“You have to.”
“No, I don’t. What’s that old saying? Only two things are certain in life—death and taxes. And we don’t even have to pay taxes if we don’t want to. We can just go to jail and then die. I do not have to go out tonight.” She was tired, and she didn’t know why. And she was afraid that she would run into Aidan Flynn again, which she definitely didn’t want to do, and she didn’t know exactly why she felt so strongly about that, either. If the guy was going to be living near the city, she could end up running into him a lot, so she was going to have to learn to deal with him, because she wasn’t about to let anyone change her life, her friends or her habits.
Not that she always hung out on Bourbon Street. The locals all said that Bourbon Street was for the tourists; anyone who still wanted real blues or a genuinely Southern-style bar usually headed to Frenchman Street.
But Vinnie played on Bourbon. And lots of her friends went there to see him. The truth was, any musician looking for a full-time gig that actually provided a living wage was lucky to get a job on Bourbon Street.
Mason pointed a finger at her. “Fine. If you want to break Vinnie’s heart, be a no-show. He was crushed last night when you weren’t there to hear his new song.”
“Oh, come on. He knows I’m his biggest fan,” Kendall protested.
Silently, though, she admitted that Mason was probably right. Vinnie was sensitive when it came to his music. Artists! She knew enough of them. Once upon a time, she had intended to be one. But making a living had superseded certain dreams, and she did love her shop. She even loved the opportunity to use her “powers” to help people when they were hurt, anxious or just in need of a friendly hand to hold.
She knew the disappointment of rejection all too well. That was another reason why she had loved Amelia so much.
“Young lady,” Amelia had told her, “don’t you ever let anyone put you down. You are strong and talented, and don’t you forget that, no matter what anyone else says or does. Life is a fight. You need to know when to retreat, when to go forward. You need to know yourself, and know your own value.”
In short, Amelia had told her to never let ’em see her cry.
Amelia had given her so much.
“Mason, Vinnie is my best friend. But…”
Her voice trailed away. Why would she want to hurt a friend’s feelings, adding to the pain life was always so ready to dish out?
Mason gave her a look. The look. He was good at it. The look made her feel as if she were worth about two cents, as if she were cruelly betraying her best friend, as if she were nothing but a sniveling coward.
She threw up her hands in resignation. “All right.”
Bourbon Street was still struggling during the week. Only on weekends could any place guarantee a crowd. Things were getting better, but better hadn’t yet brought them back up to their pre-storm par. That would still take years, most residents realized. Even so, the shills were working hard to entice them as they headed down Iberville and moved on to Bourbon.
“Three drinks for the price of one!” A guy wearing a sandwich board tried to hand them a flyer. “Oh, hell, it’s you, Mason,” he said.
Mason laughed. “Sorry, Brad. We’re on our way to hear Vinnie.”
Kendall recognized Brad Humphries. He managed a place that had been forced to downgrade to canned music during the week. He was doing his best to survive: managing, bartending, being a DJ—and wearing a sandwich board in the street.
She set her hand on Mason’s arm and smiled at Brad. “We’ll come in for a minute.”
Mason looked at her, hiking up a brow. “Yeah?”
She nodded. “Thanks,” Brad said, clearly meaning it.
Inside, a few people were hanging out at the bar. The place offered live country music on the weekends and had a mechanical bull, but even the bull looked forlorn that night.
“I guess Brad’s been hitting up a lot of the locals,” Mason said, as they collected their drinks from the bar and took chairs at a high table.
“What do you mean?” Kendall asked, looking around at the mostly empty place.
“Cops,” Mason said. “Off-duty cops.”