Keep Dancing (20 page)

“Good to be back in St. Louis!” Patrick shouted, his voice almost drowned out by the frenzied roar.

Jack struck a razor-sharp note that singed my ears. The crowd went berserk as he ripped into the opening chords of one of their recent hits. As Mark came in with a driving downbeat, Patrick snarled the lyrics, underscoring his words with a funky bass line. Sammy banged out the melody, occasionally playing one-handed when he took a sip from a glass resting on top of the keyboard. The song wound up with a cymbal smash. Patrick bowed low as the others briefly ducked their heads.

The second number was one of their huge hits from the past. Jack was playing hard, eyes closed, muscled chest bare under his open shirt; the epitome of Sexy Rock Idol. I felt like pinching myself:
Am I really with him?
It was hard to reconcile the super-cool onstage image with the joke-loving, down-to-earth guy in torn jeans that I’d been living with for the past two months. The guy who liked dogs and bugs, and adored his little nephew. And who made love to me like we were the last two people on earth.
What does he see in me?
I thought with a pang as I watched the women around me practically having orgasms every time his fingers stroked the strings.

All of a sudden Jack stopped playing for a moment, staring at his hand. With a disgusted look he threw down the bent pick, grabbed another from his shirt pocket, and picked up mid-verse.

By the third number, Patrick had stripped off his shirt. He launched into one of their sexiest dance tunes, gyrating as he wailed the words. The sinuous melody made everyone leap out of their seats and shimmy in the rows, arms waving above their heads. Suzanne and I jumped up and boogied to the pulsing rhythm, occasionally bumping hips in the tight space. She looked so pretty with her wild red hair and blissful expression.
Mark’s such an idiot not to appreciate her
, I thought as Jack and Patrick began belting out their anthem to partying; a foot-stomper that made your feet itch to be out on the floor. Then they launched into their infectious new hit that had been playing nonstop on the radio for several months. Patrick strutted across the stage as Jack hammered out the chords, dazzling the crowd with his smoking riffs.

Down the row, a mass motion caught my eye. The young women next to Mary Jo were lifting their Floor tee-shirts on every other downbeat, flashing their bare breasts. Patrick started laughing and fumbled the lyrics; Jack skipped a chord and made a comment to Mark. Sammy nodded encouragingly, and they all shrieked and lifted their shirts again.

Mary Jo screamed at the girl sitting next to her. “If you do that again, I’ll have security drag you out of here!”

“You go right ahead!” the girl shouted, her frosty pink lips forming a pout. “My daddy’s chief of police. He’ll shut the whole place down!”

Mary Jo stared straight ahead, fuming. After a minute, she turned to her again. “If you’ll stop, you can flash your tits backstage when it’s over.”

“Can you get us in?” the girl asked eagerly.

Mary Jo gave an evil smile. “Of course I can. I’m their manager.”

After a whispered conversation, they all sat back in their seats. I could just imagine how Mary Jo planned to get revenge.

The rest of the show raced by, with the girls managing to keep their shirts on. The Floor did three encores, and then took a brief break to cool down. In the hiatus, Mary Jo gave a guard some whispered directions and motioned for the group of flashers to follow him in the opposite direction from where the men were. The crowd exited the arena, and a new audience filed in. Soon thereafter the band was re-announced and they clambered back onto the platform. By the end of the second show, their fans seemed ready to leap onstage and rip off their clothes.

When the last encore concluded, hundreds of lighters were extinguished and people stumbled down the aisles. We went backstage to find the men. Still buzzed, they were laughing and joking, toweling off their damp faces and guzzling beer. Patrick took Mary Jo into a corner for a few minutes, gesturing angrily. He stormed out and Mary Jo followed him, telling Jack they’d see us at the restaurant.

One of the roadies came over. “Need anything for tomorrow?”

“About eight packs of strings and a shitload of picks. C’mon, let’s get out of here,” Jack said to me.

White Lines

We piled into the limo and headed out to dinner. Jack was laughing with Mark and Sammy, slapping fives and stomping feet.

“That was fantastic. You guys were on fire,” I commented as Jack tipped his head back to down a beer. In the opposite seats, Suzanne and Mark began arguing in an undertone.

“Yeah, the band was hot tonight. It’s a real adrenaline rush to play for a great crowd,” Jack said.

I’m sure it was more than adrenaline
. “The coke probably had something to do with it, too,” I said in a low voice.

