“So, what kind of stuff do you listen to?” Star la suddenly asked Beth.
She flushed, and tucked a lock of blond hair behind her ear. “I, uh, you know. Whatever.” She wasn’t about to say the words “Tori Amos” or “Sarah McLachlan” in a place like this.
Reed nudged her. “You know you love all those weepy girls,” he told her. “Dar Williams. Ani DiFranco. And, of course-”
“Let me guess,” Star la said. “Tori Amos.”
Beth’s face turned bright red as everyone else at the table burst into laughter. She didn’t even get what was so funny-or so lame-about her taste, but that was probably part of the problem. “That’s not all I like,” she said defensively. She brushed some stray curls out of Reed’s face. “You know I love your stuff.”
Reed raised his glass in a drunken toast. “To Beth, our one and only fan!” He clinked her glass loudly, his whiskey splashing over the side and spattering into her cup.
Beth’s first impulse was to comfort him; Star la’s, apparently, was to ridicule. “Is he always such a whiny baby?” she asked Beth, as if to forge some kind of sisterhood. Beth just shrugged and looked away. “You know what you need?” Star la asked.
Reed, Hale, and Fish exchanged a glance, and then chorused, “Another drink!”
“Not quite.” Star la hopped up from the table. “Be right back.” She jogged toward the bar and began an animated conversation with the bartender. The boys watched, though Beth was unsure whether they were wondering about her plan or admiring the way she filled out her jeans.
Reed’s hand was resting on Beth’s inner thigh, and the warm pressure on her leg should have been comforting: He was with her, and that’s all that mattered. But his mind was somewhere else.
“It’s all set,” Star la said, bounding back to the table. “The guys are a little sensitive about other people touching their instruments, but they’ve got no problem with Reed doing it.”
“With Reed doing what?” Beth asked.
“Jamming with them,” Star la explained, as if it had been obvious.
“You crazy?” Reed asked.
“Do a couple songs,” she urged him. “Get back on the horse. They’ll play anything you want-they know no one’s listening. Hey!” she turned to Beth. “Why don’t you go too?”
“Uh… what?” Beth cringed under Star la’s gaze, feeling herself slide down a bit in the seat and wishing she could go all the way, right under the table.
“A duet!” Star la exclaimed. “It would be great. Like karaoke, right?”
Beth winced at the word, but the guys burst into laughter.
“Awesome!” Fish said, apparently-and unusually-not too stoned to follow along with the conversation. “Go for it.”
“Yeah, man, you and your girlfriend, rocking out,” Hale agreed. “That’s hot.”
Hale thought everything was hot.
Reed turned to her, a questioning look on his face. “It could be…”
“No.” The word slipped out before she had a chance to think; but really, it was the only possible option. Beth didn’t sing in public. She didn’t even sing in the shower. Not that she had a terrible voice-but the thought of anyone hearing her sing, much less watching her stand up on a stage, under the spotlight, staring at her, judging her, laughing at her-even imagining it made her want to throw up. “I can’t.”
“Sure you can,” Reed encouraged her. He stood up and tugged at her arm. “It’ll be fun.” She could tell by his glazed look and careful enunciation that he was drunk. Otherwise, she was sure, he would never push the issue. He should, by now, know her well enough to understand why going up on that stage would be a walking nightmare for her. “It’ll be fun. You and me. C’mon.”
“I can’t sing,” she protested, shaking him off.
“Anyone can sing!” He grabbed her again, pulling her out of the seat. She stumbled into his arms.
“No!” She shook him off. “I can’t!”
“Let it go, Reed,” Star la said, touching his shoulder. “She doesn’t want to.” She turned toward Beth and apologized, but Beth barely heard-she was too busy wondering why a single word from Star la had been enough to get him to stop. And wondering whether Beth had really wanted him to stop. Maybe if he’d kept pushing, she would have given in and followed him up to the stage. And maybe that would have been for the best. “Come on,” Star la said, guiding him away from the table. “I’ll go with you.”
Of course she would.
Reed took the stage and, giving a few quiet instructions to the band, leaned into the mic and began to sing. Beth expected him to do the same number the Blind Monkeys had performed that afternoon, but instead, the band launched into a Rolling Stones cover. “When I’m driving in my car,” Reed sang, “and that man comes on the radio…”
Beth drew in a sharp breath. It was the perfect song for him-his voice, scratchy and low, massaged the words, rising and falling with the melody, sometimes straying off the beat, forging ahead and then falling behind. She closed her eyes, letting his voice surround, drawing it inside her. He stumbled over the words and as the music swept past him, a rich, deep, female voice took over, picking up where he’d left off and carrying the song until Reed could join back in.
Beth opened her eyes and there they were, hunched over the microphone together, voices melding together, faces beaming, Star la’s dreads whipping through the air as she flung her head back and forth, his curls flying, their hands both gripping the mic stand, nearly touching, their bodies dancing them toward each other, then away, then back again, ever closer to embrace.
“I can’t get no, satisfaction,” they howled, and Beth looked away, suddenly feeling like she was the interloper, catching the two of them in an intensely private moment, invading a closed-off world. “’Cause I try, and I try, and I try, and I tryyyyyyyy…”
Reed would never cheat on her, but nothing he could do with Star la behind her back would be as raw and sensual as what he was doing right now, onstage, in front of all these people, letting himself go and charging through the music, stomping with the beat, losing control, with her. Beth and Reed were never that free with each other, that close, swept away, because Beth couldn’t afford to lose control. She always had to keep a piece of herself-the most important piece-locked away.
But that’s just an excuse, Beth thought, placing her mug carefully on the table and standing up. Fish and Hale, mesmerized, didn’t even notice. Her reluctance-her inability-to get up on that stage didn’t have anything to do with keeping secrets. She had to admit it to herself, as she slipped quietly away from the table, moving toward the exit, knowing she wouldn’t be missed. She wasn’t holding herself back for the sake of caution or self-protection.
It was just fear.
“So I have to ask-what’s with the tie-dye?” Miranda didn’t even hesitate to say it. For some reason, nervous paranoia had yet to set in. Maybe because she was on vacation, in a strange place with a strange guy, with no baggage and no expectations for the future, nothing to risk and nothing to lose-or maybe it was just Jackson. She felt comfortable with him, free to speak her mind. It wasn’t like they’d settled into some cozy conversational groove, pretending they’d known each other forever; it was more that there seemed no danger that she could say the wrong thing. She could somehow tell that he was enjoying everything that popped out of her mouth. The feeling was mutual.