Zipless (7 page)

“Since when was falling head over heels in love a crime?” Chiz slurred, grinning down at the very small woman with a very large gun.

Lou closed her eyes and grimaced as Chiz was led out the door, loudly singing an extremely soppy love song. The door closed behind them.

Bluto started to laugh. “Chiz never could resist a lady in a uniform.”

Lou turned on him, surprised to feel hot tears burning in her eyes. “How can you laugh about this? Don’t ye understand it’s all over? Paolo in Mexico, Alasdair in Jamaica and Chiz in jail. There’ll be no big break now. After all our hard work. After all—” She stopped talking as the lump in her throat clogged her words.
For it to come to this…

“Aw, lass. It’s for the best.” Bluto tried to hug her, but she pushed him away.

“How can you say that, Bloot?”

He shrugged and stopped smiling for once. He eyed her, shaking his head. “Fucking blind, ye are.” He turned and started putting his guitar back in its case. He clipped it closed, picked it up, then stared at her. “We don’t want to be in your band any more, Lou. We’re sick of living your dream for you. Do it your fucking self.” He bent and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be starting a speed metal band. And I’d rather fail doing my own music than succeed doing yours.” He walked to the door. “Love you, Lou-Lou.” He opened it, passed through—and was gone.

The lump in Lou’s throat broke. She started to sob. So close. We were so close. Her shoulders heaved and tears ran down her face as she stared at the closed door. Even Bluto…

Suddenly her face was pressed against a broad chest as strong arms squeezed her tight. “Oh, Zippy.” All the wet and snotty misery came pouring out onto the poor man’s shirt, while a large hand rubbed up and down her back, sparking a rather unwelcome frisson of desire. “What am I going to do now?”

He tipped her head back and gazed at her with eyes so full of compassion that she started to cry again.

“Aw, c’mon, Lou.” He pulled off his shirt and wiped her eyes with it, then handed it to her. “Blow your nose. I’ve got an idea.”

Lou turned away for a little private snot removal. No way this situation could be salvaged. But it was nice of him to be so kind.

He sat her down on the couch and knelt in front of her. “That was you singing and playing on that recording you gave me to listen to?”

Lou nodded and sniffed.
Where you going with this, Zip?
She pulled out her mobile. “I’d better call the label and let them know what’s happened. Give them time to find a replacement for us.”

He took the phone away and dropped it on the couch. “It’ll be best coming from me. I’ve been working with them for years. But hear me out first.” He took her hands in his. “You’re very talented, Lou. Fantastic voice. Skilled guitar playing. And you write great songs.”

Och, no. She knew where this was going. She shook her head.

“I happen to know the label has been searching for just your type—a female singer-songwriter. They’ve been scouting for one these past six months.” He gripped her hands tightly. “They’ve been looking for
you
, Lou. If I play them this recording, I know they’ll give you the slot. Your debut.
Your
big break.”

“No. I cannae.” Lou buried her face in her hands and spoke through her fingers. “I can’t perform. Stage fright.”

“You recorded it, right? You performed it.”

“Alone in the bathroom behind a locked door.” She peeked out from behind her hands. “Good acoustics in there, but on stage—panic mode. I freeze.”

“But—”

“No! I. Can’t. Do. It.” Lou wiped her face, grabbed her mobile and stood up, pushing past him. She picked up a guitar case and turned to him. “I really appreciate your offer to call the label and I’ll take you up on it, thanks.” She walked to the door, shoulders slumped, feet dragging.
It could have been the best night of my life, but instead I’ll be heading back to Glasgow.
She turned to him before leaving. He was still kneeling on the floor, deep in thought. “Nice knowing ye, Zippy. It was fun.” She pushed out what she hoped was a brave little smile and left him there.

Walking down 23rd, carrying her beloved guitar, Lou started to cry again. Back to Scotland with no band. Back to stocking shelves in the supermarket. Back to the house where Mum had died. She shook her head. What a way for it all to end. So close, but the big break had turned out to be the big break-up. Could they not have said something earlier?

The wet heat beat her down as she trudged slowly back to the hotel, nursing her shattered dreams. She should call Paolo and Alasdair, make sure they were okay. Maybe try to find out what Chiz was being charged with. Or perhaps she should let them figure it all out on their own? They might have hated being in the band, but they’d spent the last eight years happily being taken care of by her. She stomped her Docs on the blistering heat of the pavement. Aye, she thought. Let them figure it out on their own. No more Lou to pick up the pieces and get them out of whatever trouble they got their stupid selves into. They were on their own. She’d arrange for all the gear and herself to get back to Scotland. The decision was made. Guyville was the past. If only her future didn’t look so bleak. If only she could get past the incident that had left her terrified of going on stage. She swiped away a tear—and kept walking.

Chapter 4

Chris waited patiently for the knock on the door at the specified time. This had to be handled carefully. Lou was scheduled to be on the other side of that door any minute now, but she thought she’d be meeting Crash Burns, and, as soon as he opened the door, all she’d see would be Zippy. She’d be surprised, but she’d quickly realize that Chris, Crash and Zippy were all the same man. He hoped.
 

Everything else had gone to plan so far. The label honchos had gone nuts when he’d hooked Lou’s iPod up to a set of speakers and told them to listen. He’d waited until their curiosity was at its zenith before revealing this was the singer-songwriter behind Guyville. He’d then told them that Guyville was outsville, and let them suggest the idea that Lou take the slot instead. They told him they’d always thought the songs were the band’s strength and that they hadn’t been impressed with the various indicators of unprofessionalism on display when they’d finally met the band. Yep, everything had gone exactly the way he’d wanted it to.

