“In a strange sort of way. So what’s the problem? Call her. See her again. It’s not like you haven’t had the hots for someone before.” Rick chuckled. “Although this is the first time I’ve ever seen you with your shorts in such a twist about it.”
“It’s not so simple.” Marc raked his fingers through his hair again. “I can’t call her because I don’t know her number. Or her name.”
“What?” Rick stood up from the stool. “Are you shitting me? I might expect something like this from Garrett but not from you. How come you didn’t get her name?”
“Believe it or not, she wouldn’t give it to me.” His voice was laced with simmering frustration. What could Music Lady possibly be hiding? She’d certainly hauled ass out of his house as if her tail were on fire. This was an experience he had no experience with.
“That’s not good.” Rick frowned. “She has to be hiding something. Is she married? You never mess with married women, Marc. None of us do. You know that.”
”No.” He shook his head. “I’m sure she’s single. I think….”
“Think what?”
“I think Saturday night is the first time she’s ever done anything like this. Even been to a rock club. Any club. And I think she was scared.”
“But obviously willing enough to go home with you and have wild monkey sex,” Rick pointed out.
“Hey.” Marc tensed. “It was a hell of a lot more than bedroom acrobatics.”
Rick got right up in front of him. “Then why didn’t she give you her name? Or her phone number?”
Marc turned away. “It gets worse.” He explained about the episode in the grocery store.
“Fuckin’ A.” Rick’s voice held a stunned tone. “And you still can’t get past her? What’s wrong with your head?”
Marc spread his hands in a helpless gesture. He’d been struggling with his emotions from the moment Music Lady refused to acknowledge him in the grocery store. How could he explain to his friend how he was feeling when he couldn’t even explain it to himself? “What can I tell you?”
He had different objectives for his future than many of his friends. Unlike a lot of musicians he knew, including a couple in his own band, he was pretty selective about the women he took home with him. Especially now that his goal was something permanent. He might start work at nine at night rather than nine in the morning, but he wanted the kind of solid situation for himself like his parents had. A relationship where the people were two halves of a whole and fit together perfectly, no matter what life threw at them.
He’d always expected when he did find his special lady that it would be a slow and steady process to a permanent relationship. Could he build it with Music Lady, connect with her emotionally as well as physically? He sensed the beginning of something special, just after one night. The incident at the grocery store still hurt, but he hoped she’d come back to Aftershock. Explain why she acted the way she did. Let him know if he’d done something wrong. Then maybe they could start over.
If she came back.
Rick studied him for a moment. Silence stretched out uncomfortably.
“Say something,” Marc said.
“What can I say? You’re acting like a stupid schmuck. Forget her. Get your head out of your ass. You know something big might be happening for us any day now. It’s in the works. We have to be ready. We’ve got a lot of work to do, and this afternoon’s rehearsal was damn near worthless.”
Marc knew his friend was right. “I’m sorry.”
“You need to be more than sorry, Marco Polo.”
He ground his teeth. “I hear you.”
“Go home.” Rick picked up his guitar case. “Focus on the script for the new video we’re doing. We’re going to shoot it this week, and I’ve lined up some folks to take a look at it.”
When the band first got together, Marc discovered writing came as naturally to him as creating and playing music. He’d then become the de facto scriptwriter for every video they did. This would be the fifth one they shot, and it would feature a new song. And if things worked out right, it could bring them the big break they’d been working toward for so long.
“Okay.” He picked up his own instrument. “I’ll call you later.”
“You bet you will. I want a progress report. At least we’ll get something out of today.”
***
They were seated at a high pub table in Hot Salsa, their favorite place to meet. The sounds of Happy Hour swirled around them. Emma stirred her drink with the hot pink swizzle stick and stared into the slush of a frozen margarita. No salt.
“The drink isn’t going to change no matter how long you stare at it.” Annie Fletcher’s voice was colored with humor. “Nor is it going to reveal the secrets of the world.”
Emma looked up at her closest friend and sighed. “I know, I know.”
“So you want to tell me what’s got you so tied up in knots? You hardly ever obsess about anything.”
“Isn’t that just the truth?” She dipped a warm tortilla chip into the bowl of salsa, the special recipe for which the place was named.
“So give. You’ve hardly said two words from the minute we got here.”
Emma had known Annie for ten years, since the day they’d both moved into the same apartment building. Their friendship had grown and strengthened over the years, as they hung out together after work and on weekends, shopped together, and shared secrets about their lives. No one understood her more than this woman. So why was she so reluctant to tell her what was going on? Surely Annie of all people wouldn’t censure her.
Emma nibbled on the chip and swallowed it, then took a deep breath. “I’ve met someone.”
Annie’s eyebrows lifted almost to her hairline. “Met someone? But you already have someone. What happened to Andrew?”
“Nothing.” She took another chip,