Jack lifted an eyebrow. “What, are you keeping tabs?” He bolted the rest of his beer and grabbed the whiskey bottle.

Sammy turned to me. “Did you like my zebra ticklin’?”

I nodded. “Your solos were fantastic. I even heard some Mozart-type trills in there.”

“We’ve gotta get her out more often,” Sammy said. “I like the way this woman’s mind works.”

“What about
my
solos?” Jack asked, draping his arm around my shoulder.

“There you go, always fishing for a compliment,” Sammy said.

“They were ethereal.” I met Jack’s eye. “I don’t understand how you can keep all those notes going at the same time, and those choppy bursts of chords. It’s like two different people are in your ten fingers.”

“Thank you. I wanted to play my new song, but it still isn’t ready. Hopefully it’ll be done by the time we play the Garden.”

Jack looked out the window. “Ah, here we are at something called ‘Steak Emporium.’” He indicated the neon sign as the driver opened the door. We went into the restaurant and were ushered into a private room with a drooping Rotary Club banner. As we were ordering, Mary Jo came in with Patrick, followed by a curvy blonde in a tight red mini.

“You lot, meet Kim.” Patrick plopped down across from us. “D’you have any sushi?” he asked the waiter hopefully, who said he’d check.

“I don’t think you’re going to get any of that here,” Mary Jo said.

“Where I come from, we call that bait,” Sammy commented. “Me, I’m jonesin’ for some nice, juicy barbecue.”

“Pass the plonk,” Jack said. Mark handed him a bottle of red. Jack glanced around for a corkscrew, then took a closer look and unscrewed the top.

“And what do you do, Kim?” Suzanne held out her glass for Jack to fill.

“My family owns Bush Brewery.” The woman adjusted her plunging neckline.

“How fascinating. Do you get free beer?” Mary Jo looked down her nose at the menu.

“Oh, we get free everything.” Kim widened her eyes. “Jack, I really loved watching you play.”

“Kim has great drugs,” Patrick commented. He turned to the waiter, who said they were out of raw fish. “I’ll just have some broccoli, if you can manage that.”

“Which drugs, exactly?” Jack asked.

“Oh, you name it. Anything your heart desires,” Kim cooed.

“Maybe Patrick can bring back a sampler.” Jack nodded at their lead singer, who looked bored out of his mind. “If he’s over his snit.”

“I told you they’d screw up the costume changes,” Patrick complained to Mary Jo. “That makeup girl you hired knows the square root of fuck-all.”

“I think she’s fantastic,” Mark chimed in as Suzanne glowered.

“I’ll replace her,” Mary Jo said soothingly. “Soon as we get to Kansas City.”

“Keep your knickers on,” Jack said. “It’s not the end of the world if you wear the pink blouse before the purple.”

“And
you
fucked up the lead to ‘Gone Away’.” Patrick frowned at Jack.

“No, I didn’t. I play it different every time.” Jack sat back as the waiter placed an overdone steak in front of him.

Patrick lifted a limp piece of broccoli and dropped it. “We’re out of here. See you on the plane.” He got up and left without waiting for Kim. Quickly she reached into her purse and took out a large baggie of white powder. “This is for you, Jack,” she said, putting it on the table and waggling off after Patrick.

“Built like a brick shithouse,” Sammy commented as he watched her go. “Look here, she’s left us her phone number.” He held up a scrap of paper. “And a goodie bag. We can all get lacquered.”

“We’d better not. Remember the bird that gave us the bad stuff in Memphis,” Mark said, grabbing the paper.

“I’ll take that.” Suzanne confiscated the phone number and crumpled it.

Jack turned to Mary Jo. “Patrick threw a wobbler over a few shirts, huh? Is something else eating him?”

“You mean besides Miss Snatch? I mean Miss Bush.” Sammy grinned. “He pitched a hissie-fit over the stage set, too, just before we went on. He was
extremely bothered
by the positioning of the mic.”

“I told those guys to center it.” Mary Jo looked exasperated.

“Have you ever known a bass player that wasn’t an arsehole?” Mark asked.

“Nope,” Jack said. “He’s still in a funk over that woman in L.A.; the one that turned out to only like girls. Just forget it,” he added to Mary Jo. “You know Patrice; always in a strop about something.” He started to saw into his steak, then put down his knife. “D’you think room service has shut down yet?”

