congratulating each other because she wasn’t jailbait after all, nearly dying of embarrassment. But Randy explained, “They all say that. We got a standing bet.”
Angry, she said, “Who is ‘they,’ please?”
“Every cute runaway comes to the Quarter.”
Sue Ann said, “Don’t let ‘em bother you. They’re just a couple of small-town guys in the big city.”
“Well, listen to Miss Sophistication,” said Randy. “Like you’re not from Meridian, Mississippi.”
“Shut up, big guy, or you’re going to bed without.” If that meant what Melody thought it meant, it was good news.
As if on cue, Chris said, “Hey, Janis, where you crashin’?”
“Uh … well, I…” She couldn’t come up with a single idea.
Sue Ann said, “You don’t have a place?
Melody shook her head.
“Want to stay with us?”
She shrugged—coolly, she hoped. “Sure.” As if she did this every day.
They finished off their pizza and had a quick conference about which songs they were going to do tomorrow, Melody being careful not to suggest any of Janis’s songs, lest they make the connection. Everything they knew, Melody knew. Not for nothing had she worked her butt off the last two years, with Joel and Doug.
Chris was the best musician of the three, almost as good as Doug, though he couldn’t touch Joel, and he looked at Melody with respect. Chris respected her, she could feel it. Considered her a colleague. The worst day of her life had turned into the best.
Melody wanted to go back and make more money, but they said you weren’t really allowed to play past eight, and they’d stopped at eight-fifteen. They’d only made twenty-two dollars, and most of it had gone for the pizza. But to Melody it was manna. She’d started out with seven bucks in her jeans and now she was a professional singer.
She looked at her watch. It wasn’t even nine-thirty. What was next?
“Beatty’s?” asked Randy.
“What’s that?”
“The runaway bar,” Chris said. “It’s where you’d go tonight if you hadn’t met us. You’d have hung around, watching it get later and later, and then this one bar on Decatur would have started hopping, and you’d have noticed everybody in there was about your age. And you’d have gone in and a lot of guys would have hit on you and finally someone would have offered you a place to crash tonight.”
“A guy?”
He shrugged. “Anybody. People take care of each other in the Quarter.”
She was fascinated. “Are we going there?”
“Hell, no. I can’t take that scene.”
“Just for a while,” said Randy.
So they went.
The bar, which opened out to the street, was essentially a three-sided room. The furnishings were basic, if you were being kind, and Chris was right—no one there was over thirty, probably not over twenty-five. This early, it was pretty sparsely populated, which Chris said was good, he hated it when it was crowded. Randy and Chris played the video games across from the bar while Melody and Sue Ann got acquainted. Mostly, Melody asked questions and looked around. Some punk rockers were starting to arrive, pretty tough-looking customers, and she bet there’d be more as the night wore on. She wondered how she’d look all punked-out.
Chris came back, Randy tagging behind. “I can’t take this scene.” He gestured with his head. The place was starting to hop. A lot of people looked pretty unsteady already. They got a six-pack and some go-cups and went out to the Moonwalk, all four of them. Melody wasn’t too happy about it, but didn’t feel she had a choice, since she was depending on them for shelter. She had a pretty good idea about what was going to happen—Randy was going to make a play for her while Chris looked on in that amused way he had.
Sure enough, the fat one fell into step beside her, sat down next to her when they reached the Moonwalk. That part was right. But Chris wasn’t paying even the slightest attention. He was talking to Sue Ann, not
Angry, she said, “Who is ‘they,’ please?”
“Every cute runaway comes to the Quarter.”
Sue Ann said, “Don’t let ‘em bother you. They’re just a couple of small-town guys in the big city.”
“Well, listen to Miss Sophistication,” said Randy. “Like you’re not from Meridian, Mississippi.”
“Shut up, big guy, or you’re going to bed without.” If that meant what Melody thought it meant, it was good news.
As if on cue, Chris said, “Hey, Janis, where you crashin’?”
“Uh … well, I…” She couldn’t come up with a single idea.
Sue Ann said, “You don’t have a place?
Melody shook her head.
“Want to stay with us?”
She shrugged—coolly, she hoped. “Sure.” As if she did this every day.
They finished off their pizza and had a quick conference about which songs they were going to do tomorrow, Melody being careful not to suggest any of Janis’s songs, lest they make the connection. Everything they knew, Melody knew. Not for nothing had she worked her butt off the last two years, with Joel and Doug.
Chris was the best musician of the three, almost as good as Doug, though he couldn’t touch Joel, and he looked at Melody with respect. Chris respected her, she could feel it. Considered her a colleague. The worst day of her life had turned into the best.
Melody wanted to go back and make more money, but they said you weren’t really allowed to play past eight, and they’d stopped at eight-fifteen. They’d only made twenty-two dollars, and most of it had gone for the pizza. But to Melody it was manna. She’d started out with seven bucks in her jeans and now she was a professional singer.
She looked at her watch. It wasn’t even nine-thirty. What was next?
“Beatty’s?” asked Randy.
“What’s that?”
“The runaway bar,” Chris said. “It’s where you’d go tonight if you hadn’t met us. You’d have hung around, watching it get later and later, and then this one bar on Decatur would have started hopping, and you’d have noticed everybody in there was about your age. And you’d have gone in and a lot of guys would have hit on you and finally someone would have offered you a place to crash tonight.”
“A guy?”
He shrugged. “Anybody. People take care of each other in the Quarter.”
She was fascinated. “Are we going there?”
“Hell, no. I can’t take that scene.”
“Just for a while,” said Randy.
So they went.
The bar, which opened out to the street, was essentially a three-sided room. The furnishings were basic, if you were being kind, and Chris was right—no one there was over thirty, probably not over twenty-five. This early, it was pretty sparsely populated, which Chris said was good, he hated it when it was crowded. Randy and Chris played the video games across from the bar while Melody and Sue Ann got acquainted. Mostly, Melody asked questions and looked around. Some punk rockers were starting to arrive, pretty tough-looking customers, and she bet there’d be more as the night wore on. She wondered how she’d look all punked-out.
Chris came back, Randy tagging behind. “I can’t take this scene.” He gestured with his head. The place was starting to hop. A lot of people looked pretty unsteady already. They got a six-pack and some go-cups and went out to the Moonwalk, all four of them. Melody wasn’t too happy about it, but didn’t feel she had a choice, since she was depending on them for shelter. She had a pretty good idea about what was going to happen—Randy was going to make a play for her while Chris looked on in that amused way he had.
Sure enough, the fat one fell into step beside her, sat down next to her when they reached the Moonwalk. That part was right. But Chris wasn’t paying even the slightest attention. He was talking to Sue Ann, not
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