Opening Act Page 6

  By this time she’d backed Shay into a corner, and Lockwood had a look on his face that said he was finally figuring out why Zee had been so friendly.

  Loni had promised to stay until Zee met Shay Dayton, and since that had just happened, she was free to go. She edged around Lockwood—who was partly blocking the door but was too paralyzed by his sudden epiphany to move—and slipped out. She took one final look over her shoulder and saw that Zee had grabbed Shay’s arm and was stroking it like a pet cat.

  And Shay himself?

  He wasn’t looking at Zee. He was looking at her. Watching her go.

  She felt a momentary jolt at that, but, buffeted again by the warm, close, confusing dimness of the party, she was soon able to shrug it off.

  She made her way through the apartment and out the front door. As she descended the stairs, she phoned for a cab.

  While she was waiting on the curb, she noticed—with a little jolt of alarm—someone else standing on the street. She turned, and saw that it was the band’s keys player. What was his name?…Jimmy Dancer. Onstage, he’d struck Loni as aloof and wary—a natural outsider—and seeing him here, outside the party, having a cigarette in the dark, she felt a sudden kinship with him. She was an outsider, too.

  “Those will kill you, you know,” she said, nodding at the cigarette.

  He shrugged. “With any luck.”

  She didn’t know how to reply, so she turned back toward the street to watch for the cab.

  “Kinda surprised to see you go so early,” he said.

  She half turned her head. “Me? Why?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t Shay talk to you?”

  Suddenly on alert, she replied, “A little. Why?”

  He shrugged again. “Well, I guess everyone strikes out sometime. Even the Hall of Famers.”

  She turned all the way to face him. “What do you mean?”

  “Just that he noticed you the moment you walked in,” he said, after taking another puff on his cigarette. “And I’ve seen that look before. He spots his prey for the night, he stalks her, he moves in for the kill…he bags her.” He took another drag, then nodded in apology. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

  Loni felt a little glow of heat in her forehead. “Well, he didn’t bag this one.”

  Jimmy Dancer grinned. “Sweeeeet,” he said. Apparently there was more than a little jealousy of Shay’s sexual prowess among the other members of the band—or at least the one behind the keyboard.

  Loni gave a little grunt of distaste and turned back to the street. She suddenly realized that Shay must have seen her enter the kitchen and then volunteered to fetch more eggs for the stunt going on in the next room, knowing it would give him the perfect excuse to sidle up to her.

  She felt stupid. She felt manipulated. And she was grateful that she had bucked against the unwitting attraction he’d whipped up in her, grateful for the little bursts of pettiness and snarkiness she’d been unable to suppress. How could she have known they were a survival mechanism?

  She was so upset, she actually considered making a pass at Jimmy Dancer. Going home with him instead? Now that would show Shay Dayton.

  But of course, why should she let Shay Dayton be her motivation for anything? He was nothing to her. Less than nothing.

  Besides, the probability of Jimmy Dancer having nicotine breath was a deal-breaker.

  The cab arrived a few minutes later. During the ride, she considered calling Byron. It wasn’t too late. But she felt strangely unmoved to dial his number—despite having protested so strongly to Zee, just a few hours earlier, that she needed to talk to him.

  At home, she shucked her clothes and collapsed into her pillow. Exhausted, she fell immediately to sleep. And her last thought about Zee and the concert and Overlords and Shay Dayton was a firm, if drowsy, Never again.

  CHAPTER 4

  Eventually Zee felt the call of nature and excused herself to use the bathroom. Shay was only too glad to give her permission to go.

  “I won’t be long,” she said, getting up from his lap and wagging a finger at him. “You just stay right here.”

  “Hey,” he said, extending his arms—one of which held an empty beer bottle, “where would I go?”

  As soon as she rounded the corner to the hallway, he leapt to his feet and scuttled across the party to the kitchen.

  Trina was there, getting another Smirnoff Ice from the refrigerator. “Leave it open,” Shay said. “I’m goin’ in right after you.”

