“I’d kil for some eggs. You got bacon?” Pong asked me, entirely unaffected by al the scariness happening around him.
“You’re nuts too,” I said to Pong who just grinned at me and pushed off the bed.
“Toast. I need toast. With grape jel y. And loads of butter,” Buzz said, exiting the bed as wel .
“There’s bread. There’s bacon too,” Leo announced, head in the fridge.
I looked at Floyd.
Floyd didn’t look happy.
Final y, one sane person!
He stared at me and shook his head.
I waited for him to intervene, to bring sanity into our crazy world.
Then he shrugged.
“Is the coffee done?” Floyd asked as he got up and walked to the kitchen too.
Shitsofuckit!
I flopped back on the bed.
Beautiful.
This was just beautiful.
“You better cal Mace, get him to set up the security detail,” Hugo said from his place leaning against the kitchen ledge.
Even more beautiful.
Mace was going to have a shit fit.
And here I was, pul ing him in to help me and my band.
Again!
“Stel a Bel a, you want eggs?” Leo asked.
I looked at Juno.
She blinked at me then panted a bit. I watched as she gave up the fight against consciousness, rol ed to her side and groaned as she stretched out, preparing for her doggie nap.
Eyes stil on Juno, I answered, “Yeah, I want eggs.” Chapter Twelve Set List
Stella
“Denver, let me hear you make some noise!” I shouted into the mic, stil playing my guitar, the music roaring from the amplifiers.
At my demand, the crowd went nuts.
I looked to Buzz and smiled. He smiled back while jacking his head up and down. My gaze moved beyond Buzz to see Floyd’s head swinging back and forth, his shoulders bunched up, his fingers crashing on the piano keys. I stepped back and looked behind me to see Pong’s hair was flying out wild as he shook his head and banged the drums. My gaze moved to Leo who had his head bent, staring at the stage but his feet were hopping up and down to the beat.
Hugo was playing the keyboards, something he rarely did. He said this was because it gave him bad flashbacks of the organ lessons he’d taken at church, lessons forced on him by his bal -buster of a grandmother.
I felt badly about giving Hugo flashbacks of his bal -
buster grandmother because I’d met her and she wa s a bal -buster.
But we needed the keyboards.
We were ending our third set on our fourth encore of Bob Seger and The Silver Bul et Band’s “Get Out of Denver”.
Keyboards were paramount. You didn’t do “Get Out of Denver” without keyboards.
Hugo had had to suck it up.
He hated it but he did it for the band.
I executed the finishing riff with the drums, keyboards and piano crashing al around me. Then, as the keyboards and drums kept the excitement going, I put my arm up in the air, finger pointed to the ceiling, bounced my head and shoulders with my finger slashing the air, one, two, three, four and then we al jumped high one last time as I brought my arm down in a wide swipe and the music stopped.
I turned to the mic, wrapped my hand around it and smiled to the crowd.
“That’s rock ‘n’ rol !” I yel ed and a wal of sound hit us as they screamed back.
“We need a beer. Give us fifteen minutes and we’l be back,” I told them and they screamed again.
I grabbed the neck of my guitar and swung it in an arc, moving my hair out of the way with a shake of my head and disengaging the black leather strap (that had kil er, tiny, daisy flower silver rivets running up each edge, a double threat, girlie but stil rock ‘n’ rol ) from around my shoulder. I placed my guitar in its stand and walked between Buzz and Leo to the stairs that would lead offstage.
The crowd had moved from fanatic screams to clapping and stomping rhythmical y, chanting the word “Gypsies” over and over again. They were hoping for encore number five and I had to admit, I was high enough to give it to them.
But seriously, as high as I was, as much as the music and the crowd were feeding me, I needed a fucking beer.
*
My day had started out shit and didn’t get better. Let’s just say Mace hadn’t been happy that our evening plans had changed from a quiet dinner and a talk about our future to his having to pul together a security detail for a death defying rock gig.
After the band left, I cal ed Mace and managed to talk him around (okay, so it could more appropriately be described as yel ing him around). But once he gave in, to my shock, Lee phoned and started yel ing at me too. Then Luke phoned. Then Hector. Then Eddie. I hung up on Hank and then had Roxie phoning me, yel ing at me for hanging up on Hank.
The Hot Bunch weren’t al that excited about me getting shot at again but more, if I was putting myself out there, the Rock Chicks were coming for moral support. And that they really didn’t like.
As for Roxie, she just didn’t like me hanging up on Hank.
I was in a pickle. I couldn’t make the Rock Chicks stay home. I couldn’t let down the band.
Either way, I was screwed.