I shook my head. “That’s Buzz, my bass player. He writes the music. And Leo, my rhythm guitar. He writes the lyrics.”
“Those songs were tight. It’s good to see you branching out of covers,” Dixon commented and this threw me most of al .
“You catch a gig before?” I asked, doing my damnedest to stay outwardly calm.
“Anytime I’m in Denver, The Gypsies are playing, I come,” Dixon replied.
Oh my Lord!
“So why haven’t you ever met my girl here?” Monk pushed in and clapped Dixon on the back. It gave me the creepy-crawlies to be referred to as Monk’s girl, so much so, even though I tried to stop it, my lip curled.
Dixon looked down his nose at Monk and replied,
“Except when they’re playing The Pal adium. I usual y avoid The Pal adium.”
Monk got a little pale and stepped back.
I couldn’t help myself, I smirked at Dixon Jones. Al of a sudden, I liked him.
“Couldn’t miss tonight,” he said, lifting a copy of USA Today I hadn’t noticed he was carrying. “Rock ‘n’ rol in the face of certain danger. I figured it’d be good but shit. Gotta tel you, Stel a, you and your boys delivered beyond expectation. Your set list is inspired.”
Then Dixon snapped the paper open and turned a page to face me.
On the page was a grainy photo of me and Mace making out last night onstage. I didn’t look at the caption; I was too busy staring at the photo. I, of course, had never seen myself kissing Mace (or anyone) and I was weirdly fascinated.
The photo was probably taken by a cel phone camera. It didn’t look great but it didn’t look bad either. In fact, the way I was bent over Mace’s arm, the drums in the background, Mace’s fist wrapped around the neck of my guitar, my hands clutching his broad shoulders, our lips locked, it looked hot.
Smokin’ hot.
Shitsofuckit!
“Holy crap,” Indy whispered.
“USA Today?” Jet breathed.
“I didn’t see that one,” Daisy muttered.
“Great fuckin’ picture,” Al y observed.
I took a step forward, my hand coming out to take the paper but I didn’t make it. Vance got there before me, tagged the paper and took a step back.
“You need to focus on the show,” Vance said to me, folding the paper and tucking it under his arm.
I stared at him, shocked. So did Dixon Jones. The Rock Chicks al looked at each other and they did it knowingly.
Not good.
Something was up.
I turned to Vance. “What are you? My manager?” Vance looked at his watch then back to me. “For the next two minutes, yeah.”
“Are not,” I snapped.
“Focus, Stel a,” Vance shot back.
“We need to talk,” Hector said to Dixon and I turned angry, confused eyes to Hector.
Dixon was also looking confused.
I looked back at Hector and read his intent.
Oh no.
This was not going to happen!
“Don’t talk to him,” I said to Dixon.
Now Dixon was looking at me and he stil appeared confused.
The Rock Chicks huddled closer except Shirleen. She approached Dixon.
“Yeah, Hector and me and you, we all got to talk,” Shirleen said to Dixon.
Oh dear.
This was getting worse.
“And me!” Daisy pressed forward.
Oh no!
Even worse!
“No!” I shouted, trying to move but for some reason Al y and Ava had me in a death grip.
Dixon swung his gaze from me to Daisy to Shirleen.
“Who’re you?” he asked Shirleen.
He asked Shirleen but Daisy answered.
“Managers. We all manage The Gypsies. Just like any real good, smokin’ hot rock band, they’re a handful, comprende?”
“They’re not my managers,” I told Dixon.
Shirleen had her fingers curled around Dixon’s upper arm and was leading him to the door. She leaned in toward his ear and lied, “She says that three times a day.” I looked to the ceiling and silently said a short, pointed prayer.
My prayer went ignored and, with a bemused glance over his shoulder at me, Dixon Jones disappeared behind the door.
I turned woodenly and looked at Al y. “What just happened?”
“Ask me no questions, I’l tel you no lies,” Al y replied.
My eyes narrowed and I could actual y feel my pulse beating in my throat.
Then I shouted, “What the ef does that mean?”
“That means,” Jet materialized in front of me, “you have to trust us.”
This was not good.
Not good at al .
They were up to something.
And I was pretty certain I knew what it was and I didn’t like it.
I shook my head at Jet. “Not with a scout I don’t.”
“Trust us,” Indy said, coming to stand by Jet.
Ef that!
“You al are fucking nuts. Everyone is fucking nuts! The world is fucking nuts!” I yel ed just as the door opened and Mace walked in.
Completely oblivious to my tantrum, Mace looked at me with stil angry eyes and announced, “Time for your last set and, Stel a, if there’s one fuckin’ song about death or guns, I’m gonna shoot you.”
Effing… bloody… hell.
*