  She obligingly stepped away from the fridge and popped open her bottle. “Man, I can’t get the taste of that goddamn rotten egg outta my mouth,” she said. “Like eating a dog’s cancer tumor.” She swallowed a mouthful.

  Shay removed his beer and closed the fridge. “Why do you keep letting people talk you into that kinda behavior?”

  She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and said, “Well, you know my nickname—‘Kid Daredevil.’ ”

  “Yeah. But nobody actually calls you that.”

  “They will before I’m finished with ’em.” She took another swig, then made a face and said, “Blaagh. Still there.”

  “Listen,” Shay said, prying the lid off his beer bottle, “if five Smirnoffs haven’t done the job, a sixth isn’t going to help.”

  She looked at him and emitted a little defeated grunt. “You’re right.” She set the bottle on the counter and said, “I should try a couple shots of Jägermeister.” She left the kitchen, and a moment later Shay heard her cry, “Hey, who moved the bar cart?”

  He took a swallow of beer and left the kitchen, peering down the hallway to make sure the bathroom door was still shut. Then he rushed out the front door, bolted over to the stairwell, and loped up the steps, two at a time, to the roof.

  It was a warm night with a brilliant half-moon. A handful of people had spilled out of the party and come up for some privacy and quiet among the vents, chutes, and smokestacks. Seeking out a relatively obscure corner where Zee wouldn’t easily find him, he came across Lockwood, seated with his feet dangling over the edge, serenely smoking a doobie.

  Shay sat next to him. “I gotta wonder,” he said, “if it’s a really good idea to get high when you’re perched five stories up.”

  “No wondering about it,” said Lockwood. “It is an absolutely terrible idea.”

  Shay set his beer down beside him, then lowered himself and swung his own legs over the edge. “Share?” he asked, extending his hand.

  Lockwood passed him the joint.

  Shay took a hit, passed it back, and said, “So, this girl you invited…”

  Lockwood laughed. “I was a conduit, man. A means to an end.”

  “I’m guessing I was the end?”

  “All signs point to yes.”

  He sighed. “Sorry, man.”

  Lockwood shrugged. “I should’ve seen it coming. I did see it coming.”

  Shay cocked an eyebrow. “Then…why?”

  He bounced his head from side to side. “Ahhh, you never know. I coulda been wrong.”

  Shay put his arm around Lockwood and gave him a squeeze. “You’re twice the man I am. You know that.”

  “Everyone knows that.” He took another toke.

  “You’re a genius. You’re funny, and wise, and generous, and…and everything. You’re a man’s man.”

  Lockwood gave him a sidelong, suspicious look. “What do you want?”

  “Why do I have to want something? I just love you, man. I’m just giving you some love.” He squeezed him again.

  “What—do—you—want?” Lockwood repeated, more deliberately.

  Shay gave up the act and let go of him. “Rescue me from her.”

  He laughed. “Me and what army?”

  “Any army you want. Just hire them. I’ll pay for their ammo and transport. Fuck it, I’ll buy an aircraft carrier.”

  “You can’t afford an aircraft carrier.”

  “I’ll pool my credit cards.”

  “You only h
ave two. Both maxed out.”

  Shay sighed. “Man, I need a new band. We all know each other too well.” He gestured for the joint, and Lockwood passed it to him.

  “Besides,” Lockwood said, “you seem to have rescued yourself.”

  Shay shook his head as he sucked in, then after exhaling said, “No, she’ll find me. And she’ll never let go. She’s like a terrier on a pants leg.”

  “What about the other one? The one she came in with? I thought you were making some progress there.”

  “Gone.” Shay sighed. “Walked out as soon as yours got me cornered.”

  “Huh.” Lockwood shook his head. “Chicks, man.”

  “Chicks, man,” Shay agreed.

  After a longish pause, Lockwood said, “Probably just as well, though.”

  “Just as well, though, what?”

  “That the other one left.”

  “Oh, yeah? And your reason for saying so?”

  Lockwood gave him a come-on-now look. “You know perfectly goddamn well.”

  Shay grimaced. “Pernita doesn’t own me.”

  “Fuck if she doesn’t.”

  “She doesn’t. Everything between us is totally NSA. We established that right up front.”

