“I’ll leave that to Ben and Dave. And you.” He leaned back against the bar. “Still remember that time you picked Jimmy Page playing on that Texas punk album. That blew everyone away. Davie didn’t know whether to be proud of you, or jealous as hell that his girlfriend had picked it before he had.”
I tried to keep my smile from showing. “It was nothing really.”
“Nothing? For the next month Mal thought you had freaky musical powers and he’d shut up awestruck every time you opened your mouth. Anything that can silence that man is something to write home about.”
It was nice of Sam to remember, even if it was just a little thing, long ago. Some time after Stage Dive’s first album. Mal had been getting into Texas punk, of all things. With his usual irrepressible enthusiasm, he’d play air-drums to his mix-tape non-stop on the tour bus. Jimmy’s always hated punk and wasn’t shy about expressing his opinion, which of course just made Mal double down on it. Texas punk became all we ever heard.
Truth be told, the music was actually pretty good. But no way would I admit as much to Mal. Don’t feed the animals. That’s my motto when it comes to dealing with crazy drummers.
But this guitar track just came out of nowhere, somewhere in the middle of the mix tape. Hypnotic and melodic, but woven seamlessly into this frenzied, fast-paced cacophony. Breathtaking. Me being me, I’d said something totally inappropriate, like, “No way some garage band nobody plays guitar like that.” Mal had fetched me the album cover, and sure enough it turned out the lead singer had sent the song to a friend in a band he’d once opened for, who had liked it enough to lay down a guitar track, and sent it back.
The friend was Jimmy Page. A year or two before he formed Led Zeppelin. Ain’t rock ’n roll a crazy thing?
Sam lingered, still smiling at the memory, and shaking his head. I blushed a little, wishing that his esteem for me didn’t matter quite as much. Time to steer the conversation back to safer terrain. “So why do you say he’s good then?”
He shrugged modestly. “You can hear talent. I can read a room. Ninety percent of this job is situational awareness and threat assessment. He’s got them eating out of the palm of his hand. Makes life easy for me.”
That made sense. “But what if Ben and Dave get recognized?”
“A couple of people have spotted them already, but they’ve been content to leave them be. It helps that the kid on stage is keeping the crowd occupied. But if the atmosphere changes, I’ll get them out the back and Ziggy will have the car waiting.”
“Is that what the phone is for?” I asked, nodding at the cell in his hand.
“We’re keeping in contact.”
“You’re all prepared.”
“That’s what I’m paid for.”
“And here I was thinking you were just hired muscle to make them look important.”
“You think Dave needs me to look important?” Ouch. I take a shot at Sam’s work, he twists my words around to target my old injury. Sometimes I wonder how much he sees the world as a perpetual sparring session. Always reading the situation, finding vulnerabil
ities, turning defense into attack. And always in control.
His gaze slipped to the side. “Bartender’s waiting to take your order.”
“Hmm? Oh.” I turned, getting my thoughts in order. “Vodka and soda.”
Sam clicked his tongue. “Manners.”
“Please,” I simpered. The woman behind the bar just raised a brow, hands already busy making up my order.
“It wouldn’t kill you to be nice to people, Martha.”
“Why risk it?” I handed the woman a ten-dollar bill, the cost of the drink and a healthy tip, thank you very much. Proof I could be nice in the ways that mattered. But Sam had already wandered back to his post by the end of the bar, within closer range of the guys.
Time to go back to the table. Kill me now.
I pasted a smile on my face and pushed my way back through the crowd. If any bastard spilled booze on my boots I’d maim them. It wasn’t like I had the money to replace them these days.
Lizzy still sat in Ben’s lap, leaving my chair next to David free. Yippee. As soon as I sat down, his jaw firmed in a certain way. Fuck. He was going to try to make conversation. I really wished he wouldn’t. “So, Martha, how long are you in town for?”
“Haven’t decided yet.” I took a healthy gulp of vodka. Magical potato juice was definitely required.
“She’s going to help look after Gib while Lizzy starts back at school,” provided Ben. “We hadn’t found a nanny we were happy with yet, so…”
“I’m delighted to be filling in.”