Ridley pulled a slip of paper out of her bag and grabbed Link’s ancient and not-at-all-smart phone off the dashboard. She found the keypad and slowly typed in letters with the tips of her long red nails. “Never mind. I’ve got this.”
It was time for the next phase of her plan—time to meet the band, and Link couldn’t have made things any easier. The roadie at Suffer had given her the lead guitarist’s number and told her to call when they got to town. Here we are.
on our way address pls—Rid frm Suffer
“You have? Got what?” Link frowned.
“I know some people.” She patted his arm. “I always do.”
“Since when?” Now it was Link’s turn to be suspicious.
The next text was almost instantaneous, and incomprehensible.
puking clown myrtle duane
Ridley tried to decipher the message. “It seems like we’re staying with this guy named Duane,” she said. “And maybe a girl named Myrtle.”
“How come I never heard a these people?”
Ridley scrambled. “They’re friends of John’s. I texted him, and he hooked us up.”
“John’s supposed to be on a plane all night, remember?” Link said. “Who is this Duane guy for real?”
“They have Wi-Fi now on planes,” Ridley said smoothly. The lies are starting to come so easily. Even more quickly than usual. “Which you’d know, if you’d ever been on one.”
“Hey, I’ve been places.”
“The Greyhound bus to Myrtle Beach doesn’t count.” Rid didn’t even look up. “Speaking of Myrtle.” She kept typing.
what puking clown
The response came just as quickly.
puke on myrtle
What?
Link scoffed, and Rid forced herself to stop looking at the phone. He glanced away from the street signs long enough to raise an eyebrow at her. “Why do I need a plane? John’s stupid for not Traveling.”
“That’s funny, because last time I checked we were sitting in a car for ten thousand hours driving all the way from South Carolina to New York City. Instead of Traveling.” Except for the part when we were, Ridley thought.
“That’s different. I couldn’t leave this sweet old girl home. She’d kill me.” Link patted the dashboard. “Isn’t that right, Sugarpie?”
“We have a place to crash with Duane and Myrtle. That’s the important thing. I’m sure everything will be fine.”
Ridley almost believed herself as she said it. She tried the phone once more.
puking clown what the hell who is myrtle
This time, there was no response at all.
“She’s a street, not a person.” Ridley stood under the sign that said MYRTLE AVE. It was a miracle they’d found it, considering that it was the middle of the night and pitch-dark and every conceivable surrounding sign, wall, and surface was covered in layers of graffiti.
“I kinda picked up on that about Myrtle.” Link sighed. “Let’s get back in the car. That dude’s place has to be around here somewhere.”
Ridley shook her head. “Isn’t it obvious? Duane’s screwing with us.”
“Actually, he’s not.” Link pointed, with a laugh. “But Duane really wants you to come in for your flu shot. Because he’s also not a person.” There it was, the sign announcing two-for-one vaccination day at Duane Reade.
Duane Reade, the drugstore.
Damn, she thought. They are screwing with me. Of course. Devil’s Hairspray. This band already sucks worse than Meatstik.
Link looked down at Ridley. “There’s no Duane, Babe. And no Myrtle. Do you have any idea where we’re goin’, or who we’re goin’ to see?”
“A puking clown.” She sat down on the curb. It was true, and all she had left to go on. Ridley was so frustrated she felt like crying. It didn’t help that the people they were looking for still wouldn’t answer her texts.
“Of course. Why didn’t you say so?” Link exhaled, trying not to lose it.
“That’s all the guy said. I’m so stupid for listening to some idiotic Caster I don’t even know and thinking he would help.” She caught herself. “Even if he is John’s friend.” Right. It wasn’t that far off. There were lots of idiotic Casters she never should have listened to in her life.
Damn Casters.
And damn that one Mortal roadie. If she’d never met him, she would never have gotten into the game of Liar’s Trade that landed her in this mess in the first place.
Damn Mortals.
“So who is this Not Duane guy? Dark Caster?” Link sat down on the curb next to her.
“Probably.” She shrugged, improvising. “If he’s one of John’s friends. He didn’t have the Lightest childhood.”
“Come on. John never had any friends, Rid. We both know that. Who is this guy, really?”
“Well…” Ridley took a breath and looked up at Link. “He’s in a band.”
“What?” Link stiffened. There was no way Ridley could work the word band into any conversation without Link knowing she’d been up to something.
The band was his thing, not hers.
She had pretty much avoided all other music since she and Link had gotten together. Considering the kind of music Link’s bands played, it was better if she didn’t have anything else to compare it to.
Now everything came tumbling out. Everything, up to a point. “I don’t even remember his name. He’s in a band and I saw him play at Suffer.” After we broke up. After I ran out on you. After I went on a bender through half of Europe. After I lost everything at one bad game of Liar’s Trade.
“Go on.” Link looked even more suspicious. Another band was annoying enough. Another band from a Dark Caster club was worse.
The rest of Ridley’s defense came out in one long—and surprisingly partially true—monologue. “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to fight about it, and because I knew you’d hate him if you associated him with our breakup.” (Sort of true.) “But that’s where we met and his band needs a drummer and otherwise they seemed pretty good.” (Also sort of true.) “And I told him I knew someone who would be perfect and now here we are.” She took another deep breath. “See? It’s all fine. Now let’s go find a puking clown.”
She tried to sound upbeat, but saying the words puking clown made her give up again.
“I can’t believe you.” Link stared at her, and not in a good way. Not in an I-love-this-Siren way. The bandage dress wasn’t even a factor in this conversation, which proved how badly it was going.
I’m off my game, Ridley thought. I should be able to swing this, but I’m not. What’s wrong with me?
“Which part can’t you believe?” She tried to remember which part was true, but it had gotten so convoluted that she was having trouble sorting it out for herself.
“Any of it. You knew I was comin’ here to break into the music scene. Then you sat in the car the whole way up here and never said one word about me auditionin’ for a band.”
“It’s not an audition. You’ve already got the job.” Which is the whole problem, she thought. Irony sucks.
“What are you talkin’ about?”
“They need a drummer. You’re a drummer. It’s math. You plus them equals band. Done. Can we go find the clown now?”
“Rid. Stop. This is a big deal to me. You don’t get to decide my whole future for me. That’s not how this is going to go down.”
“Why not?”
“It’s my dream. You have to stay out of it. I’m supposed to get there myself.”