Strange.
I headed back to the van. There wasn’t a lot left to gather up. The caterers were pulling their equipment too, loading a sleek white delivery truck next to the boys’ ratty van. I wasn’t sure what I’d do next. Take off walking or ride somewhere with the band. I figured I would just go along with whatever opportunities arose.
What I didn’t expect was a hand on my arm as I was about to round the corner of the house. I paused and turned to a gorgeous redhead who seemed vaguely familiar.
“I heard you sing,” she said. “Your voice is divine.”
Jazz, the drummer, came up behind us with a snicker. “You’re something else,” he said as he passed.
I ignored him. “Thanks,” I said to the woman.
“I’m staying here at the house. You want to come up for a drink?” She kept her poise, her body held in place like she was in a photo shoot, hip cocked, arm angled away from her fitted black dress.
That’s when I placed her. She was on a TV show my mother used to watch. I could see her in a cop uniform. Her hair was longer then.
Paul came up and took the snare drum from my hands without a word.
“Seems you have some time to spare.” Her smile was perfect, something you’d see on a billboard.
But about as fake.
“I’m just the help,” I said. “I need to get everyone packed.”
She let go of my arm, her smile unchanging, like it was painted on. Then she frowned, rubbing her fingers together like something was stuck to them.
“Sand,” I said with a laugh. “Sorry.”
That was when I realized, yeah, no way was I going near this woman. She was like a cardboard cutout compared to the warm, spontaneous ease of Jenny.
“Oh,” she said with confusion, as if trying to solve the puzzle of how I had gotten sand on me at the party.
“Thanks for the offer,” I said, and strode away toward the van.
When Paul jumped out of the back door and saw me, he pretended to pull his hair out. “What are you doing here, man? That was Vanessa Price! You could totally be doing her right now!”
The keyboardist stepped around the bumper, smoking a cigarette. “He’s already had action tonight, man,” he said. “That pink girl.”
I said nothing, just hopped in the back to locate my guitar and backpack. I wasn’t sure I was going to hang with them after all. I needed a shower and a change of clothes, though, for sure. I felt like I was carrying half the beach in my boxers.
Jazz lay between drums on the floor of the van. “I’m wiped.”
Paul closed the back doors, reappearing in the driver’s seat. “I think we got it all,” he said. He turned around. “You going to chill with us since you chickened out with that actress?”
I couldn’t really afford a hotel. Their place was a roof over my head at least. “Yeah, sure,” I said.
Jazz picked up a water bottle from the floor and chucked it at me. “You could’ve been shacking up with that redhead.”
I deftly caught the bottle and set it down. “I just got here. I don’t need woman trouble straight off.”
“You check to make sure that other girl wasn’t hitched before you jizzed her?” Jazz asked. “Because we really don’t want to have to shovel your ass off the concrete.”
“She was alone,” I said.
Jazz sighed. “And now so is that redhead.”
Paul fired up the engine. It sputtered a moment, then caught. “I’ll stop by QuickieCash and split the check,” he said as we circled to the front of the house.
“Nah, man, they’ll take too much,” Jazz said. “I can cash it at the bank Monday morning.”
“I was gonna give Tennessee here a cut, with him making the crowd actually notice we were there and all,” Paul said.
I sat with my back against the wall of the van. “Not necessary,” I said. “I’ll settle for a sofa to crash on.”
“Right on,” Jazz said. “You can hang with me. My roommate is outta town.”
We passed through the iron gates. “Still a lot of cars here,” Paul remarked. “They should have extended the gig.”
“Nobody was paying any attention once the crooner here took off,” Jazz said. “’Sides, the food was leaving. The people weren’t going to hang much longer.”
“That reminds me,” Paul said. “They gave us a box of leftovers. It’s by the amp.”
“Righteous,” Jazz said, but didn’t make any move to open it.
I scooted closer to the front of the van and found the plain white box. Inside was a pile of perfect triangular sandwiches and a stack of cookies. I pulled a couple of each and passed the box up to the front to the keyboardist in the passenger seat. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast in Vegas.
“Thanks,” Paul said. “So where’d you go with that pink girl?”
“Some beach,” I said.
“Dude, never have sex on a beach!” the keyboardist said. “Sand is not your friend.”
“Total chafing,” Jazz said.