Читать книгу Keep Coming Back To Love - Christa Maurice - Страница 6

Candy paced around her room with the portable phone stuck to her ear. “He asked me to go see the band play Friday, but I have to work.” Being home in the afternoon was weird. Between her job and school, she didn’t have to spend much time here. Not really a bad thing, but a thing nonetheless.

“So? Call in sick,” Jody said.

“I’m not calling in sick.” Candy checked her look. Tight dark wash jeans. Filmy black shirt. Leopard print heels. Perfect hair and makeup. Dangling earrings. Slick and complete. And Joe’s shirts were finished and folded in a bag by the door so he could pick them up at the store tomorrow and pay her.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not sick.”

“You’re going to make me leave the club between sets to come get you.”

“Would you?” Of course she would. Jody wanted to get backstage and get her hands on Jason Callisto. It was all she’d been able to talk about for months and that was before she had a valid opening.

“If I have to, but you have to promise to introduce me to the band.”

Bingo. “I’m going to meet them tonight. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” The doorbell rang. “That’s him. I gotta go.”

“You are so lucky.”

Candy walked through her empty house. “Yeah. Lucky. See you tomorrow.” She set the phone on the charger on the table under the last family photo from seven years ago. Mom, Dad, and precious Candace. Six months after the picture was hung, Mom ran off, Dad started working all the time and, as soon as she could, so did Candy. “Hi, Tyler. Ready to go?”

“If you are. Shouldn’t I say hello to your parents or something?” He was dressed in the green button-down shirt and straight leg jeans she’d picked for him, and even a couple of days on the skin and hair care regimen made a difference. Between her and Jody, they were going to make a rock star out of him if it killed them.

“Nobody home.” She snatched her purse off the table before she closed the door behind her. “Where are we going to dinner?”

“Mama Lena’s?”

Next up on the hit list was his lack of confidence. Mama Lena’s was always good. The sit-down restaurant impressed her because half the time her dates thought McDonald’s bought them a park hopper pass to her body. “I love Mama Lena’s.”

He also had a car. A dark blue Grand Marquis with bumper stickers that read “My Child Made Honor Roll at Fort Island Elementary” and “My Child Made Honor Roll at South High School.” Pretty nice part of town. No wonder his mom could hand him a credit card to go shopping. After they ate, he drove her to a residential neighborhood not far from the restaurant. A beat-up car sat in the driveway and the living room lights were on.

“You’ll like the guys. They’re all really nice.” Tyler hurried her up the path. Before he knocked, he smiled at her. “You look really pretty tonight.”

“Thanks. You look great, too.”

“Thanks to you.”

“You fill the clothes out good.” She grinned. He did. All through dinner she’d been wishing he’d sat on the same side of the booth as her so she could at least feel his thigh against hers. Wouldn’t have happened. Every time she’d brushed his leg under the table, he’d moved it as if he thought he was crowding her.

He knocked.

A stocky, middle-aged man with a buzz cut answered. “Hello Tyler. You brought a guest.”

“This is my girlfriend, Candy.” Tyler settled his arm around her shoulders as if she might crumble if he pressed too hard.

Girlfriend? That was fast. Maybe he had more confidence than she’d thought. Candy held out her hand. “Hello, it’s nice to meet you.”

The older man softened as he shook her hand. “And it’s nice to meet you too, Candy. I’m Mr. Dale, the boys’ manager.”

Touchstone had a manager? Most of these garage bands were lucky if they had one member with his shit together enough to book gigs. But then Touchstone was doing better than most garage bands.

“Come on inside. Jeff and Michael are downstairs. Brian and Jason are running late as usual. Candy, would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you.”

Tyler took her hand and led her to a basement door. Downstairs were two more long-limbed rejects from the flannel parade.

“You brought a fucking girl?” the one with the bass shouted.

“Jeffery!” Mr. Dale barked. “Watch your language.”

“But it’s practice, not the school dance.”

“I—I didn’t—” Tyler stammered.

“It’s not a problem.” Mr. Dale put up his hands. “You boys should perform in front of any audience you can get. Michael, clear the recycling off the couch so Candy can sit down.”

The kid behind the drums shuffled to the bowed flowered couch along the wall and started moving bundles of newspapers off it. The doorbell rang and Mr. Dale went to answer it.

“I’m Bear,” he said when she leaned down to help. “Only my parents and Mr. Dale call me Michael.”

“Candy.”

