[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
I m really, really sorry, guys, Ryan said. Mike eighty-sixed that asshole awhile
ago, but he wouldn t leave. We usually keep better tabs on potential troublemakers, but
when we re so busy
103
Cat Grant
Don t sweat it, man. It s not your fault, Chase replied. I wouldn t be much of a
performer if I couldn t handle a stupid heckler. Not that I did such a great job.
It won t happen again, I promise. Then he darted onstage and started breaking
down the equipment.
You sure you re okay? Brian asked once they d reached their dressing room.
Yeah, I ll be fine. Chase put his Gibson back in its case, then sank down in the
nearest chair, raking a hand through his hair. I used to get people recognizing me at
the Metronome every once in a while. It s no big deal.
Really? Because you seemed pretty upset.
Must ve been that whiny voice of his. Talk about nails on a fucking chalkboard&
He shrugged. Don t worry, when they re that hammered, nobody takes em seriously.
They packed up their instruments and carried them through the storeroom to the
back alley, where Chase had parked his SUV. Brian left him to finish loading up the car
while he dashed inside to say good night to Mike and Ryan and collect their whopping
two hundred dollar performance fee.
He heard voices in the alley on his way back. Chase and someone else. Oh Jesus, it
was the whiny guy. The fucking heckler.
Ya don t remember me, do ya? Or maybe ya do, and ya just didn t wanna say so in
front of everybody, huh?
Get the hell away from me, man. Now Chase didn t sound upset so much as
apprehensive. I don t know what your problem is, but
What s the matter, ya too good to talk to me now? Ya weren t too good to suck my
cock on camera ten fuckin years ago.
What? Brian ran into the alley, but Chase and the guy were standing on the opposite
side of the car, sandwiched between it and the dumpster. Damn it, why did Chase have
to pull in so close? No way could he squeeze around the front of the car to reach him.
Cold silence, and then, H-How did you even know I was here?
104
A Fool for You
Sheesh, it don t take a fuckin rocket scientist. They ve got your picture up in the
front window, ya know.
Look, Chase replied slowly, if you want money, you re shit out of luck. I don t
have any.
Ya expect me to believe that? Tommy fuckin Winters, big-time pop star, doesn t
have a dime to his name. Yeah, right.
Why do you think I did that sleazy video in the first place?
Brian stared straight ahead at the grimy brick wall, his jaw falling open. He couldn t
have heard what he d just heard. There had to be something wrong with his eardrums
or his brain or something.
Get the hell away from me, Chase repeated, or I m calling the cops. I m getting
my phone out right now. I m dialing the number.
Jesus, have a fuckin coronary, will ya? All right, I m goin . He shuffled away
from the car and farther out into the alley, pausing under a streetlamp while he went
through his pockets, fishing out a handful of lint and loose change. In the harsh light he
reminded Brian of a walking skeleton, his high cheekbones jutting out like razor blades.
Still, it wasn t too hard to see that he d been a good-looking guy once upon a time,
before the booze got him.
Brian waited until he d disappeared down the alley, then climbed into the SUV s
front passenger seat. Chase was already behind the wheel, drumming his fingers on it.
He flashed Brian a tight smile. Ready to go?
Y-Yeah. God, wasn t he going to say something? Anything? Or did he think he
hadn t overheard?
Chase swung out of the alley onto Eighth Avenue before switching on the radio to
the local blues station. He didn t say another word the entire drive back to Brooklyn.
* * * * *
105
Cat Grant
It was just after midnight by the time they got home, unpacked the car and brought
their instruments inside. Too wired to sleep, Brian got out his acoustic guitar and sat on
the living room floor strumming it. But it was pretty hard to concentrate with Chase
stomping around like an angry bull while he put their stuff away, muttering and
grunting under his breath.
Finally Brian sighed and glanced up. You want to talk about it?
Talk about what? Chase perched on the arm of the couch and started tuning his
Gibson. Didn t even bother looking at him.
Whatever s eating you. Because it s obvious something is. Again, he didn t say
anything. Jesus, was he going to have to pull it out of him with pliers? I heard you
talking to that guy out in the alley.
So?
So he acted like he knew you from somewhere.
Now Chase looked up, fixing Brian with an exasperated glare. He was drunk off
his ass. He didn t know what the hell he was talking about.
Well, he sounded pretty damn specific to me.
