Page 1 of Cooper

Chapter 1

Cooper

“Yo, Wade! Give me a line, man!” I shout at the lead singer. The staff at Mingles, the bar that we perform at, did a shit job setting our equipment up, and I need to do some tuning of my drums. Farley, our guitarist, is busy fixing his amps, and Gus, our bassist, is taking a leak. I’m not pissed off, since Mingles looks like Christmas’s cheap cousin, all decked out in dim lights, shabby garland, and last year’s tinsel, but it’s better than the cavernous pit it usually resembles.

The owner, Blake, tries like hell to keep the place looking nice, but with the brawls that happen around here, it’s a risk. But that’s why we’re here. We work for next to nothing, because we don’t have a record deal, just a mutual love of music. “You want some Christmassy shit or the usual?” Wade asks.

I frown. “Doesn’t matter. I just need a beat.”

Wade knocks off a few lines of lyrics from one of our crowd’s favorite songs, while I hit my drums and fiddle with what needs fiddling with. Our band, ‘Take Risks’, plays precious mixes of hard and soft rock, cover tunes, and great songs that people can sing to. Our crew knows how to get them started, which is why Blake has a standing order for us every Thursday, Friday and Saturday night. We played at some armpit dive in South Carolina last night, which is why we have to move our stuff around today.

“Ya good, Coop?” Wade says into the microphone, as he adjusts it.

“Yeah, thanks.” I answer, placing my drumsticks down. The tiny stage, which is merely a step up from the linoleum floor, about ten feet by ten feet, has a wad of garland hovered over it. A piece of tape has come loose, and a length of garland falls, touching my head. I jump, thinking a rat or a roach has landed in my hair. When I realize what it is, I get up and head over to the bar.

“Yo, Blake!” I shout, knowing that the bartender slash owner is out back, and I want to hit him up for some scotch tape.

But instead of Blake showing, a new face does, and I'm stifled. She’s blonde, fair-skinned, with gorgeous, big blue eyes, and the most honest face I've seen in these parts. “Err...sorry. I thought you were Blake.”

Before I can put my foot in my mouth any farther, Blake appears behind her. “Cooper, Stella. Stella, Cooper.” Blake introduces, slightly irritated. I close my mouth, that I didn’t realize was open, and avert my attention back to Blake.

“What’s up, partner? Need a hand back there?” I ask.

“Na, just the keg’s are short-shipped is all.” He waves, grumbling. Then he realizes that I'm standing there for something. “What’s wrong? You need a cable or something?”

“Some scotch tape if you’ve got some left. I think y’all used last year’s batch from the way it’s holding over the stage.”

Another wave. “Ah, I told Liz to buy the good stuff, for chrissake.”

Liz suddenly appears from the front door, overhearing. “What did you tell me to buy, Blake?” She asks, none too pleased.

“I told you to buy the goddamn tape that sticks, not the stuff that sort of sticks.” Blake gripes.

“Christmas is like, a little over a month away, my friend. Y’all think this town has any goddamn tape left? At least anything decent?” Then she digs into her purse and tosses a roll at me, giving me a wink. She’s a spitfire.

I chuckle as I catch it. It’s the real deal. Stuff that’ll stick and all. Blake rolls his eyes, and Stella just stands there, staring at the three of us. My gaze goes to her, and Liz interjects. “I see you’ve met Stella.” I can’t tell by her tone if she’s still none too pleased or if she’s just being her usual pleasant self. Liz has an attitude. She doesn’t take shit from anyone, least of all a deadbeat drummer like me.

“Yeah, Blake just introduced us.”

Liz is facetious. “Sorry I missed that.”

Blake changes the subject. “Liz, give Stella here a hand wiping down the tables again. You guys standing on them to decorate, I can see the goddamn shoe prints all over.”

Wade walks over and intervenes. “You can call it Christmas décor, man. Don’t sweat it. Nobody will notice.”

Blake raises a brow. “Public health comes in here they will.”

“I...I can get started.” Stella stammers, eying a pair of sponges by the bar sink.

“Don’t use those, love.” Blake states. “Here. I'll give y’all a shammy.”

The care in his tone is almost paternal. It’s the tone Blake reserves for all the women under his employ, even Liz, when she’s not ruffling his feathers. He goes into one of the drawers under the bar and pulls out a wad of folded yellow shammies. Liz tucks her purse under the bar, grabs an apron from a peg on the storage room door, and they both get to work polishing up the tables, while I walk back over to the stage with Wade, and we make light work of rehanging the fallen garland.

“Who’s the new girl?” I ask Wade.

“Damned if I know.” He shrugs. “But she ain’t no regular girl, so I'd steer clear of her.”

A ‘v’ forms between my brows. “You wanna make a play for her, do ya?”

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