“No. I’ll just stay here.” Away from the predatory redhead.
“Just go on ahead to the dressing room. Please? So I’ll know where to find you if I get held up.” He cupped her head and kissed her, thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. When he lifted his head, they were both breathless. “That’s to bring me good luck. See you when I’m done.” He headed onto the stage, where the heavy black curtain blocked everything from the audience.
Emma watched the final preparation with fascination. It amazed her all these people knew exactly what to do and did it without getting in each other’s way. She was startled when a tall, older, good-looking man in slacks and a collared shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, came to stand beside her.
“Friend of the band?” he asked.
“Uh, yes.” Who was he?
He held out his hand. “Butch Meredith.”
She recognized the name. Deep Blue River’s manager. “ML,” she said.
His touch was firm and strong, and she got a sense of solidity from him. His eyes were bright with intelligence and knowledge, and he was obviously completely at home in these surroundings. He exuded confidence, the kind earned with a successful track record. If Lightnin’ signed with him, she believed he’d take good care of them.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re here with one of the musicians in Lightnin’?”
“Yes. Marc Malone.” She bit her bottom lip. “He said I could sit here but if I need to move….”
“No, no, not at all. Just trying to identify all the players back here. Marc’s a good guy. But then all of the members of Lightnin’ are.” He grinned, apparently trying to ease her nervousness. “Don’t worry. Everything’s gonna be great. I believe those boys are going to kick things up a notch for themselves tonight.”
“Thank you.” She folded her hands tightly in her lap and looked back onto the stage.
The rest of the band was in place and the hum of conversation had faded almost to a whisper as instruments were tuned yet again. Marc and Rick stood together, facing each other, bits of music floating back to her.
Butch Meredith had moved away from her to stand to her right at the edge of the stage, and she realized the women from the dressing room had gathered in a cluster just to her left. Lacey, the redhead, sauntered over to her.
Oh, God, not her. Anyone but her.
“So. You and Marc know each other a long time?” The same nasty tone she’d used in the club.
“Yes,” Emma lied, somehow knowing she shouldn’t tell this woman the truth.
“Funny I’ve only seen you at the club a few times.” That sly look crept over her face again. “Marc and me have known each other forever.”
“How nice.” Emma turned her head deliberately away, hoping the woman would get the signal. She clung to Marc’s assurances he and Lacey had never been together, that he didn’t even like her. But she could tell the woman would scratch her eyes out given the slightest chance. She was doing her best to make Emma feel out of place.
Lacey walked back to her friends and from the corner of her eye, Emma saw her whispering and pointing. Fine. She could whisper all she wanted. But Emma was Music Lady. She was special. Marc certainly told her often enough.
Suddenly everything got so quiet Emma could even hear the muted conversation from the audience filtering through the curtain. The intensity of the excitement in the air changed, ramped up. Anticipation was like a living thing. Emma could almost feel it sizzle in her blood. The lights on the stage darkened, and a voice from somewhere boomed through the sound system.
“Okay, everyone. Let’s party.”
Lightnin’ hit the opening chord of their first tune, the black curtain rolled smoothly open, the spotlights hit the band and music blasted into the Amphitheatre to the cheers of the audience. Just like that Emma was snared by the magic of it, the elation, the thrill, so intense she almost forgot to breathe. The atmosphere was so heady she could see how people were caught up in it, addicted as if to a drug. She zeroed in on Marc totally engrossed in his music, head thrown back, hair wild around his face as she’d first seen him, the pure energy of the tune reaching out to grab her.
All through the first number, Emma sat with her fingers wound tightly together, so nervous for the band she was afraid to breathe. But then she began to relax and soon, she was bouncing on her seat and tapping her fingers on her thigh as the rhythm vibrated through her. When she heard the intro to the song they usually closed with at night, she could hardly believe their set was over. It seemed as if they’d just begun.
They hit the final notes, Danny in his usual pose with one arm extended, hand reaching up, Rick, lifting his guitar over his head in what she’d learned was his signature move, and Marc in the wild pose she loved so much. For a moment, there was dead silence. Then the audience erupted, screaming, cheering, chanting, the noise level deafening until the curtain closed.
Butch Meredith was back to Emma’s side. “Told you they’d get it done.” He grinned at her then headed over to talk to the three men who’d been standing off to her right.
Emma could hardly catch her breath she was so excited. Everything the band hoped for was about to come true. Deliberately she pushed away the unease, the worry. If they moved on, she’d be left behind. Everything she had with Marc would be gone, not much more than a memory she could haul out at night.
No. I won’t let that happen.
She had no idea how long they’d have to stay at the Amphitheatre or when they could head to his house, but when they did she
