Pascal’s gloomy aspect brightened. He was grinning. “I’m a good cook already. You like Mexican food? Tamales, pozole? Family recipes.”
My mouth had already started to water. “Have you met me? Your talents are beingwastedback at the dishwasher.”
“I make carne asada so good, Doll…”
“You’re making my stomach growl,” I said, and sent him back to work. I’d have Alex deal with Ned later, but not during the busy shift. If he wanted to walk out after that, then so be it. He could even take a heaping to-go container of food with him.
Through the front window, I could see that people were already lined up outside the pub. I checked the clock. It was still a few minutes early, but the counters were clean, the taps reconstructed, the clean bar mats back in place. It was too cold outside for people to stand around waiting and, bottom line, the sooner they were inside, the more beer we’d sell.
I felt another sharp pang, remembering that soon the pub would be sold, flattened, replaced with more overpriced condos. That I would have to figure out my entire life, once and for all, and on a deadline.
I took a deep breath and yelled back to the kitchen that I was opening the doors.
But it wasn’t Jims in the football finery waiting outside in the cold. It was the band, bundled against the cold but looking steamy.
“The famous Dahlia Devine, as I live and breathe,” Lourey said in a honeyed twang. “Finally home from her worldwide tour.”
39
I stood aside and let the girls in, knowing I was in for it.
They filed into the pub stamping their feet and blowing on their hands. Suzy had left her kitten ears behind in favor of a winter hat pulled low. Shanny wouldn’t look directly at me, but when Rooster did, her eyes were wide and hurt.
“You guys are a little early for the Christmas Eve show,” I said. “There are three shopping days left.”
“You’re the one whose timing is off,” Lourey said, squaring up to me for a fight. At least she’d dropped the accent. “Weren’t we supposed to see you yesterday? Saturday, that was the date we agreed on.”
Ned lifted his head over the pass-through to see what was happening.
“Yeah, look, something—”
“Came up, right,” Lourey said. “We came for the gear.”
“Which gear?” I asked, looking at each of the girls in turn. “What do you mean?”
Lourey took off toward the storeroom, and the others followed. “Shanny financed the monitors and mics,” Lourey called back over her shoulder. “So those are hers. And Suzy needs the rest of her kit.”
“Come on,” I said, trailing along after them. “Let’s talk about this.”
At the door to the storeroom, I stopped and watched them sort the cases and bags. “This isn’t about missing practice. You heard I got onstage with that other group, right? It was just a couple of songs,” I said. “Matt, that drummer Suzy knows. He pulled me up. I didn’t go to that place looking for an opportunity.”
“The opportunities just seem to find you,” Suzy said.
“Justyou,” Lourey said. “Word is you’re also hanging with talent scouts now?”
“I ran into Bern there,” I said. No one looked up from what they were doing. “Bern Kowalski? I told you about him, remember? He’s interested in the band.”
But that gonged up against what Bern had told me at the Addison Rose, about cleaning house. Had he meant the set list? Or personnel, too?
“Are you sure, Dahlia?” Shanny asked. “It seems like you might be going solo.”
The rest of them got still, waiting.
“Did you guys take a vote or something?” I said. “Seems like I’m getting kicked out.”
“You missed the meeting,” Suzy said. “Where we were supposed to be getting serious about writing a song. And you didn’t even text us you couldn’t make it.”
“I’m sorry about that. My phone is still…”
