Read Online Playing Without the Ball by Rich Wallace - Free Book Online Page B

face the kitchen and try to be shielded by the others, because Shorty would get pissed if he saw me out here. If he happened to be paying attention.
    They do “Brown-Eyed Girl” next and I start to relax. When that song ends, they say they’re going to take a break, so we sit back down at the table.
    A few minutes later General Musicianship walks by and Spit calls him over. He takes a seat.
    “What’s up?” he says.
    “Hi. I’m Spit. This is Jay. Good set.” Musician camaraderie.
    “Thanks. I’m Paul.”
    “Too bad it’s slow tonight,” she says.
    “We’re used to it,” he says with a smile.
    “This place can rock,” she says. “My band plays here sometimes.”
    “Well, we haven’t been together long. Takes a while to build a following.”
    He’s sweating pretty good, so he wipes his forehead with his sleeve. “What’s your band?”
    “Elyit. Punk and rock, some original stuff. Depends on the night.”
    “Yeah,” he says. “Whatever it takes.”
    “If you don’t get ’em dancing by the second set, you’re sunk,” she says. “Some nights you gotta cover the Bee Gees.”
    He laughs. The drummer has come over, a large guy in a blue T-shirt and leather cap with a short brim. Paul jerks a thumb at him. “Dave,” he says.
    We shake hands and give him our names.
    “Time to boogie,” Dave says. They go back to the stage. I catch Shorty looking my way, so I give a little wave and go back to the kitchen.
    I clean the counters and sweep the floor. Then I look out the back door for a few minutes until I hear a familiar voice. I go to the bar room and Spit’s onstage with the band, doing a heightened, punky version of “Under the Boardwalk” that fills the bar. She does have a hell of a voice. I feel it right through my chest.
    The bass guy is dancing with her and his guitar, and I count seven people on the floor. And when you hear the difference, the difference is obvious, what puts her above this band and most others. That spark of originality, even when she’s covering an old song, that voice that’s a couple of notches better than good. That thing that makes her unique.
    The room is transformed.
    Or maybe it’s only me.
    I go in the back and start making a list in my head of the positives and negatives of what I’m thinking I ought to do. The positives: she’s funny, she’s smart, she’s incredibly talented, she’s got beautiful hair. The negatives, at least the biggest ones: her reliance on drugs, alcohol, and cigarettes; her denial of all that; her history with men, at least one of them.
    I make a third column, because I’m not sure which side some things should go on: her unique appearance, her attitude toward her body.
    I add one last thing to the positive column: she likes me. I’m tired of being alone.
    I get up to find Spit. When I look out, she’s dancing slow with somebody, some guy who wasn’t here a few minutes ago.
    I recognize that wide butt. It’s the lawyer. I watch in awe until the song ends, then wave her into the kitchen.
    “Be right back, babe,” I hear her say.
    She comes in and I shut the door.
“Babe?”
    She giggles. “He’s not like I thought.”
    “No?”
    “No. He’s great.”
    “You said it was nothing. Why didn’t you tell me?”
    She shrugs. “This is the first time he’s come around.”
    “So how do you know how great he is?”
    “We’ve been killing a lot of afternoons together.” She reaches over and brushes some hair off my forehead. “You know, we work until about two, then I go in and take dictation the rest of the day.”
    “I’m sure.”
    “Sorry, bud. You hurt?”
    I shake my head, but I am.
    “Oh,” she says soothingly. “You are.”
    I swallow hard. “No. Just a little.”
    “You’re sweet, Jay.” She hugs me. I pat her shoulder. “You okay?” she asks.
    “Sure.”
    “Don’t worry, bud. We’ll find you somebody.” She pulls back and touches my face. “You sure you’re all