I stared back.
“Please, don’t go,” I said again.
Part of me expected him to grin in triumph, come forward, pul me in his arms and kiss me.
I decided I’d have to act pissed off for awhile and then, once I gave him a load of shit, I’d let it go.
Instead, his mouth got tight, he turned on his boot, and he muttered, “For f**k’s sake, arm the alarm.” Then he was gone.
My body was twisted in order to look over my shoulder at the closed door.
What just happened? My shocked brain asked.
I didn’t answer.
I knew what just happened.
I slid down the cupboard, put my coffee cup beside me on the floor, closed my eyes and pressed my forehead into my knees.
I felt Juno pushing her nose into my neck, giving doggie comfort as best she could but I didn’t turn to her.
Instead, I slid straight into the place that knew me wel .
I slid directly into black.
* * * * *
The gig was almost over. The Rock Chicks were sitting at tables up front and center, al of them looking subdued and a little worried.
The Hot Bunch, Tex and Duke were al on duty, guarding the doors, the stage, wandering the crowd. I’d seen them al .
Al of them.
But Mace.
Even though the show was shit (al my fault and I knew it), the crowd was preparing for “Ghostriders”.
Instead, I pul ed my arm in a sweep in front of me, disengaging my guitar strap from my shoulders. I set my guitar in its stand and walked across the dusty, faded rugs that covered The Little Bear’s stage. I sat next to Floyd on the piano bench. He was staring at me, his eyes startled.
For the past four hours, the entire band and The Rock For the past four hours, the entire band and The Rock Chicks had al tried to get through to me. I was so deep in black; I just went through the motions like an automaton. I didn’t know what they asked, I didn’t know what they said, I didn’t even know my own replies.
I leaned into Floyd and whispered in his ear.
He put his hand over the microphone. “Stel a, girl –” I closed my eyes tight then opened them and looked into his.
“Just do it,” I begged.
He gave me a long look, nodded to the band then started playing.
The room went silent in shock.
I looked at the rafters, blindly taking in the trademark Little Bear bras nailed to them then I pul ed Floyd’s microphone my way, closed my eyes and started singing.
And what I sang was Bil y Joel’s, “And So It Goes.” And I sang it for Mace who wasn’t even there but I did it anyway because nothing said what I needed to say better than those beautiful, heartbroken lyrics.
Floyd played the final notes to the song and I kept my eyes closed, waiting.
Waiting.