Zipless (5 page)

Lou buried her face in her hands. “I thought you all liked being in the band.”

“I do,” Alasdair said. “But I’d rather be in a ska band.”

“Metal band for me,” said Chiz.

Bluto bounced in his chair. “I want tae join an American band.” He forgot about Lou and rubbed his hands together, his eyes gleaming. “New York City is fuckin’ fantastic. And the women. Sweet Jesus, the women…”

Lou turned to her old friend. “Et tu, Blute?”

He grinned at her. “Let’s go for a wee drink, hen. You’ll feel so much better with a drop more voddy in your body. I’ve heard of a great wee bar just down the road.” He took her by the arm and escorted her out of the building, turning in the opposite direction from the hotel, as the other two followed.

It was still sweltering. The heat rose from the pavement in a slow wave of damp air. Suddenly the last thing Lou wanted was another drink. “I think I’ll just go back to the hotel. See if I can calm Paolo down. It’s stupid. This is our big break. Even if he does really want to leave the band, it would be better to do it after the show. Go out with a bang.” Lou smirked. She had exactly the thing that would appeal to Paolo’s romantic nature. One last great show. After that he’d be enjoying himself too much to consider leaving. Plus, if they put on a great performance, the label would be sure to sign them. Finally, after all these years…money!

Bluto still held her arm. Alasdair and Chiz were watching him. He pulled out his mobile and checked the time. “Should be long enough now,” he mumbled.

Lou caught the furtive glances between the three of them. They were up to something. The penny dropped. “You bastards! You’re in on this.” She broke away and started to run back toward the hotel, the second time in as many days that she’d had to sprint down 23rd Street. Only this time the heat was even more unbearable and she was wearing heavy boots. She had to get to Paolo in time, despite the band’s delaying tactics. They knew she’d be able to talk him around. They knew it! The soles of her heavy boots pounded the hot pavement ever slower as she avoided the overheated citizens of New York City. Rivulets of sweat poured down her back.

She had to stop one block from the hotel to lean against a lamp post, her head swimming. She could see the steps to the hotel, could see a yellow cab parked at the front door. She pushed herself into a stagger as Paolo and Banshee climbed into the cab, carrying their bags. “Paolo,” she called out weakly. But the cab pulled away from the curb and, by the time she reached the hotel, it was just one more splash of yellow among all the others.

Lou stumbled through the hotel doors into the icy blast of the air conditioning, then took the lift to her floor. A note had been taped to her door. It was from Paolo. She read it then crumpled it up. They were headed for Mexico to get married, then were going to start a new band and a new life together. Eejits. They’d run out of money within the week and would be calling to ask for her help. But by then it would be too late. Their big opportunity would have passed, never to be offered again. She pushed her way into her room and collapsed on the bed, eyes filling with hot, angry tears. All the work of the last eight years. For nothing. She grabbed a pillow and gave the poor thing the beating of its life.

Rolling onto her back, she grabbed her mobile from beside the bed. Time to make the dreaded phone call to the label. It would at least give them time to get someone else on the show. She grimaced, then punched in the numbers.

* * * *

Four hours later Lou was back at the rehearsal rooms, waiting.

Bluto strolled in looking slightly the worse for wear. “I love this city!” he announced. “Why did ye drag me back here? You caught up with Paolo in time?”

She shook her head. “The label’s sending us a session musician to fill in for him. I left a message for Paolo to get his arse back here. If he doesn’t?” She shrugged. “Flashy lead guitar players are ten a penny. We’ll replace him.”

Bluto sighed, then stumbled. He sat down heavily on a ratty couch. “Will ye never let it go?”

“The band? Why would I do that after working so hard all these years?”

“We’ve given you eight years of our lives, Lou.”

She stared at him, so angry she started to splutter. “You…you’ve given me? I’ve given
you
eight years of my life!”

Bluto stared back, his face almost a stranger without its usual toothy grin. “You’ve made us do all the things you wanted to do, but were too scared to.”

She almost wavered, the hard truth staring her in the face. “Where would you be without me, Bluto? I ask you that? Drunk in a gutter with a dozen ex-girlfriends and a few bastard brats to ignore?”

He nodded slowly. “Mebbe. Or maybe I’d be in a band doing my own songs, playing the music I want to play, instead of being your little puppet on a string.” He closed his eyes and ran his hands through his hair. “We all love you, Lou. But ye need to let us go. If you can’t get up on stage and do it for yourself, it’s time for you to manage a different band.”

“But—”

“Stop making us hurt you! Please.”

“Bluto, this is our big break. You can’t just jack it in. You can’t.”

He stood and approached her, cupping her cheek with a large, rough hand. “This will be my last show, Lou.”

The door to the rehearsal squeaked open and they both turned their heads in its direction.

Lou felt her jaw drop open. “I don’t believe it.”

Bluto grinned. “Is that no your bad boy from the other night?” He ruffled her hair, then put his arm around her. “Seeing a man more than once? Getting soft in your old age, Lou-Lou?”

Lou gawked at Zippy. He was glowering at her—and, she realized—at Bluto. He must think… She pushed Bluto away. “What the hell are you doing here?” She looked down from his angry eyes to the guitar case he was carrying.

“Don’t worry. I’m not here to see you. The label sent me. Told me to ask for the manager. Lou, I believe his name is.”

Bluto started to giggle. “You’ve been up to your old tricks again, haven’t you, doll?”

Lou gave him a shove and walked towards Zippy. “You…you’re the session guy?”

He nodded, his eyes cold. “Make yourself useful and tell Lou I’m here.” He brushed past her and walked over to Bluto, who was now lying on the couch, chortling. “You got a problem, dude?”