  “That was just a gambit, man. You must’ve realized that by now. That was just till she got your signature on the dotted line. Now she rules your skinny white ass.”

  Shay resisted the urge to argue back. What he really wanted was to drop the subject entirely. The fact was, Lockwood was right, and Shay hated to admit it—even to himself. He hated to admit he could have been so naive, so stupid, that he could be played like a goddamn violin.

  “We should go back to the party,” he said.

  “We should,” Lockwood agreed.

  “The fans, and everything.”

  “The fans,” Lockwood echoed.

  They sat exactly where they were for eleven minutes more, till Zee stumbled up behind them.

  “There you are,” she said, plunking herself down next to Shay. “I wondered where you’d gone to. You said you weren’t going to move.”

  “I suddenly felt all flushed,” he said. “I had to get some fresh air.”

  “Poor baby,” she said, and she felt his forehead. “Better now?”

  “Much,” he said, and he turned to Lockwood and mouthed the words, Rescue me!

  She sniffed the air and said, “You guys getting high?”

  Shay shot Lockwood a look that said absolutely not.

  Lockwood surreptitiously moved the joint out of sight and said, “I was. Downstairs. Came up for air.”

  Zee looked around. “You didn’t happen to see my roommate up here, did you?”

  “Your roommate?” Shay said, suddenly on alert.

  “She’s not downstairs anymore. I thought, since everyone seems to be coming up here, maybe she did, too.”

  “You and Loni live together?”

  “Mm-hm.” She looked at Shay. “You know her?”

  Shay affected a nonchalant look. “I was talking to her in the kitchen, when you introduced yourself.”

  “You were?” She giggled. “I didn’t even notice.”

  “Didn’t notice a lot of things,” Lockwood muttered so that only Shay could hear.

  “Where did she go?” Zee asked.

  “I’m pretty sure she left.”

  She slumped her shoulders. “Honestly, that’s so like her. To just leave me here. I mean, I told her she could, but that doesn’t mean she had to.”

  “She seemed kind of…uptight,” said Shay.

  “Oh, don’t even get me started! Her idea of fun? You wouldn’t believe it. Your average librarian is a she-wolf by comparison. I don’t even know what she’d do if she didn’t have me. I drag her everywhere. Not that she ever thanks me.”

  “You’re a good friend,” he said. “In fact, you’re a real philanthropist, Zee…Zee…sorry, what’s your last name again?”

  “Gleason.”

  “You’re a real philanthropist, Zee Gleason.” He raised his beer bottle to toast her and took a swig.

  “Oh, you are smooth,” murmured Lockwood, who knew exactly what Shay was up to.

  Suddenly Shay clutched his pocket. “Sorry,” he said, “phone just vibrated. Won’t be a minute.” He got to his feet, pulling his phone from his pocket as he did so, then strode away from them, speaking into it. “Hello?…Yeah, I heard from him…Did you confirm for Friday…?”

  When he was far enough away, he slipped behind a duct and took the phone from his ear, ending the pantomime of having gotten a call. He opened Facebook, and typed ZEE GLEASON in the search bar. When Zee’s page popped up (God, was there nothing that woman wouldn’t do in front of a camera? Shay had to roll his eyes.), he clicked on the link to her Friends page, then searched for LONI.

  Nothing came up.

  That was odd. He searched again, thinking maybe she spelled it in some other way—like a dude, LONNIE. Or maybe all Welsh or something; LLONI. A few other variants were equally unsuccessful. But he was on the hunt now, and he wasn’t going to let a bad scent put him off the trail.

  As he returned to Zee and Lockwood, he wondered why he was even bothering. Loni really did seem a little too uptight—not to mention a little too quick to take offense. Both being things he really hated in women. Yet he seemed ready to overlook them in Loni’s case. Likewise her superior attitude and her transparent bullshit about not knowing who he was. She was full of herself in ways Shay usually found repellent.

  Yet he was the opposite of repelled. In fact, he couldn’t seem to get her out of his head.

