Rock Angel (Rock Angel Series Book 1) (23 page)

He put a finger over her lips. “We’ll find out when someday comes, little girl. Now let it go.”

She frowned, but held her tongue. He waited a few moments, then let go of her lip.

“Okay,” he said. “Now that we have that settled, let me hear those lyrics again.”

That night when Dave arrived for their first practice, Shan was still smarting. No matter how Quinn had tried to smooth it over, the fact remained that she’d blatantly thrown herself at him and he’d rejected her. Quinn, who’d had more women than anyone she’d ever known.

She tried to ignore her humiliation and focus on the music. She was looking forward to showing the guys some of her new guitar tricks and she knew that her voice had improved, too. She’d done her exercises faithfully, worked to stretch herself vocally, and she had a chance to demonstrate when they practiced a Queen cover that was a standard part of their repertoire. Despite everything, it felt good to be back with her boys and she opened up and sang her heart out.

They sailed along with tremendous energy until Ty got tangled up and hit a clanger on the climb. It was jarring enough that they stopped, everyone laughing except Quinn.

“Hold up,” he ordered, when the mirth had died down. He focused his attention on Shan. “Sing this,” he said, and struck an F2 on the Kur.

She complied and he had her keep singing, playing higher and higher notes until he stopped at F6. “You’ve come into your full voice,” he told her, “and it’s damned close to four octaves.” He didn’t make any further comment, but she could see the goose bumps.

He was less pleased by her guitar stylings. During “Wanderlust” he stopped them again with a swift raising of his hand. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing with that solo?” he asked her.

Shan eyed him quizzically. “I’m playing it in G minor.”

“What are you doing
that
for?”

She stared at him. “What do you mean? I’m in the right key.”

“It’s supposed to be a
solo
. Why are you playing what I’m playing?”

“I like it,” Dave offered. “It’s tight as a drum. I’d play it the same way.”

“Of course
you
like it. If I wanted the solo to sound like Dazzle,” Quinn told Shan, who was beginning to burn, “I would have had him play it. Have you lost your touch?”

“No, I haven’t,” she shot back. “In fact, I think I’ve improved.
Markedly
.”

“You sound like you belong on a Muzak recording,” he said
.
“Where’s the flash?”

Her fingers tightened on the neck of her guitar. “All you’ve ever done is complain how I’m too rough! Now I’m too smooth? What are you, schizo or something?”

“The rough edge is what makes your playing special. Reinhardt hammered you on it, didn’t he, and you knuckled under.
I told you not to let that happen.
You can learn the technical stuff without giving up your personal style. When the fuck are you going to learn to think for yourself?”

“Fine.” She was shaking with outrage. “I’ll give you a goddamned rough edge.”

They went back to the song and, this time when they got to the solo, Shan sprang off into a wild eruption that noodled frantically around the tight rhythm parts. When they finished, she was perspiring and turned around, ready to jump in Quinn’s face when he lit into her.

Instead, he was grinning. “That’s my girl!”

Dave grinned also, raising an eyebrow. “Well,
that’s
a departure.”

“You couldn’t play that way if you tried,” Quinn agreed. “I’m not saying you did it
well
,” he said to Shan. “It was a splattery wreck, but you’ve got the idea. I’ll work with you on it.”

She didn’t respond, but took off the Angel and scrounged around inside her guitar case.

“Why are you packing? We’re not done,” Quinn said. “You’ve got intensity, but now there’s no structure. What I want is the psychotic angel we know and love. You’re on the right track but, instead of Lizzie Borden, we’re getting Rain Man.”

“I’m not packing.”

“Then what are you doing?” She continued to fiddle around inside the case. “What’s your problem? Have you gotten so soft you can’t take a little constructive criticism?”

She shot him a deadly look. “I broke a string. Is it all right with you if I change it?”

Quinn smirked. “I’ll do some one on one with you,” he said, “and show you how to get volume without damaging the equipment.” Shan ignored him, lifting a bottle of beer to her lips. “That guitar was expensive. You shouldn’t be treating it like a goddamn drum kit.”

