Three Day Summer(31)

“Excuse me, but would you happen to have the schedule of the lineup?”

“Um, sure,” she says, as she flips to a page on her clipboard, and lets Michael peek over her shoulder. I see him scan the page, flip it, and then smile and nod. “Thanks very much!”

“Jimi’s on last thing tomorrow night,” he says when he’s walked back over to me. “Which I knew. And I definitely want to be back by tonight when, um, I’m on.” He grins. “And I wouldn’t mind seeing Canned Heat this afternoon. And this new guy Santana is supposed to be pretty special. My cousin lives in California, and he’s caught him a couple of times.”

“What time?” I ask.

“Around four, I think,” he says.

“Okay, so we should try to get back by then?” Though, honestly, I’m not sure how we’re going to do that.

Michael nods. “Yup.”

I stare up at the nondescript, squat brick building, which suddenly looks a lot more intimidating than any Holiday Inn ever has a right to look.

“Are we going in?”

“Absolutely,” Michael says, his head held high as he strolls right up to the front door and opens it gallantly for me.

I’m starting to believe that rock god really is a state of mind.





chapter 36


Michael


This is unbelievable.

First, I get mistaken for Roger freakin’ Daltrey. Then, I’m feet away from entering the same building where the world’s greatest musicians have been sleeping. And finally, I manage to land a scorching one on a really hot girl. I even think her knees were trembling a little when the kiss ended.

And I’m not even on anything. Who would have thought? Can this day possibly get any better?

Well, maybe if I see Jimi in the flesh, up close.

“I think we should keep a low profile,” I murmur to Cora as we approach the hotel. No sense in pushing our luck.

Frankly, security seems pretty lax. No one even gives us a second look. Scanning the crowd in the lobby, I see a few older folks. A lot of them are in suits and have badges similar to the guy who let me on the helicopter, a.k.a. my new best friend.

“Now what?” Cora asks.

“Maybe we’ll see someone amazing?” I say. “Let’s take a stroll through the lobby.” I hold on to her hand and try to channel my inner cool. If I look nonchalant, like I belong here, I think we can probably continue to get away with this.

I stroll casually from one side of the lobby to the other, keeping an eye out the whole time. If I’m honest, mostly for a telltale Afro.

At the end of the lobby is a small bar with stools and several tables and chairs scattered around. A clump of people are gathered at one end of it.

I hear the murmur of a soft-spoken voice and the sound of laughter before I see her. She’s surrounded by several people laughing at her jokes, and I catch a glimpse of her tie-dyed outfit as she turns around to ash her cigarette at the bar.

I’m standing about five feet away from Janis Joplin, who has a cigarette dangling from one hand and a glass of whiskey clenched in the other.

I duck down and whisper furiously in Cora’s ear. “Do you know who that is?”

She squints over at the group and after a moment says, hesitatingly, “Janis Joplin?”

“Yes!” I yell, louder than I intended. But Christ, even Cora knows who she is. This is huge.

“Come on, we’re getting a drink.”

I sidle up to the bar as casually as I can. The bartender looks me up and down before ambling over slowly. “Yes?” he asks.

“I’ll have a beer. Two,” I say quickly, indicating Cora. Janis has gotten me so flustered that I almost forgot my manners.

He cocks one eyebrow. “What sort of beer?” he asks.

“Um . . .” Crap. I’ve been eighteen for a little over a month now, legally able to drink, but I’ve never actually ordered a beer at a bar before. Who needs to with Evan around?

“What’s on tap?” I hear a voice behind me ask, and turn around to see Cora playing this whole nonchalant, I’m-really-much-older-than-I-look thing much better than me.

The bartender gives her a once-over too. “Budweiser and Schlitz,” he says.

“We’ll take one of each,” she shoots back confidently.

The bartender slowly takes out two glasses and gives us one more suspicious glance before he starts to fill them.

“Man, what sort of insanity is going on out there? Are there cats slinging mud?”

I follow the source of the soft voice to catch Janis looking straight at me and my muddy clothes.

Janis Joplin is speaking to me. Holy f*ck.

I don’t respond. How the hell do you respond to Janis Joplin? I just stare at her, my mouth hanging open, unblinking. All thoughts of inner Roger Daltry–ness gone.

“Is he all right?” she asks, and I can see she has now turned to Cora.

Cora glances at me and then speaks to Janis without blinking an eye. “He’s fine.” She smiles. “But I would stay away from the brown tabs,” she adds.

“Ah,” Janis says. “Thanks for the tip, sister.” She salutes us before turning back to her entourage, who are starting to gather their things.

“So . . . hey,” Cora says quietly, forcing me to divert my attention away from the rock superstar for a moment. “Do you have any money for these?” She brings her face close so that she can ask me under her breath.