Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 48371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 193(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Then The Sores come on. I’m up on my feet dancing before the second note. Tony stands beside me, his expression fond and indulgent, his body positioned like a weapon. My bodyguard. My protector, poised to ward off any seen or unseen threats.
It makes me throw my arms around him and kiss his lips.
He laughs, surprised, and picks me up, spinning me around a full turn, then depositing me back where I started.
They play their set; I know all of the songs from my dad’s old vinyl records. I let the music carry me away, the familiar riffs, the energy of being part of the crowd, not the object of a crowd’s attention.
Steve Dorney, their lead singer grabs the mic after a song and says, “Vegas, I found out we have a special guest in the house. Pepper Heart is in town, but she had to cancel her show tonight because she’s got laryngitis. So Pepper, this one’s for you.” He starts playing Blue Demon, my first big hit and best known song.
The crowd cheers, but he flubs up the chords. He laughs and starts over. “Fuck it, you come up here and play, I’ll sing.” He blinks into the lights, scanning the crowd for me. “Pepper?”
I laugh and jog to the front of the stage. The security guys help me up and I take Steve’s electric guitar and adjust the strap. He hands me the pick. I test the strings, then start the song.
The crowd cheers.
Steve Dorney and the rest of The Sores are all big smiles for me as he starts to sing. He flubs up the lyrics in places, and I laugh and mouth along to help him when he gets lost.
The crowd joins in, too, singing my song, holding up their phones to video this moment. It’s probably already being live-streamed somewhere.
When the song is over, I don’t give the guitar back. Instead, I play one of their riffs, returning the compliment.
The audience goes wild, screaming and shouting their approval. I close my eyes, my fingers remembering every chord. I learned this song when I was twelve and, like many things learned during those formative years, it’s one of those arrangements I still remember perfectly.
After a minute, when they realize I’m going to keep going, the rest of the band joins in. I start us over because they missed the beginning, and Steven picks up the mic and sings. It’s total bedlam in the auditorium—people going mad with delight at our impromptu collaboration, our mutual flattery fest.
Because they’re a punk band, I jump and stomp as I play, just like they do, and the crowd loves that, too.
By the time the song ends, I’m soaring higher than I’ve been after any show on this tour. And happier.
It’s like I’ve just returned to the joy of making music. Of playing to an audience. Of working with a band.
All these things I’d forgotten how to do. Forgotten how much I loved them.
When it’s over, I kiss Steven on the cheek and hand the guitar back. Tony catches me when I jump off the front of the stage and we run out of the auditorium, the audience mobbing us on our way.
I laugh like a lunatic when we burst outside and Tony scoops an arm around me and pulls me into him.
“Songbird, you were amazing,” he speaks at my temple. “You just made that whole concert.”
I fall against his body, melting into him. Happy.
I’m happy.
What a new and odd feeling.
Tony
I have the prickle of trepidation before we get back to the Bellissimo. When we walk in the main lobby of the casino and run smack into Junior Tacone, I understand why.
“Tony.” He strides forward, his face hard and angry.
I immediately step in front of Pepper, shielding her with my body, as if Junior held a gun pointed at her.
He jabs a finger into my chest. “I need a word with both of you.” I grind my teeth as I extend my arm, indicating the offices behind the reservation desk.
There’s a manager at her desk in one and I jerk my head at her. “Give us a minute.”
She stands up quickly and scurries out. I catch Pepper’s hand and squeeze it, leading her into the office after Junior, but still keeping her behind me.
“What the fuck is going on? I thought you had this shit under control.”
“We had a hiccup, but I’m managing it.”
“Oh really? Cuz I get here and find out the Pepper Heart show’s been cancelled for a week, and then I see a goddamn video all over the fucking internet of that bitch playing at the Paramount. So you tell me how you’re managing it.”
I go still. “Do not call her a bitch.”
No one talks to Junior Tacone like that and lives. I know that. He knows I know it. Which means he hears me draw a line in the dirt, loud and clear. He’s not gonna touch her, he’s not gonna disrespect her. And if he does, it will be over my dead body.