She whirled and flung the bottle across the living room. Quinn ducked and the bottle bounced off the wall behind him, spraying him with Corona. “You might be a magician on that keyboard,” she snarled, “but you’re not nearly the guitar player I am. Not by half, and
you’re not going tell me how to play!
” She shoved her guitar into the case and yanked the top closed. Snatching it, she marched upstairs. “Screw you, Q,” she yelled before slamming her bedroom door.

Quinn stared after her, his face frozen in shock. Dan and Ty exchanged incredulous glances and, behind them, Dave laughed softly. “Well,” he said, “I guess she told
you
.”

They practiced every day for the next two weeks as the band adapted to their new member. Shan’s concerns about being pushed aside turned out to be groundless, as it became clear early on that Dave had no interest in competing for her spot.

Not because he couldn’t play lead, because he could. When Dave soloed, he wove melodies that were strong and shimmery, an arresting contrast to her own edgier riffs. But his strength was in the rhythm and in the silver-toned tremolo chords that illustrated how he’d earned the nickname Dazzle.

It made the music more complicated, especially given the presence of the keyboard. Quinn soloed often, even more than she did, but Dave didn’t compete with him, either. Shan suspected this had as much to do with his recruitment as his skill, since Quinn would never stand for anyone challenging his role as the musical pilot of the band.

He was a pleasant, easy-going sort of bandmate, a genuinely nice guy who fit right into the group. Thoughtful, too. As they set up for their first gig at a small LA rock club called Bluenote, Dave produced a handful of guitar picks, a whorl of bright colors in a tie-dye pattern. “Here.” He dropped them into Shan’s hand. “A little something to celebrate our first gig together.”

“Too cool!” Shan exclaimed, examining them. “Thanks, Dave. That’s so sweet of you.”

He smiled when she looked up at him. “Don’t be nervous. It’s going to be good.”

Shan was indeed nervous. Apart from the fact that this was her first gig in a new city and with a newly configured band, she and Quinn were still on the outs and she wasn’t looking forward to sharing a stage with him. She couldn’t shrug off the shame of that night and it clearly bothered him, too. Outside of band matters he’d barely spoken to her, even though they were continuing to develop their new material. Now they worked in the music room instead of his bedroom.

She didn’t realize just how much he’d been holding back until she went outside to the van where Quinn was handing out equipment. “This gig is costing us a fortune,” he was ranting at Dan.

“Well, we knew that was how it would be until we got established,” Dan said, accepting the bass amp. “It don’t happen overnight, dude.”

“I know, but fifty fucking tickets! We only sold thirty, so we won’t break even unless we pack the place.” He handed Dan the cymbal case, closing his mouth when he caught sight of Shan.

Dan looked over his shoulder, saw her, and stopped talking, as well. He took the cymbals, hoisted the amp, and sped inside the building. “Quinn, is this a pay-to-play gig?” she demanded.

Pay-to-play was an avaricious system that LA clubs used as insurance against poor turnout. Bands had to prepurchase some set number of tickets, then sell them on their own to earn back their money. The cover tonight was ten bucks, so if they’d paid for fifty tickets…

“You had to lay out five hundred dollars?”

Quinn shrugged. “Everybody chipped in.”

“Everybody except me, you mean.” A fresh floweret of humiliation bloomed inside her, staining her cheeks red. “Damn it, I’m part of this band, too. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He was still inside the van and he crouched until he was eye level with her. “What good would it have done? You’re broke.”

“Not completely. I could have kicked in
something
, at least.”

“I’ve got eyes, Shan. You haven’t eaten anything but ramen noodles for two weeks and your methadone stash is almost gone.”

She couldn’t think of anything to say, because he was right. She’d been counting on tonight’s take to replenish it. She snatched her guitars and went inside.

She plugged in her Peavey and began tuning up, avoiding everyone’s eyes as they set up around her. She felt like an utter failure. Here she was again, the weak link who couldn’t hold up her end of the band responsibilities. She stayed quiet during sound check and, as soon as they finished, escaped to the bar to order a club soda.

After a few minutes, Quinn slipped into the seat beside her. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I mean, that’s what I was trying
not
to do. I know you’re almost out of cash, so I covered your share. I figured it would be better if you just didn’t know.”

