Nevertheless, a cheer came from a table to the right of the pool. They had already been there when we arrived, and were less than thrilled when the beach music they’d been listening to was turned off. Still someone whooped again as Hector—back in his vest—pumped his fist.
They began to play a folksy version of the song of the summer, “Shrimp Pimp” by Mo Mel and Rhymes with Boring. It wasn’t terrible. But not great, either. Soon enough, a couple of other tables were clapping and singing along.
I was just past the bar, in a spot I’d chosen specifically because I had a clear eyeline to where Ben stood on the stage. When he looked over at me, as he had several times, I tried to appear positive but not so enthusiastic he’d not trust I was being genuine. A delicate balance, like everything else.
Just then, I saw Anne come out on the other side of the pool deck. Her arms were crossed over her chest, eyes straight ahead.
“Hey,” I called out. No response. I went louder. “Anne!”
When she saw me, she bit her lip, glancing at the main building, as if weighing whether to make a break for it. Finally, she came over.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, before I could say it first.
“Watching Sudden Constellation,” I replied.
“Sudden what?” I nodded at the band, now finishing “Shrimp Pimp.” She squinted. “Wait. Is that Ben?”
“Yep,” I said.
“He’s in a band now?”
“Depends on who you ask,” I said.
“Oh, I love this song!” she said as they moved into a bouncy, banjo-heavy take of a disco standard.
The drunk table clearly did too. They were already cheering, even before Hector pulled the microphone toward him, pushing his hair back, and began to sing.
“Ladies,” someone said from behind us. “Can I get you a beverage? Cocktails are half off until six.”
I turned: A guy in Tides whites was standing there. He had on a gold chain and was as clearly of age as we were not, probably somewhere in his late twenties. His name tag saidSTEVE.
“No, thanks,” Anne said. I shook my head as well.
“You sure?” He leaned toward me, close enough that I could smell his cologne, which was not pleasant. “It’s cool. If you’re under, we can keep it between us.”
“Steve!” I turned: Cardoon was over by the rowdy table. My hero. Again. “Can you get these thirsty folks another round?”
By the time the song wrapped up, a few other groups had come onto the patio: some teenage girls in bathing suits. Three women wearing flowy dresses. A group of kids, who immediately started trying to push one another into the pool.
“We’re Sudden Constellation!” Hector was saying now. “And we’ll be back in five.”
With that, the beach music came back on. Meanwhile, Ben had put down his guitar and was heading toward us. He looked as stressed as I’d ever seen him, including the day we’d run out of bacon at the Egg. Which was really saying something.
“And that’s our entire setlist,” he said. “Now what?”
“Do it again?” I suggested, nodding at the loud table. “You sound good. I was just about to gaze at you adoringly when the break came.”
“You were what?” Anne asked, confused.
“Ben!” Hector, who was talking to an older guy in a Tides golf shirt, was waving him over. “Come meet Mr. Coker!”
Ben didn’t move. I said, “Who’s that?”
“The Tides entertainment manager,” he replied, as one of the nearby kids did a cannonball, a light spray of water splashing us. Still, Ben remained, even as Hector waggled his fingers, impatient. “He’s under the impression that we want a permanent slot here.”
Anne said, “And you don’t?”
“I don’t even want to be playing now.”