Bluto stopped laughing, stared at him wide-eyed, then collapsed into another set of giggles. He pointed at Lou, trying to get the words out. “She…she…” He slapped himself in the face, sat up, and took a deep breath. “Lou is otherwise known as Louisa Margaret Marzaroli.”

Lou watched as Zippy frowned in puzzlement. “You’re managed by a woman?”

“She’s rumored to be of the female sex. You’d probably know more about that than me.” He cracked himself up at his own joke and subsided back into the cushions, his sides heaving.

Lou wondered if beating Bluto to death with his own guitar would be considered homicide or manslaughter.

Zippy was turning her way, but then he changed his mind and went back to Bluto. He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “That’s Lou?”

Bluto nodded.

“Not a groupie?”

Bluto shook his head.

“She’s your girlfriend?”

Bluto’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “Fuck no, man. She’s more like the bossy harridan of a big sister I never had.” He grinned and glanced over at Lou. “Naw, man. No worries. She’s all yours.” He muttered under his breath, but Lou caught it. “Ye poor bastard.”

Zip turned to Lou. “You told me—”

“I told you nothing. You believed what you wanted to believe, what all men think if they see a woman hanging around with a band.”

Lou watched him, desperately trying to stop her eyes from wandering to his crotch. Was it just a few hours since he’d been naked in her bed back at the hotel? She’d left him sleeping there. The poor thing had been exhausted after everything they’d done. A shiver ran through her. And they’d certainly done everything. She’d licked a lot more than his armpit this time. Every part of him was delicious. Every part of him beautiful. She looked at the well-worn laugh lines around his mouth. He wasn’t smiling now.

He decided something, then shrugged. “I’m under contract with the label and they’ve sent me to work.”

“Maybe it would be better if I called them and asked for someone else?”

He shook his head. “I’m the guy they go to in moments of desperation.” He smiled crookedly. “They pay me for moments like this, Maggie. I mean Jolene. I mean Miss—”

She smiled despite herself. “Call me Lou.”

“I’m sorry I thought you were a groupie.” He said it softly so Bluto couldn’t hear, leaning forward to put his mouth next to her ear. His cheek brushed hers, and Lou clenched her fists, so strong was her desire to touch him. She took a step back.

“Let’s get to work.” She gestured to the back of the rehearsal space. “If you want to get set up? The other two are running a wee bit late, but that’ll give you time to learn the song we’ll be performing.” She remembered they were doing “Song for Margaret,” with its final blistering solo. He was just a session musician. Should they do something easier? “Um,” she said. “Are ye…well…any good?”

His shoulders stiffened. “I’m a professional. I can handle anything you want to throw at me.”

Oops. She’d delivered an inadvertent insult. But then he smiled. Was he remembering how she’d pelted him with condom packets while she’d been on top of him? She almost moaned, remembering how he’d grabbed her hips and thrust himself into her, over and over, and oh… She closed her eyes. The sound of their joined laughter, the feel of their sweat on each other’s bodies. She bit her lip and forced her eyes open. Aye. By the expression on his face, he was thinking exactly the same thing she was. Sweet Jesus, he was licking his lips. That tongue of his, the things he could do with it.

Lou took three steps back. “I’ll just…um…I think…”

Zippy had one eyebrow raised and an indecent smile on his face.

“I need to pee!” Lou gasped at the stupidity of her statement, then turned and rushed out of the rehearsal room. She dashed down the hall and shoved through a door into the ladies, heading for the sink. Running the cold water, she splashed it on her over-heated face, wishing she could pour a gallon or so down her over-heated jeans. She turned off the tap and stared at herself in the mirror. Raccoon eyes again. Oh, Zippy. What are you doing to me? This silly girl wasn’t her. She needed to get a grip, be a professional. Would he be able to play the solo? Another bolt of heat ran from her brain straight to her crotch. She couldn’t wait to see what he could do. He’d played her body like a virtuoso. He’d played it for hours. What would his hands be like sliding up and down the neck of his guitar? Those fingers. Could he make his guitar cry and moan like he’d made her? Could he pluck a string and make it vibrate for long, delicious moments? Like he’d done to her.

Groaning, Lou turned the taps on again and dunked her head under the cold water. She dried her face with some paper towels, then pulled her mobile out. She should take a few minutes to calm down, then try to get a hold of Chiz and Alasdair. They should’ve been here by now. She remembered she’d taken a photo of Zip as he lay sleeping earlier. She pulled it up and stared at it. What was it about him? She’d never thought she could be so daft over an older man. He was in great shape, but the silver hairs running through his chest and head told the story, as did the slight lines around his eyes and mouth. He was no spring chicken.

Still, she’d spent years surrounded by four very immature men. If Bluto was to be believed, they didn’t even want to be in the band, but had been too cowardly, or lazy, or too stoned, or drunk to bother telling her. Zippy, now. He knew what he wanted. He wanted
her
. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch. It was quite a refreshing change. A grown man with a few years under his belt, with plenty of experience. She shuddered delicately, thinking of what he had under his belt. He certainly knew his way around a woman’s body. Her zipless fuck was turning out to be so much more. It was probably a bad idea, but…those hands, that smile…

With an exasperated sigh, Lou turned on the cold water again. She needed to get Zipless out of her head and focus on him as a musician. If she couldn’t get Paolo back in time, Zippy was the key to their big break.

* * * *

“And you are?” Chris stuck out his hand towards the grinning man seated on the couch, who wiped his hands on his jeans before shaking it.

“Bluto. Singer. Rhythm guitar.”

“Front man?”