“I thought she wanted a wedding,” Nell said, but neither Eamonn nor Angel had been part of that conversation.
Angel shrugged, though an affectionate smile showed how much he cared for his friends. “They’ll figure it out, now that he’s calmed down. At least it was only a coffee cup in the pool — back before he met her, there would have been a big mess.”
“Learning self-control is a process,” Nell agreed.
Eamonn looked thoughtful. “You said she wanted a wedding.” He took a deep breath and strode over to Blade and Crys. “You know, Blade, if a lady wants a proper wedding, she should have one.”
Blade shot a hard glance at him, then turned his attention back to Crys, his expression softening. “Fuck. Yeah. You want a white dress and flowers and cake, sweetheart?”
Crys’s eyes met Nell’s, torn between two wishes — the young woman obviously loved Blade and was more than willing to get married without any of the usual attendant fuss, but there was a little gleam of longing in her face for something more memorable than just signing legal papers in front of a judge. And it didn’t seem fair to have to give that up, if one wanted it. “These things are not mutually exclusive,” Nell said firmly, and everyone turned to look at her. “Think about it. Shouldn’t be that hard to scare up a cake and a bouquet, even at short notice. And even a dress.”
“Really?” Crys asked, her whole expression lighting up. “I absolutely want to get married this weekend — now that we’ve decided, I want it more than anything — but it would be nice to feel like a bride.”
“Anything you want,” Blade said.
It struck Nell that she’d pretty much just volunteered herself as wedding coordinator. Flipping hell. I don’t even like weddings. But… “Okay. Crys, let’s talk to Sally and we’ll take it from there.”
Crys hugged her.
Angel’s phone rang.
The sound of a vehicle reached them from out front, followed by voices.
And then the gate opened and Amanda Joy Yarrow entered the courtyard in a blaze of magenta feathers, followed by a group of instantly recognizable older men.
The Bad Luck Opals.
A bizarre flutter of panic and excitement washed over Nell. She hadn’t cared in the slightest about meeting Smidge — they were famous, sure, and she’d heard their music on occasion, but she wasn’t a fan in whatever way those things were measured. She’d listen to Kamasi Washington or Cécile McLorin Salvant ahead of a rock band any day. But the Bad Luck Opals were something else, shooting her straight back to her teenage years, with posters on her walls and in her locker like every other girl. Mad Gilbert may have been her first love, but she’d had intense enough crushes on the Opals too.
It was almost unfair how much the same they looked, though silver threads streaked their hair and character lines creased their smiles and the corners of their eyes. Joel Bonamour had cut his hair short since those days, but the guitarist still had a flirty, soulful look and eyes that could melt hearts and panties. Drummer Rudy Matchett’s hair was more Morgan Freeman than Jimi Hendrix now, bassist Troy Turgen tipped a fedora over what was probably a receding hairline or bald spot, and keyboardist Carl Arascain’s once-fiery red mop had faded to thinning strawberry. Front man Keith Zamarron still rocked a full mane of long dark hair, as he always had, and his face still looked full of wicked fun as he grinned around at their surprise. There’s something familiar about him, Nell thought, but she couldn’t place it. Maybe it’s just memory. I stared at their posters enough, back then.
“Yes,” Angel was saying into his phone. “They’re here now. They just arrived at our hotel. … No, totally unexpected, we didn’t arrange it. … Huge honor indeed, I’m aware they’ve never been willing to play Time Rock, and I — … Of course we know some of their songs, not an issue at all. We’ll be ready for tomorrow. … Thanks.”
Eamonn showed no restraint at all in racing over to his mom and wrapping her in a hug before shaking hands with the Opals, who greeted him with kindness, saying things like “Nice to see you again, buddy,” and “Well, you’ve grown up some since we last had you backstage.”
Zamarron clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder and said, “Been following your career, Easy. Was a little worried last year, but it looks like things are good, yeah? You know you can call any time if you need anything — you don’t need to wait for Mandy to ask us.”
Angel joined them, letting Eamonn make the introductions, shaking hands and saying what an honor it was to meet them. Blade drifted over to join them, still holding Crys’s hand, looking awed in the presence of rock royalty. “It’s so cool to have a discography that spans over three decades,” he muttered.
“You guys’ll get there,” Zamarron said kindly.
“I understand from the festival organizers that you’ve stepped in to fill the gap left by Gumdrop Conspiracy’s tragedy,” Angel said. “That’s incredibly kind, especially when you’ve never been willing to play Time Rock before.”
Zamarron shrugged. “Time Rock doesn’t give guarantees about a match-up. Not all younger bands are… professional.”
Matchett chuckled. “What Zam means is he’s always been afraid we’d get paired with some hopeless, unrehearsed, drug-addled mess. Our time is too valuable to come out here for that.”
“It’s a good thing you lot aren’t on that road anymore,” Bonamour added. It wasn’t clear whether he meant their own band history or having to perform with the rolling disaster that Gumdrop Conspiracy had become.
“Anyway, I’m told there’s a rehearsal space booked for us at the venue this afternoon,” Zamarron said. “D’you know anything about the security situation and crowds before we head up
