it.
The dancers had deserted the floor, and people were finishing drinks and pulling on jackets. She swept the room a stagey bow. At the cornerof her vision, she thought she saw a dark-coated figure move toward the door.
Stuart had turned off his amp and unplugged his axe. His expression was forbidding. Eddi turned away to tend to her own equipment, but not before she saw the club manager striding toward the stage.
"You the bandleader?" she heard him ask Stuart.
"Yeah," said Stuart, "what is it?"
It's our walking papers, Stu
, she thought sadly, knowing that he could save the whole gig now, if only he would be pleasant and conciliating. He wouldn't be, of course. The manager would tell Stuart what he should be doing with his band, and Stuart, instead of thanking him for the tip, would recommend he keep his asshole advice to himself.
And Stuart would make Eddi out the villain if he could. Well, she was done with that now. She finished packing her guitar and tracked the power cord on her amplifier back to the outlet.
"You're that sure, huh?" Carla's voice came from over her head.
"You mean, am I packing up everything? Yeah. You want help tearing down?"
Carla looked faded and limp. "You can pack the electronic junk."
Eddi nodded, and started unplugging things from the back of the drum machine. "You done good, kid. Even at the end when it hit the fan."
Carla shook her head and grinned. "Well, you got to go out in a blaze of
something
."
Over at the bar, Stuart and the manager had begun to shout at each other. "I booked a goddamn five-piece!" the manager yelled. "You goddamn well
did
break your contract!"
Carla looked up at Eddi, her eyes wide. "Oh boy—you mean we're not even gonna get
paid
"?
Eddi turned to see how Dale was taking the news. He was nowhere to be seen.
"Carla, you think your wagon will hold your equipment and mine, too?"
Carla smiled. "The Titanic? I won't even have to put the seat down."
They did have to put the seat down, but the drums, drum machine, Eddi's guitar, and her Fender Twin Reverb all fit. They made three trips out the back door with the stuff, and Stuart and the manager showed no sign of noticing them.
As Carla bullied the wagon out of its parking space, Eddi spotted Dale. He was leaning against the back of his rusted-out Dodge. The lit end of his joint flared under his nose. "Hold it," Eddi said to Carla. She jumped out of the car and ran over to him. "Hey, Dale!"
"Eddi? Hullo. Is Stuart still at it?"
"Still at what?"
Dale shrugged and dragged at the joint. "You know," he croaked, "screwing up." He exhaled and held the J out to her.
Eddi shook her head. "I didn't think you'd noticed—I mean—"
"Been pretty bad the last month. It'd be hard not to." He smiled sadly at the toes of his cowboy boots. "So, you going?"
"Yeah. That is, I'm leaving the band."
"That's what I meant."
"Oh. Well, I wanted to say good-bye. I'll miss you." Which, Eddi realized with a start, was more true than she'd thought.
Dale smiled at his joint. "Maybe I'll quit gigging. Friend of mine has a farm out past Shakopee, says I can stay there. He's got goats, and some beehives—pretty fuckin' weird." He looked at her, and his voice lost some of its dreaminess. "You know, you're really good. I don't much like that stuff, you know, but you're good."
Eddi found she couldn't answer that. She hugged him instead, whispered, "Bye, Dale," and ran back to the car.
Carla turned north on Highway 35. Eddi hung over the back of her seat watching the Minneapolis skyline rise up and unroll behind them. White light banded the top of the IDS building, rebounded off the darkened geometry of a blue glass tower nearby. The clock on the old courthouse added the angular red of its hands. The river glittered like wrinkled black patent leather, and the railroad bridges glowed like something from a movie set.
"I love this view," Eddi sighed. "Even the Metrodome's not bad from here, for a glow-in-the-dark fungus."
"Boy,
The dancers had deserted the floor, and people were finishing drinks and pulling on jackets. She swept the room a stagey bow. At the cornerof her vision, she thought she saw a dark-coated figure move toward the door.
Stuart had turned off his amp and unplugged his axe. His expression was forbidding. Eddi turned away to tend to her own equipment, but not before she saw the club manager striding toward the stage.
"You the bandleader?" she heard him ask Stuart.
"Yeah," said Stuart, "what is it?"
It's our walking papers, Stu
, she thought sadly, knowing that he could save the whole gig now, if only he would be pleasant and conciliating. He wouldn't be, of course. The manager would tell Stuart what he should be doing with his band, and Stuart, instead of thanking him for the tip, would recommend he keep his asshole advice to himself.
And Stuart would make Eddi out the villain if he could. Well, she was done with that now. She finished packing her guitar and tracked the power cord on her amplifier back to the outlet.
"You're that sure, huh?" Carla's voice came from over her head.
"You mean, am I packing up everything? Yeah. You want help tearing down?"
Carla looked faded and limp. "You can pack the electronic junk."
Eddi nodded, and started unplugging things from the back of the drum machine. "You done good, kid. Even at the end when it hit the fan."
Carla shook her head and grinned. "Well, you got to go out in a blaze of
something
."
Over at the bar, Stuart and the manager had begun to shout at each other. "I booked a goddamn five-piece!" the manager yelled. "You goddamn well
did
break your contract!"
Carla looked up at Eddi, her eyes wide. "Oh boy—you mean we're not even gonna get
paid
"?
Eddi turned to see how Dale was taking the news. He was nowhere to be seen.
"Carla, you think your wagon will hold your equipment and mine, too?"
Carla smiled. "The Titanic? I won't even have to put the seat down."
They did have to put the seat down, but the drums, drum machine, Eddi's guitar, and her Fender Twin Reverb all fit. They made three trips out the back door with the stuff, and Stuart and the manager showed no sign of noticing them.
As Carla bullied the wagon out of its parking space, Eddi spotted Dale. He was leaning against the back of his rusted-out Dodge. The lit end of his joint flared under his nose. "Hold it," Eddi said to Carla. She jumped out of the car and ran over to him. "Hey, Dale!"
"Eddi? Hullo. Is Stuart still at it?"
"Still at what?"
Dale shrugged and dragged at the joint. "You know," he croaked, "screwing up." He exhaled and held the J out to her.
Eddi shook her head. "I didn't think you'd noticed—I mean—"
"Been pretty bad the last month. It'd be hard not to." He smiled sadly at the toes of his cowboy boots. "So, you going?"
"Yeah. That is, I'm leaving the band."
"That's what I meant."
"Oh. Well, I wanted to say good-bye. I'll miss you." Which, Eddi realized with a start, was more true than she'd thought.
Dale smiled at his joint. "Maybe I'll quit gigging. Friend of mine has a farm out past Shakopee, says I can stay there. He's got goats, and some beehives—pretty fuckin' weird." He looked at her, and his voice lost some of its dreaminess. "You know, you're really good. I don't much like that stuff, you know, but you're good."
Eddi found she couldn't answer that. She hugged him instead, whispered, "Bye, Dale," and ran back to the car.
Carla turned north on Highway 35. Eddi hung over the back of her seat watching the Minneapolis skyline rise up and unroll behind them. White light banded the top of the IDS building, rebounded off the darkened geometry of a blue glass tower nearby. The clock on the old courthouse added the angular red of its hands. The river glittered like wrinkled black patent leather, and the railroad bridges glowed like something from a movie set.
"I love this view," Eddi sighed. "Even the Metrodome's not bad from here, for a glow-in-the-dark fungus."
"Boy,
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