Strong: A Stage Dive Novella (Stage Dive #4.5)(3)

“Martha,” he said.

“Hi, David.” My smile felt so brittle it almost hurt. “How are you?”

“Good. You?”

I just nodded.

Pleasantries exchanged, he shifted the chair back a bit from me and focused on my brother. “Benny, this the one you wanted me to hear? He’s good.”

“Yeah, was talking to him earlier. I’m going to produce his album, get him started.”

“Cool.”

“Got the equipment there, figure we might as well use it,” said my brother. “Keep busy while you take some down time and work on the next album.”

“I think it’s a great idea.”

Lizzy gave me something between a worried/sorry type look. God, I so didn’t need that. David and I had been finished a long, long time ago. While my heart no longer broke at the thought of him, the sight of him wasn’t exactly welcome. I mean, why would anyone want to revisit some of their worst moments? Sure there’d been some good ones in there too, but still. At least he hadn’t brought his wife.

And what I needed right now was some space. “The ice has melted in my drink. I’m getting another.”

“Do you want me to come too?” asked Lizzy.

“No, it’s fine.”

Movements stiff and awkward, I made my way through the crowd. Some interested gazes from strangers tracked over me, but I ignored them all. Flirting and what might follow wasn’t high on my list of interests right now. Luckily, the bar wasn’t far. The place might be packed, but the air-con was pumped up so my makeup hadn’t melted off. Thank goodness. I’d been waiting at the bar for all of about point five of a second when Sam appeared alongside me. First hint he didn’t need a drink, he was facing the wrong way, his gaze still on Ben, David, and the crowd. Second hint was when he opened his mouth and said, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He tipped his chin.

I scowled in return. “Do you need something?”

“Nope.”

“Shouldn’t you be working then?”

The sly sort of curve of his mouth happened again. “No need to switch on bitch mode just because someone expresses concern for you, Martha.”

“Who said I ever turned it off?”

His smile broadened almost imperceptibly. I watched it happen out of the corner of my eye.

“Good to see the years spent in New York haven’t changed you any,” he said.

Not too sure about that.

“I was surprised to hear about your return.”

“Spur of the moment type thing.”

He just nodded, eyes now narrowed on me slightly. Like he could read my mind or something. Heaven help me if he could.

Valentino boot tapping against the hideous sticky beer-stained floor, I scowled some more. Something about the man just brought up my hackles. Like I couldn’t afford to have a soft underbelly. Ever. He knew too much. “Sam, this place is gross.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“Don’t you hate having to wait around all the time?”

“I’m not waiting, I’m working,” he said. “It’s a plus he’s good.” He nodded toward the young man on stage.

“Developing an ear for talent, are we?”

“I’ll leave that to Ben and Dave. And you.” He leaned back against the bar. “Still remember that time you picked Jimmy Page playing on that Texas punk album. That blew everyone away. Davie didn’t know whether to be proud of you, or jealous as hell that his girlfriend had picked it before he had.”

I tried to keep my smile from showing. “It was nothing really.”

“Nothing? For the next month Mal thought you had freaky musical powers and he’d shut up awestruck every time you opened your mouth. Anything that can silence that man is something to write home about.”

It was nice of Sam to remember, even if it was just a little thing, long ago. Some time after Stage Dive’s first album. Mal had been getting into Texas punk, of all things. With his usual irrepressible enthusiasm, he’d play air-drums to his mix-tape non-stop on the tour bus. Jimmy’s always hated punk and wasn’t shy about expressing his opinion, which of course just made Mal double down on it. Texas punk became all we ever heard.

Truth be told, the music was actually pretty good. But no way would I admit as much to Mal. Don’t feed the animals. That’s my motto when it comes to dealing with crazy drummers.

But this guitar track just came out of nowhere, somewhere in the middle of the mix tape. Hypnotic and melodic, but woven seamlessly into this frenzied, fast-paced cacophony. Breathtaking. Me being me, I’d said something totally inappropriate, like, “No way some garage band nobody plays guitar like that.” Mal had fetched me the album cover, and sure enough it turned out the lead singer had sent the song to a friend in a band he’d once opened for, who had liked it enough to lay down a guitar track, and sent it back.

The friend was Jimmy Page. A year or two before he formed Led Zeppelin. Ain’t rock ’n roll a crazy thing?

Sam lingered, still smiling at the memory, and shaking his head. I blushed a little, wishing that his esteem for me didn’t matter quite as much. Time to steer the conversation back to safer terrain. “So why do you say he’s good then?”