“Let’s get out of here. Worst case, they have vending machines in the lobby.” Mary Jo motioned for the check, and the five of us got back into the limo, as she had driven herself.

“I had an inchoate longing to return to the hotel,” Mark said as the driver tore out of the gravel lot.

“I thought our dinner plans were fairly inchoate,” Jack added.

“I still don’t get what it means,” Sammy said.

“Ask Julia, she’s a walking dictionary.” Jack gestured toward me.

“What are you talking about?” I asked as they chortled.

“Patrick’s always wanting to toss these big words into the lyrics,” Jack explained. “Yesterday it was ‘inchoate’; he’d come across it somewhere and got fascinated. I told him
I
barely know what it means, much less our fans.”

“Before that, it was ‘lissome’.” Suzanne snorted.

“Yeah, he had a line about a lissome young girl. I got him to change it to ‘winsome’,” Jack said scornfully.

“Then he got ‘nubile’ stuck in his noggin,” Mark added.

“What a muppet. He was rhyming it with ‘awhile’.” Jack shook his head. “I told him he was being juvenile.”

“Senile is more like it,” Mark said.

“Honey chile, his lyrics are vile,” Sammy said to me.

“Then again, they can be fantastic. Probably depends on what was in the medicine chest that morning,” Jack commented.

I thought the others would retreat to their own rooms when we got to the hotel, but they accompanied us to Jack’s suite and lit yet another joint.

“I’ve had enough for one night; I’m getting a contact high,” Suzanne said. “Let’s go in here.” I followed her and we stretched out on either side of the bed. “I’d ask if you mind if I smoke, but since the place is one big pot cloud, it’s beside the point.” She reached around for the ashtray and lit a cigarette.

“Go right ahead.” I lay back on the pillow, feeling dazed. I’d gotten up at five that morning in New York; with the time difference, to me it was 4 a.m.

“You and Jack seem to be getting along well.” Suzanne blew a halo of white smoke. I watched it waft up to the ceiling mirror and dissipate.

“I don’t know. When I got in, Mary Jo had left a picture of Jack being mauled by that actress, Marissa Pfund. Were they together in L.A.?” Normally I wouldn’t ask Suzanne to tell tales, but I needed to know the truth.

“She’s a real star fucker. Jack and Patrick both had her a few years ago.” Suzanne grimaced. “This time she made a play for Mark.”

Her comment wasn’t all that reassuring, but I decided she would have told me if Jack had partaken of Marissa recently. “How’s the tour going for you so far?” I asked, alluding to Mark’s roving eye.

“Honestly, I’m thinking of leaving him. I can’t take the cheating anymore. It’s really in my face now; I can’t even pretend it’s not going on.”

I reached over and touched her arm. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry. Would it help for Jack to talk to him?”

Suzanne’s face crumpled. “Nothing would help, I’m afraid. And it’s complicated; Jack’s his best mate. Anyway, I haven’t made up my mind yet. I’m going to see how the rest of the concerts go.”

“You can talk to me anytime. I won’t mention it to Jack.”

“Thanks, Julia. I know you wouldn’t. You’re one of the few people I can trust.”

Sammy came into the room with Mark. “Well, look what we have here. Two gorgeous gals in one bed.” Sammy took off his boots and sprawled between me and Suzanne. “Now
this
is what I call a beautiful situation,” he said, putting an arm around each of us. He gazed up at the ceiling. “Why does Jack always get the room with the mirror?”

Mark slipped in beside Suzanne and lay face-down on the pillow. “I could pass out right here.”

Jack came in and looked at us, arms crossed. “Very funny. Okay, time to go back to your own rooms. Julia had a long flight.”

“Aw, I was just gettin’ comfortable,” Sammy drawled, laying his head on Suzanne’s shoulder. “Why don’t you take my bed tonight, Jack? I don’t think there’s room enough for you.”

“Oh really? I know how to make room.” Jack sat at the foot of the bed and grasped one of Sammy’s feet.

“No! Don’t do it!” Sammy yelped. Jack started tickling as Sammy twisted and writhed. “Don’t! I’ll go!”

“D’you think he’s had enough?” Jack asked, looking back at me.

I laughed. “I think you can let him go now.”

Suzanne was trying to push Mark off the mattress. “Come on, get up. Julia needs her sleep.”

Jack released Sammy’s ankle and he sprang off the bed. “You’re crazier’n a bessy bug,” Sammy said as he picked up his boots.

Jack began unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m ready to be with my woman.”