Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
It was my mom who made an offhand comment one weekend as we sat on the back deck, plucking at our steel strings and trying different melodies. “You two should form a band.”
We looked at each other, our hands stilling on our acoustic guitars. I played my grandfather’s Martin D-18, which I still play to this day, although now I have three other guitars. Leo had a Gretsch Rancher, his favorite. A silent message passed between us. “We should totally form a band.”
I’m not sure exactly what constitutes a band. It seems it should be more than two people and contain more instruments than two acoustic guitars, and while we both play the piano and keyboards just fine, we’ve never brought on any more members. Instead, we’ve stuck to our six-strings. It’s what we do best, marrying my raspy, lilting tone best suited for ballads and his edgier, deeper voice that melts panties with any rock song.
With my sandaled feet perched on the lowest rung of my stool, I sway to the melody, leaning slightly forward toward my microphone. Leo has one combat-booted foot on the rung, the other long leg stretched in front of him. His microphone stand is between his legs, and I glance out across the patrons, noting every woman’s eyes are pinned on him. I grin and pick up on the lyrics where he leaves off.
I don’t sing in coffeehouses or bars for the money but for the pleasure of sharing music with others. As a full-time nanny for the last seven years, I make ridiculously good money along with benefits. Although my prior job just ended, I’ve received several offers this week because I’m good at what I do. I last worked for an executive who’s transferring out of the country and he gave me a stupendous review.
Leo, on the other hand, lives hand-to-mouth on the earnings we make together. I can only usually do one gig a week with him when I’m nannying but he plays on his own and with another band, usually seven days or nights a week. He lives in a seedy apartment with two other guys over in McKees Rocks and eats ramen for most meals. Still, he loves his music so much, with grand dreams of getting noticed and signed to a label, that he’ll happily live the rest of his life this way for that one shot.
We finish “Leather and Lace,” our last song of the evening, to even stronger applause and people calling out for an encore.
Leo looks over at me. “Want to do a few more?”
I check my watch and shake my head. “I can’t. Got another job interview.”
“I thought you’d already decided on a job,” he says softly, placing his hand over the microphone and leaning toward me.
“I did but I’ve been asked to do one more interview—special favor to Sasha. It won’t change my mind, but I agreed.”
Sasha and Craig Hamberly were my former employers, and I worked for them for four years, watching their five-year-old son and two-year-old daughter. Sasha and Craig are executives with Norcross Holdings and apparently Brienne Norcross herself called in the favor. One of her hockey players is in quick need of a qualified nanny and while I really didn’t want to spend the time or energy doing another interview when my mind was made up, I love the Hamberlys like my own family and I’d do anything for them.
“But you should stay and sing,” I say, noting that Leo’s open hard case on the stage beside him is sprinkled with fives, tens and even a twenty, while mine has a few one-dollar bills. It’s not that Leo is a better singer or musician than me—we both are fucking good—but the coffeehouse is probably eighty percent women and everyone who approached the stage to tip us veered toward his case.
Geriatric patron Mr. Porter, who drinks tea at his favorite table by the window every Saturday, is the one who graciously tipped me the dollar bills, which is a lot given he doesn’t have much money. Over the years I’ve had conversations with him, I’ve learned he lives in a fixed-rent, senior-living apartment and depends on his social security income to get by. He can stretch a cup of tea into an hour, bopping his head along to our music, even though most of it he doesn’t know.
I hop off my stool, grab the ones in my case and toss them into Leo’s. He needs them and I don’t. Leo leans into the microphone and gives a sexy smile. “Folks… how about a big round of applause for Mazzy Archer? She’s got to hustle off to another gig but I’m going to stick around for a while, so settle in with another cup.”
Smiling, I acknowledge the rousing cheer because while the women here may be lusting after Leo, there’s no doubt that my music is appreciated. I lift a hand in acknowledgment, sling my backpack over my shoulder and nab my guitar case by the handle.