When Shan turned to face him, she took one look at his sheepish, contrite expression and fell in love with him all over again. He was trying to protect her, she knew he was, but the wave of tenderness that swept her was firmly contained by a bank of residual indignation. “I know you think you’re helping, but I need you to stop treating me like I’m a child. I’m a big girl, Q. Okay?”

“I’ll try,” he said reluctantly, “but I can’t help worrying about you. You never say anything when you get into trouble. You just keep your mouth shut and suffer.”

“What can you do? You’re almost broke, yourself,” she said and he shrugged.

“I’ve got plastic. Please don’t starve and go into methadone withdrawal just because you’re too pissed off at me to ask for help.”

“But I’m
always
taking help from you! It was different when I first got here, when I thought we were going to be…” she hesitated.

“A couple?” he finished and she flushed again. “We are, in a way. A couple of friends.
Good
friends. I told you before that I’d do anything for you and I will. I’ve got your back, angel.”

His words were so heartfelt, his eyes so earnest, that she melted. “I know that, Q,” she said, “and I’m so glad, because I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She leaned closer, intending to kiss his cheek, but he drew back. “No kissing,” he said, a wicked sparkle in his eye. “I’m afraid you might lose control and jump my bones again.”

The blood slammed into her face. “I take it back. You’re a dick!”

He chuckled. “Oh, get over it, for Crissake. I’ve had girls hit on me before, you know. Now you think we could go make some music, so this town can find out how awesome we are?”

She nodded and, as she did so, she felt the pall of the past days lifting. It was going to be okay. Q said so and he was always right.

The crowd was spotty when they took the stage, but they started right off with “Summertime Blues,” which they did nearly a cappella, with Dan tapping out a bare bones cadence on the tom rack and Shan’s voice soaring up over a complex background harmony sung by the rest of the band. She performed it with a serpentine shimmy that was part Tina Turner, part Axl Rose, and it grabbed the attention of the crowd. They kept it when they swung next into “Come Sail Away” and, by the time they followed up with “Wanderlust,” the place was rocking.

Their audience eventually grew to about eighty, far from a packed house, but they were loud and appreciative. It was enough to recoup their original investment and clear a little besides, and Shan knew they’d have no trouble booking future gigs at Bluenote.

And she was right. Pleased by both the audience response and the amount of alcohol consumed by the thirsty crowd, the manager booked them for three more gigs. Quinn had a decent schedule mapped out already, since he’d been hustling the smaller clubs nonstop since his arrival, but their word of mouth was good and before long they were getting gigs at some of the bigger venues. In Shan’s eyes, they reached the pinnacle when they played the Whisky a Go Go on the Sunset Strip just two months later.

True, it was pay-to-play and they were at the absolute bottom of the gig food chain. They went on at seven, first in a lineup of six bands that got progressively more famous as the night went on, but even that couldn’t dim her excitement. She was performing on a stage that had been graced by the Doors, Van Halen, and Led Zeppelin!

The crowd was small for their spot, but they were well received. Afterward the band and Denise claimed a table up on the second floor to watch a few of the other bands, none of whom were as good as Quinntessence. Even the headliner lacked their star power.

It was nearly midnight when they rose to leave. From the bar Quinn saw them and made his way back to the table, leaving behind the hot blonde he’d been flirting with all night.

“Heading out?” Quinn asked, the mic box under his arm. He never let it out of his sight at gigs since the theft at Fuego. When Dan nodded, he handed it over.

“Aren’t you coming?” Dave asked and Quinn shook his head.

“I’ve got my bike. Besides, I plan to be busy later.” He grinned and jerked his head at the blonde back at the bar. Dave chuckled.

“See you all in the morning,” Quinn said, and aside to Shan, “Nice job tonight, angel.”

He touched her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. “I got another shock from my mic,” she said, nodding at the box in Dan’s hand. “I thought you’d fixed it.”

“I forgot,” Quinn frowned, “but I’ll look at it before the next gig. Are you okay?”

“Yes, but it really hurt.” She touched her lower lip. “It was like a bee sting.”

“Be careful,” Dave said. “We don’t want any marks on those pretty lips.”

She tittered, then motioned to Denise. “Let’s run to the ladies’ before we leave. ’Night, Dave,” she said, seeing him gather up his guitar.