Three Day Summer(32)

I look down at the two beers that are now sitting in front of us, behind which stands an impatient bartender.

“Crap,” I croak out. What little money I have is in my backpack, of course. Far, far away with my lost friends.

Cora shakes her head before putting on a beaming smile and turning to the ever-more-irate-looking bartender. “Sir,” she says. “I am so sorry about this. My friend thought he had his wallet with him, but . . .”

“I poured it, you buy it,” the bartender says. “Those are the rules.”

“Right,” Cora says. “I understand, only we unfortunately don’t have any cash on us. I’m really sorry.”

“No exceptions,” the bartender says.

“Um. Okay,” Cora says. “But let’s just say we don’t have any money to give you. But we also didn’t drink any of the beer. So then . . .”

“Then I think someone might be washing some glasses today,” the bartender says with a sneer.

Panic starts to set in. I cannot be in the back of a hotel washing glasses while the greatest musicians in the world are playing just a handful of miles away.

“Oh, just put it on my room bill, Charlie. And stop giving them crap.” Janis has poked her face between our shoulders and is staring down the bartender.

Once again, I stare at her agape, this time my mouth hanging open about three inches from her face.

Cora at least has the presence of mind to say, “Oh, wow. Thanks so much . . .”

“Just repaying the favor for the acid tip,” Janis says with a wink. “See you out there.” She turns around and starts following her guys back through the lobby.

I just stare in her wake, still completely mute.

“Well,” Cora says as she takes both beers from underneath the bartender’s hateful gaze. “Might as well enjoy these.” She takes them over to one of the lobby tables and sits down.

I follow her, but not until I’ve watched Janis swish onto one of the hotel elevators.

Janis Joplin has just bought me a beer. I sit across from Cora and stare into the frothy glass. This has to go down as one of the most amazing drinks in the history of alcohol.





chapter 37


Cora


A couple of sips into his beer and Michael seems to have relaxed enough to form sentences again. Pretending to be a rock god, not bad. In the presence of a rock goddess, total disaster.

But once he regains some of his composure, he starts to excitedly fill me in on what exactly makes Janis so great (“Her voice. It’s so raw. Like the joy and pain of existence itself is transmitting through her.”). He even tells me about some of the other bands he mentioned before, like Canned Heat (“Perfect, pure blues music. Which is really the basis of rock-’n’-roll.”) and Santana (“Not that anybody can beat Jimi, but my cuz says he’s a worthy second. So I’m curious as all hell.”).

He honestly knows more about music than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s pretty impressive, and I tell him so.

He shrugs good-naturedly, but I can tell he’s pleased. “It’s not very often that I actually know more about something than someone else. Trust me. We should both enjoy this moment for the rarity that it is.”

I laugh.

“What about you?” he asks, as he takes another sip from his beer. “Since you’re obviously not spending time as the president of your local Doors fan club, what’s your favorite thing to do? For fun?”

I consider this, not sure anyone’s ever really asked me that before. Truthfully, I don’t think most people who know me would think to put the word “fun” in the same sentence as “Cora.” “Um . . . I like the movies?” I finally offer lamely.

“Oh, yeah? Seen any good ones lately?”

I have to rack my brain a little, because I haven’t actually been to the movies since Ned and I broke up. What was the last one we saw together? Oh, right. John Wayne. His choice. “True Grit,” I finally remember the name. “It was pretty good.”

Michael nods. “I missed that one.” Then his face lights up. “Oh, but have you heard of this new one, Easy Rider? I haven’t actually gotten around to seeing it yet, but I’ve heard it’s supposed to be amazing. Really different.”

I shake my head no, starting to think that maybe I’m not that into movies if I can’t even be bothered to go to one alone. “See? Here’s another thing you actually know more about than me.” I throw my hands up in the air.

He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it again. For a wild second, I think he’s about to ask me out to the movies. But then he surprises me with a different question. “So what do you really like to do, Cora?” He grasps his beer glass in both hands, his head cocked, looking at me intently across it. “In your spare time?”

I eye him. “Honestly?” I ask, and he nods. “I don’t really have much spare time. I’m either at school or helping out at my farm. And the rest of the time, I’m volunteering at the hospital.” He’s looking at me quizzically and I wonder if he’s thinking about how boring that sounds. If that’s the case, I might as well go all in and admit it. “But actually, I find that really fun. My work at the hospital. I just . . . love it. Does that sound completely insane?” I look down into my own beer glass, and see the strings from my candy striper apron dangling near the floor through the bottom.