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one of those women who oozed sex. You only had to look at her and
you knew she was an accomplished lover. She was the reason women
hung around our rehearsals and bought us drinks after gigs. Peaches
was always teasing her about this woman or that. It sounded like she
had more sexual partners than she could count.
Out in the real world, she was a home renovation contractor with
a few guys working for her. The outdoor job accounted for her tan, the
bleached streaks in her ash blonde hair, and her muscles. Lucrezia was
always inspecting her hands and rubbing cream into them. She took
her guitar playing very seriously and needed not to have calluses in
the wrong places. This was what Peaches told me after I once made a
comment about these preparatory rituals.
I looked up her number in my cell phone, and my breathing got
short and stifled. I could still feel her unsettling stare. How would it
be having her for a friend, if that s all she was looking for? A vague
disappointment snapped at my throat, corroding my sense of gratification.
I respected Lucrezia. She and Bella were the two band members who
really had their shit together. I felt honored that she wanted to be my
friend, yet at the same time I felt a bothersome prick of rejection.
It was ridiculous, of course. I wasn t her type and even if I were,
having a fling with a band member would be a crazy idea. Besides, I
was besotted with another woman. Turning my thoughts to Layla, I
wandered around the basement, switching off most of the bright lights.
When the place looked as ambient as I could make it, I settled down
on one of the sofas we d arranged into a living area. The furniture was
a mismatched collection of Mrs. Goldman s discards. We had a leather
chaise lounge with piping the Maltese terriers had chewed the crap out
of, a huge feather-stuffed cream pullout Siren slept on when she was
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CHANCE
having fights with her boyfriend, worn-out armchairs in floral tapestry
and velvet, and a saggy corduroy love seat with arms big enough to sit
on.
I was sprawled on this with my legs propped on one of the arms
when the door opened at the far end of the room and brilliant light
shone in from the hallway that led outside.
Layla stood there for a moment, her perfect shape dramatically
backlit, then she called,  Chance?
 Over here. I hauled myself into a sitting position.
 Sorry I m late. I was in a meeting with Samuel. Car keys jangled
in her hand, knocking against the satchel she was carrying. She was
wearing fashionable pin-striped pants and a crisp white shirt fitted to
show off her curves. She looked so desirable I was instantly aware of
needing a shower and being in the scruffy jeans and T-shirt I d changed
back into after Mr. Goldman left.
 Have you eaten? she asked.
 We ordered pizza earlier.
She perched on an arm of the love seat and regarded me seriously.
 You look good.
 You too. Polite and noncommittal.
 Still angry with me?
 No, I said coolly.  That was then. This is now. Look, it s getting
kind of late for me to be finishing work. What did you want to talk
about?
She hesitated as if she wanted to say something else, then opened
her satchel and drew out a sheaf of papers. I found myself mesmerized
by her hands. The long slender fingers, the latticework of veins beneath
the fine skin, the fluid way the muscles worked, making her knuckles
rise and whiten. I remembered those hands painting my skin with
feeling.
She made a comment about my singing style. Lost, I asked,  Sorry,
what was that again?
 I said you have a bluesy grittiness in the low notes that I d like
to exploit.
 Knock yourself out. If I can t manage your melody line, Peaches
will change the key.
 No, she won t. Not for this song. Layla handed me some sheet
music.  Samuel tells me Julio is working with you. I m going to come
along to your next lesson and let him know exactly what I want.
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Grace Lennox
 You re what?
 I said 
 I heard you the first time. Okay. I was getting angry and it
showed. I didn t want Layla showing up at my singing lessons. I didn t
want her invading my life in any way that wasn t necessitated by a
direct order from my new boss.
 Chance, I m here to help, she said.  Your band has a unique
sound. You could break through, but it s not easy for women. Actually,
it s not easy for anyone. This business stinks. It s too much about
marketing these days, and less about talent.
 We re not doing this because we want to be famous, I said nobly.
 We like playing. If we could make a living at it, that would be great,
but if we can t it s still fun.
 You don t have to settle for that, she said.  You have a fantastic
voice.
I laughed.  I can hardly remember the lyrics. I can t sing a note
unless I spend hours practicing it with Maestro Julio. Somehow I don t
think I m naturally gifted.
She gave me an odd look and I stared down at the music I was
holding.  What do you want me to do? Sing some of this?
 No. I want to discuss the songs with you so that you understand
what Mr. Goldman wants to hear. She sounded frustrated.
 Okay. I made room for her on the sofa.  You have my full
attention. Tell me what Mr. Goldman wants.
She sat down next to me. She smelled musky sweet like Stargazer
lilies. I wanted to bite her, but I took a notebook and pen from my
backpack instead.
She touched my arm, which made me lose my concentration and
drop everything.  Relax, she said.  So, what s happening in your
life?
 Other than joining the band, not much.
 Girlfriend?
 One or two. Suck on that. For good measure, I informed her,
 When you re in a band, they can t leave you alone.
 That must be fun, she said dryly.
I wanted to avoid staring at her mouth because it only made me
want to kiss her, but I couldn t help noticing the way it creased in each
corner as if she d just suppressed a smile.  Women have always thrown
themselves at me, I said, trying to sound cynically amused.  Take you,
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CHANCE
for example.
 Touché.
Knowing my little barb found its mark should have been gratifying,
but I felt like I d just slid into high school tit for tat. I wanted to let
Layla know that I wasn t pining for her, by any means. I had no trouble
getting laid, thank you very much. These days, I could walk into any
lesbian venue and pick and choose. Women came up to me. Being in
the band and being more proactive about my life was making me more
confident, and confidence was attractive.
I supposed it also helped that my new look was cool. I had more
style. When I stepped into a room, the conversation lulled for a few
seconds. I d never made heads turn in my life. Now, all of a sudden,
I was aware of eyes on me and hands brushing my skin when women
moved past. At first, I thought I was just imagining it. Now, I took it
for granted. Things had changed for the better. My strategy was finally
paying off.
Suzie said being in a band meant major sex appeal, but since Virgin
Blessing wasn t exactly well known, I thought she was overestimating
that factor. I had achieved what I d set out to do the day I donated my
TV to a worthy cause. I had reinvented myself, and the new Chance
was much more interesting. She found panties that didn t belong to [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]