“You’re really pretty.”

“Thank you.”

“You and Tyler serious?”

Candy glanced at Tyler. He was fiddling with a microphone, but his attention was on her. “Yeah.” As serious as a first date got anyway. None of these schmoes could probably manage a girlfriend and a bourgeoning music career so it would give Tyler some points in their eyes.

“Figures. Mr. Dale ask you if you wanted something to drink? He probably did, huh?”

“He did, but thanks. Pretend I’m not here.” Candy sat down and tried to be invisible.

Tyler was talking to Jeff. Michael went back to messing with his drums. Two more boys thundered down followed by the heavier tread of Mr. Dale. The dark-haired one stopped when he hit the bottom. “Who brought a date? Bear!”

Bear held up his hands. “It wasn’t me.”

“I’m sorry.” Tyler glanced around the room. “I didn’t know it was a problem.”

“It isn’t.” Mr. Dale clasped the dark haired boy’s shoulder. “Say hello to Candy, Jason.”

“We can’t have somebody here watching us practice. He just started and he still sucks with us.” The boy gestured toward Tyler who was turning an awful shade of red that clashed with his hunter green shirt.

“Then it’s a perfect time for him to get used to playing with the band and you all need to practice together in front of an audience. Say hello.” Mr. Dale angled Jason toward her.

The blond, who dressed as if he was still mourning the death of hair metal, stepped around them and approached her with his hand out. “Hi, I’m Brian.”

She stood to shake his hand. “Hi. I think you shop at my store. I work in young men’s.”

“Uh, yeah.” Brian scuffed the floor with the toe of his sneaker. “With my mom.”

Candy remembered him now, and he didn’t dress like this when he was with his mother. This must be his rock-star look, heaven help him.

“I’m Jason.” Jason hadn’t made it as far as a flannel, but his jeans and T-shirt had seen better days. “It’s not going to be perfect, you know.”

Hopefully they didn’t go onstage dressed like this because with the exception of Tyler they looked as if they shopped in the Goodwill dumpster. Jody had never said anything about what a visual mess they were. “What?”

“We’re practicing. It’s not going to be perfect.” Jason clenched his fists.

Brian elbowed him.

“What? It’s not. He just started.” Jason angled his thumb at Tyler, who still clashed with his shirt.

“I don’t expect it to be perfect. That’s why it’s called practice.” Candy smiled. Sounded pretty good. Mr. Dale was smiling too, so it must have been. Jason didn’t look any happier, but he did walk away.

Mr. Dale sat down on the couch with her. “So what do you think?”

“I haven’t heard them.”

“You’ve never seen them play?” He frowned.

“I work a lot and I have school.”

He nodded. “And what are your grades like?”

“A’s and B’s in AP and honors classes.”

He nodded again. “Your parents must be proud.”

Candy made a noncommittal noise because it seemed as if she should respond. Her father hadn’t seen a report card in five years. The school didn’t even have his signature on file. She’d forged his name so if they did compare it would be the same.

“How long have you and Tyler been dating?”

“This is our first date.”

Mr. Dale was starting to look like a bobble head dog. “Tell me, what do you think makes a band successful?”

“I don’t know. Good songs?” Candy clasped her hands in her lap and hoped Mr. Dale would go away. When older guys talked to her this much at the store they were usually hitting on her and all she had to do was let them know she was underage and they lost interest, but Mr. Dale already knew she was underage. She was dating the singer in the band he managed. Or was he a pervy old man?

“That’s part of it, but do you really think it was songs alone that got the Beatles where they were?”

“I don’t know.” The Beatles? How old was this guy?

“I don’t think it is. I think a lot of it had to do with the way they looked. Four handsome, well-dressed boys. They had half the battle won before the first note.”

“The Rolling Stones were uniformly ugly and they were just as big.”

He grinned as if his star student had hit the nail on the head. “I think they had something else going for them that you’re too young to understand.”

Okay, how old did he think she was? Twelve? “I’m sorry, but Mick Jagger has the sex appeal of a broken suitcase and I don’t want to get into the others.”

Mr. Dale laughed loud enough that the boys stopped what they were doing. He clapped her on the shoulder. “You are a very clever girl. Now look at my boys and tell me what you see.”

Candy studied the band. They had gone back to their discussion and for a minute, all she saw was Tyler. He stood out. The sloppy jeans, ragged T-shirts and flannels the others were all wearing accented how good Tyler looked. Brian looked as if he’d made an attempt with his hair, but he only succeeded in looking like an over-processed David Coverdale. Every one of them had skin problems that could have been solved with the routine application of soap and water and the occasional moisturizer.

