“Nope. He wanted to be a homebody tonight. If I text him and let him know you’re here, I’m sure he’ll put on pants to come see you.”
“I’d rather you didn’t. I’m sure Kellen is already uncomfortable enough without Jimmy wishing him dead.”
“Forgive me,” Kellen said, “but I’m a little lost here.”
“You didn’t tell him about me and Jimmy?” Dawn’s friend asked, a dark scowl on her face.
“I don’t like to dwell on my failures.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Since Dawn has forgotten her manners, I’ll introduce myself,” she said. “I’m Chantel. We were roommates for a year. We had a little jazz band together with Jimmy Zeta for a while. We lived on macaroni and cheese and cheap wine.” She lifted a hand to her temple and sighed. “Yet she never calls anymore.”
“I called you this afternoon. Your number was disconnected.”
Chantel waved a hand. “I didn’t have phone service for a while. Too broke to pay for it. I’ve got a prepaid el cheapo phone now. Doesn’t break the bank.”
“I’m Kellen.” He introduced himself when he found a narrow opening.
Chantel looped her arm through his and began directing him toward the area near a large grand piano. “You’re a musician, aren’t you?”
“Why do you say that?” Not that he was denying it. He just wondered how she could know.
“Kindred spirit. Dawn and I are about as different as we can be,” Chantel said. She paused to twist toward Dawn, who’d fallen in step behind them. “I mean, will you look at her? She looks like a movie star.”
Oh yeah, he couldn’t help but notice all the heads turning to check Dawn out.
“You look like a dead hooker on CSI,” Dawn said with an ornery grin Kellen had never seen before.
Chantel gave her the finger before pushing him toward a table and stuffing him into a chair. “Even so, we’re kindred spirits.”
She introduced him to her motley group of friends. All musicians, coincidentally. Dawn needed no introduction; they even razzed her about her rich girl dress.
“So you have a Grammy,” Chantel said, “yet you’re still hanging out with the riffraff.”
“Kellen’s not riffraff,” Dawn said.
Compared to Dawn, he was definitely riffraff, but she never went out of her way to make him feel that way.
“I was referring to us,” Chantel said, waving a hand at her three companions.
“Is this your new band?” Dawn asked.
Chantel shook her head. “Naw, we never joined a new band after you left. Jimmy and I have expanded our horizons.”
“Does that mean you’re smoking more pot?” Dawn asked.
Kellen laughed, liking this side of Dawn he never knew existed.
“Maybe a little, but that’s not the horizon I’m referring to. I’ll text Jimmy now. He’ll want to tell you himself.”
Dawn smiled and seated herself on Kellen’s knee since there weren’t any free chairs. She ordered a martini and he a beer. The noise in the place was deafening, every person trying to talk louder than the next so they could be heard. When the din suddenly faded, Kellen glanced around for the reason.
An older black gentleman climbed up on the stage to sit at the piano. He fingered a few keys, and Chantel yelled, “Hey, Bobbie, look who’s back in town.”
The pianist glanced at their table and was immediately on his feet. “Oh my Dawn,” he said. He hobbled off the stage to pull her off Kellen’s lap and into a sturdy hug. “It’s so good to see you again. You have to play for us tonight.”
“You’re the star of this show,” Dawn said, drawing away and holding him at arm’s length. Her fondness for the man was written all over her face. Kindred spirits, Kellen supposed.
“Just one song,” Bobbie said, giving her slender bare arms a squeeze for emphasis. “For me?”
“Well, I did promise Kellen I’d play ‘Take the A Train’ for him.” She offered Kellen a smile. “Can you believe he’s never heard it?”
Bobbie laughed. “That definitely needs remedied.”
“Play a song,” Chantel chanted. “Play a song. Play a song.”
The entire table began to imitate her, and the chorus soon spread throughout the bar.
“One song,” Dawn said, lifting a finger.
“As many as you’d like,” Bobbie said, nudging her toward the stage. “I can take the night off.”
Kellen sat up straighter as Dawn approached the piano. She ran a finger over the keys, so lightly that they made no sound. A lover’s caress. Every eye in the room was turned in her direction. He wasn’t sure if it was his association of Dawn plus piano equaling sex, or the way she so easily commanded the massive instrument with a mix of confidence, genuine love for music, and talent, or the way she looked in that dress that had him instantly aroused, but he was suddenly glad he had a sturdy table to hide his lap from view.
“Jimmy better hurry,” Chantel said. “He’ll kill me if he misses this, and maybe if he sees her with a hot guy, he’ll finally get over her.”
Kellen couldn’t take his eyes off Dawn to spare Chantel a glance. He murmured, “Mmm hmm,” which seemed to appease her enough to silence her chatter.
Dawn slid onto the piano bench and adjusted the microphone. “I won’t damage your hearing with my singing,” she said, and several quiet laughs circulated around the room, “but if you know the words, feel free to sing along.”
Kellen’s heart raced as she began the song, and the melody did seem familiar, so he must have heard the tune at some point. Maybe Adam had played it. He’d played jazz guitar in the past. Bopping around in her chair like she had restless butt syndrome, Chantel sang the chorus, and though she had a phenomenal voice, Kellen wished she’d shut the fuck up so he could focus on Dawn’s playing. During the piano solo, the entire bar fell silent—even Chantel. Perhaps the other patrons were also holding their breaths as Dawn played a series of notes so quick and clear and perfect, he never wanted her to stop. But she did stop eventually, to segue back into the chorus.
“And that’s why I told her she had to leave,” Chantel said with a sad sigh.
Kellen blinked to reset his brain and gave her a look that should have sent her diving under the table for cover, but she had her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand as she watched Dawn play, her body rocking with the beat. How could anyone ask Dawn to leave? Couldn’t this idiot hear how perfectly Dawn played?
“She didn’t miss a note,” Kellen said. “She never misses a note. That was spectacular.”
Chantel’s light brown eyes shifted to him. “Actually, she missed every note, because she makes every song her own. If you knew the original, you’d realize that.”
“She makes every note better,” Bobbie said, a wide smile on his face. “But she doesn’t belong here. Her talent is wasted on the likes of us.”