“Austin’s one of my favorite cities. They have an incredible music scene and the best Mexican food north of the border.”
“I’ve been,” she assured him. “I’ve been to South by.”
South by Southwest—SXSW—was one of the biggest music festivals in the US, but she found it about as useful as Vancouver’s hockey team in a game seven: all hype, no results. She’d gone a few years back and quickly realized everyone was there to party, not to actually listen to music.
“South by?” he repeated. “No, no, it’s nothing like that. You need to experience Austin outside of the festival.”
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it.”
The following Saturday, Tyler and Cary woke up in the Governor’s Suite at the Four Seasons Hotel. His tour bus had made the overnight trek from San Antonio to Austin, arriving just in time to scoop her from the airport. The band and crew were grateful for a day off in the live music capital of the world—ready to do their part to keep Austin weird.
“What’s the plan?” she asked, hoping to spend the day in bed, or at least the morning. Their suite was luxury at its finest, having a magnificent view of Lady Bird Lake. “We have a Rory-free day since Kim insistedon keeping him.”
“I’m sure she gets lonely on the road.” He swept back the hair from his face. “I thought we’d visit a few museums and then check out some music later. But first I’d like to pay my respects.”
She used a pillow to prop up her head. “Your respects?”
He nodded. “Stevie Ray Vaughan.”
“His grave?” she asked.
“No, he’s buried in Dallas, but there’s a statue here.” He closed his eyes before he went on, “I was just a kid but it hit me really hard, his death. I know I’m a rock guy but everything comes from the blues.”
“I know how to take your mind off the blues.” She traced her finger down the middle of his chest, teasing him until she reached his boxer briefs.
“You’re in trouble.” He tugged the sheet around them, wrapping her up snug against him.
She rolled over and straddled him. “Double trouble.”
After dinner at Manuel’s, Tyler and Cary wandered through the neon-lit Red River District, eventually landing on 5th Street outside Antone’s Nightclub, where the thrum of live music spilled onto the sidewalk.
“Cary goddamn Kingston, as I live and breathe.” A door attendant greeted him with a smile, extending his hand. “Reggie. Big fan.”
Cary needed a better disguise than wearing his glasses. “Nice meeting you, Reggie,” Cary said. “This is Tyler.”
She waved and asked, “What’s it like in there?”
Reggie turned toward the entrance and lowered his head. “Indie music. Mostly college kids.” He shook his head and frowned, seemingly embarrassed by their patrons. “A lot of guys with beards and flannel.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound too promising,” Cary said. “But since we’re already here . . .”
“Follow me.” Reggie waved, leading them inside.
They followed Reggie as he parted the crowd, seating them at a reserved table at the side of the stage. Reggie was right. They could have easily been in Portland or Seattle without knowing the difference.
Fucking hipsters.
Reggie asked, “What’ll it be?”
“I’ll go to the bar.” Tyler stood from her seat. “You’ve done enough. Thank you. Really.”
“It ain’t no bother.” Reggie pointed to the line at the bar, fifty people deep. “You’ll be waiting a goddamn hour otherwise, Mrs. Kingston.”
She grabbed her chest and sucked in a breath. “I’m not . . . we’re not . . . I’m . . .” She fanned her sundress to diffuse the heat. “I’m his girlfriend,” she clarified while Cary cracked up like it was the funniest thing.
Shut up, Cary.
“You’d better put a ring on it,” Reggie said.