Now he just had to get Lou stage ready. With her level of performance anxiety, playing before a live studio audience with a network audience in the millions would not be easy. Yet, when the label had called her with their plan—twenty-four hours of performance coaching from Crash Burns before she made a final decision—she’d said yes. Quietly. Nervously. But a “yes” all the same. He grimaced. If her final answer had been “no,” he’d agreed to appear in her place. Even though he had no fresh material to offer, other than the song he’d just finished writing about Lou. Which kind of put his heart out there for Lou, and everyone else, to see. One way or the other, he’d put himself on the line for her. And he needed her to come through.

There was a tentative knock at the door, and he bounded over to it before his nerves got the better of him. He opened it wide and smiled at Lou, who was clutching her guitar case as her mouth dropped open. “You,” she said. He ushered her into his suite, watching her as she walked around. “Aye, you work for the label, too. Of course you’re here.”

“Huh?”

She looked out the window. “I can’t believe I’m in the Chelsea Hotel,” she said, “where Janis Joplin gave Leonard Cohen a blow job. Where Sid murdered Nancy. Where—”

“—Crash Burns coached Lou Marzaroli over her stage fright.”

She gave a nervous giggle, and sidled up next to him. “You didn’t tell him the awful things I said about Snakebite, did you?”

Oh my. She still hadn’t figured it out. “Um…”

“I really appreciate you taking my music to the label the way you did.” She whispered in his ear, “When they called… I couldnae say no. I need to give this a try. They said if anyone could help me, Crash could.”

Chris nodded uncomfortably. He thought she’d make the connection as soon as he opened the door. Apparently not.

She stood on her tiptoes and put her mouth to his ear. “When this is all over, Zip. Whatever happens. Fancy a quickie back at my place?”

He pursed his lips and looked down at her. “No.”

She raised her eyebrows, obviously surprised.

“You’re gonna need all your energy for what Crash has in mind for you.”

Her mouth and both eyes became round, and her hands began to tremble.

“Oh, do ye think he’s going to be very hard on me?”

Chris nodded. “You’ve agreed to place yourself entirely in his hands. He’s prepared to do whatever it takes to get you ready. And you have to be prepared to do anything he asks of you. Are you willing to do that?”

She nodded, with a slightly fearful expression.

“Crash overcame a crippling case of stage fright himself. He knows how you feel. He knows how to get you past it. Are you ready, Lou? Are you ready to meet him?”

Lou let out a little squeak. “You’ll be here, too, Zippy, won’t you? I feel comfortable with you.”

Chris nodded. “Time to meet Crash.”

Lou looked around. “Where is he? I thought this was his hotel suite?”

“It is.”

Chris stuck out his hand in her direction. “Chris O’Conner. Formerly known as Crash Burns. Also known as Zip, Zippy or Zipman. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”

Lou dropped her guitar. “Um. What? You? You’re…” Her mouth opened and closed once. Twice. Three times. Then her hand slid into his. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

Chris shook his head, watching as her face went through several shades of pink before finally ending up a brick-colored red. Her hand was clammy and shaking. He grasped it. “You were right about Snakebite, Lou. Over produced, more style than substance. You were wrong about Jake, though. He was a good guy. The best.”

The flush on Lou’s face started to fade. “I thought he was a junkie.”

Chris nodded. “Addicted to heroin, yes, for the whole time I knew him. Didn’t stop him from being a good guy.”

“Did you… Are you?”

“Good guy, yes. Addict, no. I saw too much with my mother. Never went near the stuff unless it was to hide Jake’s when he needed me to.”

“Your mother was an addict?” Lou gasped. “Was that how she died?”

“It was
why
she died, yes.” He watched Lou. She was remembering what she’d said about junkies, was trying to apologize. “Shh, it’s fine,” he said, gently touching her lips.

“You were so young when she died,” she whispered, her eyes full of compassion. “You grew up with your father?”

He shook his head. “Never knew him. I left. Stuffed my clothes in a garbage bag, grabbed my guitar and headed out to LA the day after Momma’s funeral. I was fifteen. Ended up on the streets with all the other homeless hopefuls. Jake found me, took me in. Gave me everything and never asked for anything in return.” He relinquished Lou’s hand. “Please don’t ever say anything bad about him again.”

* * * *

Lou gazed up into Zippy’s eyes, ashamed of how she’d spoken of his friend, his band, his music, his mother. Not Zippy, she corrected herself. Crash. Or Chris. “What should I call you?”

“How about boss?” He grinned. “Time to get to work, darlin’. You have a performance to prepare for.”

Lou gulped. “Okay. How do you want to start?”

His smile grew wider. “Grab that guitar of yours and give me a song.”

She froze. “What? Right now?”

He shrugged. “Then just sit on the couch and tune your guitar. Get comfortable. I have a few things to do anyway.”

She could manage that surely? She unclipped her guitar case and pulled out her beloved—an original 1974 Gretsch BroadKaster. She heard Zippy whistle softly.

“That’s a beauty.”

“My Beloved. Got it cheap from a pawnshop in Glasgow. And when I say cheap, I mean it wasn’t cheap at all.”

She tentatively started tuning it. Pointless, really. It was already perfectly in tune. She just needed to get up the courage to start playing. Needed to buy some time.

He was moving around the room, turning on lights, then pointing them all in her direction. “When you’re on the show, the house lights will be down, and you won’t see the audience. You’ll see nothing but brightness. Like this.” He turned off the main overhead. Lou squinted, seeing nothing except the burning white in her eyes. “Keep your eyes down if you need to,” he murmured. “Just look at your guitar, if it helps.”