Rock Into Me by Susan Arden Page B

for the last three years, was booked around Nashville for a two-week battle of the bands; they still wanted a chance to shine in Music City and so continued to search out venues. She and Christy had canvassed the clubs off Demonbreun, patrolling on foot in the summer sun with huge hangovers. Each night so far, they’d performed and then bar-hopped or attended an after-party. Last night they’d gone to an after-after-party, getting back to the hotel well after sunrise.
    Harvey Stiles was about to say, ‘No,’ when Christy conveniently dropped her pen and bent over in her micro-mini skirt, knowing full well that the owner needed some visual encouragement. She was a complete promo-whore insofar as knowing how to sport her incredible figure to the band’s benefit. To Christy, it was ‘all-is-fair-in-booking a gig’ and what her six-foot-four boyfriend didn’t know supposedly wouldn’t hurt him. She never actually let anyone put their hands on her, but she worked the person over with her seductive power real good. Heaven help her if one day someone called her bluff.
    Orion finished the set, and Alana coughed, a tickle that had begun in the back of her throat blossoming into an irritating ache. She bent and retrieved her bottle of water, sipping, but nothing relieved the sting in her throat. The band collectively waved to the audience. It was all for show because they’d return on stage for the customary encore number. The last number was their most popular song and Billy demanded they leave it to last. He’d said, “ Give them something to remember us. ”
    At the edge of the stage, just beyond the curtains, she stood next to Christy, checking out the first row. “Hey, did you happen to notice any weird fans tonight?” Alana said, pushing back her sweaty bangs plastered to her forehead.
    “Weird, as in totally loving us? This is a change. I bet Harvey is gonna ask us back. He’ll pay, though. We basically did this set for free. The bastard. But not the next one. I’ll crank it to him good.” She grinned a perfect ‘four-years-of-wearing-braces-and-still-sleeping-with-a-retainer’ smile.
    “Christy, no. Different. Like someone who thought we…”
    “We what? Stunk?” Christy snorted. “As if.”
    She nodded. “Exactly. Crazy. Right?”
    “Is this a joke? Ya know, we seriously rocked our asses off, and listen to them. We own them. Man or woman, they want us. And not just our bodies. Our voices. Our music. Our fucking souls. This is the reason we huff it on that rat trap of a bus for half the year. Alana, so far Nashville has shown us some genuine love.”
    Alana pulled Christy’s arm, bringing her to the edge of the curtain, and she pulled the ancient crimson velvet material back. “Him. He looks as though someone is pinching him.”
    “He looks a-fucking-mazing. Holy shit. I think that dude is Lansing.”
    Billy shouted out to them, “Let’s go! Christy, now!”
    Alana held onto her friend. “Who is Lansing?”
    Christy stared at her, scrunching up her nose. “I’m not about to be late for an encore. Billy will have my ass. And I do mean that literally. He starts off with twenty smacks for shit like this. Come on.”
    She spun on her heel, and marched behind her boyfriend. “Way too much information, girlfriend,” Alana shouted at the back of Christy’s head.
    Up ahead Christy shrugged, tapping her tiny rear-end, and then knelt to pick up her guitar. The crowd stood, from what Alana could tell of the first couple of rows, but it took GQ a lifetime to rise. He looked from one side to the other as if he might find others who had opted to remain seated. Alana fumed. Absolutely fumed inside. She hoped to God that, afterwards, she would run into him. If she did, she fully intended on schooling in him audience etiquette.
      Lansing whoever . When she looked at him, she only saw a jerk. Well, what goes around, she mused. She vowed to take his level of discomfort up several more. The venue was rather