He s a fucking nutjob! You should ve seen all the stalker fan mail I used to get
back in the day. The world s full of crazy assholes who dream up fantasy relationships [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl fopke.keep.pl
I m really, really sorry, guys, Ryan said. Mike eighty-sixed that asshole awhile
ago, but he wouldn t leave. We usually keep better tabs on potential troublemakers, but
when we re so busy
103
Cat Grant
Don t sweat it, man. It s not your fault, Chase replied. I wouldn t be much of a
performer if I couldn t handle a stupid heckler. Not that I did such a great job.
It won t happen again, I promise. Then he darted onstage and started breaking
down the equipment.
You sure you re okay? Brian asked once they d reached their dressing room.
Yeah, I ll be fine. Chase put his Gibson back in its case, then sank down in the
nearest chair, raking a hand through his hair. I used to get people recognizing me at
the Metronome every once in a while. It s no big deal.
Really? Because you seemed pretty upset.
Must ve been that whiny voice of his. Talk about nails on a fucking chalkboard&
He shrugged. Don t worry, when they re that hammered, nobody takes em seriously.
They packed up their instruments and carried them through the storeroom to the
back alley, where Chase had parked his SUV. Brian left him to finish loading up the car
while he dashed inside to say good night to Mike and Ryan and collect their whopping
two hundred dollar performance fee.
He heard voices in the alley on his way back. Chase and someone else. Oh Jesus, it
was the whiny guy. The fucking heckler.
Ya don t remember me, do ya? Or maybe ya do, and ya just didn t wanna say so in
front of everybody, huh?
Get the hell away from me, man. Now Chase didn t sound upset so much as
apprehensive. I don t know what your problem is, but
What s the matter, ya too good to talk to me now? Ya weren t too good to suck my
cock on camera ten fuckin years ago.
What? Brian ran into the alley, but Chase and the guy were standing on the opposite
side of the car, sandwiched between it and the dumpster. Damn it, why did Chase have
to pull in so close? No way could he squeeze around the front of the car to reach him.
Cold silence, and then, H-How did you even know I was here?
104
A Fool for You
Sheesh, it don t take a fuckin rocket scientist. They ve got your picture up in the
front window, ya know.
Look, Chase replied slowly, if you want money, you re shit out of luck. I don t
have any.
Ya expect me to believe that? Tommy fuckin Winters, big-time pop star, doesn t
have a dime to his name. Yeah, right.
Why do you think I did that sleazy video in the first place?
Brian stared straight ahead at the grimy brick wall, his jaw falling open. He couldn t
have heard what he d just heard. There had to be something wrong with his eardrums
or his brain or something.
Get the hell away from me, Chase repeated, or I m calling the cops. I m getting
my phone out right now. I m dialing the number.
Jesus, have a fuckin coronary, will ya? All right, I m goin . He shuffled away
from the car and farther out into the alley, pausing under a streetlamp while he went
through his pockets, fishing out a handful of lint and loose change. In the harsh light he
reminded Brian of a walking skeleton, his high cheekbones jutting out like razor blades.
Still, it wasn t too hard to see that he d been a good-looking guy once upon a time,
before the booze got him.
Brian waited until he d disappeared down the alley, then climbed into the SUV s
front passenger seat. Chase was already behind the wheel, drumming his fingers on it.
He flashed Brian a tight smile. Ready to go?
Y-Yeah. God, wasn t he going to say something? Anything? Or did he think he
hadn t overheard?
Chase swung out of the alley onto Eighth Avenue before switching on the radio to
the local blues station. He didn t say another word the entire drive back to Brooklyn.
* * * * *
105
Cat Grant
It was just after midnight by the time they got home, unpacked the car and brought
their instruments inside. Too wired to sleep, Brian got out his acoustic guitar and sat on
the living room floor strumming it. But it was pretty hard to concentrate with Chase
stomping around like an angry bull while he put their stuff away, muttering and
grunting under his breath.
Finally Brian sighed and glanced up. You want to talk about it?
Talk about what? Chase perched on the arm of the couch and started tuning his
Gibson. Didn t even bother looking at him.
Whatever s eating you. Because it s obvious something is. Again, he didn t say
anything. Jesus, was he going to have to pull it out of him with pliers? I heard you
talking to that guy out in the alley.
So?
So he acted like he knew you from somewhere.
Now Chase looked up, fixing Brian with an exasperated glare. He was drunk off
his ass. He didn t know what the hell he was talking about.
Well, he sounded pretty damn specific to me.
He s a fucking nutjob! You should ve seen all the stalker fan mail I used to get
back in the day. The world s full of crazy assholes who dream up fantasy relationships [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]