  Was it because this was the first time in a long time that a woman had walked away from him? Was it as simple as that? Was he merely reacting to a rejection, like some goddamn Neanderthal? Grunt, I will make you love me.

  Or was it that he’d grown tired of being chased and flattered and fawned over? After all that sickening sugar, a little vinegar tasted surprisingly…sweet.

  Zee and Lockwood were exactly as he’d left them. He’d hoped they’d have shimmied together, closed up the space between them, but they’d kept it open for him. In fact, they didn’t appear even to be cognizant of each other. Zee was staring dreamily in one direction, Lockwood sternly in the other. With a sigh, Shay sat back down between them, picked up his beer bottle again, and downed a slug.

  “That was awkward,” Lockwood muttered.

  “So, I was saying,” Zee said, chirpily resuming where she’d left off, “Loni’s gone and left me, and now I don’t know how I’m going to get home…or to, y’know, wherever it is I’m going next.” She smiled coquettishly. “I guess I’ll just have to hope someone comes along to help me out.”

  “Really sucks that she left you hanging,” Shay said. “What kind of person does that?”

  “I know, right?” she said, inching closer to him.

  “I mean, she must be a total bitch.”

  “Well, not total. She’s just got major issues.”

  “Like what? Wait, don’t tell me. She’s one of those tech-phobes who, like, hates Facebook and shit.”

  “Well, she doesn’t hate it, exactly, but she doesn’t use her real name ’cause she doesn’t want people from her past finding her and ‘bothering’ her.”

  “ ‘People from her past’?” he said, shaking his head. “Man, that is lame. I mean, what is she, twenty-two? Who’s she talking about? Her ex-nanny or something? Who’s got a ‘past’ at twenty-two?”

  Zee laughed, and grabbed his arm as if to keep from rollicking herself right off the roof. “You’re so funny,” she said. She wasn’t laughing anymore, but she wasn’t letting go of his arm, either.

  “So, what, does she use her porn name or something?”

  She looked at him, in the moonlight, and it was clear she’d been trying to steer his attention in quite another direction. “Hm?” she asked. “Porn name?”

  “You know. Like, you take your first pet’s name, and the name of the street you grew up on, and
that’s your porn-star name. Tell me you never heard of this.”

  She giggled. “Really? This is a thing? Oh, my God. My porn-star name is…” She thought for a second. “Bubbles Fairbanks.” She squealed in delight. “What’s yours?”

  “Tyler Montana,” he said.

  She screamed and slid her other arm around his. She was now attached to him like a barnacle. “Oh, my Gawd, that’s a total porn name! I am so dying!” She pressed her face against his shoulder and groaned happily into it.

  He was growing a little uncomfortable with her invasion of his private space—hell, she was all but crawling under his shirt—so he turned to Lockwood and said, “What’s your porn name, man?”

  Lockwood gave him a sidelong glance, then looked back ahead and said, “Wilbur Forty-Third Street.”

  Shay laughed, but Zee didn’t. Then there was a spell of quiet that seemed like it might go anywhere.

  “Soooo,” Shay said, trying to get back to the point without drawing too much attention to it, “your roommate uses her porn name for Facebook?”

  “No,” she said dreamily, as though falling asleep. “The name of some English poet. So lame.”

  “Which English poet?”

  “I don’t remember,” she said, sighing into his ear. Then she yawned theatrically.

  “But English, right? What century?”

  “Who knows?” she said. Then she blinked her eyes at him very drowsily and said, “I’m getting so tired. I need to find a bed soon.”

  Lockwood apparently couldn’t help himself. He openly barked out a derisive laugh, as if he couldn’t believe his ears.

  “Where’m I gonna find a bed?” she asked, dropping her voice, as though to leave Lockwood out of it. “Hm? Any ideas, Tyler Montana?”

  “I’ll drive you home,” he said.

  She perked up immediately. So did Lockwood.

  “You will?” she asked.

  “You will?” Lockwood echoed.

  “Sure. Why not? Gentlemanly thing to do.”

  All drowsiness seemed instantly gone from her. She looked like she was about to say something, then appeared to think better of it—as though, with things going her way, why risk it?