But Tyler. Oh, Tyler looked good. He wasn’t any taller than the others, but with his shoulders squared he appeared to have a couple of inches on all of them. He had a brightness about him that came from looking good and knowing it. Candy smiled. He looked like the kind of boyfriend who would have all the girls in her school swooning.

“I know. He stands out like a peacock.” Mr. Dale nodded, smiling. “I almost didn’t recognize him when he showed up to audition. We’d seen him before, of course, but when he arrived the other night, he was a different boy. He looked like a lead singer. He said you did it.” Mr. Dale leaned back on the arm couch.

“Thanks.”

“You did an excellent job. What I need to know is, can you do it for the rest of them?”

Candy’s mouth fell open. He wanted her to make them over? All of them? This was turning into a much bigger project than she’d planned on while watching Tyler wander around her section of the store the other day.

“These boys could be big. I know they could. They have a very good sound and they have drive. In this era of MTV, we need a good image, too. Once we have those pieces in place, we’ll start pursuing a record contract and a top-notch producer. And while the boys are working on their record, we’ll be looking at video scripts for the first single. I can handle the business side of things, but I don’t know the visual side. You do. We need your help.”

Record contract? Producer? Video scripts? There were scripts for music videos?

“Well?”

The band started playing and volume alone could have been the reason she didn’t answer. Mr. Dale would think that anyway. Make over a band, like a professional stylist. That would look good on college and scholarship applications. As much as Jeff and Jason had bitched about this just being practice, they sounded tight. Tyler could have been singing with them for months instead of a couple of days. Touchstone could be the first line on her professional resume. “This isn’t going to be free,” she said between songs. “Clothes cost money.”

“I’ve been holding the money they earn from their gigs for reinvestment and I have a bit of my own to invest.”

“My friend Jody can do their haircuts. If we don’t do it in the salon, she can do it for free. She’s just a student, but she’s good. She did Tyler’s hair and she always does mine. And her friend Gina will probably pitch in with the skin care.” Candy bit her lip. “I could probably cut costs on clothing if I went through the thrift stores and got creative.”

“Now she’s thinking.” Mr. Dale smiled.

Candy looked over the band again, guessing their sizes. All of them except Bear were far too scrawny. If she kept herself to a couple colors, it would help make them look like a group instead of a bunch of guys who happened to climb on stage at the same time. The trick would be not making them look like bridesmaids. This was going to require hours of hunting through thrift stores and more hours on the bus getting from one to the other. Between work, school, and tailoring there weren’t going to be enough hours in the day for a while. “When is this all going to be due?”

“We have a little time. I don’t want to be looking for a record contract until next year. The boys are too young yet and I don’t want to put them under that kind of pressure until they’re at least out of high school. Putting them on the road to tour before they’re old enough to drink would be cruel.”

Gosh, yes, because heaven knows as famous rock stars nobody would serve them if they were underage. How could Mr. Dale be so smart and so dumb at the same time? “One more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“They need to work out. All of them. Heroin thin is out.”

Mr. Dale held out his hand and it took her a minute to realize he wanted her to shake it. He was treating her as an adult. “We have a deal. I think I’m going to enjoy working with you.”

“You know I’m only sixteen.”

“I am aware, but you seem to be a young lady of extraordinary maturity.”

* * * *

Candy glanced across the dressing room at the sound of Jody and Jason bickering. Well, Jody was bickering. Jason was looking at her as if he couldn’t figure out why she was there. Jason’s sister Connie was consumed with reaming out Jeff for spilling a Coke on his pants. Nothing unusual, so Candy went back to the repair she had to finish before the next set. Tyler sat down next to her and kissed her cheek.

“How’s it going?”

“Be going better if Bear would stop splitting his pants.”

“Why won’t he wear the stretchy ones?”

“Because he wants his ass to be a pain in my ass.” Candy tied off the last stitch and snipped the thread with the tiny scissors she wore on a yellow ribbon around her neck. Mr. Dale had given them to her because he didn’t want her to have to carry around a pair of real scissors in a crowded club.

Tyler cupped her cheek turning her gaze to him. “Don’t run off.”

“I was going to give Bear his pants.”

