Thank You for Listening(91)

“Did he make it out?”

“He did.”

“You still friends? You still play together?” Stu demanded, fully invested.

“Thanks for asking, yeah. He followed me into audiobooks, actually. Became my proofer then June scooped him up as her producer. He has one of those magic ears, you know? Perfect pitch and such. Gearhead, too, on the tech side. A total sound wizard.”

“That’s one hell of an impressive friend you got there. You saved more than a life, chief. You ever pick it up again?”

“Not for about five years. We’d noodle around when we were in the same city and send each other licks, random stuff, but we weren’t in it. Then, end of last year, after June . . . passed, he started talking about wanting to try again. I was thinking it might be worth a go. So we found a drummer. New keyboardist.” Nick tipped his head across the table. “Wish I’d have known, Stu.”

“You better watch yourself, Nickster, or you might have some old geezer show up sometime.”

“Anytime.” They shared a nod of musicians’ camaraderie, even if only one of them was a professional musician.

The next course arrived. Stu held up his hands. “Question: Anyone happen to notice the bread?”

Marilyn tried to, yet again, pull up his reins. “Stuuuu.”

“What? We’re on number eight and nobody’s said anything. I’ve been patient.” Stu turned back to the kids. “So, the breads. Anything?”

Sewanee entered in. “Well, I did notice them changing the bread a few times over the course of the dinner.”

“A few times? Every time! Every course comes with its own bread. You get what I’m saying? It’s like with the wine. They pair it! And again I have to say–”

And all together, they said, “It’s a Marriott!”

When he’d stopped laughing, Stu continued, “Okay, back to the band. You got a name?”

Nick took a bite. “We have a temporary name. It’s a joke mostly, an inside thing, a reference to spending the last five years doing Romance novels.”

Sewanee raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

Nick paused. “The Bodice Rippers.”

Sewanee laughed into her napkin.

“Ooh!” Marilyn exclaimed. “How about this? How about The Notorious Rakes?”

“Or just The Rakes,” Sewanee put in.

Nick looked at her. “The Rakes. Aye, that could work.”

“What kind of music do you play?” Marilyn asked.

“Americana, roots. But a bit indie. Singer-songwritery. Kind of.” He looked at Sewanee. “Jaysus, I’m terrible at this.”

Stu asked, “You got anything we can listen to?”

“Oh, no. We’re just getting going again, it’s not ready–”

“You gotta start putting stuff out there.”

“Ha, yeah, no. I’m not even sure I’m good enough to make this kind of music yet. But if something does come of it, I’ll definitely pass it along.”

“What do you mean, not good enough?” Stu went back to his plate.

“Just . . . it’s new for us. For me. It’s a sound that demands much more of myself than I’m used to and it’s, uh . . . got a high level of risk, you know?”

“So?” Stu asked, focused entirely on getting the right combination of flavors on his fork.

“So . . . I don’t really do risk.”

Sewanee could feel Nick choosing not to look at her.

“Why?”

“Because I’m not too keen on losing everything again.”

“How are you gonna manage that, chief?”

Nick chuckled. He took a self-deprecating breath. “Can’t fail if I don’t try.”

Now Stu was looking back up, smiling. “That’s a neat trick.”

“Ta, I think so.” He picked up his wine, grinning. “You’re dying to sort me out, aren’t you?”

“Who, me? No way. I got enough to deal with right here.” Stu brought a knuckle to his head, tapped it. “But you did say something that struck a chord with me–musician to musician!” He burst out laughing. “I didn’t even see that one coming!”

Nick joined in. “I think you see everything, Stu. What’s the chord?”

This had taken on the air of a friendly ping-pong match, as if each man had picked up a paddle after a few drinks and said, let’s see what you got. Sewanee and Marilyn watched avidly, spectators in the stands, enjoying every volley.

“You’re ass backwards.”

Nick threw his head back on a laugh. “Am I now?”

Stu chuckled. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, buddy boy.”

Nick stuck out his hand, welcoming Stu’s response. “Hit me.”

Stu sucked a tooth, took a moment. “You’re absolutely right. You’d regret trying and failing. But I’ll do you one better. If you don’t try, give it all you’ve got, you’ll regret the hell out of never knowing if you would have succeeded.”

Nick smiled. “Helluva chord, mate. Look, you’re right, I give you that. But it’s still scary.”

“So what? So it’s scary, why’s that such a big deal?” Nick was silent. “I’m not trying to put you on the spot, Nickster, I–”