unsure what he’d just said. “What?”

“Are you sticking around afterward!”

Victoria glanced at Trent. He was watching the conversation, but she was pretty sure he couldn’t hear it. He wasn’t quite glowering at Beta, but she had the distinct impression that Trent remembered him.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, Christine said you’re welcome to come backstage if you want.” His eyes tracked down and saw the arm around her waist. It took him a couple seconds for it to register, but he eventually connected the arm to Trent.

Beta’s face fell.

In that one instant, Victoria knew she’d taken his tender little heart, and cut it into mincemeat. For the space between two beats of her heart she felt bad about it, but then Trent’s grip tightened around her waist.

Beta tried to back away, but the crowd kept him hemmed in close. Finally, he turned and shoved, and disappeared into the maelstrom.

“Was that the same kid from Saturday?” Trent’s breath was hot on her ear.

She nodded.

He pulled her even closer, but didn’t say anything else.

Christina sang and played guitar, and the set lasted until well after midnight. When the music finally ended, Trent leaned close again. “I have meetings at eight tomorrow. I need to head back to my hotel.”

Victoria wasn’t sure if he was inviting her to go with him or not. Part of her wanted to go, wanted to feel those arms around for the rest of the night. Another part of her didn’t want to rush it, didn’t want him to think she was someone--or something--she wasn’t.

“Alright.” She rested her hand his chest. “You said you’re in town the rest of the week?”

“I am.” A slight frown caught at the edge of his lips as he realized she wasn’t going with him. “See you around, maybe?”

“Plan on it.” That brought the smile back, at least.

Victoria watched him leave for the second time in two days, and he was barely out of sight before the regret set in. Maybe she could still catch up to him, find out just what was inside that expensive pair of pants.

But no. Not yet. “Pace yourself, girl,” she whispered to herself.

Around her, the crowd was oozing toward the front doors. Victoria fought against it, pushing her way toward the side door the band had used. Seeing Beta wasn’t high on her list, but if she let Christine leave town without at least saying ‘hello,’ she’d feel bad about it for weeks.

***

Sean stood at the door, his arms crossed over his chest. The black t-shirt bulged around his biceps as he eyed the line of people forming before him. Victoria edged her way in near the front of the line, at first getting a protest from a guy with a blue fauxhawk.

Sean cut him off by pointing. “Victoria, you can go on back.”

The fauxhawk guy spluttered, but Sean shut him up with a glare.

Backstage, fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting the cinderblock walls in hard light. Music and laughter echoed from the far end of the hall, so Victoria headed toward it. She emerged into a warehouse area already filling up with people.

Tables sat by the closed bay doors, sandwiches and red plastic cups on display. Victoria scanned the crowd, looking for familiar faces. It took a moment, but she recognized Christine’s pink hair on the far side of the room. She had her arm around a guy that Victoria vaguely recognized as one of her bandmates.

Beta leaned against the wall a few feet from his sister. Victoria angled away from him, trying to keep Christine, and the gaggle of people around her, between herself and Beta.

Christine waved as Victoria approached. “Vicks! Glad you could make it!”

“Glad to be here. You had a great show.”

Christine nodded, as if to say, “of course.” She motioned Victoria closer. “This our new drummer, Eli. Eli, this is one of my high school friends, Victoria Strauss.”

Eli was a wiry, pale guy. More or less Christine and Victoria’s age, but he looked like he had some kind of Mediterranean heritage. A long, twisting tattoo snaked up his arm, disappeared under his gray t-shirt and emerged on his neck, where it disappeared again beneath his hair.

Eli nodded to Victoria, but didn’t say anything. His attention mostly stayed on Christine. It was a look Victoria recognized from her mother’s boyfriends, drugged and horny and disgusting.

“How’s the tour going?” Victoria asked.

“Good.” Christine accepted a beer from one of the groupies. “We’re heading to Denver tomorrow morning. You busy this week? You should come along.”

As if life were so easy that Victoria could just run off on a whim. “I have to work. Bills, you know?”

Christine shrugged. “You been singing much lately?”

“Not really. The Real Girls and I aren’t seeing eye to eye on things, so I’ve been looking for something else.”

“That’s too bad.” Eli whispered something in Christine’s ear, drawing a smile to her face. She looked back to Victoria. “Well, don’t be a stranger. Hit me up on Facebook sometime or something. But I need to run.” She licked her lips, then strolled away arm in arm with her boyfriend.

Beta detached from the wall and moved over to fill the space his sister had just vacated. The crowd of people that had been around her was already dispersing. “So who was that guy?”

“Her boyfriend,” Victoria said. She knew he was asking about Trent, but didn’t feel like having that conversation. She had wanted to talk to Christine some more, find out if she knew much about the jazz scene in New York. The idea of bailing on Omaha had a real appeal, no matter what she said about having to work.