“Let him come get them himself.” Tyler leaned down and kissed her. As always, he was soft and sweet. Candy closed her eyes, shutting out the noise in the room. Her body warmed, aching to be alone with him. His fingers tangled through her hair, sending shivers down her back. She moaned, parting her lips.

“You done with my pants?” Bear demanded, yanking her back to the present.

Tyler leaned back, groaning.

Bear stood in front of them wearing only his tighty-whities with his fists on his hips.

Candy threw the pants at him before turning back to Tyler. Before they could connect, a bouncer was standing at the door bellowing that the band had five minutes to get their asses on stage or they weren’t going to get paid. Tyler gave her another peck on the cheek before he left.

Candy busied herself cleaning up her things. Connie waved at her on the way out the door. After tucking away the rest of her stuff so she’d just have to grab her plastic sewing caddy when they left, Candy went out too.

The boys were already on stage and no way she was getting anywhere near it. People had started staking out spots up front lately. Most of them female. That meant she was doing her job well. Where the girls were, the boys would follow. And according to Mr. Dale, that equaled popularity across the board. It also meant every gig she missed for work she sweated out thinking he’d find somebody else.

She headed for the bar. One of the things Mr. Dale negotiated was unlimited drinks for the band and their crew. Since they were all underage, the bar didn’t mind. Pop was cheap and easy to serve, and nobody got too drunk to perform on Pepsi. On her way to the low wall leading down to the tables between the bar and the stage, she spotted a man leaning against the bar watching her. He lifted his drink to her so she changed direction.

“Hello, Joe. What are you doing here?”

“Checking out your boy.” He waved his drink toward the stage. “They’re pretty good.”

“I told you they were.”

“I have to see these things for myself.” He turned to face her. “Valley Mall is having a big celebration this summer. All summer long they’re having bands on the weekends to draw people in to shop.”

The bartender set a plastic cup of Pepsi on the bar beside her. She smiled at him in thanks. “And?”

“I have ten slots to fill. The kind of crowd your boys draw, I could see them taking up three or four.”

“What does it pay?”

He grinned. “That’s why I like you. You don’t go all squeally at the thought of a gig. You want to know what the pay is first. I planned to pay the bands a hundred.”

“Touchstone’s going rate is two hundred.” Not entirely true. They got two hundred here, but most places paid a hundred. Mr. Dale had been coaching her on the art of negotiation.

He nodded. “I may be able to see my way clear to pay one-fifty. The shows are in the afternoon, so it wouldn’t interfere with their evening shows and it would expose them to a wider audience.”

“Moms and kids who aren’t old enough to get into the underage clubs?”

Joe shrugged. “You have me there. What if we threw in all the free pop you could drink?”

“They can drink a lot of pop.” Candy licked her lips. A wider audience that wouldn’t interfere with evening gigs would be good. The extra money would cover equipment and transportation, and replace the pants Bear kept splitting. “I’ll put you in touch with the band’s manager, Alexander Dale.”

“How about a job?”

Candy had been raising her cup to her lips, but she hesitated. “A job? For who?”

“You.”

Candy put her drink down before she dropped it. A job? How many shirts did he need altered? “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve got an internship open in my office. Pays more than your little shop-girl job in less hours, and you’d have nights and weekends free to follow your band around. Of course, I’d be your boss so you’d actually have to listen to me when I tell you to do something and the pace is more demanding. You won’t have time to sew on the job anymore.”

Unreal. Joe had only known her a couple of months. He’d bought almost a complete wardrobe from her and had every piece tailored. He’d also sent a couple of people to her from his office. Thanks to him, there was no way anyone would beat her out for the sales bonus. But that was because she was a good sales person and a good seamstress. What made him think she’d fit in his marketing firm? “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you offering me this job? There’s got to be a college student dying to get it.”

“There’s a few, but none of them have what you have.”

“The ability to sew?”

He studied her face for a long time. “One of them does sew, but none of them have your je n’est sais quoi.”

“You mean none of them looks as good in a short skirt as I do.” She picked up her drink again. The job would be nice. She’d had to miss a lot of Tyler’s gigs because of work. It would look really good on her college applications. Too bad she was totally unqualified for it. Either Joe was jerking her chain or he wanted an underage horizontal assistant. No, he’d never shown himself to be the type. When they chatted at the store, he was talking to her about his firm and marketing stuff. He had claimed he wanted the viewpoint of a younger person. Market analysis, he called it.

Joe leaned to look her over. “Not necessarily.”

“You remember I’m still underage, right?”

“I’ve lived with that reality for a while now and if you were working for me I couldn’t even flirt with you anymore, but I think having you on staff would make up for it.” He shifted his stance against the bar. “I’ve been watching you build this campaign and it’s inspired. For a total amateur, you have a gift for public relations.”

Inspired? All she’d done was give the guys a cohesive image so their name was on the lips of every girl in a hundred-mile radius. She’d put together a couple of posters with the help of the art teacher at school and she’d rallied friends to make sure those posters went up in logical high traffic areas. Did that constitute a marketing campaign? “But all I did was change the way they looked and put up a few fliers.”

“You did more than that.” He pointed to the stage. “You put together a look for the band that makes them very identifiable. You gave them a brand. I know they’re a bunch of high school kids and they look like pros. And not just that. I’ve heard people talking about them. Not only kids, adults.”

“I didn’t do that.”

“You designed the posters advertising their gigs. You got them hung up in a timely fashion at the right places. You’ve written up the press releases that get them talked about.” He poked her shoulder. “You have made the right connections to get them even more good press. Everybody knows where Touchstone is playing on any given weekend even if they don’t frequent these kinds of clubs.”

Press releases. She’d forgotten about those. “You told me to write press releases. You had to teach me how.”

“I suggested it, but that doesn’t mean you’d actually do it. You’ve got drive. Come work for me and we can point your drive in a useful direction instead of leaving it to sell shirts at the mall.”

Candy chewed her lips. Once or twice, she’d asked Joe questions instead of just listening to what he told her about marketing. That’s how she figured out how to do most of what she’d done for the band. It seemed like the natural thing to do. If she was working for him, she’d see him more often to ask more questions. “Will you help me work on a bigger, better campaign for the band?”

He shook his head, chuckling. “And you think I’m offering you this job because you’re cute. Of course we’ll work on a bigger campaign for the band. What do you say?”

“Are you kidding? Yeah. When do I start?”

“Why don’t we wait until school’s out? You have to give notice at your job.”

Candy threw her arms around his neck. “This is awesome.”

“See, now I’m getting the squealing and jumping up and down.”

Candy pushed away from him. “Oh shut up.”

“Is that any way to talk to your new boss?”

“Was that any way to handle your new employee?”

“I was not handling. I was hugging.”

She shoved his shoulder. “Whatever. I gotta go tell my boyfriend the news.”

“I think he’s busy.”

“I know where to wait until he’s available.” Candy grabbed her Pepsi and headed for the side of the stage. Joe didn’t blow smoke. If he said working for him would be better money than at the store, it would be. Even the same money for less time would be fantastic. Office hours. She wouldn’t have to miss anymore of Tyler’s gigs, which meant she could keep all those other girls away from him. And if Joe was going to help her build a real campaign it would be good for the band. A real professional campaign would get them known outside her hundred-mile radius and make it a lot easier for Mr. Dale to get them a record contract.

The last set wound down, or rather up, as planned and the lights went out. The crowd went nuts, screaming for more. Tyler grabbed her as he came off stage. “How were we?”

“Awesome.” She wrapped her arms around him. He was sweaty and hot. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“Joe offered me a job in his office.”

“Joe who?”

“Joe Goldman. From the ad agency. He’s got a gig for you guys too.”

Jason grabbed his arm. “Come on. Encore.”

Tyler jerked away from Jason. “Fuck off, man. I’m busy.”

“Yeah, busy playing a gig.” Jason grabbed for him again.

This time Tyler took a swing at him, but Jason ducked.

“You need to get your ass back on stage or you are so done,” Jason shouted.

“Hey, cut it out.” Brian stepped between them. “Come on, Tyler. It’s three songs and then you can suck face with Candy all you want.”

Tyler didn’t look at him. His gaze was firmly fixed on Candy’s. “Don’t take it.”

“Are you nuts? It’s a real job. He’s going to help me build a real campaign for you guys. He can make you really famous.”

“I don’t want you working for him.”

“Real campaign?” Jason crowded Brian into them. “Like real advertising?”

“Yes. Yes, he said it would be my special project.”

“He just wants to fuck you.” Tyler clenched his fists.

Candy folded her arms. “Well, he’s going about it all wrong. If I’m working for him, he can’t do anything inappropriate or I can sue, and he knows I’m underage anyway. You need to finish the show.”

“Candy.” He reached for her again, but let his hands drop. “I love you.”